In between haunted houses on Saturday night, Christina and I stopped at a gas station to get beverage and also so that Henry could give us directions via my cell phone without me careening over any cliffs. (It gets dark out on them thar country roads!) My top right molar had kind of felt a little sore, so because I’m a sadist, I bought a cup of blueberry crumble cappuccino (it was divine, too) and swished it around my kind of sore area. Of course, when the hot liquid found its way into my tooth’s tiny hole, the entire right side of my mouth sizzled in warm pain. Good pain. John Cougar Mellancamp’s “hurts so good” pain. Getting fucked with a crucifix held by John Holmes in a nun’s habit kind of pain.
Back at home that night, we watched “The Exorcist 2” and Henry made me a mug of hot chocolate. It could have been a mug of Draino for all I cared, so long as it was piping hot. I took a greedy swig and tilted my head back, allowing the scalding milk to arouse my molar. An orgasm-warm reward coursed through my jaw. My shoulders instinctively did the pain dance all the way up to my ears. I may have howled a little.
“Oh my God, would you stop that?” Christina yelled in disgust as my hand flew to my chin to wipe away escaping milk, which found an opening after I sucked in a quivering breath of delirious agony. Sweet relief, like that feeling of complete pleasure experience after you allow your bladder to explode upon the pot after a day of holding in your urine during a brutal God-seeking pilgrimage through the Sahara.
A small area of my gums was pulsing and tingling. I was in Heaven…if Heaven was holding a Fetish Ball.
Before bed, I brushed and flossed aggressively, until it occurred to me that I had crossed the line. My mouth was shrieking the safety word, and I had ignored it. My cheek felt swollen, my gums felt a’flare.
I woke up Sunday morning to the discovery of white and puffy gums surrounding the tortured molar. I carried around a vial of Anbesol all day, like it was a flask of bourbon (which would have been preferable).
Here at work, I’m rinsing every so often with hot tea, because evidently I’m a glutton for punishment who hasn’t learned by now the term “exacerbate.” Right now, I have a strong desire to shove a lighter back there, or a blow torch, and then white knuckle the edge of my desk in abusive ecstacy. I have a dentist appointment next week, but something tells me I’m not going to make it. What is that something….Oh that’s right — it’s my flaming gums.