The Good DoctorbyBane©
'Kidney stone,' he thought. 'Why did it have to be another kidney stone?' He'd passed at least two dozen stones over the last fifteen years, most of them small enough to pass quietly at home or at work. Of course, the first "big" one had put him in the hospital, and then there was the one three years later they had to call the ambulance for. A few years later and he had to go to a doctor again, this time for surgery, so-called basket retrieval. Etc,
And now this. He'd felt the pain, like a needle in his left kidney, the dribbly urine flow (that wasn't embarrassing at all, he thought, the little wet spots on his pants every time after he urinated), and he had known right away what it was. How serious it was. When it started to interfere with his flow, he knew he'd have to go back to the doctor yet again.
He made the appointment.
Making the call, he remembered Dr. Tomah, a nice middle aged man who'd gone to school on the east coast and had a folksy manner and ready ear. Dr. Tomah was the best of the urologist's he'd seen.
"Sir, I can't schedule you an appointment with Dr. Tomah, he's on vacation through the end of the month. Would you like to see Dr. Barnes?"
Miffed, he nodded to himself and said into the phone, "Dr. Barnes will be fine."
How bad could it be?
Dr. Barnes grabbed the chart from the door and looked it over. Patient was a white male, 37 years old, 5-8, 162 pounds, history of ureterolithiasis. Check the lab, hematuria; problems, weak urine stream.
'This guys got a kidney stone,' the doctor thought, knocking on the door and opening it at the same time.
Seated in a corner chair, the patient looked up from his magazine.
"I'm Dr. Barnes," the young woman said, extending one hand while clasping the chart to her chest with the other.
"Hi, I'm Bob." As he shook her hand, it was easy to maintain eye contact with the light brown eyes staring into his own. Peripherally he noted that she was short and slim, mid 20s—probably not long out of residency or whatever training they went through—and put together reasonably well.
In another corner of his mind he thought, 'I'd fuck her,' even though he preferred his women a bit softer (which is to say, heavier), and he'd certainly let her suck his dick. He made these observations subconsciously, of course, a series of calculations his brain made wholly on its own in a process he was barely aware of. Thousands of evolutionary years had refined this ability, so that it took less than five seconds. Most of the time, he did it in just two or three. Every man did, he was sure.
Every man probably noticed the way she smelled, too, nice and not at all overpowering.
"Well, sounds like you might have a kidney stone."
"Yep, I pass one or two a year, usually no problem."
"Do you screen your urine?"
"I have a screen, don't use it usually, just make sure the toilet is clean and watch for the stone if I think I'm going to pass one. I have a few in a specimen container, one about this big," he added, making a gesture with his finger indicating a stone about one centimeter in diameter.
"Wow, that big? More than one?"
"Just one, but a couple more almost as big."
"Did you see a doctor for those?"
He watched as she made notes on the chart, glancing up at him and smiling reassuringly now and then to let him know she was listening. An easy smile made her less intimidating than doctors sometimes were. He relaxed.
"Well, a couple thoughts. One, blood in the urine is an indicator. Two, I'd like to do a thorough physical exam, check for any kind of damage or injury. Three, we'll need an x-ray to confirm size and location of a potential stone. If you have a stone, depending on where it is, we'll need to get in there and get it out soon, probably today."
"So, up first, the exam. This is important not just because of the issue you are having today, but because of the size of the stone you passed on your own. A centimeter stone is big, and I want to make sure you don't have any lingering issues. We're going to need you in a gown," she added, gesturing to the lime green fabric folded neatly on the counter. "I'll step out while you change."
Before she closed the door she added, "And no underwear, please."
He quickly changed.
Quick knock on the door, short pause, and Dr. Barnes walked back in, pulling the door to. Without looking up from the chart she walked over to the stool and spread her legs, stepping forward and straddling it before taking a seat.
"Alright, how about sitting down on the edge there," she said, gesturing to the raised exam table. She continued looking at the chart, making more notes.
Bob noted that she wasn't looking at him but instead continued checking his chart, giving him a moment to get situated. 'She's just being polite,' he thought to himself. He immediately liked her more for the consideration.
"Ah, done I see," she said, placing the chart on a counter before sliding over towards him on the stool.
He'd put the gown on backwards, so that it opened to the front. Assuming a position between his knees, Dr. Barnes pulled the gown away to each side.
If he hadn't been watching her face he wouldn't have seen it. Her eyes, having found his dangling member, blinked twice, very quickly. She almost looked up at him.
Instead, she kept her gaze on the sizable penis, hanging limp for the moment. It was somewhat longer than usual, perfectly round along the full length. It resembled nothing so much as a hefty, perfectly symmetrical tube, with a darkly colored tip. The near lack of pubic hair captured her attention as well. She didn't say anything for a moment. It was almost as if she had been distracted.
To be honest, she had been distracted.
"My concern," she began, regaining her composure, "is that passing stones in the centimeter size could cause injury or damage, so I'm going to do an extensive manual exam of the urological structures, to check and make sure everything is good to go. If you feel any pain or discomfort at all, just let me know, alright?"
He nodded, pointedly looking straight ahead, at the clock on the far wall.
He heard the snap of latex as she donned gloves and then felt one hand on his thigh as the other, after gently pushing his flaccid penis aside, cupped his testicles.
She moved the hand from his thigh and, having cradled his testicles in one hand, began examining them with the other. She traced their shape, the architecture of what should be inside his scrotum, deftly moving her fingers along his plumbing, as he thought of it.
Still looking straight ahead he realized how small this room really was. He looked down at the top her head, soft brown hair, at the expert hands about their exploratory business and, for the first time ever in a doctor's office, felt his breath heavy as the blood flow in his lower body began to change.
His penis puffed up and began to stiffen, where it hung beside her hands. At the same time she was running the length of his scrotum between her fingers, checking for something or other.
She didn't seem to notice the rudeness of his rising erection and didn't say anything, not even when the penis forced itself past her fingers as it began to assume a more centrally located, upright position.
A minute or so later and she was done, and so was he. Fully erect, one long vein prominent on top of his shaft, his thickened penis stood nearly straight up, wavering slightly with each heartbeat. It stood proudly, as if it hadn't a care in the world.
Bob wasn't sure when he'd last been this hard. He hadn't had an ejaculation for the last two weeks, paranoid as he was about where the stone might be. That might have had something to do with it.
Mortified, he watched as Dr. Barnes rolled her stool back and stood up.
"Prostate," she mumbled, making a turning gesture with a gloved forefinger. A quick glance at the clock told him it was the only word either of them had spoken in the last five minutes.
Bob stood and turned, bent over and rested his upper body on the exam table. He spread his legs, sliding the feet just past shoulder-width apart, and tried to think calm, relaxing thoughts. He arched his back away so that the head of his raging penis just brushed against the exam table.
He wondered how long it would take for this jutting hard-on to fade away.
When her hand touched his shoulder a surge went through his body, causing him to shiver. He felt a wave of heat pass through him. Light touch around his puckered anus, quick thrust, and she was digitally examining his prostate.
He anchored himself with his arms on the exam table, sure his knees would buckle and he would fall at any moment.
He'd never had any interest in a prostate exam; it was a mechanical thing the doctor did, and it never lasted more than a few seconds or so, and he'd never wanted it repeated. In the past, large, uncomfortable fingers, the overbearing sense that he was about to shit himself, and paranoia about the doctor withdrawing a fecal-stained finger had all conspired to cause him the most egregious trauma any time this particular episode had been required.
Dr. Barnes, however, had long, slender fingers. He felt her finger snugly in his sphincter, knew it was there, but didn't find it terribly uncomfortable. In fact each time she brushed his prostate—that's what it had to be, he decided, the buzzing sensation he intermittently felt, timed as it was with the flutter of her fingertip—he felt another surge threaten to overcome his body, his prominent erection pulsing in time with her flickering finger.
She took a firmer grip on his shoulder and pushed a bit more. Flick, flick, pause, flick, and then something like a delicate internal caress and Bob thought, 'if I'm not careful, I might just shoot all over this exam table.'
The invading finger withdrew and, two snaps later, the gloves were off.
"Table," she mumbled again, and he obeyed.
He wasn't sure how long she'd been manipulating his prostate, but it had seemed like forever. In fact, it was about a minute.
Seated, hands on his thighs, he watched as Dr. Barnes put on another pair of gloves, resumed her seat on the stool, and slid forward. She put her hands on his knees and parted them, making room so that she could slide all the way to the edge of the exam table.
Bob looked up and away at the same time he saw her look up. It wouldn't do for her to see him staring down, not with the boner he was sporting at the moment.
'Cock's out of control,' he thought. He had never been more aware of anything in his life than her breath on the head of his penis. He felt the doctor's delicate fingers as each thumb and forefinger grasped the sides of his shaft, one set to each side.
Starting at the base she squeezed softly, rotating her fingers in a tiny circle, before sliding up a centimeter and then squeezing again. She paused a second, wiped her brow with a forearm, before positioning her fingers to do it again.
Squeeze. Little circle. Slide. Pause. Squeeze. Little circle. Slide. Pause.
Almost-but-not-quite-involuntarily Bob pushed down and flexed, and his cock abruptly jumped from its hold between her fingers. He looked down and watched as she quickly re-asserted control of his manhood, taking it decisively between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, again at the base.
She began the exercise again, the repetitive squeeze-circle-slide-pause routine, determined to finish this time. She held it more firmly between her fingers and, as a consequence, squeezed it more tightly as well.
Bob flexed again, this time consciously, but she held on. He watched her eyes narrow slightly, as if in immense concentration. It was rhythmic the way she squeezed and circled and paused. In fact, if Bob didn't know any better, he'd almost say she was masturbating him.
He flexed again as Dr. Barne's fingers made their way up his shaft.
She finally got to the top, just under the dark crimson head. She put one hand around his rigid shaft, held it steadfast as she moved in for a closer look.
Naturally, more than a little pre cum seeped from the tip. She ran a finger along the slit and, finger and thumb lubricated with it, began alternately squeezing the flattened mushroom head in the same fashion that she had employed on the shaft.
Bob flexed again and realized he was panting. A single bead of sweat ran from his forehead, down his cheek, and rolled under his chin.
Another flex. And another.
There was no disguising it now, Bob was actively flexing his cock between her fingers, pressing down, concentrating, and willing whatever might happen actually to happen.
She sat and stared a full minute, holding his throbbing, flexing shaft in one hand, having removed the other from the head of his cock.
Bob watched her chest inflate, the bare hint of cleavage, as she took in a deep breath, held it a moment and then exhaled.
And then, the next time he flexed, she squeezed his cock with her hand. She moved the hand up almost imperceptibly before moving it down to the base and then squeezing it again, in time with his next flex.
'Oh my fucking God,' Bob thought, 'she's masturbating me.'
On the next stroke she moved her hand up to his glans and paused, gave a firm squeeze, and moved it slowly back down along his shaft to the base. One more pump, flex and squeeze midshaft, and his balls clenched powerfully as the jets of cum were pumped on their way.
She felt it, too. She stopped and held fast, holding but not impeding the flow as one quick blast shot forcefully out of his cock. She tilted it slightly, so that it was aimed at his stomach. Another shot landed there, and another.
More semen drizzled out and ran down over her hand, wrapped as it was around the still rampantly flexing cock. He grunted and pushed down, and it was if a water hose was just barely on, the way it seemed to flow in a steady stream from his slit.
One final shudder on his part indicated that he was quite done.
Dr. Barnes released him and slid back on her stool. Breathing hard he watched as she stood and stepped over to the garbage can, stepping on the lever to lift the cover before dropping both gloves in. She walked to the sink and washed her hands and forearms carefully. Done, she dried them with a couple of paper towels before turning her back to him and slipping to the door, open and step out, quietly closing it to behind.
Never once did she spare a glance at her patient.
Four hours, two x-rays, and one ureteroscopy by Dr. Barnes later a robin-egg sized kidney stone had been removed. As Bob lay on the hospital bed in recovery the assistant came in with discharge instructions.
"You can go home in another hour or so, as long as you are able to urinate. You're going to pass some particles, more like grit or sand mostly. Screen your urine and save the particles, bring them back to the doctor in two weeks. You'll have some little clots and bleeding, but nothing that shouldn't clear up in a couple of days. I'd take a few days off work if you can. Take this for pain," she said while handing over a prescription, "and refrain from sexual activity for a at least a week. Dr. Barnes wants to see you again in two weeks, just to make sure everything's alright."
"Oh," she said, glancing at his chart, "I see Dr. Tomah is your doctor. He'll be back by then, would you like to see him instead?"
"No," Bob said, and realized his voice was half an octave higher than usual. "No," he repeated, "I think I'd like to see Dr. Barnes, since she... uh..."
He blushed, felt the heat rise in his neck and shoulders, spreading up into his cheeks and moving to his ears. He had the strangest feeling that his whole upper body was coloring like a turnip.
"Operated on you?" the assistant offered.
"Ok, Dr. Barnes will see you in two weeks then," she finished with a polite smile.
"I'll be there," Bob said.
He was flushed for a long time.