If you asked people where they were and what they were doing when they had the first experience they considered sexual, how many people would you have to ask before someone said they were at the dentist getting their teeth drilled? Probably more than 10. If you did find someone, you'd probably maintain your distance. You'd certainly keep that person away from your kids, and maybe your pets.

So you can see why I'm reluctant to own up to being that guy. Even stranger, it was back in the days when you got your teeth drilled without Novocain, with a painful, low-speed drill that ground through the tooth like it was tunneling its way through the Rockies. This wasn't exactly pre-history. We no longer had a president with wooden teeth. But dental technology didn't seem to have advanced all that much since the days when we did.

It was also before fluoridated water. (Maybe Washington was still president.) And as I was hitting puberty, I had an astonishing collection of cavities and multiple grueling dental appointments. Which — as you would expect — I hated.

Then one happy day, the dentist called in his new dental assistant, Tina. Blonde, young by adult standards, but most definitely a grown woman. I suppose she was holding something in my mouth while he was drilling, because she was very close. And her white dental assistant uniform gaped open a little, almost exactly at my eye level. Not much of a gap, but I could see a small bit of flesh and the edge of her bra.

Not exactly X-rated stuff. Even in those days, almost any bathing suit would have been more revealing. But to me, suddenly, at eleven, this was the most exciting thing ever. Ever. I mean, the Slater's family's blurry color TV was so badly overshadowed that it no longer even registered. I couldn't tear my eyes away. My guess is I was not particularly subtle about it.

Then the dentist asked this celestial apparition for something, and she stepped away for a moment. When she returned, the blouse gaped open wider. A button had somehow come undone. Oh, thank you, Jesus! I thought I would pass out. More flesh, more bra, maybe even a millimeter down inside the bra. Again, nothing more than could be seen all over any beach. But my face was actually throbbing. I was mesmerized. This was better than Little League, my birthday and Christmas all rolled together.

She shifted position. A breast pressed into my eye socket. "Did I hurt you?" The dentist asked, and I realized I must have moaned. Hurt me? I'd forgotten the guy was even in the room. As far as I was concerned, he could grind through every tooth I had. It did seem to go on forever. And it ended much too quickly.

I yearned for my next appointment. I tried to get my mother to move it up. She couldn't believe it. Unfortunately, the dentist was booked solid. I'll bet, I thought knowingly. Then, when the day finally arrived and I showed up, he was alone. "She didn't work out," was all he said.

Didn't work out!?! Nothing in my life had ever worked out that well! But a trip to the dentist went back forevermore to being just a damn trip to the dentist. No excitement, no joy. I'd uncovered the secret to painless dentistry without needles and without drugs. But it didn't do me or anyone else any good. I never even developed a fetish for dental assistants or white uniforms or getting a breast in the eye. Though if that's the only option ...

Check out Barry Maher's dark humor supernatural thriller, "The Great Dick: And the Dysfunctional Demon." Contact him and/or sign up for his newsletter at www.barrymaher.com.

To find out more about Barry Maher and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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