Two Thousand and Ten Ch. 05

"Fuck it!" She snarled as she slammed the vibrator down on the bed, and picked up the phone.

"What?" She barked down the line.

"Whoa! Steady on there, girl!" Came Peter's voice at the other end.

"Sorry, I er, you caught me in the middle of something." Lindi replied cagily.

"Nothing important, I hope." Peter answered.

"No, just er, y'know, stuff."

"I just thought I'd let you know how I got on at the doctor's this morning." Peter continued.

"Oh! Right, well, how'd you get on?"

A brief pause followed.

"Peter? Are you still there?"

"Wait a minute, can you hear a buzzing noise?" Peter asked.

Shit! She hadn't turned her vibrator off!

"Er, no!" Lindi replied hastily, fumbling to switch the thing off one-handed, "Must be at your end of the line."

After an abortive attempt, she finally managed to turn it off.

"Maybe - ah! There, it's gone now." Peter said as soon as the buzzing ceased.

"Yes, so anyway, how did you get on at the doctors?" Lindi reiterated, wishing for their conversation to continue.

"Well, not as well as I'd hoped." Peter replied, his voice coming across as a little downhearted.

"How d'you mean?" Lindi enquired, feeling a sudden stab of alarm. Had he been given a horrendous diagnosis of some sort of incurable, terminal malady?

"Well, the doctor wasn't sure what's causing the, y'know, the lesion." Peter explained, "She said if there is no obviously sexually transmitted cause, there must be something else causing it. So it looks like I will have to have a urologist take a look at it."

"Oh. Well, at least she didn't think it was something really nasty." Lindi replied.

"Well, I must admit that, y'know, cancer had crossed my mind." Peter said, the 'C' word obviously bringing a slight shudder to his voice, "But after she had taken a look at it, she at least said that there was no way it appeared to be a tumour of some kind."

"Well, at least that's one thing positive to hold on to." Lindi said, feeling genuine sympathy for his predicament, knowing that there is something wrong, yet not knowing exactly what it is. It was a kind of medical limbo she wouldn't want to find herself in, that was for sure.

"The longer this goes on, the more worried I'm getting about it." Peter said, with a slight tremble to his voice, "If it's not an STI, and it's not cancer, then what the fuck is it?"

"Well, the important thing is to remain calm." Lindi said.

She suddenly realised that, whilst she was talking to Peter, her free hand had wandered down across her belly, and now resided in the gathering moistness between her legs. She gasped a little, as she made an exploratory push with her middle finger inside herself. She was immediately shocked by the heat she felt inside her.

"Well, I am trying to keep calm." Peter said, oblivious to his friend's fingering of herself, "But you can't blame me for being a bit apprehensive."

"So, tell me, what did the doctor do exactly?" Lindi asked him, hoping for him to elaborate on his recent examination.

"Well, she took a look at it, didn't she." Peter explained.

"So you, er, had to take your pants off?"

"Well, obviously."

Picturing him pulling down his trousers and pants, Lindi threw caution to the wind and began masturbating herself in earnest.

"And... did the doctor... pull back your er, fore-oreskinnn?!" Lindi asked, trying her best to conceal her arousal from her voice and failing miserably at being discreet.

"Well, it was the only way she could take a look it it, yes." Peter confirmed, still apparently unaware of what his friend was doing to herself.

Now the thought of the doctor, a woman like herself, pulling back Peter's foreskin and scrutinising his penis in exquisitely close detail, caused Lindi to shudder.

"Unghh-haahh!" Lindi gasped involuntarily.

"Lindi? Are you okay?" Peter asked.

"I'm, hahh, fine!" Lindi said, the mental image in her head bringing her within seconds of an imminent orgasm, "I've er, got to, hahh, go! Er, I have, something about to boil over!"

"Oh, well, I'd er, best let you get on." Peter said, not quite recognising Lindi's double-entendre.

"Yes, er, bye!" Lindi said breathlessly as her hand rubbed around her most sensitive parts. Her vagina was oozing its juices all over her hand, and her clitoris felt like a bullet of concentrated erotic pleasure.

"Bye, Lin. I'll er, see you in the morning, okay?"

"Yes!" She squeaked in reply, just seconds away from exploding into an orgasmic fireball.

"Usual time?"

"Yes!" Lindi squeaked again.

And with that, she put the phone down on the bedside table and finished herself off. It took only a couple of seconds for her orgasm to consume her, and she erupted into a gasping, squealing release of pent up sexual tension, like a taut catapult suddenly being let go and releasing its potential energy, hurling whatever ordnance was in it towards its distant target. She plumbed the very depths of her vagina, almost slipping her entire hand inside her, as she screamed in joyous release. It wasn't how she had intended to bring herself to orgasm, as the unused vibrator laid beside her on the bed, but right at that moment she couldn't care less.

If only she'd remembered to press the 'call cancel' button when she had tossed the phone down on the bedside table.

It was just lucky, or perhaps maybe in the grander scheme of things, it was unlucky, that Peter had already hung up at his end of the line.

Monday, October 18th 2010 - 5:21pm

Peter was becoming a little bored with hanging around in waiting rooms. Today, it was the outpatient department at the Eastbourne Royal Infirmary, where he was scheduled for an appointment with a consultant urologist. He had reported, as he had been instructed to in the letter he had received confirming the appointment, to the outpatient department reception desk. As was fairly typical for a National Health Service establishment, the department seemed to be running behind schedule that day - his appointment had been scheduled for quarter to five, and it was now long past five o'clock and he was still waiting.

At least he had been checked in by one of the nurses there without too much delay. She took down a few details, weighed him, and had provided him with a small plastic bottle so he could give a urine sample. Why he was required to give a urine sample, he had no idea. After all, his problem was with his penis. He had no trouble peeing or anything, and earlier that year his prostate got a clean bill of health. But the nurse simply explained it was just a standard procedure for all urology patients, so he just took the tube from her, produced the sample in a nearby toilet cubicle, and then handed it back to her. Little did he know that little sample of his urine would prove to be pivotal in his eventual diagnosis.

"Peter Swanmore?" A tall man in his early fifties entered the waiting area, and called out to the twenty or so people gathered in the waiting room.

Peter stood as his name was called, and walked over to the door the tall and had appeared from.

"Hi there, I'm Mr. O'Donnell, the consultant urologist, please come in."

Peter detected the unmistakable twang of an Ulster accent in the man's voice. Possibly Belfast, Peter thought to himself, or maybe somewhere in Antrim.

"Um, hi." Peter returned the man's greeting as he stepped into the room.

"So, according to your notes, you have a lesion that has appeared on the head of your penis." O'Donnell began as he sat down at his desk.

"Er, yes." Peter confirmed as he sat down in a chair besides the urologist, "I just sort of, noticed it there when I was in the shower a couple of weeks ago."

"Mmm-hmm? And this lesion hasn't gone anywhere?" O'Donnell enquired, "Has it changed shape, or size, or colour recently?"

"No, it's still there." Peter confirmed, "It may have become a little larger, but I've not been measuring it or anything. As for colour, well, I suppose it's gone from grey to almost white."

"Okay, well, before we get started, can you tell me, are you diabetic at all?" Mr. O'Donnell asked as he took a look at the screen of his computer.

"Diabetic? Er, no, not as far as I can recall." Peter replied, "I think I would've noticed something like that if I was."

"I see." Mr. O'Donnell commented, "It's just that there is a higher than normal concentration of sugar in the urine sample you provided earlier on."

"Is that... serious?" Peter asked.

"Well, not serious as such," the urologist answered, "but it can be a tell-tale sign."

Diabetes? Peter thought to himself.

"Right then, I suppose we'd better take a look at this famous penis of yours." O'Donnell said as he stood from his chair and stepped across to where an examination bed stood in the far corner of the room.

Famous penis? Peter thought, it was a bit of an odd comment, but then, this was a rather odd situation for him anyway. Peter ignored the comment and followed the urologist to the bed. He laid back on the bed, as Mr O'Donnell instructed him, and nervously, he unbuckled his trousers and unzipped his flies. What happened next caught Peter completely off guard.

O'Donnell reached down towards Peter's waist and pulled down his trousers until they rested halfway down towards his knees, forcing Peter to have to momentarily lift his bottom off the bed to enable their transit. The urologist then followed that by taking Peter's underwear down as well. Peter had never had another man pull his pants down before, but he decided not to make an issue of it. What difference did it make anyway? They had to come down one way or another, so did it really matter who pulled them down?

The urologist turned away for a moment to slip on a pair of sterile gloves. As he lay there, with his penis and testicles exposed, he thought again of the word O'Donnell had said - diabetic. Nah! There was no way he could be diabetic; he had seen a poster on a bus stop many years ago during his student days:

Always thirsty? Always tired? Always going to the loo? These are all signs you could be suffering from diabetes. If you notice any of these, don't delay! Go see your doctor today!

Peter had never had any of those symptoms; there simply was no way he could be diabetic!

"Right then, let's see what's what." Mr. O'Donnell said as he turned to face Peter.

He began by briefly palpating Peter's testicles, gently rolling them around in his fingers, checking them for any lumps and bumps.

"Good. Testicles feel nice and healthy. Now then, let's see what we have here." He said as he moved on to Peter's penis.

The urologist examined the skin of Peter's penis, obviously checking for any abnormalities. After several moments of checking his shaft, Mr. O'Donnell eventually moved on to the tip of Peter's penis. He eased back Peter's foreskin, to reveal his glans to the outside world, and for the first time, the urologist caught sight of the grey-white lesion.

"Hmmm." was all Mr. O'Donnell remarked as he saw the discoloured area on the otherwise healthy-looking light pink coloured skin on the head of Peter's penis.

Without saying anything more, the urologist turned to a side table where he tore open a packet containing a sterile paper towel, and picked up a small clear plastic bottle of some kind of spray. Taking hold of the tip of Peter's penis, he sprayed some of the clear liquid onto the exposed glans, right onto the lesion there. It felt cold, making Peter shudder momentarily, and was closely followed by the sensation of the paper towel being dabbed over the area.

All the while, Peter was inwardly begging his penis not to respond to any of the stimulation he was suddenly receiving. However, no amount of pleading with his penis not to begin filling with blood could overcome something that is simply a reflex, with no conscious control over it. He felt the unmistakable feeling of his penis twitching, as the floodgates threatened to open, and with a stab of alarm, he felt the stirrings of an oncoming erection.

Mr. O'Donnell, apparently oblivious to Peter's sudden bout of erectile anxiety, simply continued with his examination of the lesion. He sprayed a little more of the cold, clear substance onto Peter's naked glans, and dabbed it away with a fresh paper towel.

Much to Peter's relief, by the time Mr O'Donnell had finished examining his penis, it was still largely soft, albeit a little larger than when he was normally flaccid. But it would've been only a matter of moments before he became noticeably erect, had the urologist not stopped when he had.

"Okay, you can pop your trousers and pants back on now." The urologist announced as he pulled off his gloves and deposited them in a yellow bin in the corner of the room.

Gladly, Peter sat up and made himself decent. With his trousers and underpants back in place, he followed Mr O'Donnell back to the desk and sat down once more.

"So, Mr. Swanmore, it looks to me like you have a mild case of Balanitis Xerotica Obliterans, or, BXO for short." O'Donnell explained, "Now, it can become quite nasty if left completely untreated, but it looks like what you have should clear up nicely with some steroid cream. What concerns me however, is what is causing it."

"Okay." Peter answered, the urologist's concerned tone of voice setting alarm bells ringing in his head.

"You see, as I mentioned earlier, there was a high concentration of sugars in your urine. That, coupled with the Balanitis, suggests to me that you might be diabetic."

"What?" Peter gasped in reply, "Diabetic? Me? But, I can't be!"

"Diabetes is one of the major causes of Balanitis in men." Mr O'Donnell explained, "I'll admit, it's not the way most men discover they may be diabetic, but it's not entirely unheard of. Balanitis is just something that diabetic men are particularly prone to. It's not sexually transmitted, because it is mainly a condition linked to the endocrine system and to the metabolism, so I should try not to worry about it affecting your sex life, although I would recommend you use a condom at least, until it clears up."

"Will I need to, y'know, inject myself?" Peter asked.

"No, I shouldn't think so." Mr O'Donnell replied, "Insulin injections are normally used to treat patients with Type 1 Diabetes, and I suspect you are much more likely to have Type 2."

"How can you tell?" Peter asked.

"Well, the fact you're sitting here talking with me and not in a diabetic coma is a bit of a sign." Mr. O'Donnell commented, "Type 2 Diabetes is much slower developing than Type 1. You see, your pancreas produces insulin, which helps your body to process excess sugars in your bloodstream. People with Type 1 Diabetes are completely unable to produce any insulin at all, so they need to inject it into themselves in order to maintain a normal blood sugar level. Type 2 patients, I don't like to use the word 'sufferers', do produce insulin, but their bodies are less able to process it properly."

"Oh." Peter replied, clearly sounding downcast.

"Trust me, it's not as bad as it sounds." The urologist said, to try and placate Peter's initial fears, "People with diabetes live perfectly normal lives, and it won't stop you doing any of the things you enjoy doing. Just so long as you keep it under control."

"So, what happens now?" Peter asked, still in a daze following the shock that he might be diabetic.

"Well, we need to confirm it of course." O'Donnell replied, "So I'd like you to have a fasting blood test. You'll be asked to refrain from eating or drinking anything other than water from 6pm onwards until the following morning. You'll then go to your local GP's surgery first thing the following morning, where a sample of blood will be taken, which will then be sent for testing."

"Right." Peter sighed.

"Like I said," Mr. O'Donnell reiterated, "Try not to worry too much about it."

"But I thought that only fat people got diabetes." Peter stated.

"Well, it is associated with obesity, that goes without saying," O'Donnell answered, "but sometimes, people just get unlucky. Do you have any history of it in your family?"

"No, not from what I can tell." Peter replied, "I don't really have much in the way of family - I'm an only child and both my parents were killed when I was six."

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that."

"What if it doesn't clear up? This Bala-whatsit thing?" Peter asked.

"Balanitis," the urologist replied, "it should respond to some steroid cream reasonably quickly."

"But?" Peter responded, sensing there was more to come.

"Well, if it keeps coming back, you may have to consider having a circumcision." O'Donnell replied flatly.

"Uh-uh, no way!" Peter huffed dismissively, "Pardon the pun, but I'm somewhat attached to my foreskin. I hate circumcision - it's utterly barbaric!"

"And I would have to agree with you there." Mr. O'Donnell replied, "At least when it's done just for cosmetic or religious reasons, but in some cases, such as phimosis or persistent penile infections, it is justifiable as a form of treatment. Only ever as a last resort, you understand. So don't worry, nobody is about to suggest you get your foreskin cut off, not for a while yet, anyway."

"Well, that's a relief at least." Peter said.

"So, get yourself down to the nearest pharmacy, get some off the counter steroid cream, and use it at least twice a day. If it doesn't clear up within a week, get an appointment to see your doctor to see if they can prescribe something stronger." O'Donnell instructed, "In the meantime, book an appointment for a fasting blood test. I know diabetes can be a bit of a shock to come to terms with, but the sooner it is diagnosed, the sooner you can be treated and get it brought under control."

"Okay. Well, thank you, doctor." Peter said as the urologist stood to usher Peter back towards the waiting room.

With a business-like shake of hands, Peter left the consulting room and stepped back into the waiting room, reeling from his unexpected diagnosis.

Wednesday, October 14th 2010 - 11:15pm

When Peter had informed her of what his urologist's appointment had uncovered, that he might be diabetic, Lindi had felt a sense of abject sorrow for him. To compensate, she had prepared for him that evening, his favourite meal. Homemade creamy tomato and tarragon soup as a starter, served with a large chunk of crusty bread and fresh butter, followed by grilled gammon steak with chunky deep-fried chips, fresh garden peas and a fried egg on the side, all finished off with a rich chocolate and walnut fudge brownie served with gloriously thick custard. Of course, at the moment she brought out the dessert, he had remarked that perhaps he shouldn't be eating something so clearly packed with sugar if he was diabetic. To which, she quickly replied, that as far as anyone could tell, he wasn't diabetic yet. At least not until he had a final diagnosis. And besides, he should still be allowed to indulge in a treat from time to time, just as long as it didn't become a habit.

Of course, he could not resist it when she had put it like that, and he seemed to savour every last morsel of it.

"Just in case it's the last time I can ever have something like this." He had said glumly, before tucking in and devouring it.

The rest of the evening had passed by in the same usual manner for one of their nights in. They sat on her settee, with a couple of bottles of wine and two large glasses before them on the coffee table, a bowl of potato snacks to share, and a copy of a suitably gory horror movie in the DVD player. But there was one key difference from their usual routine, and it was the manner in which Lindi was at that moment attired.

Usually, she would wear a simple t-shirt and a pair of comfortably loose lounge pants. But tonight, she was wearing a deep burgundy coloured satin nightgown.