About 13 years ago i got into a brawl and was punched in the mouth. My left front tooth was damaged and turned grey soon after. It didn’t bother me much because I’m not a little fucking girl, and things like that can add character. I have backcountry snowboarded through the Alps, climbed a 14000 foot active volcano with no gear, surfed 15 foot waves, been lost in the desert, swam in glacier melt-water, kayaked through a flood, been chased by wild dogs, and trampled on by a horse—my rugged face shows these things–so one grey tooth wasn’t too much of a bother.
After I had slept with a girl for a couple of times, they would usually ask about the tooth during pillow talk and I would tell them about the fight and it would turn them on and I would get another round in.
Three New’s Years Eve’s ago, I was dancing like a madman with a group of girls. One of them had a champagne bottle in her hand. She swung her arms and the bottle connected with my grey tooth. I felt my mouth fill with slivers and bits of enamel and it left a pretty big chip.
Don’t worry, I fingerblasted the champagne girl that night.
So for the past 3 years, I had a discolored, chipped front tooth in my grill. I hung out with a lot of models this past year and they all kept telling me that I should get it fixed. I ended up getting some dental coverage this year and decided it was time to repair.
The dentists in my part of the city are jokes: their equipment is old, the assistants look and act like they are still in high school, and the two I visited had the old shaky alcoholic handshakes. Fuck that when it comes to my teeth.
I phoned up some relatives of mine who know a lot of dentists and they recommended one about 1.5 hours north of the city.
I came up to the nice, clean, professional dentist in the countryside. He told me I needed a root canal and we scheduled another visit. I went fishing, had dinner with some family and lived the rural life for an evening before returning home.
Two weeks later I returned for the root canal.
The doctor came in to prep and a few minutes later a bubbly little blonde bounced in. she was a solid 6.5 in her scrubs. Give her a bath, dress her up, and turn the lights down a bit and she would be an easy 7.5.
The doctor introduced her as Kathy. I looked over and said “Well Kathy, fancy meeting you here” and shot her laser eyes and a devilish grin. She laughed a little harder than I expected and I knew it was game on from a dentist chair.
The doctor numbed my gums and said it would feel like someone was punching me in the nose. As I felt the numbing happening, I looked at Kathy and said “Nah, this is baby cake, I know how it feels to be punched in the nose, how do you think the tooth got this way”. Again—more than the usual amount of laughter for such a low-witted quip.
Kathy’s job was to use suction to suck up my drool, tooth chips, bacteria infested bits, and blood.
I asked the doctor to explain everything he was doing—‘cos I’m a curious one—and little Kathy was so excited that a patient wanted to know details. She even brought over a hand mirror for me to hold so I could watch the procedure.
When the doctor was focused on drilling away, Kathy would explain how root canals worked in more detail. When the doctor stopped drilling I said, “I think I like it better when she explains it, that voice is just so soothing.” Cue the laughter Kathy.
I also noticed that the doctor only answered a few of Kathy’s questions “Do you need the cotton now?” “Do you want color A1 or A2?” Most of her questions got a silent reply.
When the doctor left the room for a few minutes, I looked over at Kathy and said “You know he only responds to you about 40% of the time?” She laughed and laughed and said “I know!”
The next few times the doctor gave her the silent treatment, I made flirty eye contact with her and could tell she was grinning big under her mask.
At one point, while suctioning the phlegm out of my mouth, Kathy reached over to grab the mirror that was in my lap. As she did, she brushed my bulge. Her eyes got huge when she realized and she said “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I couldn’t reply because doc kept his drill buzzing in my skull but I gave her the thumbs up sign and she saw a smile on my stretched out lips.
One of the things they do during a root canal is drill out the area where the dead nerve was, clean it out, and then plug it up with a little rubber tube. Then they put the filling in and you are good to go.
After everything was done, I was walking down the hall and saw Kathy. I stopped her and asked “what exactly was that little rubber thing that is now part of my body?” She laughed again, exclaimed how curious of a person I was and took me into another room. Inside she showed me the different rubber bits and explained how each person needs a different size according to how large the nerve-rot was. I said “mine was a big one, wasn’t it?” Started her laughing like crazy again and she replied “yeah, a whole 21 millimeters!”
She calmed down a bit and I asked her if she lived in the area. She said yes and I asked if she went out a lot. I told her that I sometimes come up to visit family and it would be great if she could show me where some cool places were. She was very happy and punched her number in my phone with a big grin.
I texted her on the train ride back: And when you come down to the city, I’m gonna be your tour guide, and you’re gonna be my assistant. Less than 30 seconds later, the reply: lol, of course:)
I share this story because it is proof that game can overcome nearly every circumstance. There I am, all laid out, my mouth stretched open with metal clamps, drooling on myself, a big dead front tooth all split open—and I’m still able to get those tingles a-tinglin’.
Plus, it took my mind off of a very uncomfortable operation. Gods bless ya’ game.