Fortunately, Lisa’s and my tonsillectomy operations both went smoothly. By late Sunday afternoon, after a day and a half of monitoring (including a particularly embarrassing session with my “special” thermometer in front of Lisa’s mom and sister), we were allowed to head home. I got one final humiliation at checkout, when Vanessa, who was on duty again at reception, read aloud to Mom the instructions for my follow up care; she smiled and blushed slightly when she got to the part about rectal temperatures twice a day for three days to confirm the absence of infection.

As the week rolled on, I was feeling progressively better, especially since Liz had started her live-in summer camp counsellor job so wasn’t around to smirk as Mom took my temperature in the evenings and mornings. In fact, having the house all to myself during the day made it feel almost like a vacation. On Wednesday morning at breakfast, however, I started to feel a mild chill. It wasn’t a big deal, but something didn’t feel quite right. After my morning temperature, Mom confirmed that I did indeed have a mild fever. That’s when she released a bombshell.

“Oh, Honey, I forgot to mention… Doctor Walker’s office phoned yesterday to schedule a check-up, to make sure everything is healing properly. I confirmed it for this morning at 10:00. Since your sister and Katie are both gone, I asked Julie Porter to drive you there. She’ll pick you up at 9:30.” With that, she gave me a kiss on my forehead and headed out to work.

I wasn’t sure what think of this development. On one hand, I was slightly ashamed, even a bit resentful, that my mother still thought I needed to be accompanied to the doctor’s office. At 18, I was struggling to assert myself as an adult, especially after the embarrassing stay in the hospital’s pediatrics ward, and this seemed like an additional affront. On the other hand, ever since Mom had given her best friend from church, who was just a few months into her first pregnancy, a “tutorial” on rectal temperature-taking the week before with me as guinea pig, I found lurid thoughts of Mrs. Porter creeping regularly into my brain. Her casual “joke” at the time about not having to take my temperature on my back or across her lap had somehow set my hormones into overdrive, and the thought of having an older woman (even if she was only in her 30s!), especially a married one, take me to see the doctor seemed oddly titillating. I finished my breakfast with a strange mix of apprehension and excitement

.

Mrs. Porter arrived just before 9:30 to pick me up. The heat wave across the Bay Area was still in full swing, with the temperature already approaching 90 degrees, and she was dressed accordingly in a casual, loose-fitting sun dress that somehow seemed to accentuate her wide hips, slightly enlarged (but still small) breasts and the modest baby bump of her abdomen. The thin strap of a white, lacy bra was visible through the fabric in the back of the dress. And in front, it was fairly low-cut, so when she leaned forward, I caught a glimpse of the almost transparent bra cups that did little to hide her milky breasts. Dangling between them was a small gold cross, which somehow imparted an impression of chasteness. Overall, she was quite a sight.

“Hi Luke! How are you feeling?” she asked brightly as I stared dumbfoundedly.

“Oh, um, much better, thanks.” I was trying to stay as cool as possible, though my expression probably gave away my wild emotions. “I really appreciate you taking time to give me a ride.”

“No problem, I’m glad to help out. With Dave out on a business trip again all this week, I’m happy to have some company. Besides, I owe you one!”

Her reference to “owing” me for having let her perform an intimate medical procedure on me was a bit misplaced, since Mom hadn’t really given me any choice in the matter. But I still appreciated her acknowledgement.

The ride across town to Village Pediatrics took about 20 minutes, during which we chatted casually about a variety of subjects, and I was reminded of Mrs. Porter’s disarming charm. She seemed particularly interested in my planned departure for university at the end of summer and asked a lot of questions about my economics major and the first-year coursework it would entail. Indeed, it was nice to be treated like an adult by another adult. Once we arrived, she took a seat in the busy waiting room and let me check myself in at the reception window, a refreshing change from my other recent visits to the office. To top it off, my (admittedly somewhat nuanced) apprehension about having to face the condescending treatment of my former classmate Debra was immediately eliminated when I learned from the receptionist that she was off that day. I took a seat next to Mrs. Porter, somewhat relieved at the turn of events. It was still embarrassing to be the oldest patient in the room, especially accompanied by a young mother-to-be, but at least I felt like I had some control.

After a few minutes, the door leading back to the exam area opened and a nurse in her mid-forties came out and called me. She was dressed in scrubs with a cartoon top, and a stethoscope dangled from around her neck, bouncing lightly off her breasts as she walked. I immediately recognised her from my past appointments. Her name was Janet, and she had been working at Village Peds at least since before I was a teen. She had handled my “preliminaries” many times throughout my middle- and high-school years. As she greeted me and introduced herself to Mrs. Porter, my heart began to pound, and my mind wandered back in time….

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The last time I had seen Janet was two years earlier, when I was 16 and had a sinus infection. It was the same day when my sister Liz had barged into my bedroom before school while Mom was taking my temperature, supposedly looking for a lost homework paper, but I suspect in reality to catch sight of the thermometer protruding from my backside. Rather than shoo her out, Mom had let her rummage around my desk, giving her plenty of time to ogle me as I lay face down on my bed. I had never felt so embarrassed in my life. But things got worse later in the day.

Mom arranged an afternoon appointment for me at Village Pediactrics. Since Liz had to go to soccer practice in the same part of town, Mom picked her up at school on our way and let her tag along with us to the doctor’s office. Alas, to my chagrin, tagging along also included accompanying Mom and me into the exam room. Janet was the attending nurse that day, and once she learned that Mom had taken my temperature rectally that morning, it wasn’t long before I found myself naked and face down on the exam table like a little boy, with a thermometer in my bottom, while my twin sister got to watch. Liz was smirking the whole time. The situation was all the more degrading since I knew that Liz herself had already “graduated” from Village Pediatrics at that point and was seeing an adult “women’s health” doctor.

Despite all the humiliation of that day, I had found the two events to be somehow titillating, and the memory of them had continued to permeate my brain, often popping to the forefront when I started to daydream…

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It was Mrs. Porter’s voice that woke me from my reverie.

“I guess I should wait here?” she asked, looking hesitantly between me and Janet.

Before I could respond in the affirmative, Janet intervened.

“I’m sorry,” she began, “but our policy requires that an adult be present for every exam. Mrs. Williams confirmed by phone that you would be bringing Luke in today, so would you mind attending?”

I have to admit that, after everything that had transpired that morning, I was a bit taken aback by this development. Of course, I was used to the humiliating ritual of Mom staying with me while I was examined, usually with little or no clothing on. But the chaperone policy had completely slipped my mind. Did Mom realise when she made the appointment that her friend from church would be asked to attend my exam? Before I could collect my thoughts, Mrs. Porter agreed to the request with a breezy “Sure, I’ll be glad to!”

“Great, let’s go back and get started then!”

And with that, events were set irretrievably in motion.

As Janet led us down the hall, I couldn’t help but notice for the first time that there was a door on the right labelled “Teens Corner”. The door was open, and the room behind it contained an adult-looking exam table with one end propped up into a seating position. How long had that room been there? It didn’t look new, but I had no memory of seeing it before. It was obviously designed for the practice’s older patients, and I wondered vaguely why I had never been assigned to it. It was obviously not in use that morning, but Janet nonetheless led us past it and into one of the more traditional exam rooms with cartoon characters on the walls and, in the middle, the familiar cabinet-style exam table designed for children, with its long, flat top and thin blue cushion covered in white paper.

On the work counter was the familiar array of instruments and accessories, including what looked like a syringe and vials for blood; that made me shudder slightly. And, of course, I couldn’t help but notice the two jars of glass thermometers, one labelled “O” and the other one “R”, which caused a faint sense of dread. The usual smell of alcohol permeated the room and filled my nose as we entered. Janet directed Mrs. Porter and me to sit in the two “parents” chairs as she got started.

“So, Luke,” Janet began as she flipped through my chart, stiffening ever so slightly when she saw something on the bottom of the first page. “It looks like we need to do a follow-up for your tonsillectomy and make sure there’s no infection or other complication. Doctor Walker got called out to the hospital, so Jill will conduct your exam again today. I’ll be handling the preliminaries, including getting your vital signs and a blood sample for lab work. How have you been feeling? Any issues since the operation?”

Keen to make the visit as routine as possible and hoping that Jill would end up just looking quickly at my throat when she came in then send me on my way, I didn’t want to mention the slight fever that Mom had detected that morning, so just shook my head.

“Great! Let’s get started then!”

I felt everything was on track when Janet threw me for a loop.

“I need you to strip down to your undies and hop up onto the table for me.”

Her change of tone, including the use of a childish word for my underwear, was subtle but unmistakable.

“Ummm…” I looked gingerly from one woman to the other, trying to decide how best to react. Mrs Porter had sat up a bit straighter upon hearing Janet’s instruction, and I thought I detected a subtle hint of pink in her cheeks. But she didn’t otherwise react.

“Is that really necessary, Janet?” I pleaded rather pathetically. “Don’t you just need to look at my throat?”

“I’m sorry, Luke, but after an operation like a tonsillectomy, especially in light of your recent medical history, we need to be sure there is no residual infection.” Her tone was friendly but firm, leaving no room for negotiation. She then added rather ominously, “And anyway, I need to get your vitals,” as if that were somehow connected to my undressing.

Bowing to the inevitable, I rose from my chair and began to undress, while Janet turned to make some notations in my chart. I started with my shoes and socks, pushing them under the chair where I had been seated. I then pulled off my t-shirt, exposing my torso to the cool air of the exam room. Mrs. Porter kept a straight face as she watched my clumsy actions, though she seemed intently focused. Finally, I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants ant let them fall to the ground, leaving me clad in just my white briefs. Once again, I half regretted not having thought in advance to wear boxer shorts. As I climbed up onto the exam table, I felt like a little boy again, though I wasn’t 100% sure whether that was a negative sensation. Indeed, having Mrs. Porter there to watch my exam was somehow oddly exciting.

Janet slipped an oximeter on my finger and proceeded to take my pulse and blood pressure. Thankfully, she didn’t press my hand against her breast the way Debra had done several times, but the memory of my earlier visits still caused a faint stirring in my loins. I tried to think of something, anything, to distract from that, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Mrs. Porter was discreetly eyeing the new bulge in my briefs.

Janet turned back to the counter, and my heart began to pound, anticipating what was surely to come next. My emotions were decidedly mixed. On one hand, I was slightly terrified at the idea of having to again try to manage a sharp, alcohol-tasting thermometer under my tongue. At the same time, the idea of being treated like a child and having to submit to a rectal temperature in front of Mrs. Porter, especially after our grown-up conversation in the car, was just as unsettling. To my surprise, however, instead of retrieving a thermometer, Janet started to prepare the material for the blood draw. I breathed a sigh of relief. But then, even though I had never been particularly afraid of shots, for some reason the sight of such a long needle elicited an inexplicable surge of anxiety, and I felt the colour drain from my face.

“I need to get a blood sample now,” Janet said turning back to me. She must have noticed the change in my complexion, since she immediately added, “Oh, you’d better lie down for this. Don’t worry, I’ve taken lots of blood before. I promise, you’ll hardly feel it!”

I quickly complied, feeling and hearing the paper crinkle under me as I reclined. I was definitely more comfortable in a prone position. On the other hand, I became acutely aware that I was suddenly much more exposed, lying there in just my underwear on top of the exam table. The bulge in my briefs was now on full view to Mrs. Porter, who got up and walked to the opposite side of the table as Janet finished preparing the equipment. Janet disinfected my left arm with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, wrapped a tourniquet just above the elbow and prepared to insert the needle. At that point, to my great surprise, Mrs. Porter took hold of my right hand and squeezed it, as if to comfort me. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture which immediately diverted my attention from the needle to Mrs. Porter – especially the outline of her breasts under her sun dress, just inches from my face. Before I knew it, Janet had filled the vials, removed the needle and placed a Scooby-Doo band-aid on my arm.

That’s when she dropped another whammy.

“OK, Luke, before we finish, I just need to take your temperature. Go ahead and remove your undies for me and roll over onto your tummy.”

The news hit me like a freight train, and I felt the colour rush back suddenly to my face. Honestly, I’m not sure if my reaction in that moment was due to my resentment of being so clearly treated like a child, or else some sort of bizarre, deep-seated delight that Mrs. Porter would be able to watch the procedure. In reality, it was probably a combination of the two. Whatever the reason, the result was an immediate increase of my erection. Mrs. Porter appeared to notice that, because she also turned a shade of red as she continued to hold my hand. For the first time, I saw her nipples pressing discreetly through the fabric of her bra and dress.

In a half-hearted attempt to save some face, I protested that I could have my temperature taken in my mouth. Janet’s reaction was friendly but firm.

“I’m sorry Luke. Normally, at your age I would indeed prefer to get an oral reading. Unfortunately, I saw in your chart that you still get rectal temps at home and that you weren’t able to keep the thermometer under your tongue when you were in last week. It’s important that we get an accurate temperature, to confirm whether or not there is any residual infection. So, I’m afraid I have no choice but to take it in your rectum.”

Then, as if to reassure me, she added, “Lots of boys need to have their temperatures taken with a baby thermometer, so there’s no need to be ashamed.”

With that pronouncement, including her continued use of childish language and the inference that I was being treated differently from other teens, I knew my fate was sealed, and my heart started to race. Mrs. Porter gave a barely noticeable smile, as if she knew some kind of secret.

I watched with a combination of apprehension and titillation as Janet retrieved a stubby-tipped thermometer from the “R” jar and shook it down several times. She held it up to confirm the level of mercury. Once satisfied it was low enough, she applied a thick gob of Vaseline to the tip then turned back to face me. I wasn’t sure, but I could have sworn there was a little smirk on her face as she waited for me to comply with her instructions.

Mrs. Porter finally (maybe reluctantly?) released my hand. She then surprised me by taking hold of the waistband of my briefs and gently pulling them down, then off altogether, exposing my entire body to the two women’s gazes. It seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, before I finally realised what had happened and quickly turned over onto my stomach. I had to adjust my hips to accommodate my now rather hard penis underneath the weight of my body. Janet used her thumb and forefinger to spread my buttocks apart and deftly inserted the lubricated thermometer into my rectum as Mrs. Porter watched with her hands lain gently on my back and thigh. I shuddered as the cold glass was pushed deep inside me. Janet then cupped my bottom, holding the thermometer between her fingers.

I have to admit that there was something strangely comforting about the situation. It was humiliating, to be sure: I was stark naked on a children’s exam table, propped up on my elbows like a toddler, with two mature women, a nurse and Mom’s best friend from church, on either side of me. On the other hand, the thermometer felt strangely soothing deep in my rectum. And the idea that Mrs. Porter could see me in that position was weirdly titillating. I couldn’t reconcile the conflicting emotions so just tried to relax.

Mrs. Porter broke the short silence by starting up a conversation with Janet.

“So, how do you decide between oral and rectal temperatures for your patients?” she asked, apparently keen to continue the childcare tutorial she had started with Mom the previous week.

“It really depends on the patient,” Janet responded. “First, we ask the mother how she takes it at home and try to be consistent. In general, girls are usually mature enough to hold a thermometer under their tongue by about 6 or 7. For boys, it takes a bit longer, since they often have more trouble sitting still. By the time they’re teenagers, most kids prefer oral temps, since they’re less invasive, so that’s our standard procedure on adolescents. But rectal readings are still more accurate, so we use them when the patient either can’t cooperate or for some reason doesn’t like the oral route. As long as he doesn’t mind having the thermometer inserted into his bottom, it’s always a good option.”

Hearing those words, I felt a renewed sense of shame at the fact that I secretly didn’t mind having the “baby” thermometer used on me, and my face must have turned another shade of red. The two women continued to speak as if I wasn’t even there, discussing the best type of lubricant and how far to insert the thermometer before moving on to more general baby care topics.

After what seemed like an eternity, Janet finally removed the thermometer from my rectum, wiped it with a tissue and held it up to read it.

“Hmmm, you’re running a bit of a temperature, young man; Jill will want to look into that,” she announced ominously as she placed the thermometer in the “sterilizer” tray and made a few more notations in my chart.

After Janet left the room, I got back into a seated position, trying not to rip the crinkly paper underneath me and acutely aware of my nudity in front of Mts. Porter, whose nipples remained visibly erect under the fabric of her dress. Despite all my efforts, the forms of her slightly swollen breasts continued to draw my attention. Fortunately, Jill arrived right away, so I was spared the need to make casual conversation.

After noting my slightly raised temperature, Jill proceeded to check my throat (which fortunately was healing well) and do a thorough auscultation of my heart and lungs. She then had me lie back down and proceeded to palpate my abdomen and check my lymph nodes. Mrs. Porter watched the whole exam with interest, and her eyes bulged slightly as she observed Jill manipulate my testicles, which elicited another involuntary erection on my part. Jill didn’t seem too concerned about my fever, though she did prescribe more antibiotics. The exam thus ended with Janet coming back with a kidney-shaped tray and giving me a rather painful shot in my right buttock.

Finally, I was allowed to get dressed, bringing an end to my humiliation, even though, if I were to be totally honest, deep down I really didn’t mind Mrs. Porter seeing me have my temperature taken and get examined naked. To wrap things up, Janet suggested that I monitor my temperature every 4 hours, and to call if it spiked.

After checking out, we headed to the car without talking. It was Mrs. Porter who finally broke the silence.

“You were a very good patient,” she said in a sweet, almost playful tone. After I mumbled something unintelligible in response, she added, “You’re lucky that your mom still takes you to the pediatrician. They certainly know how to take good care of you!”

Did I imagine it, or did her face turn the slightest shade of pink as she said that? I couldn’t tell for sure but didn’t want to stare too obviously at her to confirm it. Before I could respond, she noted that, in light of my fever, I probably shouldn’t spend the afternoon alone and invited me to come over to her house; she could call Mom at work to tell her to pick me up on her way home. I gratefully accepted the invitation and spent the rest of the ride in a strange state of anticipation.