Medical History

My cock drooped down in front of my thighs, looking slightly more shrivelled than usual in the chill of the room, but nevertheless making me tingle with embarrassment from its conspicuous length and thickness. I was by now well aware that my size revealed nothing about my sexual habits, but I was still very conscious of the way the swollen head made an obvious helmet shape underneath my foreskin, and the way my balls hung down so heavily, as if announcing to the younger man how bloated and full with my semen they were.

I also knew, of course, that James wouldn't make any kind of judgements about me based on the huge phallus I happened to be bearing, but I nevertheless felt very self-aware as I stood there, naked, in front of him. It was so excruciating, almost humiliating, for a guy like me -- a quiet, gentle man; average and unassuming in every other way -- to have something I still subconsciously regarded as gratuitously vulgar and which seemed to have almost bestial proportions, sprouting like some third misshapen limb from between my legs.

James didn't grant my manhood more than a fleeting glance and managed to resist greeting it with one of the usual old chestnuts: "You don't get many of those to the pound," or "You'll have someone's eye out with that." I figured he must have seen just about every size and shape of male appendages it was possible to see, or perhaps he was rather well-built himself in that area and so its unusual size didn't really figure on his radar. I tried to remember if I'd noticed how he was packed when I'd seen him in the changing rooms after I'd played squash, but back then I'd been oblivious to the appeal of the male body and wouldn't have picked up on such things.

After snapping himself into some latex gloves, he came across to me and apologised in advance if his hands were cold.

I smiled stupidly, feeling painfully self-conscious to be naked in front of him.

He took my penis in one hand and lifted it away from my balls. Again, I was relieved that he didn't make some trite joke about how large it felt between his fingers, but just cupped my scrotum with his other hand and gently examined each of my well-stocked testicles in turn for unusual signs.

It felt good to have my cock and balls fondled like this by another man -- surprisingly good, in fact. Since being a teenager in the school nurse's office, I'd had many years to perfect the art of controlling myself when I was aroused by something, but even with all that practice I found it quite a struggle not to respond to James's remarkably nimble fingers.

I was reminded of being masturbated, many years earlier, by Carl, the husband of my ex-wife's college friend, who had followed me into the bathroom. That had also felt good, and I would probably have been enjoyed returning the favour if I hadn't climaxed first. It hadn't occurred to me at the time to wank him off as his hand was working on me. It would have felt almost fraternal to have done that together; a mutual indulgence of our raging appetites as two excessively horny men.

I'd never beaten another man off in my life and I suddenly felt that it was something that I'd missed out on. It would be oddly satisfying to pleasure another man by doing something as simple as working my hand up and down his cock. It would be fascinating to watch his expression change and feel his cock growing steadily harder as my rhythm gradually increased, and to have his hips start bucking back and forth as he unloaded his pent-up cargo all over my chest.

James glanced up at me and at first I thought he had found something troubling. I realised, though, that he was throwing me an odd look because my penis had just about doubled in size in his hand and the shrivelled pink head was slowly easing itself through the round opening of my foreskin.

"Sorry," I muttered, feeling my cheeks flush. At least this was a bit more private than when it had happened at school.

I tried to joke to ease my awkwardness: "It likes to do that when it knows it shouldn't."

"I think that's a habit they all share," he said with a smile.

I had to think about something else. I forced myself to start planning for Christmas. What was I going to buy Jake? Did he want an iPhone or iPad or something? Had he mentioned that he wanted one, or did he tell me he'd just bought one? Why couldn't he just want a motorbike or something else I could understand?

James's fingers were really digging into each side of my balls as he checked both sides of them for any abnormalities. In spite of the fact I knew he was probably hunting for tumours, the firm grip of his hand felt extremely arousing. He was being surprisingly rough with me but I wasn't too concerned: as a fellow male with a presumably similar, though probably smaller, pair of balls of his own to practise on, I had no reason to fear he might push too hard and hurt me.

How great would it be to be kneeling face to face with him on my bed, both pumping each other's cock and fondling each other's balls? Our bodies would be similar, but so fascinatingly different -- for a start, as a redhead James's pubes would be ginger. We'd bask in the combining fug of our sweat, enjoying the sharper whiffs our oozing cocks, as the rhythm of our right hands grew faster and faster. And perhaps, as we grinned at each other in our shared pleasure, our left hands would creep beyond each other's balls, our fingers edging forwards between each other's legs, reaching out towards the hot, hairy clefts just beyond our touch.

I wondered how James might smell down there... how his cute little doctor's butt-crack would taste.

"Your testicles are obviously quite an erogenous area for you," James said as we both watched my ripening helmet slide completely out through my foreskin as my cock continued to harden and grow.

"I'm really sorry," I said again, mentally observing that I must have a thing about developing erections during medical examinations. At least this time I didn't have three boys standing alongside me.

"Don't worry about it," he said, standing up and grinning over at me. "It happens to a lot of men during medicals."

He looked down at my organ as it continued to harden and I saw a trace of what might have been appreciation in his eyes. Once again, though, he didn't offer a comment on its size.

"If I could just ask you to turn around, Rob. I'd better check your prostate while I'm at it."

Oh God. I really hadn't bargained on this.

I shuffled around and presented my backside to him. In spite of my curiosity about penetrating another man, I didn't feel at all ready to be penetrated myself; not even by my doctor's finger.

He walked over to his drawer and took out a small tube. After squirting some of the clear gel onto his glove and working it up and down the length of his middle finger, he came back over to me and stood alongside me.

I tried to see what he'd smeared on his finger but he told me it was just some KY jelly. Seeing me draw a blank, he muttered, "You don't know what KY is?"

I shook my head.

"Well, if you're going to be having sex with other men, Rob, I rather suspect you soon will."

After asking me to bend forwards a little, he used his thumb and forefinger to prize apart my butt-cheeks and eased his slickened finger into my anus. The gel he'd applied felt cold but allowed him to enter me easily: he could push his finger far deeper than I was able to when I was playing with myself.

I'd have to buy a few tubes of this KY jelly. As he'd suggested, it could prove very useful.

When he'd pushed his finger into me as deep as it could go, I involuntarily let out a gasp.

He smiled. "That's just about got it! You can stand up again."

After I'd straightened up, we both looked down at my cock, pointing outwards from my body; the two of us watching with interest as it rose rapidly to its highest incline and the shaft of it thickened to its full girth. Its head was swelling up and becoming so fat that it was glistening with the skin stretched taut and its colour was darkening to a deep shade of crimson.

I looked at him in horror, shocked by how my dramatically penis was responding to him having his finger up my bum, but he just smiled in reassurance. "It's all right, Rob. Really, it's okay..."

He jiggled his finger around inside me, feeling around for my prostate, and I gasped again. It came out more like a sigh or a pant. My cock was almost bursting in its excitement and I was finding it difficult to suppress the urge to touch it. I knew that if I were to rub the throbbing head or grab the vein-raised shaft, I would start climaxing profusely all over his cupboards and drawers.

"Squat down for me a bit," he ordered, gently pulling my shoulder downward with his free hand.

I did as he wanted and gasped another, "Aah!" as his finger delved further into my bowels and his knuckles pressed into both sides of my stretched ring.

My cock was pounding at the feel of him inside me, my balls pumped up to their maximum and dangling down between my open legs as they readied for orgasm. I gritted my teeth to hold my climax back: only the thought of how crushingly mortified I would feel if I were to start squirting my thick white ropes of seed across the surgery during a rectal examination was keeping me from doing so. How I would ever face James after squash again? How could I ever return to the surgery?

James chuckled. "I would view your enjoyment as a good omen, Rob. Perhaps a sign of things to come, if you'll... er... forgive my choice of wording."

He pulled his finger out of me with an unpleasant wet slurp and, making a well-practiced flick of his wrist, pulled off both gloves to be disposed of.

As I stood there, hunched and recovering my breath, I could smell my own arse from his finger quite distinctly in the air. He must also be well aware of it. It wasn't very strong but it was instantly recognisable: faintly pungent and teeming with my own raunchy, sexual musk.

"Well there's good news on two counts," James said brightly as if oblivious to my anal whiff. He turned to search through the top drawer in the cabinet behind him for something.

"The first is that you obviously enjoy the touch of another man, so we know that any homosexual feelings you're experiencing at the minute have a psychological basis."

"Is that a good thing?" I asked, as he worked down through the drawers beneath, trying to find whatever it was he was looking for.

"I think so," he said. "It proves that you're comfortable being with another man in a sexual context... that you've worked through the issues a lot of men instinctively have about having their bodies touched by a member of their own sex."

He bent down to search through his bottom drawer. His white jacket rode up exposing his pert, round backside in his tight, black trousers. The hem between his buttocks was riding up into his cheeks, pulling the briefs he was so clearly wearing deep inside his arse-crack.

"And that's a good thing?" I repeated, feeling my mouth becoming dry.

"Of course," he said, fumbling through the drawer.

What a beautiful backside he had. I imagined having my nose pressed between those cheeks; sniffing at the material where the hemlines of his briefs were coming together. Getting a whiff of his most private and personal flavour just as he had mine.

"It shows that whatever you're going through isn't just physiological, and that's the second bit of good news," he called back to me. "There's nothing physically wrong with you which could cause these changes. Everything checks out as perfectly normal."

My cock was still at full size and a dribble of thick, clear liquid was oozing from the slit at its tip. I could clearly visualise pulling his trousers and underpants down and pushing my face between his amazing butt-cheeks. I wondered if the hair inside his arse-crack would be auburn like his hair. I wondered how assiduously he washed himself; how strong his scent back there would be.

"Aha... found it!" he called out, as something clattered inside the drawer.

I'd crouch behind him, licking between his cheeks, and then stand up so that my erection was level with his spit-soaked furry cleft. I'd grab his hips and ease my bloated helmet into him, right where I knew his tiny, untouched hole would be. He'd call out, "Yeah... fuck me, Rob! Fuck my arsehole!" And I'd slowly ease myself into him, watching the hungry mouth of his anus consume inch after inch of my length and sniffing as the crisp, sterile air of the room was sullied again; this time by his own indelicate odour.

I'd push myself right up into him with my engorged, throbbing cock; boring into him far more thickly and deeply than his finger had me.

My cock was now aching painfully, demanding my attention. The head had darkened to a deep, angry purple and the end of it had swollen so fat that the thin strip of skin underneath the slit was pulling the tip into two distinct lobes. I'd never seen it take on that shape before. I seriously needed release.

James stood up and turned to me, smiling. "Funny how things end up getting wedged in so deeply at the back!"

"Er... sorry?"

Jesus -- had he read my mind?

"This!" he said, showing me a leaflet. It was a small pamphlet, somewhat crumpled from where it had been pushed to the back of the drawer, and seemed to be a health leaflet intended for gay men.

He glanced at my nudity and his gaze lingered for a moment on my flagrant erection, its distended head glistening with my ooze. "Sorry, Rob. I should have said -- you can get dressed now."

"Oh right. Thanks."

I walked over to the chair with my inflamed organ wobbling up and down. A drip of the clear liquid dribbled onto the lino floor making a small puddle of goo.

James grabbed a box of antiseptic wipes and knelt down to clean up my mess while I pulled on my boxer shots.

"Sorry," I muttered, feeling my cheeks blush scarlet.

"It's not a problem," he said brightly, disposing of the tissue in the bio-hazard bin. And then, seeing how flushed my face was, smiled to reassure me. "Don't be embarrassed! You're going to need to get used to a lot of stray liquids and unfamiliar smells if you're going to enjoy homosexual sex."

"I'm quite looking forward to all the liquids and smells," I informed him, struggling to tuck my cock into my boxer shorts without triggering an orgasm. I knew I was still precariously close to a very copious climax: were that to happen, it would take a lot more than a wet wipe to mop up my outpouring of strong-smelling semen.

"That sort of thing doesn't bother me at all," I went on, managing to tuck myself into my shorts without rubbing the head too vigorously against the material. "In fact, I think it's the unfamiliarity of it that excites me."

"So why do you look so flushed?"

I angled my cock diagonally upwards in my shorts, aware that it was making a wet, sticky patch up near my hip. It was pulling the material upwards, making each of my balls hang down through the separate legs of the shorts. In spite of how ridiculous I looked, I gave up trying to reposition it and grabbed for my trousers.

"I'm just blushing," I began to explain, pushing one leg and then the other into my trousers and pulling them on, "Because of a few longstanding body issues I have. I'm quite well-endowed and... er... well..."

He nodded. I suppose there was no point in him pretending he hadn't noticed. The thing had almost gone off in his hand.

I went on, "I suppose... sometimes I'm not very comfortable with it."

"Well, be that as it may," he said, putting the leaflet on his desk, "in every physical respect you're in very good health. You could benefit from taking more exercise and cutting down on the booze, but that applies to just about anyone."

I reached for my shirt, thankful that my feeling of imminent climax was abating. The stiffness of my cock seemed to have eased, albeit ever so slightly, although it was still making a lewd-looking ridge along the front of my trousers.

Without apparently noticing it, he continued, "Whatever homosexual urges you're current experiencing must -- I would guess -- be coming from some subconscious need that you haven't been fulfilling."

"What subconscious need could make me want to push my face into another man's bum?" I asked, buttoning up the front of my shirt.

He shrugged and sat down in his chair.

"I assume you've researched this a little on the internet?" he asked. Seeing me nod, he went on, "So you've no doubt found out that what you're interested in is called 'rimming'?"

"It was the first thing I found out about it," I told him as I knotted my tie. "It was nice to be able to put a name to it, but even more of a relief to find that other people enjoy doing this too. That I'm not the only one."

He smiled. "You're certainly not the only one, but rimming is generally restricted to the realms of homosexual foreplay."

"Not exclusively," I told him. "You don't realise how many straight men are into it, until you start probing. If... er... you'll forgive my choice of wording this time."

He nodded, throwing me a small smirk. "So what is it that attracts you, if you don't mind me asking?"

I thought for a few seconds before trying to begin to explain the pervasive allure of my fellow men's rears. I sat down on the chair and started pulling on my socks, thankful that my ungratified erection was becoming much softer.

"I don't know exactly," I began, after I'd pulled on one of them. "Having my face down there... pushing my nose and mouth between another guy's bum cheeks. The smell, the taste of a man back there is so exciting... so erotic. But just the fact of having my face so close to his bum... I don't know what it is about doing that which should arouse me so much..."

I thought back to one of the books I had read in the library and added, "Maybe the fact it's such a taboo place... a part of the body we're supposed to regard as disgusting... and I'm pushing my tongue into it..."

"It might not seem like it, Rob, but I think what you're describing is a very natural response," he said, nodding slowly. "It's clearly documented that some people experience arousal through oral contact with another person's anus. It's one of the most intimate sexual acts one person can perform on another and is also, arguably, one of the most intense."

"Is that right?" I asked.

"I'm no sex therapist by any stretch of the imagination, but rimming is a way for you to say to someone, on a purely subconscious level, 'I want all of you. Every single part of you excites me.' And the person you're rimming is telling you, by letting you do that to them, 'I'm totally yours. No part of me is off-limits to you.' Such implied mutual acceptance is, to some deep innate part of the brain, a powerful turn-on."

I nodded, still seated and without my shoes on, surprised by how much sense he was making.

"Apart from that," he went on, "as you've just experienced, the anus and surrounding tissues are richly endowed with nerve endings highly sensitive to erotic touch. For some reason, perhaps lost in our evolutionary past, we're meant to find that area highly arousing."

"But why am I so fascinated by the idea of doing it with other men?"

"Hmm... that's an interesting question," he said, staring past me as if trying to figure out the answer. "It's as if your normal sexual interests have been flipped one hundred and eighty degrees: from the female and the vaginal, towards the male and the anal. Perhaps you have a need for intimacy with another male which you craved when you were younger...?"

I nodded, reaching for one of my shoes. "I suppose that could be my brother. But I never wanted to do anything sexual with him..."

"Whatever issues you had with your brother, it could be that your desire for affection is being expressed sexually now even though it had no sexual component at the time."