Y así empieza…

And so it begins. The Newsletter™ becomes a blog. I’m (still) not sure where I’m going from here, but I’m (also still) excited to have you along for the journey.

Let’s get into it!

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Primera competición de escribir

Given the amount of responses to my first writing prompt, I figured I would publish the top three winners. I think, given the direction they went, it is clear that many of my subscribers are gay men. That said, I think you will enjoy (or at least be intrigued by) their responses. So without further ado, here are this week’s winners.

PROMPT: “His gum recession had been a longstanding point of contention between him and the dentist. It seemed to never get better, but paradoxically never get any worse. Gum grafts had failed, and sheer will power couldn’t seem to keep him away from the strong-bristled toothbrush he had had since childhood. As he once again endured the poking and prodding of metal and fingers in his mouth, he squinted into the opaque light above…”

1. He always loved his trips to see Dr. Arms. He was sassy and dark, but in fun way. His dry comments and feedback gave him a weird reputation in town; but I like him. Dr. Arms, his hygienist, and I go way back. We have a fun game where they suggest I need x-rays at every 6-month appointment, and I remind them of their professional guidelines that say I don’t need them more than once every two years. I’m sure they’re just forgetful and not letting the profit margin on x-rays influence their recommendation. I had just won this semi-annual game (obviously) and was feeling quite smug. Dr. Arms seems to like our dental diagnostic tête-à-tête and was kind of smirking. Sorry, I was distracted by Dr. Arms for a minute. Back to my plot to prove that the dental profession is a majority for-profit insurance scheme and minority healthcare delivery industry.

Dr. Arms and his hygienist made my gum recession seem red-light-and-siren at my last appointment. Apparently all of my teeth would fall out if I didn’t immediately spend $10,000 on gum grafts. “Will insurance cover this procedure?” I asked. “No,” Dr. Arms and his hygienist replied. Which is I think how insurance works. It does not cover procedures that are medically necessary and not a scam.

I stared into the opaque light and wait for Dr. Arms and his hygienist to call the ambulance, because I still haven’t done my gum graft. It was so necessary and emergent last appointment. I wait. And wait. And wait. No sirens. No mention of this absolutely necessary gum graft with Dr. Arms’ periodontist friend who I’m sure does not give kick-backs to Dr. Arms. “Well, that’s strange,” I thought to myself.

“Dr. Arms,” I said. “Last time you mentioned a gum graft. Is this something that I should still have?”

“Oh, you did not have the gum graft? Oh yes, I see that you did not! 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨”

And with that I, an amateur Hardy Boy, proved that the dental industry is 65% a crock.

Michael G., Sydney, NSW, Australia

 2. …”Ouchie Papi!” he yelled to his dentist, using a pet name he once bestowed upon him on that wild night in Carson City. 

“I told you not to call me that. Especially at work.”
“But papi–” 
“You know my wife is also my secretary.” 
“I’m sorr–” but before he could finish, the dentist resumed the fingering of his mouth. A few minutes later, his dentist withdrew his fingers, removed his gloves, and gave him a somber look. 
“It’s not getting any better.” 
“But I’ve done everything you said.” 
The dentist nodded at this before clasping his patient/former lover’s hands in his.
“Six months.” 
“Six months for what?” 
“My diagnosis is that you have six months left to live.” 
“Why? Are you even qualified to be giving a diagnosis like this?” 

“Do you see that hanging over there on the wall? Of course I’m qualified.” 
“But that’s just a photograph of you, Kenny G, and a drag queen.” 
“Precisely.” 
A long, drawn-out silence occurred between them. 

“So what do I do now?” 
“Run away with me.” 
“But what about your wife?” 
“Well, once you die I’ll go back to her.” 
He thought for a moment, then said with a smirk, “Carson City?” 
The dentist smiled back. “Carson City.” 

Jake S., Washington, DC

3. He felt a brush against this pants as the Novocain set it. As his mouth drew numb, the poking and prodding of metal and fingers had moved further down on his body. What was happening. At first it felt violating, but the sensation soon turned to pleasure. It felt like a dream..a very pleasurable dream at that. Later as the drug wore off, he realized he wasn’t at the dentist office at all, as the bath house sign was flashing off in the distance. This was a “dental office” that he would certainly visit again!

Kevin B., Boston, MA