I was thinking about what I was gonna conjure up for dinner with my eyes closed. There was roast beef from Sunday's dinner and chicken from earlier in...the week, while the hygienist sorted through her implements of torture. My mind was about as un-sexually orientated as it ever could be. She looped chain behind my neck, the one that held the blue paper bib, her knuckles very gently—unintentionally—brushed my tit. Even through the burgundy silk blouse and the polyester bra my dormant nipple. “You do want that textbook, don’t you Mister Hart?” she asked, staying in character.“I do, I just…” Was she testing me? Playing a prank? Maybe if I called her bluff, she’d finally break character and stop me. I reached up and undid my first button, then the second, and the third, all the while staring into her bespectacled eyes waiting for her to crack. She smiled and bit her lower lip, watching as I undid all the buttons on my shirt. I glanced over my shoulder again, assuring myself we were. More

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