I am handled by a student

I've just come back from an appointment at the dental hospital.

I'd been referred there because my teeth are a jumble sales of caries, fractures, gingivitis, and -- a flexible word, new to me today in this sense -- "calculus", which is a hardened, calcified form of plaque in an unattractive colour that unfairly implicates even non-smokers into the habit. I noticed "recreational drugs" in my case notes. I don't remember confessing that to anyone recently.

It started pleasurably with a young woman putting her fingers against my neck, jaw and cheeks and asking me to move my head in various ways. It's a beautiful feeling to be touched by a stranger; everywhere on your body becomes heightened, and wishing you had permission to ask things.

She was a final year student with advertisement teeth and even cleaner knickers. Later on, her supervisor came over, with that "I've read your case notes" air of the senior health professional. I was politely told off about the inadequacy of my cleaning regime and warned that there was an extensive programme of work ahead, including extractions.

I imagined them chatting together afterwards. "Hmmm... late fifties man living alone? What a surprise his teeth are a mess. Bet he's got dirty mags under his bed and his toilet's all brown. Eurgh...can you imagine the insides of his pants?"

Chastened, and glad to be out, I went to Wilko and got an electric toothbrush, as recommended. "It'll do all the work for you." It takes a bit of getting used to, this loud buzzing thing in my mouth, and it makes me salivate uncontrollably, but the effects are noticeable already, and I'll soon have a gusset as bright as that of the student dentist.

A couple of highlights from the railway.

* Not seeing my approach as I move backwards down the aisle with my trolley, a girl in her late teens lays back on the double seats and opens her mouth at my crotch level just as I pass. We all laugh, collaboratively.

* I am taking my repose with a cup of tea after working hard for several minutes, when a female guard appears. Her tits strain her buttons, the top three of which are undone. Her uniform shirt is tight enough to outline the texture of her bra.

All this information I had to capture in the first fraction of a second as she sits down facing me, before I clamp my eyes, in a moral correct position, on her face. My concentration in doing do only reveals where my real interests lie.