Open Wide

"Turn your head slightly to the right," she told me.

I turned and my face bumped up against her left breast.

"Oops, don't you bite that now," she said.

"I wouldn't do that," I replied.

"You better not 'cause you'd make a hole and I'd fly backward around the office like a balloon until it deflated," She laughed.

"I don't know . . . they look pretty real to me," I ventured, hoping me might continue in the vein.

"Why, thank you, Bob," she said and leaned further over so that my face was engulfed between her breasts. "They don't feel phony either, do they?"

"No. They sure don't," I muttered, still pinned against her chest with her hard left nipple jabbing me in the cheek. Actually, they did feel a little too firm for their size.

This was pretty typical of all the appointments we'd had since Nicole became my oral hygienist the year before. She was a sensuous, earthy woman and regularly joked with me about sexual things while peppering her conversation with double entendre.

"Yep," she said, "they're just about as real as silicone can make them." and chuckled in her low throaty way.

She pulled away and went back to work on my mouth, scraping and digging away while she hummed Somewhere Over The Rainbow.

I recalled my last appointment a few months ago; when Nicole had told me that she needed to do some heavy cleaning on my remaining wisdom teeth and asked if I could hold my mouth open wide while she did that or whether I needed a rubber wedge. I told that I was fine and could hold my mouth open okay.

"How wide can you open?" she had asked.

"Pretty wide"

"Show me" she instructed.

I opened as much as I could.

"Wow! That's really wide. Does it hurt?"

"Not a bit," I didn't tell her that, as a kid, I used to win a lot of pocket money by betting I could pop a tennis ball into my mouth.