duskwatcher

The young dentist (well... a year or so younger than me, I think) inquired if I'd be needing a cleaning when I entered her office.

Judging by the pain that had been tormenting me for several days, I knew that she won't be able to return to her Yahoo Messenger cum web cam session as quickly as she hoped.

By the time I left her office, the day had started to fade. My dentist's computer had long gone to sleep.

And I was missing a wisdom tooth, and spitting blood every few seconds.

Spit.

On the way home (not that far, really - the clinic is just next door), I marveled at how my petite dentist had managed to exert so much effort pulling my molar out with her pliers-thingie. I'm quite sure her biceps had grown significantly after our session. For a time, it had seemed that she'd end up pulling my skull out through my mouth. But if that had happened, I probably wouldn't have felt it thanks to the anesthesia.

Which had started to wear off.

Spit.

I took the pain killers that had been my new, good friend for the past days. Sitting still on my bed as I waiting for it to kick in seemed like a good idea. Though every so often, I had to get a handy plastic bag and...

Spit.

Ice cream suddenly was a very appealing idea and I headed for the fridge. Rocky road. But I didn't want to be picky.

As I sucked the ice cream from a spoon, careful not to get nuts or marshmallows into the new, toothless hole in my gums, I tried to remember what the dentist said I can't do for the next few days.

Can't lift heavy stuff. Can't smoke. Can't eat fishy food.

I vaguely wondered if sex (or anything...um...along those lines) was okay, since she didn't mention it. Calling a lady dentist to check if it was okay for me to whack off felt wrong on several levels.

Oh well.

Guess there's one way to find out.

Spit.