By the Skin of My Teeth

I got my first crown one month into the shut-in, shut-down, whatever you call it. The beginning of the time when nothing changed, when the before and after merged. I had been dutifully avoiding contact. No, I wasn’t. The social ramifications of the pandemic were my wet dream.

terrified by the sound of the dentist’s drill agonizing my porcelain afraid of pain

A few days after the introduction of what felt like smoothly polished porcelain I was in love with my new tooth. My tongue could not stop caressing it. I imagined replacing all my teeth.

grind the old tooth down to the gum leaving a cylindrical stump how fucking cool is that

Last week, six months into the pandemication, I broke another tooth and the piece that I pulled from between my left cheek and lower teeth (they have names?), was big enough, bad enough, that I knew damnitalltohell I needed a new fucking crown. Where was the glee?

not so traumatic because one tooth closer to bioni-mouth fuck yeah badass teeth

I thought I was clever bringing my earbuds with me, hey doc, I don’t feel like listening to you talk, mind if I listen to music, how could he say no, he said, of course, he said, what are you listening to, oh, an obscure australian band, the renderers, you wouldn’t know them, of course, he did not.

Wanna know what it sounds like to listen to my favorite band while getting my tooth ground down like a—? I don’t have a metaphor for that, because it’s already a metaphor, it was like my best friend screaming at me as loud as possible, I can’t make out what they’re saying because loud, but also because drilling, remember? But mostly because they are screaming at me while I’m getting my tooth metamorphed!

Tic Toc, on with the clock, two days later my new crown cracked in half, shattered, bloodied, fragment of a tooth in my hand. The initial panic was of a third crown but no I’m not that lucky, it was the temporary crown, the brand fucking new temporary crown, split in two then why was there blood?

You know that nightmare where your teeth crumble into thousands of pieces in your mouth? I’m living that dream right now. Mercury, amalgam, metal, expands and contracts and slowly pressurizes the enamel tooth into a state of fragility just waiting for the tiny but crunchy shard of raw cacao nib.

Guess what? They throw the mold away so there’s no chance of getting a new temporary fake tooth which is the only way to protect the now vulnerable nerves whose existence is the cause of all my fears. Sure throw it away, it’s gross, can you imagine a drawer full of used crown molds? I get it. Can you make a new mold? No we don’t do that, learn to use your tongue. Seriously.

Tongues surprise. Maybe not themselves but me. It only took two days to train that fat juicy muscle to contort in place over ole stubby, allowing me to drink coffee and wine without wincing.

At first I was afraid to explore but soon enough my tongue found the stub and foreplay ensued. I have a new-found appreciation for the shape, contours and texture of my teeth, especially the new one. My tongue is fascinated.
porcelain so smoothly phallic I’m thinking of jerking off to it

But the point I came here to make is this: Vampire Teeth. Cat Teeth. Topiary Teeth. Dice Teeth. Eye Teeth. Die Teeth. My Teeth.

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