My Teeth | Intimate Residue, Preserved

I work it slowly, deliberately, the way I do most things. Slipping the string between each tight space, pressing gently, then pulling through with a soft resistance that makes my jaw tighten. My faith has always taught me that care for the body is care for the soul, and I am thorough in my devotion.
The flavour of mint fades quickly, replaced by something more personal. My gums are sensitive. I watch the string emerge, slightly pink, carrying traces of me you'd never see otherwise. My unique chemistry, my warmth, the secret life of my mouth made visible on something so thin, so disposable.
Each strand used once, coiled immediately after, still damp with my saliva, my cells, my quiet persistence. I save them in a small gla** vessel, each one a record of a private moment, my lips parted, my eyes focused in the mirror, completely present in the sensation of entering and withdrawing, again and again.
For someone who finds arousal in the clinical, made intimate, the hygienic made erotic. Someone who wants to possess what has probed my most reluctant spaces, what has drawn my body's response with such patient, repetitive attention.
Twenty strands from consecutive days. Each coiled with my own hands, still bearing the imprint of my grip.

10.00 GBP 134

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