Teething

The boy sat on the edge of the bed fumbling with the new Lincoln Log set that he received as a Christmas present the day before. His father was away that morning at his janitorial job with the city school district. The room was cold, and the radiator hissed and spat at him. It was unsettling. The large bay windows, barren without curtains, revealed the sleet and wind carrying on outside. Bob Barker was summoning a new person to Contestants Row when the boy discovered the tooth. He pressed his tongue against it and it bent inside his gum line. He probed his finger and felt the gap underneath. It was definitely ready to come out. His mind raced to the riches that he’s sure to collect from his booty and was determined to extract the prize. Back and forth he pushed and pulled against it. Transfixed on the clicking sound, he was realizing that it was also becoming a bit painful. Yet, the pain was something unlike anything he had ever felt before. A bit erotic, in fact. Coupled with the obsessive nature of this back-and-forth motion and the pain that was stirring inside his head, this was a feeling he never wanted to let go of. He reached in further with his tiny forefinger and thumb and pulled. Hard. The tooth tore away from his jaw and he stared at the bit of gum still attached to the pearl. His heart was beating out of his chest. He pushed his tongue over the crater and was overwhelmed with the sensation. The blood was stinging his throat and he suddenly needed to pee. Pinching off the tip of his penis, he ran to the bathroom to assess the damage. Climbing on the little stool that lives under the sink, he pulled himself up and pulled the chain to the light bulb. It was true, there was a vacancy in the top row of his mouth. He climbed down and kicked the stool to the front of the toilet bowl. Pulling down his Hulk Underoos, he stood atop and sprayed 36% on the bowl, 41% on the rim, and the remaining 23% in the water. Success.

Sitting atop the king size bed, he wondered if there was another waiting to exit. Satisfied with his amateur status in dentistry, he started pushing against each tooth, hoping to find another. No such luck. He sat quietly and listened to the sleet. He thought of the feeling that took hold of him - the pain, the pleasure, the eroticism, the blood. Placing a Lincoln log inside his mouth, he bit against it, slowly. Hoping to encourage another to play his new game. He bit harder, rolling the log and pressing it down. The crunch was startling. His stomach was feeling queasy, and his salivary glands were in overdrive. The front of his jammies was wet with spit and blood and wild determination. The crunch wasn’t at all what he expected, but now there was no turning back. He’d found a new plaything. Pushing the log from the front was exceedingly painful. His ears were ringing, and he could feel sweat collecting on the small of his back. He pulled forward with his finger, more crunch. It was getting harder to breathe and his mind was racing. The pain was overtaking his little brain and the excitement was edging him to a space he couldn’t and wouldn’t leave. The exhilaration was too much. The pleasure was too good. Pulling harder he knew that the log was the better implement. Already bloodied, the end of it was now wet and easier to maneuver against the new tooth. He closed off his throat with his tongue so as not to accidentally swallow it and pressed. The crunch was loud inside his head. His stomach was in knots. His head kicked forward as the tooth shot back inside his throat. The gag reflex expelled it along with more spit and way more blood than the last go around. He fell back onto the bed and was buzzing from the excitement. His mouth tasted like cap guns smell, he thought.