“Come with me, sit” said the lithe young woman as she guided me into the small sunlit private room.
Smiling wryly, she sat directly in front of me and encouraged me to relax and prepare for what was to come. “Now look at me…I want to really see your face” Our eyes lock as the sunlit grey perfectly shaped orbs of her pupils peered deeply into my tired brown peepers. “Good, yes, that's very good, now – here’s where it can get a little strange, ready?”
“Ready” I say, still tense and apprehensive but calmed some by her warm hand pressed on my knee.
“Okay – now do just what I tell you – open your mouth”
I obey and present the impressive collection of porcelain crowns that helped my old friend the dentist put his third child through private college without a second mortgage.
“Good...very good....… now, watch me.” My heart races as she leans forward and extends her tongue towards me and slowly licks the perimeter of her full well shaped mouth…..”Now you…let me see you use your tongue”
To the inner soundtrack of Gene Krupa hopped up on goofballs going ape on jungle toms I extend my tongue towards her and, with great sensuality circle the perimeter of my mustachioed pie-hole. I know she can feel my hotness...
“Mmmhhh…yes, very good” “Ok, now I will touch you, ok? I will touch your cheek”
A her delicate hand comes close to my face I detect the faint smell of almonds and insecticide – Prince Matchibelly ‘or a good generic I posit…
“Now, you can feel my finger on your cheek, yes? Good then, now use your tongue and press hard against it....yes, do it now, hard!”
With a manly grunt I thrust my tongue hard to starboard, and despite the insistent pressure of her manicured finger manage to hold my own. As she retracts her hand, clearly impressed by my masterful command of Tounge Fu, her white overcoat pulls back to reveal the outline of a young, tight yet ample bosom…..
“Hmmmm……ok….very good then…..now this part can get a little "freaky" for some….we’re going to use food…”
Images of whipped cream body sculpture, immoral acts of epic debauchery using cucumbers and organic arugala in ways never imagined by nature, topped off, naturally, by a fine Cuban cigar dance shamelessly through my mind when my wild reverie is shattered by the utterance of a single word…
“Crackers!”
Ouch…..no erotic potential I can see in them…lets get back to the whipped cream….
“Crackers!...... let me see what happens when you eat one…go ahead”
My fantasie irreparably broken, I return to earth and begin to munch on the dry hardtack as the swallowing specialist with almond eyes and ample bosom stares intently at my throat and makes notes as I struggle to get my Parkinson’s addled throat musculature to move the masticated cracker down the gullet.
This is not how the fantasy was to end…
And in reality, this is not the end, but rather it seems to me the beginning of another phase, where I who maintained an inner self image of an immortal and timeless 25 year old must really begin to reconcile with the truth that the hot medical babe featured in earlier really has z-e-r-o interest in my world-class studliness, but rather sees me as an early geriatric case, an object for study, assessment and statistic, as fodder for the medical file.
So, after noticing a definite decline in swallowing ability I find myself the object of a swallowing study – to be followed in a week or so with a real-time imaging study where you get to drink fou-fou fluorescent and slightly radioactive Mai Tai's while wearing an offwhite hospital gown last worn by who-knows-who who,as everyone knows, has an awful problem with their who-knows-what.
So, knocked down to size, I manage to wrestle the cracker into submission with the help of a few gulps of water….the secret, she says, not to succumb to the potential pneumonias or choking episodes that Parkinson’s can enable, is to chew r-e-a-l-l-y carefully and always have something handy to help slog a stuck morsel down your unresponsive gullet….like applesause, or babyfood.
So I finish the appointment, listen to the minilecture on mindful eating and schedule the next event. On the way out, she thrusts a phamplet with the obligatory smiling grey-haired couple (“Swallowing and You”) into my hands….and, checking to first see that no-ones looking, she says ‘wait…something special for you…take it!’ (ah, so she is hot for me) – and before I can thank her or find the words to say on parting she is gone, leaving only the persistent fog of her perfume to remind me that she was even ever her.
Out in the sunlight, by my newly ticketed car I open the brown paper bag with excitedly and with great anticipation…….a three pack, Motts Individual Servings, Easy Chew Applesause with tear away lids.
