That One Weird Time with My Doctor

Part I: Ian (the patient): A cigarette rests between my fingers as the golden sun sets behind me.

Menthol smoke shoots from my lips, and I freeze.

"I have testicular cancer."

Kym smiles widely, black lipstick contrasting with white teeth. "Ian, shut the fuck up, it's just a lump!"

A smirk spreads, "Yeah, and it could be testicular cancer!"

We are chilling out on her back yard patio with some background tunes.

"Well, how big is it?" She sips her beer, revealing her forearm tattoo of a pizza slice.

I gesture with my fingers, "Kinda like a jelly bean, I guess."

"Aww, you have a little peanut friend. It's probably harmless. My ex had a lil' buddy on one of his balls, and it was nuh-thing."

It probably is harmless. But who can blame a guy for wanting some reassurance? After all, I've put it off quietly to myself for too long. Go get yourself the facts and give yourself some peace of mind, Ian.

I'm not a big fan of going to the doctors, though. Who is? You put it off as long as you can until you can't.

I'm one of those guys that prefers to see female physicians. One fundamental reason is that men suck. Especially straight men. When you grow up fearing boys and fighting off their mean words, you don't grow up feeling especially safe around men. Nor do you really have faith in their ability to be there for you when you need it.

Another fundamental reason I prefer seeing female doctors is because I get erections easily around male doctors. Yeah, yeah, yeah, men are dicks and all that shit. But, they're also what I'm sexually and romantically attracted to. And so I get boners when I have to flash some flesh. Even when the doctor is entirely unattractive.

The moment a male doctor alludes to the imminence of me stripping down, my wiener starts wiggling around in my pants. And how could it not? The only other context when a man is attentive to my genitals is when I'm having sex. So by the time I'm pulling down my briefs, my dick is stretching out and climbing upward. Coming out to say "Hello", "Good morning, world," "Isn't it nice to be alive?"

I logically assume that male doctors are more than likely not into fucking men. And are probably, in fact, a little annoyed that this gay-wad is forcing them to touch a hard cock. They must be thinking I'm a pervert. Some kind of freak who probably faked a reason to come to the clinic.

Nah, I wanna avoid all that. I'll see a woman. And I have for the past decade or two (shout out to Dr. Lisa Sanders). So I can be comfortable. At ease.

And soft!

But, damn, isn't it nice when the Universe throws in a lil' surprise?

It's September now and I just pulled up into the health clinic parking space.

I put the shift in "park" and look at my eyes in the rear-view mirror. My fingers tuck my long, pepsi-brown hair behind my ears. Even though it's just going to be a woman seeing my body, I still want to be fresh and clean. So I got myself all ready today. Took a shower. Scrubbed the spots. Trimmed the hair. Spread the lotion. Did what a good guy's got to do to make this bizarre experience as pleasant as possible for both patient and physician.

The receptionist checks me in and the medical assistant gathers my vitals. She sits me down on the exam table, reviews my medical history and the reason for my visit. After some back and forth, she throws in a plot-twist:

"Oh, I forgot to mention. Dr. Sanders is out today, so Dr. Washington will be here in a few minutes. He'll be sure to get you the care you need, dear."

He?! Oh boy, I thought.

She then disappears and leaves me alone in this tiny room. Before I could even consider commenting on my gender preferences.

Ok, Ian, time to put on the armor of God and flex that self-control muscle. This is an unexpected surprise, but you can get through it. Don't get hard. Don't look like a perv. It will be over soon.

Knock, knock. The door creaks open and in walks Dr. Washington. A tall man with short, black hair combed to the side, and speckled with gray. Strong jawline. Eye glasses. Not a runway model, but not at all unattractive.

He takes a seat on the rolling stool and smiles widely, "G'mornin', Ian. I'm Marc, I'll be helping you out this morning." His voice is deep.

"Mornin'. Hi."

He's got a nice smile and full lips. Kind eyes with crow's feet. I'm getting warm vibes from him. I notice his tie, patterned with a local sports team. And his basic khakis. Yeah, this is probably a straight dude.

But you know what time it is, Ian. Time to keep your penis flaccid. Time to start thinking about that old, scabby, beast-of-a-woman creeping out of the bathtub in the film, The Shining.

That usually does the trick.

Do not think about the bulge between his khaki thighs. Or the hairs on the top of his strong hands. Or the size of his brown, dress shoes. No!

Mercifully, as he starts asking questions I get distracted.

Oh, but he's asking me about my genitals! This man is expressing curiosity about the parts that we hide from the public.

Oh my (slaps face). Scabby women in the bathtub. Scabby woman in the bathtub (slaps face again).

"All right, time to take a look. Go ahead and stand up and drop your pants."

He gets up and turns away from me for a moment to put on some blue, disposable gloves.

My heart is sprinting as I stand up. And my penis twitches in my pants. Come on, Ian, stay on the straight and narrow path.

I lean against the exam table and bravely pull my pants down just above my knees and can see that my soft penis has already started shifting to the left. Slowly waking from its slumber.

He returns to his stool, adjusting the gloves at the fingertips, and rolls up toward me. Says, "All right" and sets his eyes on my crotch for the first time.

His eyes are level with my hairless abdomen.

"Sorry", I say, knowing that he is aware of my slowly rising penis.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

I get a whiff of his aftershave and suddenly wonder if he smells any odor from my balls.

"You said it's on your left testicle, right?"

My penis is almost at full erection.

"Yeah, my left, your right."

He scoots in closer. "Ok, I'm just gonna start feeling around. Let me know if you feel any pain."

The moment his fingers touch my scrotum, my cock stretches to its peak, and I reflexively cover it up with my hands. Don't say sorry again, Ian. Just cover it up, and shut up. This happens sometimes.

His blue fingers continue lightly squeezing different regions of my testicle. And I can smell the scent of the medical gloves.

And we exist in silence for an extended moment, until he interrupts.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Unsure of whether or not that means he's advising me to remove my hands, I nevertheless instinctively un-shield my dick in experimentation. My hard-on could kiss his lips if he bent in a few more inches. I glance down at his thighs.

"Is this it right here?" His fingers pinch the small lump on my testicle.

'Yeah, that's it."

"Do you feel any pain right now as I gently push on it?"

"No." Just a flood of wildly inappropriate thoughts, sir.

"Any tenderness or sharpness?"

Don't respond with more than you need to, Ian.

"Nope." I should have kept it at that. But that demon in me had to get five more words out.

"Just sensation in my penis". Goddammit. Wrong response, Ian. Totally unnecessary. Don't make him feel any more uncomfortable than he is. He knows you are stimulated. Talking about it is only going to creep him out.

"I can see that," he says. And looks directly at my erection arching upward just inches from his face. He rests his hands on his knees. "It's a sign of good health, that's all."

I grin, appreciating his nonchalance.

"Yeah, but just so you know this is why I typically see female doctors. So this doesn't happen. I don't wanna offend anyone."

"I'm not offended." He glances briefly at my eyes and then back down at my crotch. "It's actually more of a compliment than offensive, to be honest."

I look down at how close his beautiful lips are to my dick. For a brief moment I wonder if he might do the bold and unexpected thing and grab my erection and pop it in his mouth like a lollipop. And give me a good, thorough clinical exam.

But instead, he rolls his chair back and starts pulling the blue gloves off.

"Well, based on the symptoms you're experiencing and my examination, I don't think the lump is cancerous. It's likely a varicose vein, which is benign. But I'm going to refer you to the imaging department to get an ultrasound, just to be sure."

"Ok, yeah, sounds good." I start pulling up my pants, feeling a pang of disappointment and embarrassment.

"You can pick up the referral at check out. And Ian," he looks me in the eyes, "you're totally welcome to see me in the future if you're comfortable. But I respect whatever you decide."

I grab my bag. "Ok, yeah. Thanks," and exit.

Part II: Dr. Washington (the doctor): The autumn skies grew darker and cooler as September bled into a cloudy October. And into a wet November.

I was standing with my dick in one hand and my cell phone in the other. Taking a piss in the patient bathroom because I didn't feel like walking across the clinic to the staff one.

I compulsively scroll to my work email app and check my inbox. 39 emails. Jesus Christ, Marc, put your phone away. You can have three minutes to not think about work.

I put my phone away and continue peeing, searching my pubic hair for signs of any more new gray hairs. And find none. Getting older sucks. But my dick is still looking great. The last few drops of urine sprinkle into the toilet and I shake my penis a few times to finish things up.

Just then, for the first time today, I become aware that I've been feeling pretty irritable. Today has been shitty. And I know why.

I then flashback to the argument I had with my wife last night. Her bitching at me for not being home enough. For not going with her to visit her parents more. For not being a good enough husband. It was one of those nights where I was contemplating sleeping in the guest bedroom and instead chose to sleep next to her wearing a cloak of resentment. Feeling trapped. And hopeless.

I exhale deeply. And wipe my palm down my face in resignation. I forgot to shave this morning, too, I realize. But at least I look kind of handsome with some rugged stubble.

The more I think about it, the more I'm recognizing now that the past couple months have taken quite a toll on me. Long hours, high pressure, poor sleep. The impact of this profession on my personal life has just been feeling much more pronounced recently.

And I haven't had sex in probably six weeks. The shitty thing is not that she's not putting out. It's that I don't want her to put out. Because I haven't really been feeling like fucking her recently. I've just been in my own private sexual world for a while now.

And have been masturbating more frequently, for sure.

I then recall an image of me in bed next to my sleeping wife, picturing my single-mother neighbor sneaking into the house to suck my dick in the sun room. Trying to quiet down my heavy breathing while delicately massaging my dick.

And then I see myself last week in the shower, turning my phone on mute and watching porn. Masturbating with shampoo while wiping mist from the screen with my free hand. Listening to the rhythmic slather of my soapy hands stroking my penis, balls, and taint.

My porn tastes and fantasies have taken a bit of a turn, too. What used to be girls just masturbating on camera or sucking some dude's dick has become orgy porn. Drunk girls. Girls peeing. Incest. Nothing super crazy or anything, but a shift nonetheless.

And ever since my best friend, Mitch, said that he and his wife were thinking about getting into swinging, I've been entertaining some thoughts about having a threesome with them. Fucking his wife next to him. Showing off my big cock to my best friend.

And while I have no interest or desire to put a dick in my mouth, I wonder if maybe I'd let Mitch suck me off if he offered. I'm not going to plant seeds for that, but I'd probably allow it. In fact, that could be kind of hot.

Water rushes out from the faucet. I wash my hands and look into the mirror, trying to make sense of my disheveled hair. I still love my wife, but damn, marriage is harder than I thought. Monogamy is harder than I thought. She doesn't know how easy it would be for me to misbehave, I ponder, as I exit the bathroom into the clinic hallway. How close I am every day to crossing a line.

I'm a good looking guy, for chrissakes. I may be aging, but I still have got that nice dick and ass that took me on some wild adventures in my younger years. It's normal to want and need some fucking validation every now and then.

I grab the clipboard outside the exam room without looking at it, feeling my heart beat fast in frustration. I step into the clinic room and close the door.

Sitting in front of me is a lean-bodied guy with long, dark hair. Maybe in his late 20's or early 30's. Wearing a black hoodie and light jeans.

I recognize this guy. He seems shy.

Oh shit, it's that dude who had a hard-on during that one visit a couple months back.

"Hey, Dr. Washington. Not sure if you remember me or not," he says as he slips his hands into his kangaroo-like front pocket.

"Yeah, I remember," I say with a little bit of moodiness. Come on, Marc, don't take your marital problems out on patients.

I take a seat and glance at the clipboard to find the patient's name.

"Ian. Yes, I remember you. Did you get that ultrasound?" I ask with a little more kindness.

"Oh, yeah, it was a, uh, varicose vein, like you said. So, yeah, thanks for helping me figure that out."

I take a deep breath in and out. Just trying to get back in the zone of providing good, clinical care to patients. And shoving aside any thoughts about my complicated personal life. My struggling marriage. My increased libido.

"No problem. So, what brings you in today?"

"I feel like there's some, like, extra fluid in my balls, because I recently noticed it looking fuller in a little region. I looked online and think it's a hydrocele. I just wanna get it checked out just to be sure".

This guy wants me to check out his balls again. And get hard. I suddenly think about fucking my best friend's wife again. With Mitch glancing down at my dick. Watching it slide in and out of his wife's pussy.

Snap out of it, Marc.

I mentally anchor myself back into the present by noticing the smoking cessation poster on the wall and the white noise machine just below it. You are at work. Focus.

"I know it's weird that I'm having another crotch issue. It sounds like I'm making it up, but I'm not."

I notice that Ian then adjusts his crotch a little bit with his hands inside his hoodie pouch.

"When did you notice this extra fluid?" I inquire.

"Like, a couple weeks ago." Ian twists his hips and legs just a little bit in that way men do to shift their penis. Like I don't notice.

This guy is already getting erect. I've barely said anything or done anything and I'm already turning him on. This gay guy would probably suck my dick if I flopped it out right now. Especially if he saw how nice it looked. He's probably imagining me examining his balls and being close to his hard-on again. Thinking about my hands touching his genitals.

Today has been a rough day. I'm feeling trapped in my marriage. And horny. And in this lapse of good judgment, I vomit out an unwise question.

"Are you erect right now, Ian?"

He glances at the ground. And shuffles his feet. I immediately regret asking.

"Um, yeah. Sorry. I'm trying to not be, though. Trust me. I'm just... used to being naked around a guy when we're being sexual, ya know. So I'm just... a little out of my element, I guess. Sorry." He grabs his jacket. "I can just reschedule with a woman, it's no big deal."

"No, no, no. It's fine," I interject.

He pauses and leans back against his chair in slow motion.

"I'm not judging you, Ian. I was just wondering."

He nods his head, avoiding eye contact.

I lower my voice and roll a little closer to him.

"It's super weird to have to, you know, show your genitals to a stranger," I say.

He briefly glances at my eyes and nods his head again.

I pause for a moment, in an intense mental battle between my good judgment and bad judgment. A last effort to choose logic and make the right decision.

But almost immediately it becomes evident that an impulse has taken over and I am about to make a really risky move.

"To be honest, Ian, you happen to be catchin' me on a day where I'm feeling a little out of my element, as well."

I lower my voice even more, just above a whisper, and look him in the eye.

"I know this is super unorthodox, but would you feel a little bit more comfortable, Ian, if I showed you my genitals first?"

Time seems to freeze for that moment of quiet anticipation. All I hear is the white noise machine humming.

Ian pauses, perhaps unsure if this is a joke, or a test. Or a trap.

"Uhh...," he pauses, probably waiting for a chuckle or something.

But I just keep looking into his eyes, showing him that I'm serious. Although, I'm scared as hell that maybe I've just cost me my career.

"... a little bit more, yeah. If-if you're comfortable wi-with that."

Phew. Game on.

"I mean...," I say, untucking my dress shirt, "I'm making you go through a really vulnerable experience, which is awkward for you, so it would be fair for me to get a little vulnerable myself. Yeah?"

"Maybe so."

Not the emphatic "Yes" I'm looking for, but enough to proceed.

I approach the patient exam table and unbutton my pants.

"Go ahead and sit on my stool," I suggest.

He quickly gets up and I can see he is still erect under his pants.

I lean my butt against the exam table, causing the white paper covering to crunch a bit, and look Ian in the eye as I unzip my pants. And pull them down, revealing my plaid boxers. He's watching me. Then without delay I pull the boxers down.

My soft penis is five inches long, nestled against a thick set of balls in a slightly overgrown bush of hair.

Here I am, man.

He doesn't look like he knows what to do next. But he sure can't stop staring at my crotch. I like that he's looking at my dick.

"I'm soft, though, as you can see."

"That makes sense."

He checks me out head to toe and back to my cock.

"You have a great flaccid dick," he adds. He appears to be in a trance. "I wish mine looked that good. I'm jealous."

That felt good to hear. I like my penis.

"It gets bigger than this," I reply with a smirk. "A lot bigger. I'm older than you are so it just takes a little more to get me growing. Roll up closer and examine it." Make some moves, man.

Ian scrolls his chair closer to the exam table.

"How 'bout you feel my testicles for any lumps?"

He grins, "All right," and reaches out his hand. He softly pinches my right testicle, thumb brushing up against my penis and the twisty hairs that decorate the skin.

He gulps and starts squeezing around gently.

"Does this hurt?"

"Nope."

And moves to the other testicle.

"How about this?"

"Nope."

He removes his fingers from my balls and brushes his fingertips across my pubic hair. And traces the length of my flaccid dick down to the head.

Then he delicately pulls my dick out, peeling it from my moist balls. And drops it, letting it now hang loose and dangle. He taps it with his finger, and watches it swing from left to right to left to right. I smirk to myself.

This guy is playing with my dick like it's a brand new toy. And so it grows a little.

He then grabs my hairy butt cheeks, leans in, and takes a close and deep inhale of my genitals. My dick begins to grow outward a little more as his hands squeeze on my ass.