This is an actual event from 1963.
My experience of a two-tooth extraction with “Gas”. It’s as clear today as if it only happened this morning. Only names and locations have been removed.
I was ten, and it was already my third “gas” experience, with more to follow. I was accompanied. I remember unusual feelings, but the realisation of my true fetish only matured in my teenage years. At this time, extractions were still with 100% nitrous only, very quick and brutal; subsequently, as I discovered they became more protracted and the dentists more considerate, a second anaesthetic agent Halothane was added, giving more operation time, but that’s another story.
Looking back 60 years ago, the world was very different; the extraction experience was very formal, with no kindness or friendliness; it was harsh, brutal and light years from today’s dentist approach. Despite all that, I would not have missed it as an experience, and it set my fetish world forever.
As usual, it was raining when I went to the dentist’s. The week before, it was decided that two teeth were beyond repair and would have to be extracted with gas; there were no other options.
A week later, I was standing at the large black front door of the surgery. It was in a rambling sizeable Victorian house on a steep hill, like something from the Addams Family with an air of foreboding and menace. I nervously turned the old-style ball handle and went in.
You always knew when it was the gas day at the dentist. The waiting room was packed, mostly with children and their mothers. A constant stream of patients could be seen arriving and departing. It was always on a Friday where I lived.
That day my appointment was 10 am. I arrived 10 minutes early; two patients were due for their extractions before me. The bespectacled dragon in reception sat behind an ancient dark brown desk; without any smile or greeting, she demanded my name. I gave it. She looked down at a handwritten list and ticked my name off the long list of patients.
"When did you last eat and drink?" The dragon demanded.
“A light tea at 7 pm yesterday and just a few sips of water at 7 am.” I replied.
"Is your bladder empty?"
"Are you wearing the rubber pants you were given?"
This was the first and only time I had to wear rubber pants for an anaesthetic, they were black, tight, and sweaty after a couple of hours, but I had a strange thrill I did not understand.
The receptionist coldly said “After the extraction, use salt water to clean your mouth when you get home and to help it heal”. I acknowledged.
"Go and sit in the waiting room!" she said, pointing along the hall.
I did as I was told. The waiting room was two doors down the miserable hall with a big sign in black lettering. It was as expected, packed, and I got the last available dark green part padded metal chair. The room was depressing, with old wood panelling and a single light in the ceiling. A few heavily thumbed, tatty magazines were on a table in the middle, surrounded by about ten chairs.
Everyone looked up as I entered, anticipation then replaced by relief. Two children with bloody pads held to their mouths were recovering, comforted by a parent. A mixture of perfume and the scent of fear pervaded the room.
After about five minutes, the door opened, and the domineering dental nurse from hell came into the room, middle-aged, in a crisp white uniform, utterly emotionless. Silence instantly reigned. In a loud voice, she said a name and a petrified child got up and sheepishly followed. The door closed.
A prominent circular clock was on the wall, the most viewed item in the room. Fifteen or so minutes went by; it seemed like a lifetime. The two bloodied children had left, and another 'victim' arrived, pale and fearful in their eyes. The door opened again, and the first child staggered in, confused, crying, pale, holding a cotton wool pad to their mouth, to be immediately comforted by their mother.
The nurse rapped out another name, and another child followed her out. Time dragged by so slowly. I watched the second hand slowly moving, my stomach was churning, and I was fidgeting, yet oddly, I was excited. It was going to happen; there was no way out. Memories flooded back from my two previous gas experiences.
Without warning, the door opened again, and I instantly felt anxious; my breathing was much faster; it was time. Once again, the bloodied child came in, followed by the Nurse. She looked round and rapped out another name - mine! It took several seconds for me to comprehend. I stood up automatically and followed her.
As we left the room, she commanded, “Follow me.”
We walked down the corridor, up the stairs, and along another passage to the end room. It was not the usual surgery but a much smaller space. It was new to me. I entered the new surgery; immediately, I could smell disinfectant, never forgotten; it was hot.
The nurse shut the door with a clunk, a sound of inevitability. An older black dentist chair was in the middle of the room with a robust round bright light on a stand pointing at it; my dentist was standing at the back, and another older man with greying hair and in a white coat was beside him. The room was painted green (always green!), and steam was issuing from a steriliser in the corner.
A machine with pipes and two large cylinders was by the side but behind the chair, and a light shone brightly onto it. On the table was a tray of instruments. There was little else, simple, minimalist. Light filtered dimly through a window covered with a horizontal blind.
The nurse pointing firmly commanded me to sit in the chair, back straight, feet on the footrest, arms on the side rests. There was no sign of emotion. I had shorts on, and my legs pressed against the chair’s leather. The rubber pants were surprisingly enjoyable.
Without a word, the dentist moved to fasten a black leather belt tightly around my middle. I realised I was grasping the chair’s arms tightly. The nurse from hell put a large thick off-white bib around my neck; the unsmiling, matter-of-fact approach was her trademark.
No one spoke; the dentist adjusted the chair, up and back, and I automatically rested my head on the black roll headrest, looking up towards the light. I always remember excitedly the pumping hydraulic motion as the chair moved higher. Then for a moment, I felt alone and vulnerable. The light shone brightly in my eyes. I felt strange and anxious yet exhilarated, merged into one intense erotic feeling, but I did not know then what that meant, that would come years later.
“Open wide!” the dentist commanded as he appeared over my left shoulder. I opened my mouth.
Without a word, he pointed into my mouth to the other man and gestured where the teeth would come out, one on either side of my mouth, one upper, one lower
The man silently nodded. “Keep your mouth open”.
The dentist pulled something from the tray of instruments, a metal wedge on a chain and tried it in my mouth.
“Open wider." He selected another larger size.
The prop was cold, metallic and very uncomfortable; the cold chain hanging down the side of my mouth to my chin. I struggled not to gag. but dribbled embarrassingly. No one took any notice.
The moment had come; in seconds, the mask and gas would be coming.
This tiny moment of incredible excitement persists when I visit Nurse Anna so many years later; it’s truly magical.
There was a distinct hiss. The other man moved to my right, placing a rubber nasal mask tightly over my nose, and adjusted it in one motion. I could feel the rubber tightly pressed against my nose. I loved it and the feel of the rubber.
A different voice, older yet kinder, said, “Breathe deeply through your nose!”
I tried cautiously, and almost immediately, there was a gentle, sweet smell mixed with the robust and wonderful scent of the rubber nasal mask.
“Breathe in only through your nose and out through your mouth!”
I took a slightly deeper breath. I tried to relax and to breathe correctly,
“Take deeper breaths,” a voice said.
“Start counting upwards from one in your head.”
The hiss got louder. I felt a change in pressure as the gas came more intensely through the mask. I took a deeper breath, holding it briefly before exhaling through my open mouth. I suddenly felt warm, pleasant and less anxious, I could breathe steadily, and the mouth prop lost its harshness.
A strange, difficult-to-describe, almost floaty feeling started, never forgotten and always, when experiencing nitrous, a fabulous initial feeling.
My vision became hazy, the light fluffy and the edges softer. I could hear a voice, but it was indistinct. The warmth was beautiful, I felt so safe, and the sweetness of the mask smell was memorable.
I was mentally counting slowly and had reached four when the world started to spin gently at first.
At five, the spin increased in speed; it was terrific.
At six, the room began to warp as well.
At seven, it was faster still, and my vision distorted as the wall and light rushed towards me like a train.
After eight I lost count; I could not feel the prop anymore, and I was euphoric, warm and anxiety free.
My eyelids were so heavy that I struggled to keep them open, but to no avail. As my eyelids closed, the spinning increased faster and faster. Without warning, my world exploded into fantastic lights, patterns, and, eventually, blackness.
Those precious seconds were fabulous and have stuck with me ever since; they were so incredibly erotic, better than sex any time. Time stopped having value, and it felt like hours had passed. Then the lights and patterns returned, like an aurora. They were constantly rotating, always clockwise. In the distance.
I could hear a very indistinct voice; my world was still spinning, and the lights were diminishing as I slowly became aware that the mask had gone, as had the prop and the belt. The voice spoke again, and I just recognised my name being called.
I blinked my eyes at a murky world, confused yet still excited and relieved. My mouth felt different. As I returned to reality, the nurse thrust a glass of liquid into my hand and told me to rinse and spit into the bowl she was holding. I did.
“Again”, she said, and I did.
The blood-stained water spread across the bowl brilliantly red. She was now the only person in the room. I could taste the iron of blood, my lips were caked in drying blood, and my head slightly ached. I looked down, and there were two streaks of red down the front of the bib.
After removing the stained bib, the nurse firmly helped me out of the chair; still giddy and uncertain, I felt lightheaded and dizzy, yet on top of the world. The nurse stopped and wiped my lips, then gave me a cotton wool pad, and I held it to my mouth, coughing into it.
The blood-stained mess seemed so odd. My mouth was strange with the thick blood, and my tongue felt for the two teeth no longer there; it was weird.
I almost staggered out of the room, uneasy, still light-headed, and the nurse guided me along the corridor, down the stairs back into the waiting room, where I sat down with relief, my senses steadily improving. All eyes were on me. Then the nurse from hell called another name, and the cycle started again.
It seemed like hours, yet the big clock on the wall showed that less than 20 minutes had elapsed, probably nearer 15 minutes.
After ten more minutes, I was fit enough to leave, but even though I did not know then, two previous gas experiences and five more to come would set my fetish life - forever.