Jordan Hayes, a 19-year-old golfer at the University of Alabama, woke up in his dorm with a knot of dread in his stomach. Two nights earlier, after a sorority party, he’d hooked up with a junior named Mia and, caught up in the moment, hadn’t used protection.

Jordan grew up in Birmingham, Alabama in a middle-class family—dad a history teacher and golf coach, mom a nurse. He’d been on the course since he was five, dominated junior tournaments, won state titles, and landed a full ride to play for the Crimson Tide. At 6'1", jacked from the gym and endless range sessions, with ice-blue eyes that made sorority girls do double-takes, he was used to attention. Freshman year had been all early-morning practices, frat parties, and hookups—he’d always been careful. Until Mia.

Now the fear was eating him alive: what if he caught something? It could tank his season, his scholarship, everything. His coaches were counting on him, and the thought of his parents finding out made him sick.

JORDAN DRIVES TO CLINIC

Monday afternoon he drove his beat-up Jeep—hand-me-down from his dad, UA golf sticker still on the back window—to the free student clinic on the edge of campus. He signed in for an STD test, took a seat among the posters about safe sex, and tried not to lose it. When the nurse finally called “Jordan Hayes,” he stood up, polo clinging to his shoulders, heart hammering, praying this would just be a quick fix and he could pretend the whole weekend never happened.

Jordan pulled his Jeep into the half-empty lot of the low brick clinic, the December wind whipping across the windshield. He killed the engine, took a deep breath, and told himself it was no big deal—just a quick test and he’d be out. Grabbing his phone, he locked the door and headed inside, the automatic glass sliding open with a soft whoosh. The waiting room smelled like bleach and old magazines. He signed the clipboard at the front desk, scribbled “full STD panel” under reason for visit, and dropped into a plastic chair, trying to look anywhere but the safe-sex posters staring back at him.

DR. EVERETT ARRIVES

The door opened with a click, and in walked Dr. Everett. He was a handsome, white man in his late 40s, tall and imposing with a stern jawline, short graying hair, and wire-rimmed glasses that perched on a hawkish nose. His white coat was starched crisp over a blue button-up and tie, and he carried a clipboard with a standard male medical exam form clipped to it—the one from the DHS Family PACT, dated April 2008 but still in use. "Mr. Hayes? I'm Dr. Everett," he said, his voice deep and authoritative, like a coach barking orders. He extended a hand, his grip firm and unyielding, holding on just a fraction longer than necessary as his eyes scanned Jordan from head to toe. The doctor thought to himself how this patient was a prime specimen—young, muscular, with those striking blue eyes and an athletic build that promised an intriguing examination.

Dr. Everett was straight, happily married, and had been at the clinic for twenty years, but male patients were rare—most of his days were filled with women’s health visits and birth-control consults. When a fit college guy like this actually walked in, he saw it as a chance to do the kind of complete, old-school physical these athletes almost never got otherwise. He’d start easy, keep them dressed while he asked about the STD concern, then calmly explain that since they were already here and the university required an annual sports physical anyway, they might as well knock out a full head-to-toe exam today. Paper gown off, thorough check from scalp to soles—nothing missed. To him it was just solid medicine, preventive care, and a quiet satisfaction in doing the job right when the opportunity finally showed up.

THE CONSULTATION

"Nice to meet you, Doctor," Jordan replied, forcing a casual tone despite the knot in his stomach. Dr. Everett sat on the rolling stool, positioning himself directly across from Jordan, clipboard in lap. "So, let's get started. You're here for an STD check. Can you tell me more about the circumstances?" Jordan shifted uncomfortably, recounting the story in broad strokes: met a girl at a party, things got heated, unprotected sex two days ago, no symptoms but worried about possible exposure. He kept it vague, no names or specifics, his face flushing slightly as he spoke. As Jordan talked, Dr. Everett's gaze lingered on the young man's physique—the way the polo stretched taut over his firm pectorals, outlining the sculpted chest beneath; the defined biceps and forearms bulging slightly from years of perfecting golf swings; the powerful, muscular legs visible below his khaki shorts, thighs toned and calves defined from endless practice rounds. Jordan noticed the doctor's eyes tracing his body, pausing here and there, and he thought it felt odd, like he was being sized up more than just medically, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat as a flush crept up his neck. The doctor thought how he'd seen many patients, but this one stirred a particular interest; he could already envision peeling back the layers, touching every contour under the guise of medical necessity. After all, as a seasoned physician committed to thorough care, it was his duty to ensure no underlying issues were missed in young athletes like this—potential hernias from sports strain, subtle skin conditions from sweat and friction, or even early signs of systemic problems that a cursory lab test might overlook. Expanding to a full exam wasn't just prudent; it was ethically imperative to protect the patient's long-term health, allowing him the professional satisfaction of a job well done while indulging his appreciation for the human form in a strictly clinical context. He decided then and there to expand beyond a simple lab test. This warranted a comprehensive evaluation.

MEDICAL HISTORY

Dr. Everett nodded, his pen scratching across the form under the "Subjective" header. Chief Complaint/Purpose of visit: Recent unprotected vaginal intercourse with female partner, concern for STD acquisition. But before diving deeper, he set the clipboard aside and stood up, gesturing toward a door at the back of the exam room that led to his private office. "Since this is your first visit here at the family planning clinic, Jordan, let's step into my office for the medical history. I like to get to know my patients a bit better in a more comfortable setting before we proceed." Jordan followed, puzzled but compliant, his pulse quickening slightly as he thought it was just paperwork, though an uneasy feeling stirred in his gut about why the doctor wanted a private chat. The doctor thought to himself how exhilarating it was to have a rare male patient in this clinic—usually bustling with women seeking contraception or prenatal care—and what an absolute delight it would be to examine this athletic young man so thoroughly; building this personal connection first always amplified his anticipation, especially the thrilling instant when he'd lock eyes and spell out the intimate touches to come, shattering the patient's naive hope for a swift, impersonal visit.

In the office, a cozy space with a desk, two chairs, and shelves lined with medical texts, Dr. Everett motioned for Jordan to sit as he resumed his seat behind the desk, his mind buzzing with eager expectancy for the hands-on revelations ahead. He jotted notes on allergies: none reported, noting "no known drug allergies." Age: 19. Date: December 6. Office tests: he'd decide later.

DETAILED QUESTIONS

"Any number of pregnancies caused?" Dr. Everett asked next, his tone matter-of-fact but with a probing warmth, leaning forward slightly to engage, his eyes already gleaming with the secret thrill of what was building. Jordan blinked, caught off guard, his hands fidgeting in his lap as nervousness coiled tighter. "Uh, none." The doctor marked zero, his gaze flicking up to meet Jordan's blue ones, already picturing the vulnerability that would soon fill them. "Number of biological children?" "Zero." Birth control method desired: left blank. Last unprotected intercourse: 12/04/2025, or since last visit/assessment: None/Not Assessed. Known/suspected exposure: he marked "Not Assessed." Inconsistent condom use: "100%," based on Jordan's admission. Personal/partner intravenous drug use: none. History of STD diagnosis: none. Possible non-monogamous partner: checked yes, with a note on unknown partner history. Staff signature: his own scrawl.

Then the doctor catalogued Jordan's present history: History of STD. Title: STD concern. He probed further, his voice steady and inviting more detail, savoring how each question drew them closer to the inevitable reveal: "Any symptoms? Discharge, pain, sores?" Jordan shook his head, his throat tightening with growing anxiety. "No, nothing."

Dr. Everett leaned back momentarily, his internal excitement mounting like a slow-building wave as he relished the impending shift in power, then leaned forward again with a calculated pause. "Before we discuss the exam details, Jordan, tell me—are you someone who's modest about your body?" Jordan shifted uncomfortably, his face flushing as he confessed, "Yeah, I guess I'm somewhat modest," thinking perhaps this admission would mean the doctor would skip the more intimate examinations altogether to respect his comfort. But Dr. Everett nodded understandingly, his gaze unyielding as he explained, "I appreciate your honesty, and I'll be aware of your modesty during the process, but I cannot let modesty get in the way of a full exam—your health requires me to see and examine everything completely. So there's no need to hide anything from me, as I'll have to look at and touch every part."

FULL EXAM REVEALED

Dr. Everett moved forward, setting the clipboard aside momentarily, his gaze locking onto Jordan's with unyielding authority, his internal excitement mounting like a slow-building wave as he relished the impending shift in power. "Alright, Jordan. Given your age, athletic lifestyle, and this recent unprotected encounter, I believe a thorough approach is essential. STD screening isn't just about blood or urine; it requires a full physical examination to assess for any subtle signs, infections, or related issues. I'll start with vital signs back in the exam room, then a complete head-to-toe physical, including inspection and palpation of the genitourinary system, scrotum, testes, penis, perineum, anus, urethra, and lymph nodes. That means I'll be touching and examining your most intimate areas quite carefully, including a digital rectal exam to check your prostate." He paused, watching the realization dawn in Jordan's eyes with delicious satisfaction, prolonging the tension as his own pulse raced with eager anticipation. "We'll do office tests like urinalysis, and send labs for chlamydia, gonorrhea via urine or swab, HIV, syphilis, possibly herpes if indicated. To be comprehensive, this will take about 45 minutes. Any questions?"

Jordan's mouth went dry, his heart pounding now as a wave of nervousness washed over him, making his palms sweat. He thought this was supposed to be quick—a poke and done. Now a full physical, with the doctor touching... everything? He recalled his mom's stories from work about routine checkups, but this seemed excessive for a simple test, and the way the doctor had phrased it, staring right at him with that intense look, made it feel oddly personal and invasive, sending his mind into a spiral of dread. His eyes widened at the mention of "anus" and "prostate," words that meant nothing to him in this context. "Wait, what do you mean by 'inspection and palpation of the anus'? And what's a digital rectal exam? I've never even heard of an anal exam or anything like that. Is that really necessary?"

INTIMATE EXAM EXPLAINED

Dr. Everett's lips curved into a subtle, satisfied smile, his anticipation sharpening as he leaned forward again, methodically explaining with deliberate precision, enjoying the way Jordan's nervousness escalated with each detail. "Of course, Jordan. Let me clarify step by step, since it's your first time. The anal exam, or digital rectal exam, is a standard procedure where I insert a gloved, lubricated finger into your rectum— that's the anal canal—to feel for any abnormalities. It's quick, usually less than one minute, but essential for a thorough STD check and overall health assessment. Specifically, it allows me to palpate your prostate gland, which is located just inside, against the rectal wall. The prostate is a small organ that produces fluid for semen, and checking it helps detect issues like infections, enlargement, or early signs of problems that could relate to your recent exposure. I'll have you bend over, apply lubricant to make it as comfortable as possible, and gently insert my finger to press and rotate against the prostate, feeling for smoothness, size, and any tenderness. You might feel pressure or an urge to urinate, but it's not typically painful if you relax."

Jordan's face flushed deep red, his blue eyes widening in sheer incredulity as he processed the words, his hands gripping the arms of the chair tighter, a knot of dread twisting in his stomach. "You mean... you're going to stick your finger up my butt? Like, actually inside me? That sounds insane—I've never heard of anything like that! It would be so embarrassing. Can't we just skip that part? I don't think I need it; I'm just here for an STD test."

The doctor's inner thrill peaked at Jordan's raw reaction, the young man's innocence and resistance only fueling his eagerness for the exam ahead; he thought how this buildup made the eventual compliance all the more rewarding. Maintaining his firm, authoritative tone, Dr. Everett shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving Jordan's. "I understand it sounds surprising and uncomfortable, especially if you've never encountered it before, but it's a crucial part of the workup, Jordan. Skipping it could mean missing hidden infections like certain STDs that affect the prostate or rectum, or even early prostate issues that young athletes like you should monitor. It's non-negotiable for thoroughness—your health is too important. To ensure we do this properly without rushing, I'll extend the appointment to an hour and 15 minutes. That gives us time for everything, including any questions or adjustments to make you as comfortable as possible." Jordan nodded reluctantly, his mind racing in a blur of anxiety, the embarrassment already burning as he imagined the scene, but arguing with a doctor seemed pointless, especially when he remembered his dad's advice: "Listen to the experts, Jordan." And Jordan relayed his father's words to the doctor."

CONSENT GIVEN

"Good, it's settled then - a full work-up," Dr. Everett said, standing up from behind his desk in the private office, his voice carrying a weight that made Jordan's stomach twist tighter with unease despite his usual confidence in his athletic build. The doctor's eyes held Jordan's for a lingering moment, the air thick with unspoken expectation, before he gestured toward the door. "Let's head back to the exam room now to begin the physical. Follow me." Jordan rose with a steadying breath, his legs firm from years of training but his heart hammering in his chest as he trailed the doctor down the short hallway, the sterile fluorescent lights overhead amplifying his growing dread. He thought about bolting, the vulnerability of what was coming clashing with his self-assured image, but the pressure of the moment—and his dad's ingrained advice to trust experts—kept him moving forward, each step heightening the emotional knot in his gut.

Once back in the exam room, Dr. Everett closed the door with a soft, deliberate click that sealed the small space. Male patients were rare in this clinic (most days were wall-to-wall birth-control refills and Pap smears), so the doctor’s pulse kicked up a notch at the sight of the broad-shouldered golfer perched on the table. He kept his face professional, but inside the anticipation crackled.

He set the clipboard down and met Jordan’s eyes. “Before we begin, I need to officially confirm consent now that we’re in the exam room. You’re agreeing to a complete head-to-toe physical, including full examination of all body systems (external genitals, testicular exam, hernia check, and a digital rectal exam for prostate health). You can refuse any part, but the university requires it for your athletic clearance, and it’s the thorough way to do things. Still good with all of it?”

Jordan swallowed hard, cheeks burning at the blunt list, feeling suddenly small under the doctor’s calm stare. His dad’s old line about respecting medical authority rang in his ears. “Yeah… I consent,” he managed, voice quieter than he wanted. Dr. Everett’s lips curved into a thin, satisfied smile (nothing overt, just a quick flash of teeth) while a jolt of electric excitement shot through him. "Perfect," the doctor said as he turned to the counter to snap on gloves. The crinkle of latex was loud in the silent room as the doctor was already picturing exactly how methodical this exam was about to get.

FIRST UNDRESSING

"We'll proceed step by step," Dr. Everett said, his tone calm but laced with authority that brooked no resistance, "and I'll have you remove clothing as needed for each part of the exam. No need for a gown; we'll handle it gradually to maintain some comfort." Jordan stared, his breath catching, surprised there was no privacy or cover at all. He thought this meant he'd be undressing in front of the doctor, piece by piece, the intimacy of it sending a flush of hot embarrassment up his neck—which felt even more awkward now, after the detailed warnings in the office, like he was walking into a trap he couldn't escape, despite knowing his body was top-tier.

Dr. Everett started with vitals under "Objective: Vital signs," keeping Jordan fully dressed for now to draw out the tension, his own pulse quickening at the prelude to what was coming. Weight: 185 lbs. Height: 6'1". BMI: 24.4 (muscular build noted). BP: 118/76. T: 98.4. P: 68 (athlete's low resting heart rate). All marked "NL" or normal. "Good numbers," the doctor commented, but his tone was clipped, businesslike, belying the eager undercurrent in his thoughts as he imagined the layers peeling away soon.

UPPER BODY REVEALED

Now the physical exam began, the room feeling smaller, the air heavier with Jordan's mounting anxiety clashing against his self-assured ego. Dr. Everett stood close, his presence dominating the small space, the faint scent of antiseptic mixing with Jordan's nervous sweat. "We'll start at the top. For Head, Eyes, Ears, Nose, and Throat (HEENT and neck), I need better access. Please remove your baseball cap and polo shirt right now." Jordan hesitated, his face heating up to a burning crimson as he realized the doctor was watching intently, unblinking, the scrutiny making his skin prickle with self-consciousness despite his pride in his physique. He thought this was embarrassing beyond words, undressing like this under such direct gaze, his mind flashing to the rectal exam description and amplifying the humiliation.

Slowly, with nervous hands that belied his usual confidence, he gripped the hem of his polo and pulled it up, revealing his toned abs inch by inch—the muscles he'd worked so hard on in the gym now feeling like a liability—then his chiseled chest, the cool air raising goosebumps and tightening his nipples. Dr. Everett reached out to help, tugging the shirt over Jordan's head when it caught, his fingers brushing the young man's warm shoulders with a deliberate slowness that sent an unwelcome shiver through Jordan. The doctor thought to himself how handsome the patient's chest was—firm, sculpted pectorals with perfectly proportioned nipples that stood out against the smooth, flushed skin, a sight that stirred his appreciation even more for this rare opportunity, heightening his anticipation for the full exposure to come. "Let me assist," the doctor said, folding the polo neatly and placing it on a chair in a growing pile. Jordan stood shirtless, arms crossing instinctively over his bare torso in a futile attempt to shield himself, but the doctor gently pulled them down, his touch lingering just a fraction too long. "Hands at sides for the exam." Jordan thought the doctor's eyes were lingering on his muscles like he was a piece of meat on display, making him feel exposed and objectified—though he was used to compliments on his physique from women at parties and guys in the gym locker room, this clinical stare felt different, more intense and unnerving, like he was being cataloged, piece by vulnerable piece.

EXAM PROGRESSES

Dr. Everett tilted Jordan's head back gently but firmly, his gloved hands cradling the young man's jaw as he locked eyes with those beautiful blue orbs, peering deeply into them under the pretense of checking pupil response with the penlight, the intensity of his stare making Jordan's breath hitch as if the doctor was already stripping away more than just layers of clothing, anticipating the full uncovering of this stud's body. "Eyes clear, no redness," he murmured, his voice low and commanding, but his thoughts raced with pride at examining such a prime specimen, the discomfort in Jordan's gaze only fueling his enjoyment. Moving to the ears, he examined them thoroughly, inserting the otoscope slowly and tugging on the lobes with deliberate pulls to adjust angles, his large fingers gripping the cartilage firmly, drawing out the moment as Jordan squirmed slightly under the invasive scrutiny. Then, he ran his hands through Jordan's scalp, rubbing and parting the hair meticulously, inspecting every inch of the head for any anomalies, his touch lingering possessively as if savoring the texture, heightening the tension with each stroke. For the mouth and throat, he had Jordan open wide, saying "ahh" as he first shone the light inside, then gloved up anew and inserted his oversized index finger, sweeping it around the gums, teeth, and tongue in a thorough, probing motion that made Jordan's eyes water, the girth of the digit filling his mouth uncomfortably and triggering a gag reflex he fought to suppress.

As Dr. Everett finished the sweep, withdrawing his finger slowly, Jordan coughed, feeling like he was on the verge of gagging fully from the intrusion, the realization dawning that these massive hands and fingers would soon be used for the rectal exam, sending a wave of intensified embarrassment through him. The doctor thought how exquisite the patient's discomfort was, proud to be handling such a handsome stud, his enjoyment deepening as Jordan, voice hoarse, finally asked, "Will... will the rectal exam hurt? Your fingers are really large." Dr. Everett's thrill peaked at the question, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he replied calmly, "It might feel intense, but relax, and it'll be manageable—I've done this on many like you." For the Neck/Thyroid exam, the doctor's hands moved to Jordan's neck, palpating the lymph nodes and thyroid with firm, lingering presses on the bare skin, tracing the contours slowly as if mapping the body for the intimacies to come, "No enlargement," he noted, but the touch felt charged, prolonging Jordan's unease.

Then it was time for the heart and lung exam. "Now, I'll need to examine your chest in detail first," Dr. Everett said, his voice steady but his eyes gleaming with focused intent as he began a meticulous inspection, starting with a visual sweep of Jordan's bare torso, tracing the contours of his pectorals and noting the symmetry before moving to a male breast exam, his gloved fingers palpating each side firmly, circling and pressing around the areolas and pinching the nipples lightly to check for any discharge or abnormalities, the touch lingering just enough to send a jolt through Jordan.

Jordan tensed, acutely aware of the great detail in the doctor's examination, thinking how invasive it felt as the older man handled his chest like a specimen, the clinical gaze making him feel even more like a piece of meat despite his pride in his build. "Raise your left arm now," the doctor instructed, and as Jordan complied, Dr. Everett inspected the underarm thoroughly, parting the hair and palpating the lymph nodes with probing presses that tickled unexpectedly, causing Jordan to flinch and suppress a laugh, his skin prickling with embarrassment; then the same for the right arm, the doctor's large hands methodical and unhurried. As he transitioned to auscultation, Dr. Everett continued to gaze at Jordan's chest, noticing the goosebumps forming across the smooth skin in the cool room air, a detail that heightened his internal satisfaction at the young man's reactive body. Stethoscope pressed directly to Jordan's chest. "Regular rhythm." He moved it around slowly, listening carefully at multiple points, his free hand on Jordan's bare back to position him, the warmth of the palm adding to the intimacy. "Deep breath—in and out." Lungs: Same, auscultating front and back with deliberate placements, the bell gliding over the skin as Jordan inhaled deeply, his awareness of the scrutiny amplifying every sensation.

LOWER BODY EXPOSURE

"For the abdominal exam, I'll need better access—please stand and remove your pants now, but you can leave your underwear on for the moment," Dr. Everett instructed, his voice firm yet laced with that underlying anticipation as he stood back, eyes fixed intently on Jordan, savoring the slow progression toward full revelation. Jordan's heart raced, a flush creeping up his neck as he stood from the table, his self-assured demeanor cracking under the weight of the command; he thought he'd keep his lower half covered, not expecting to undress further so soon, and admitted sheepishly, "I wasn't expecting to have to take off my pants—I figured this would be quick."

Slowly, with hands that betrayed a slight tremble despite his athletic confidence, he unbuttoned his khaki shorts and slid them down his powerful, toned legs—legs that Dr. Everett noted were a perfect blend of god-given genetics and dedicated gym work, long and muscular with defined quads and calves that flexed subtly with the movement. As Jordan stepped out of the shorts, turning slightly, the doctor caught a glimpse of his almost perfect behind, firm and rounded, the sight sending a surge of excitement through him as he imagined uncovering it fully, his pulse quickening at the prospect of touching every inch of this stud's body. Dr. Everett took the shorts from Jordan's hands, folding them neatly and adding them to the pile, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the young man's form now clad only in SpongeBob Squarepants briefs that clung tightly, the whimsical pattern doing little to conceal the prominent bulge highlighting Jordan's large package, a detail that made the doctor's anticipation boil—he couldn't wait to peel them away in the next phase.

"Now, lie back on the examining table, please," Dr. Everett said, his breath deepening as he took in the beautiful sight of Jordan's near-naked body stretching out before him, the sculpted torso and legs on full display, a vision of youthful perfection that stirred his professional pride and secret thrill. Jordan complied, the paper crunching under him as he lay down, his bare upper body and now-exposed legs making him feel increasingly vulnerable, but he was surprised when the doctor added, "To properly palpate the lower abdomen, I'll need to pull your underwear down just below your pubic hair—it's standard to avoid any obstruction."

Before Jordan could protest, Dr. Everett's gloved hands moved with deliberate precision, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and easing the briefs down a few inches, exposing a thick tuft of trimmed pubic hair that peeked out unruly and dark against the colorful fabric, the motion causing the material to stretch taut over Jordan's large penis, creating a clear imprint of its thick outline and veined length that pressed prominently against the thin cotton. Jordan's face burned with deep embarrassment, his usual self-assurance crumbling as he felt utterly objectified, the cool air on his lower belly and the doctor's unwavering gaze making him want to curl up, thinking how humiliating it was to have his most private grooming on display like this, the childish SpongeBob pattern only amplifying the awkwardness.

ABDOMINAL PALPITATION

Dr. Everett, his excitement barely contained, began the abdominal exam in great detail, gloving up fresh and starting at the upper quadrants with deep, firm presses into the right and left upper abdomen, his large fingers digging methodically around the liver and spleen, circling slowly to feel for any masses or tenderness, the pressure intense enough to make Jordan's muscles contract involuntarily.

“Any pain here?” Dr. Everett asked, voice calm. His hands moved slowly over Jordan’s bare stomach, enjoying the warm, tight skin and the faint clean-guy smell. “No,” Jordan muttered, jaw clenched. The pressing felt weird and way too personal. He hated it.

The doctor’s fingers kept going, pushing in steady circles around Jordan’s belly button, then lower, right above the waistband of his briefs. Each push was firm, almost like a slow rub. Jordan felt tingles he didn’t want and fought not to wiggle. When the hands dug deep near his groin, close to the patch of hair showing above his underwear, his face burned. His package shifted a little, and he prayed the doctor didn’t notice.

Dr. Everett stayed cool on the outside, but inside he was buzzing—this ripped college kid tensing under his gloves was exactly why he loved being thorough. Little goosebumps popped up on Jordan’s abs, and the doctor hid a satisfied smirk. Jordan just lay there, cheeks on fire, feeling small and on display, wishing the table would swallow him whole.

GENITOURINARY EXPOSURE

"Alright, stand up for the next part—for the genitourinary exam, we'll need you to remove your underwear completely now," Dr. Everett instructed, his voice steady but his internal euphoria building like a storm as he anticipated the big reveal, the moment this athletic stud's genitals would be fully exposed to his scrutinizing gaze, allowing him to touch and explore every intimate detail. Jordan's eyes widened in shock, his face draining of color as he balked, "Remove my underwear? Like, right now? Isn't there a gown or something I can wear? I didn't think it'd be this... exposed."

The doctor paused, enjoying the young man's discomfort immensely, the way his usual self-assurance cracked under the pressure, before replying with feigned consideration, "I don't think a full gown is necessary, but if it helps, I can provide a medical cape for some coverage—just remove your briefs first." Jordan nodded quickly, excited and relieved, thinking the cape would shield him from total vulnerability and make the exam bearable, his mind easing as he imagined being modestly draped. Spotting the privacy screen in the corner of the room, Dr. Everett gestured toward it, secretly euphoric because he knew the cape was designed for upper body coverage only and, given Jordan's 6'1" height, wouldn't even cover his navel, leaving his lower half starkly naked and accentuating his exposure in a way that would heighten the intensity tenfold.

"You can go behind the screen there to undress and put on the exam cape for the rest of the procedure," the doctor said, handing Jordan the neatly folded item with a subtle smile, his pulse racing at the thought of the impending sight. Jordan stepped behind the screen, his heart pounding with a mix of lingering confidence and mounting nerves, quickly slipping off his SpongeBob briefs, feeling the cool air hit his large penis and heavy testicles as they hung free, then unfolding the cape—only to realize with a sinking horror that it was absurdly short, like a half-shirt that opened in the front without ties, barely covering his chest and stopping just above his navel, exposing his treasure trail and everything below in a way that felt more humiliating than full nudity, the whimsical pattern of his discarded briefs now seeming childish and mocking.

Thinking it must be a mistake, Jordan called out shakily, "Sorry, Doc, you forgot to give me the bottom half of the exam robe—if you could just throw it over the screen, I'd appreciate it." Dr. Everett chuckled softly to himself, expecting the question exactly, his anticipation peaking as he replied calmly, "No mistake, Jordan—your bottom half needs to remain uncovered for the full genitourinary and rectal exam; the cape is just to protect some of your modesty by covering most of your chest and back." Jordan's stomach dropped, realizing the drape only highlighted his nudity below, framing his navel and the treasure trail leading to his prominent genitals like an arrow, making him feel ridiculously exposed and objectified, the short fabric fluttering uselessly as he tried to tug it lower in vain.

EVERYTHING REVEALED

Steeling himself with whatever self-assurance he had left, Jordan emerged from behind the screen, his face burning crimson as he walked out, the cape doing nothing to conceal his large penis swinging heavily between his toned legs or his firm, rounded behind, the cool air raising more goosebumps across his skin; he instinctively cupped his hands over his genitals, trying to shield them from view, the intensity of the moment crashing over him like a tidal wave, his athletic pride warring with the raw embarrassment of being so blatantly displayed.

Dr. Everett's eyes widened visibly, his breath catching in delight at the stunning sight—the young man's near-perfect body fully revealed below the inadequate cape, the large, thick penis with its prominent veins and circumcised head dangling vulnerably above heavy testicles dusted with trimmed hair, the toned legs and almost flawless glutes flexing with each hesitant step, a euphoric rush flooding him as he drank in every detail, proud to be unveiling and soon touching this stud in ways that amplified the power imbalance. "Stand right in front of me, Jordan, and put your hands at your sides," the doctor ordered firmly, his voice cutting through the charged silence, but Jordan hesitated, his hands still covering himself, the humiliation burning hotter as he felt like a specimen under the doctor's hungry gaze. "Hands at your sides now— I need full access," Dr. Everett repeated, his tone slightly elevated, enjoying the resistance that only prolonged his savoring of the view. Jordan's cheeks flamed, the intensity overwhelming as he slowly complied on the third command—"Drop your hands, son, no need to hide"—finally letting them fall away, exposing everything fully to the doctor's wide-eyed stare, his large package now on unabashed display, the vulnerability hitting him like a punch, making him wish the floor would swallow him whole while Dr. Everett's internal triumph soared at the complete, intense surrender.

GENITAL AND TESTICULAR EXAM

The doctor began the male genitourinary exam with a long, deliberate visual inspection, his eyes raking slowly over Jordan’s groin while the young man stood in front of him wearing only the absurdly short, open-front medical cape that stopped just above his navel. Jordan’s face burned hotter than ever as he realized the cape wasn’t hiding anything at all; if anything, the way it framed his lower abdomen and the dark treasure trail arrowing downward only drew more attention to his completely exposed penis and testicles, making his nakedness below feel even more blatant and obscene than total nudity would have. In this family-planning clinic where Dr. Everett almost exclusively examined women, the sight of this handsome, muscular nineteen-year-old standing nearly naked before him was an exquisite treat, a rare male specimen whose perfect body he now intended to explore in the most meticulous detail he had ever given any patient here.

Halfway through the initial visual sweep, Jordan’s voice cracked with embarrassment. “Doc… this cape is open in the front and it’s super short—it’s actually making me feel more uncomfortable than if I was just… you know… Do you have a longer gown? One that opens in the back maybe?” Dr. Everett smiled kindly, though his pulse quickened at the vulnerability in Jordan’s plea. “Jordan, that’s a little silly at this point, don’t you think? I’m already seeing and touching you all over, and we’re both men. I’m a doctor—I see people naked all the time.” Jordan muttered, cheeks flaming, “Yeah, but… you mostly see women here, right?” The doctor let out a warm, genuine laugh. “You got me there. Fair point. But you don’t want all those women to be braver than a strong young man like you, do you?” He paused, letting the gentle challenge sink in, then continued in a calm, encouraging tone, “There’s something to be said for standing tall in front of your doctor completely in the nude at nineteen, Jordan. This can be your ‘man-up’ moment. Go behind the privacy screen, take off the cape, and come out naked and ready for the rest of the exam. It’s the right thing to do. It’s not like I’m going to see any less of you either way. Walk tall like the man you are.” Jordan swallowed hard, a final flicker of resistance dying as the doctor’s words and steady gaze pressed him into agreement. He nodded, turned, disappeared behind the screen, and after a moment of rustling, stepped back out—completely naked, shoulders squared, chin lifted in a show of forced confidence that made Dr. Everett’s heart actually fluttered with shocked delight. It had worked. This gorgeous, athletic young man was now standing fully nude in the middle of the room, every inch of his flawless body on display, a confident new man on the outside while inside his stomach churned with mortification.

Dr. Everett began the most detailed male physical he had ever performed in this clinic, savoring every second of this rare treat. He started with the inguinal nodes, his large gloved hands pressing deeply into the warm creases where Jordan’s muscular thighs met his torso, thumbs deliberately brushing the base of the penis and the upper scrotum as he palpated for swelling, the touch slow and thorough, reveling in the smooth, firm skin of the athlete. Jordan’s breath hitched; no one had ever touched him there, and the sensation of the doctor’s oversized fingers in such private territory sent electric shame coursing through him.

“Now, I am going to examine your scrotum and testes - spread your legs wider, Jordan,” Dr. Everett commanded softly, wheeling his stool so close his face was inches away, his breath warm against the young man’s skin. Jordan obeyed, thighs parting, his heavy testicles now hanging fully exposed and vulnerable. The doctor cupped the entire scrotum in one large palm, lifting and cradling the weight possessively, his other hand joining to trace every wrinkle and contour of the soft, hair-dusted skin with feather-light circles that made Jordan’s knees tremble. He thought how perfect they were—full, symmetrical, the skin velvety and warm, a virile young man’s pride now completely in his grasp, an indulgence he rarely enjoyed among his usual female patients. Slowly, deliberately, he isolated the left testicle, rolling it between thumb and forefinger with firm, rhythmic pressure, rotating it fully in every direction, pressing along the epididymis, squeezing gently then more firmly to feel the resilient oval shape, savoring the subtle pulse beneath the surface. Jordan’s mind reeled—no one had ever rolled his testicles in their hands, the sensation alien and deeply intimate, shame and heat flooding him as the doctor’s large fingers claimed territory that had always been his alone. The doctor repeated the ritual on the right, drawing it out even longer, his thumb circling the underside while his fingers explored the top, checking every millimeter for imperfections that weren’t there, his thoughts singing with the thrill of handling such youthful perfection. “Cough,” he ordered, tightening his grip around the entire sac for the hernia check, feeling Jordan’s body jerk slightly with the reflex, the jolt traveling through untouched nerves and amplifying the young man’s mortification.

PENIS AND MEATUS

"It's time to focus the exam on your penis, Jordan." But he could tell Jordan was nervous. So. Dr. Everett let a faint smile show. “Relax, son,” he said with a soft chuckle, “I don’t get to examine many of these. Yours looks like it belongs on a statue—consider it a compliment.” The joke was meant to ease the tension, but inside the doctor’s pulse jumped; that mix of embarrassment and perfect young muscle was exactly why these visits stuck with him.

Seamless in progression, Dr. Everett moved upward on Jordan's penis, wrapping his right hand fully around the thick base of Jordan’s shaft—seven inches soft, veined, and heavy—and lifted it outward with a firm, guiding pull that drew a sharp gasp from the young man. He thought this was the crowning jewel: long, girthy, perfectly proportioned, the circumcised head smooth and flared, a magnificent symbol of peak masculinity he rarely got to examine so thoroughly. He inspected visually first, tilting the shaft left and right, up and down, examining the frenulum, the corona, every inch of velvety skin under bright light, his breath ghosting over the glans as he peered for the slightest anomaly. Then palpation began in earnest—his large hand encircling the girth completely, squeezing gently then firmly along the entire length from root to tip, sliding slowly upward, thumb tracing the prominent dorsal vein, then back down, repeating the motion multiple times under the guise of checking for fibrosis, each stroke deliberate and lingering, watching the organ thicken involuntarily against Jordan’s will.

Dr. Everett gave the shaft a small, steady lift and looked up at Jordan’s flushed face: “Almost finished here,” he said. “I just need to spread the opening at the tip (that’s the meatus) and shine a light inside to make sure everything’s healthy. Quick check. You good with that?”

Jordan had no clue what a meatus was. Sounded like some medical term he’d never heard. His brain was already screaming at him to get this over with, so he gave a fast, tight nod. “Yeah… sure.”

Only when the doctor’s gloved fingers pinched the head and gently pulled the tiny slit open did Jordan realize what he’d just agreed to. The penlight clicked on, bright and close, and Dr. Everett leaned in, staring straight down into the place Jordan peed from.

A wave of shock hit him. That’s what he meant? Jordan’s stomach lurched. It felt like the doctor was looking inside his actual body, the most private inch of him suddenly forced wide and lit up like a science project. His face went nuclear, breath catching in his throat. He felt violated, exposed in a way that made his skin crawl, legs locked stiff while the light stayed there way too long and the doctor studied whatever he wanted.

Throughout this part of the exam, Dr. Everett’s thoughts were alight with triumphant pleasure—this was the most detailed male exam he had ever performed in the clinic, a private indulgence with a patient whose body surpassed anything his usual roster of women offered, every perfect inch now his to explore without restraint. When he finally released the now semi-engorged length, his eyes lingered hungrily, marking the form with a satisfied scratch of his pen: "All appears healthy." Jordan stood trembling, the cape long discarded, completely naked and exposed, his confidence shattered by the depth of the violation yet unable to deny the strange, confusing heat the thorough exam had ignited in places no one had ever touched.

ANAL INSPECTION

The doctor congratulated Jordan for finishing part of the exam and then announced that he needed to examine Jordan's perineum. But once again Jordan had no idea what he was talking about.

Dr. Everett rolled his stool directly in front of the exam table and sat, bringing his face level with Jordan’s hips. “Jordan, I need you to bend over the table for me now. Elbows and forearms on the pad, feet apart, knees slightly bent, let everything hang naturally.” Jordan’s stomach lurched, but he obeyed, draping his torso over the table. The position forced his legs to spread and his heavy testicles to dangle freely between his thighs, swinging gently with every breath. Being completely naked made the exposure infinitely worse than the stupid cape had been; the cape had at least pretended to cover something. Now there was nothing—just his athletic body arched and open, balls hanging, ass presented like an offering. The humiliation was so intense his vision blurred for a second.

Dr. Everett gloved up, his eyes fixed on the sight: perfect glutes parted, the smooth perineum, and those full, low-hanging testicles swaying beneath. In a clinic full of women, this was pure gold. He reached between Jordan’s legs from the front, cupping the scrotum again, lifting and gently rolling the testicles while his other hand began the perineal palpation—slow, deep circles from the base of the dangling sac all the way back to the anus and forward again, pressing firmly along the central tendon, savoring the warmth and firmness of untouched skin.

A tiny, helpless sound slipped out of Jordan's throat before he could stop it (half whimper, half cough). He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

Jordan thought: "This isn’t happening. I’m bent over naked while some guy plays with my balls like he’s weighing fruit at the grocery store."

Dr. Everett rolled the stool back a few inches, snapped off the used gloves, and pulled on a fresh pair with a crisp double-snap that made Jordan flinch.

“Last part of the external exam,” the doctor said, voice still calm, almost gentle. “I need to do a visual check of your anus. Reach back with both hands and spread your cheeks for me, Jordan. As wide as you can.”

Jordan froze. His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he was sure the doctor could see it. Spread himself? With his own hands? The words didn’t compute for a second, then they hit like a punch to the gut. He had never felt more naked in his life, and he’d been naked this entire time.

His arms felt like lead, but they moved anyway. Trembling, he reached back, fingers finding warm skin, and pulled his cheeks apart. The cool clinic air rushed in and kissed the most private place he had, the one no one had ever seen, not even the team doctor during quick preseason checks. His face burned so hot he was dizzy.

Dr. Everett leaned forward until Jordan felt the faint puff of the man’s breath right there, followed by the sharp white beam of the penlight. The light was merciless, painting every ridge and fold in bright detail. Jordan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to disappear into the table. The doctor’s mind lit up with quiet satisfaction: untouched, perfectly pink, tighter than anything he ever got to see in a clinic full of female patients. A nineteen-year-old athlete in peak condition, virgin territory. Exquisite. He took his time, letting the light linger, drinking in the rare sight while Jordan stood bent and trembling, holding himself wide open, cheeks flaming with a shame that felt like it would never wash off.

IF AT FIRST YOU DON'T SUCCEED

Dr. Everett coated his index finger generously with lubricant—his hands were famously large, the finger itself thick and long. “Bear down for me.” Jordan pushed. The blunt tip pressed against the impossibly tight ring and met absolute resistance. Dr. Everett increased pressure, twisting slightly, but the muscle refused to yield; Jordan’s entire body clenched, a sharp yelp escaping him as the stretch burned without progress. After several careful attempts, the doctor withdrew, concern mixing with his excitement. “Jordan, your sphincter is exceptionally tight. I’m having trouble getting in without causing real pain. Let’s pause for a few minutes so you can relax. Go behind the privacy screen, sit down, maybe scroll on your phone—read something calming. I’ll step out and be back shortly.”

Jordan, mortified and grateful for the break, shuffled behind the screen, still completely naked, and sat on the small stool.

Dr. Everett stepped into the hallway and flagged down Dr. Caleb Reed, the tall, good-looking 28-year-old runner who covered occasional male patients at the clinic.

“Caleb, quick word. I’ve got a nineteen-year-old in there—one of the best golfers in the South, full-ride Crimson Tide kid. First-time rectal. Virgin-tight and my fingers are too big. Mind assisting? You’ve got those long, thin runner’s fingers—might be easier on him. You can observe or step in if needed.”

Caleb gave a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly what I had on the bingo card for today, but yeah, happy to help. Lead the way.”

They returned together. Jordan heard two sets of footsteps and froze behind the screen, naked, heart pounding. Dr. Everett called out gently, “Jordan, everything’s fine. Dr. Reed is joining us—he’s younger, has smaller hands, and might make this part easier. Remember what we talked about—man up, walk out tall.” Jordan’s face burned crimson—two doctors now? But he forced himself to step out, completely nude, hands instinctively covering his genitals, shoulders hunched.

Both doctors’ eyes widened the instant Jordan stepped out from behind the screen. Caleb, a usually unflappable heterosexual man, felt his brain short-circuit for half a second. "Goodness gracious," he thought. "This young man is carved out of marble—shoulders like a swimmer, waist he could almost span with two hands, and that thing hanging between his legs… Gosh, no wonder Everett couldn’t get in." Caleb had never seen a college guy put together like this.

Dr. Everett caught the flicker in Caleb’s expression and felt a possessive thrill surge through him: his perfect specimen, now naked and nervous in front of another man, the humiliation doubled and delicious.

THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM

Dr. Everett stepped back and pointed to the padded table.

“Alright, Jordan, new position for the rectal exam. Up on the table: elbows and knees, head down, knees nice and wide. It opens everything up better and saves your lower back.”

Jordan’s heart sank. The earlier attempt while bent over the edge had already been mortifying; now they wanted him on all fours like a dog, higher up, fully in the light. His legs shook as he climbed onto the table, knees sinking into the paper cover, elbows dropping, forehead pressing hard into his folded arms. The position forced his back to arch sharply; his heavy balls dropped straight down between his spread thighs, swaying with every ragged breath.

Caleb let out a quiet, admiring breath. Under the harsh overhead lamp the view was perfect: long, powerful legs, round glutes naturally parted, low-hanging sac, and a tight, pink ring that had clearly never been touched. He shook his head and murmured to Everett, “This kid’s a damn anatomical model. Zero body fat, every landmark exactly where the textbook says it should be. You could teach twenty med students on him and they’d all pass the practical.”

Jordan heard every word. Heat exploded across his neck and shoulders; he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to disappear.

Dr. Everett’s voice stayed calm, but the satisfaction underneath was unmistakable. “That’s why we’re thorough with the athletes. Deep breath, Jordan. Bear down hard.”

The second attempt from Dr. Everett came immediately. Dr. Everett’s thick, blunt finger—freshly lubed—pushed against the clenched ring. Jordan bore down with everything he had, but the stretch was brutal. A raw, ragged groan tore out of him; his whole body jerked forward on the table, knees sliding. The ring clamped shut again, refusing the fat digit. Everett held the pressure a long second longer than necessary, letting Jordan feel exactly how big those fingers were, then finally eased off.

“Still virgin tight,” Everett said, almost to himself. He nodded to Caleb. “Your turn. Maybe those long, thin fingers of yours will do the trick on this third try,” Dr. Everett said.

Jordan stayed locked in the humiliating position: elbows and knees on the exam table, head and forehead pressed hard into his folded arms, back arched sharply, legs spread wide. His heavy balls dangled freely between his thighs, swaying with every tremor that ran through him. The cool air and the bright overhead light left nothing hidden; he felt like a specimen pinned under glass.

Caleb stood at the foot of the exam table for a long second, hands flexing once at his sides, staring at the perfect specimen in front of him with Jordan' back sharply arched, legs spread wide, and his heavy balls dangling low between powerful thighs. Under the harsh overhead light it looked like a living anatomy plate straight out of "Netter Atlas of Human Anatomy" with every muscle, every landmark, every proportion textbook-perfect.

Caleb (an anatomy nerd who had spent years dissecting cadavers and poring over atlases) felt an unexpected jolt of intimidation. He had never seen anything this ideal in real life, let alone on a nervous nineteen-year-old athlete. For a moment, he just stared, almost reverent, before forcing himself forward. Only then did he step in close, the warmth of another man’s body suddenly right there as Caleb prepared to penetrate the most flawless anatomy he had ever been asked to examine.

“Starting fresh so I can document my own findings,” Caleb told Jordan and Dr. Everett, voice low and steady. “Quick visual first, then the full digital.”

Jordan’s stomach lurched. He’d already been spread and inspected twice; now it was happening again, and this time by a younger, handsome doctor he didn’t know.

Caleb gloved up, and rested both hands lightly on Jordan’s glutes. He parted the cheeks wider than Everett had, holding them open for a long, deliberate look.

Caleb’s breath caught just slightly. Perfect external anatomy, he thought—no fissures, no hemorrhoids, no lesions, skin tone even, anal verge perfectly symmetric and pink. One of the cleanest, most flawless presentations he had ever seen on any patient, let alone a college athlete. Everett, standing off to the side with arms folded, felt a dark thrill ripple through him at the sight of the younger, good-looking doctor admiring his perfect specimen.

Caleb coated his long, thin index finger with a thick layer of lube and placed the pad at the center of Jordan’s ring.

“Deep breath out and push against me, Jordan,” Dr. Caleb Reed said.

Jordan exhaled hard and bore down. The narrower tip met only a heartbeat of resistance before it slipped past the ring with a sudden, burning pop. It didn’t stop. Caleb kept steady pressure, sliding deeper—inch after inch—until Jordan felt the hard press of the doctor’s knuckle flush against his perineum. The entire finger—four full inches—was buried inside him.

A low, helpless moan tore out of Jordan’s throat. Then another, louder, raw, as the length seated completely.

Jordan’s mind reeled: this new doctor is shoving his whole damn finger in me, clear to the base… it’s so deep I can feel it in my gut.

Caleb did not let Jordan's moaning stop him, and he kept his left hand steady on Jordan’s lower back. With his right he began the standard protocol:

First pass: slow 360-degree sweep of the rectal vault, assessing tone and checking for masses. “Rectal tone excellent, walls smooth, no masses,” he noted aloud.

Second pass: rotated forward, locating the prostate. The gland sat firm, smooth, walnut-sized exactly where it should be. Caleb pressed once superiorly, once laterally on each lobe, then performed three slow, deliberate circles over the surface—standard milking motion.

Jordan’s thighs trembled violently; another ragged moan slipped out as the pressure rolled across the sensitive gland. His toes curled hard against the table step, balls swaying with every involuntary shudder.

“Prostate two centimeters, symmetric, smooth, no nodules, non-tender,” Caleb continued, voice calm and clinical, though his pulse had kicked up at how perfectly everything lined up under his fingertip.

Everett watched every inch of Caleb's long finger disappear inside his perfect patient and felt a dark, possessive excitement flare hotter than before. Seeing the handsome young Dr. Reed—tall, lean, confident—fully penetrate and thoroughly examine the flawless athlete he had claimed first sent a jolt straight through him. Those long runner’s fingers were buried to the hilt, and Jordan’s broken moans were pure music.

Caleb gave one final gentle anterior stroke, then slowly withdrew, the long finger sliding out inch by inch until the tip cleared the ring with a soft pop.

Jordan stayed frozen on elbows and knees, breathing ragged, hole fluttering from the deep intrusion, burning with shame and the overwhelming sensation of being completely, undeniably opened by a second man while the first watched and savored every second.

ANOSCOPE WITH LEAK

“Man… nothing could possibly be more embarrassing than that,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “We’re done, right?”

Dr. Everett gave a calm nod. “One last thing, Jordan. While Dr. Reed’s here, I’d like to finish with an anoscopic exam: just a lighted scope so we can see inside perfectly. Takes thirty seconds, and we’re one-hundred-percent sure everything’s healthy. Sound good?” Jordan, face still buried in his arms, let out a weak, defeated huff. “Yeah… fine. If you both think it’s necessary.” But Jordan had zero clue what an anoscope was or what he’d just agreed to.

Dr. Everett retrieved the lighted, stainless-steel anoscope—about the thickness of two fingers, tapered, cold. Caleb’s eyes widened slightly in professional curiosity as Everett generously lubed the instrument. “Same position, Jordan—hold still.” Jordan felt the cold metal tip press against his already tender ring. A firm, steady push, and the anoscope slid in with a slow, burning stretch that made Jordan gasp and grip the table edges, his toes curling. Inch by inch it advanced until fully seated, the obturator removed, opening the channel. Dr. Everett switched on the light and peered through, slowly rotating the scope 360 degrees, inspecting every millimeter of pink rectal mucosa in exquisite detail, the view magnified and perfectly illuminated. His pulse thundered with intense satisfaction—this was the deepest, most thorough violation he had ever performed on a male patient, the cold metal holding Jordan open while he examined the most private space imaginable, the young man’s body trembling under the dual gaze of two doctors. Caleb watched, quietly impressed and a little awed by the older physician’s unhurried thoroughness and the stunning specimen on the table.

Dr. Everett gave the anoscope one last, deliberate twist, letting the cold metal rim drag slowly across the swollen prostate. Jordan’s breath hitched; his thighs jerked once, then froze.

A single thick, crystal bead welled at the slit of his cock, trembled, and dropped, stretching into a long, glistening thread that snapped with a soft, unmistakable splat on the paper between his knees. A second bead followed immediately, then a third, each one landing with a quiet pat-pat-pat that sounded deafening in the silent room. His shaft, already half-hard from the earlier probing, thickened and lifted another heavy inch, flushed dark, veins standing out, the circumcised head shiny and wet.

Jordan’s thoughts crashed together in a single, mortified scream: "Oh God," he thought. "My penis is dripping. They can hear it. They can see everything."

Caleb’s eyes flicked down involuntarily. He had never once seen clear prostate fluid leak like this during a routine exam, not this much, not this fast. His brain blanked for half a second, thinking to himself: "Gosh, that’s a lot." But then Caleb's professional reflex kicked in, and he forced his face neutral, but the corner of his mouth twitched with startled awe.

Everett felt the rush hit him hard: pure, dark victory. The boy’s body was answering the cold steel like it had been waiting years for permission. He held the scope perfectly still for one extra beat, watching another fat drop fall, then began the slow withdrawal, savoring the way Jordan’s ring clung to the metal on the way out and the final shiver that ran through the kid’s glutes when it was gone.

Jordan exhaled a broken, trembling breath and sank forward, chest dropping to the table. He stayed on his knees a second longer, then quietly folded flat and rolled to his side, knees drawn up just enough to shield the small, glistening puddle cooling beneath him. His face burned against the crook of his arm, every heartbeat echoing in his ears while the two doctors stood behind him in perfect, loaded silence.

FINAL TESTS

Doctor Everett then instructed Jordan: “I wanted to assure you that the fluid dripping from your penis is completely normal. It happens when the gland gets firm, direct pressure, and it’s a healthy reflex," the doctor said.

"Most guys leak a drop or two at most. I’ve just never seen it come out in that kind of volume during a routine exam," Dr. Everett added. "But it means everything’s working exactly the way it should… maybe a little too well.”

Dr. Everett allowed himself the faintest smirk as he dropped the glove in the trash bin.

Dr. Caleb Reed cleared his throat, trying to keep it professional but deciding to add some humor to ease Jordan's concern. “Yeah, what Dr. Everett said is right. Textbook response—just, uh, extra credit for you, Jordan, with the large volume of fluid.”

Dr. Everett’s voice cut gently through the haze. “Alright, Jordan, let’s get you standing again for the last test. Up you come (slowly).” Jordan pushed himself upright on trembling arms, legs wobbling as he straightened. The small puddle of seminal fluid on the paper glistened accusingly beneath him. Everett reached for a soft towel, unfolded it with deliberate calm, and wiped the table clean in one smooth motion, then (without asking) brought the towel between Jordan’s thighs and dabbed gently at the still-leaking tip of his swollen cock. The touch was clinical, almost tender, but the intimacy of it made Jordan’s breath hitch and his face burn hotter. Everett folded the towel, set it aside, and rolled his stool directly in front of the boy. “Stand right here in front of me, feet apart, hands at your sides.”

Jordan obeyed, mortified, his erection bobbing heavily with the movement, the head slick and flushed. Dr. Everett sat eye-level with the engorged shaft, the leaking tip now inches from his gloved fingers. Dr. Everett rolled the small stool forward until he was seated directly in front of Jordan, eye-level with the young man’s now fully engorged cock, the leaking tip still glistening.

Everett steadied the thick shaft with one gloved hand, the warmth of his palm unmistakable. “Hold still, Jordan. Quick urethral swab for gonorrhea and chlamydia.”

He parted the meatus with thumb and forefinger, slid the thin swab in with a slow twist, and rotated it deliberately for the full ten seconds required. Jordan hissed, hips jerking involuntarily, the sting sharp and intimate, the sensation amplified by Caleb’s close presence and the knowledge that another man was watching his most private opening being invaded. Everett withdrew the swab just as slowly, eyes flicking up to meet Jordan’s mortified gaze, savoring the flush that spread from cheeks to chest.

LYMPH NODE SURVEY

Everett rose, satisfaction thrumming through him and began to talk to the two men: “Since Dr. Reed is already here, Jordan, I’d like him to perform the complete lymph node survey. It’s the last part of the exam, and he has an excellent touch for it.”

Caleb’s pulse jumped. He was straight, engaged, professional… but the thought of running his hands over every node group on this flawless nineteen-year-old body was exciting for the young doctor. And Dr. Everett caught the flicker in Caleb’s eyes and felt his own excitement double: watching the younger doctor explore Jordan inch by inch was almost as intoxicating as doing it himself.

“Raise your arms high above your head, Jordan—palms together, like you’re diving,” Caleb instructed, voice steady but lower than usual. Jordan obeyed, the stretch elongating his torso, ribs flaring, every muscle on display. Caleb started at the cervical chains, fingers sliding along the sternocleidomastoid, pressing firmly behind Jordan’s ears, under his jaw, down the sides of his neck. Jordan’s breath hitched at the intimacy; no one had ever touched him like this, mapping him so thoroughly.

Caleb moved to the supraclavicular and infraclavicular nodes, palms gliding over the hard caps of Jordan’s shoulders, thumbs digging gently into the hollows above the collarbones. Jordan’s skin prickled with goosebumps; the attention felt clinical yet worshipful, and a confusing part of him (the part that spent hours perfecting his body in the weight room) began to enjoy being studied like a prized anatomical model.

“Arms out to the sides now, palms up,” Dr. Reed told the naked Jordan. The patient complied, triceps and lats flaring. Caleb slipped gloved fingers into each axilla, lifting Jordan’s arms higher to expose the smooth, hairless pits completely, palpating the central, anterior, and posterior node groups with slow, deliberate circles. Jordan’s face burned; the ticklish sensitivity combined with total exposure made him squirm, but he held position, breath shallow.

Caleb’s gloved hands slid down Jordan’s arms first, checking the epitrochlear nodes at each elbow with quick, practiced squeezes. Then he dropped lower, kneeling a little so he could run both palms along the long inguinal chains, fingers digging firmly into the warm creases where thigh met torso.

His thumbs swept deep on every pass, brushing the thick root of Jordan’s cock and the very top of his heavy scrotum (close, deliberate, impossible to ignore).

The shaft of Jordan’s penis gave a helpless twitch against the pressure. Caleb felt it happen and the corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny, private smile.

"Holy cow," Caleb thought, pulse kicking up a notch. "This kid is stupidly perfect. Zero fat, lymph nodes exactly where the textbook says, skin like warm silk, and equipment that looks carved out of marble. I’ve never had a patient this flawless. Med schools would kill to have him on a demo table."

The sheer quality of the body under his hands sent a low, electric thrill through him (clinical interest tangled with raw admiration). He took an extra second on the last sweep, letting his thumbs linger a fraction longer than strictly necessary, just to feel the heat and the faint throb of response.

Jordan swallowed hard, cheeks burning, praying the younger doctor didn’t notice the way his cock jerked again at the contact.

Dr. Everett watched it all, arms folded, pulse thrumming with dark pleasure. Seeing Caleb’s runner’s hands - those long, thin fingers that had so recently been inside Jordan - now mapping the athlete’s body inch by inch was exquisite: the way Caleb’s palms slid over Jordan’s flared lats, the subtle tremor in Jordan’s abs when fingers pressed just above the pubic bone, the moment Caleb’s thumbs traced the deep V of the Adonis belt and Jordan’s cock lifted another fraction despite his obvious mortification.

REFLECTIONS FROM JORDAN

Jordan’s arms finally dropped to his sides, heavy as lead. The room stayed quiet except for his own ragged breathing.

Caleb had touched him like he was inspecting a champion racehorse: thorough, reverent, almost admiring. Every press along Jordan’s lymph chains had felt deliberate, appreciative.. It seemed to Jordan that Dr. Caleb Reed was genuinely appreciative of his symmetry and tone. And with Caleb, yes, it was humiliating—but there was a weird, dizzy thrill in it. It was the same rush Jordan got when a scout watched him stripe drives down the middle of the range.

Dr. Everett’s exam of Jordan had been completely different. When Dr. Everett examined him it felt colder, heavier—like ownership. The older doctor’s fingers didn’t admire; they claimed, measured, possessed. Every slow circle and deep press had carried a quiet, unshakable authority that made Jordan’s stomach knot with discomfort even while his body responded.

Now both sensations sat tangled in his chest: the dizzy pride from Caleb’s almost worshipful handling, and the crawling unease from Everett’s possessive thoroughness. His skin still buzzed where Caleb’s thumbs had swept his groin creases; his hole still throbbed from Everett’s cold steel.

Caleb broke the silence with that easy grin. “Jordan, man… med-school standardized patients - they're called 'SPs' make bank. With a body like yours? They’d clear the schedule. You’d be the patient every class remembers forever.”

Jordan’s cheeks flared hotter, but he managed the tiniest, shaky laugh—because at least Caleb made it sound like a compliment instead of a verdict.

Dr. Everett rolled his stool back a few inches and gave Jordan a small, approving nod. “All done, Jordan. You can sit on the edge of the table for a minute,” he said.

Jordan straightened slowly, every muscle trembling from the prolonged exposure. His legs felt like jelly as he turned and perched naked on the crinkly paper, thighs pressed together in a futile attempt at modesty, hands resting awkwardly over his half-hard cock and heavy balls. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of gloves coming off and the scratch of Everett’s pen on the chart.

DR. EVERETT GIVES RESULTS

Dr. Everett looked up, voice calm, almost conversational, but laced with deliberate detail that made Jordan’s stomach flip all over again.

“You did exceptionally well today. We performed a complete head-to-toe physical: visual and manual inspection of the genitals, scrotum, testes, perineum, and anus; a digital rectal exam (first attempted by me, then successfully completed by Dr. Reed); and finally an anoscopic examination of the lower rectum. Your prostate is healthy, smooth, and symmetrical. No lesions. Lab results from the urethral swab and urine will be back in a few days, but clinically, you are in perfect health.”

POST EXAM PLANS

Caleb removed his gloves, disposed of them neatly, and approached with a relaxed, genuine smile. “You handled that extremely well,” he said, placing a business card in Jordan’s hand. “My mobile number is on the back. If you ever feel like playing a round, let me know—I’m always looking for a good game.”

Jordan, still seated naked on the table, glanced at the card and managed his first real smile of the day. “Saturday morning work for you? The course is usually quiet this time of year.”

“Nine o’clock tee time. Absolutely,” Caleb replied instantly.

Jordan gave a small shrug, cheeks still flushed. “After we finish, the team normally uses the athletic-medicine sauna to warm up and recover. December is brutal. You’re welcome to join us.”

Caleb laughed warmly. “So the ulterior motive is seeing me naked since I’ve just conducted your rectal exam? Fair enough—turnabout is fair play.”

Jordan snorted, then grinned. “Exactly. I think I’ve earned the right.” They both laughed, the tension easing into something almost collegial.

“Nine sharp on Saturday,” Caleb said, giving Jordan’s bare shoulder a friendly clap as he headed for the door. “Golf first, sauna afterward. I’ll bring a towel—just in case.”

Jordan called after him, still smiling. “Towel optional, Doc.”

“See you on the first tee, superstar,” Caleb answered, disappearing down the hall.

Jordan sat there a moment longer, Caleb's business card in hand, surprisingly pleased that the young physician who had just performed such an intimate exam on him now wanted to play golf—and perhaps even become friends.

GETTING DRESSED WITH SOMEONE WATCHING

Jordan’s legs were still shaky as he slid off the table. Dr. Everett folded the privacy screen flat against the wall with a casual push, then walked to the chair where Jordan’s clothes lay neatly stacked. He picked up the small pile (SpongeBob briefs on top) and carried it over, setting everything on the foot of the exam table.

“No rush,” Dr. Everett said, voice softer now, almost friendly. “Take your time.”

Jordan stood completely naked in the open, chilly exam room, goosebumps racing across his chest, abs, and thighs in the December air. Dr. Everett leaned against the counter, arms loosely folded, gaze relaxed and openly appreciative (the earlier sharpness had vanished the instant Caleb accepted the golf invite—like the doctor had quietly decided Jordan was now “one of the guys” instead of just a patient).

Jordan reached for his brightly colored, SpongeBob briefs. He stepped into them slowly, the cotton sliding up toned calves, over powerful thighs, finally snapping into place around his hips. Dr. Everett’s gaze followed every inch of the motion, lingering appreciatively on the perfect taper from broad shoulders to narrow waist, the deep V disappearing beneath the waistband.

“Nice recovery, after the exam” Dr. Everett said, a small smile playing at his lips. “Most guys would still be curled up in the fetal position.”

Jordan sat on the table’s edge to pull on his socks. Dr. Everett watched the flex of hamstrings and glutes as Jordan leaned forward.

“You know, I play a little golf myself,” the doctor added casually. “Handicap’s around an eight. If you and Dr. Reed ever need a third…”

Jordan paused mid-sock, one eyebrow raised and thought: "Is he fishing for an invite? Not happening."

He grabbed his khaki shorts, stood, and stepped in. The fabric slid up smooth legs and settled low on his hips. Dr. Everett’s eyes tracked the movement, openly admiring the sculpted physique one last time.

Jordan pulled the UA polo over his head, the cotton stretching across his chest and shoulders before falling into place.

Dr. Everett chuckled, nodding toward the door Caleb had left through. “You two are going to turn heads in that sauna. Pair of handsome devils like that—Dr. Reed’s got the tall, lean runner thing, and you… well, you’re basically the reason they invented the phrase ‘peak physical condition.’ Half the guys will be jealous, and the other half will just stare.”

Jordan zipped his khaki shorts, tied his shoes, and finally met Dr. Everett’s eyes (still cool, but less hostile now).

“Results in a few days?” he asked.

“Three to five,” Dr. Everett confirmed, offering his hand with a genuine smile this time. “And Jordan? You did great today. Really.”

Jordan shook the doctor's hand once—firm, quick—and walked out, clothes finally back on, carrying the strange new knowledge that the doctor who had just taken him apart now seemed almost… proud of him.

ONE IN A MILLION

Dr. Everett lingered long after the door clicked shut.

The lights still blazed. The faint scent of lube and warm skin clung to the air. He looked once at the folded screen, once at the empty exam table, and let the memory of Jordan Hayes settle over him like a private triumph: the finest male body he had ever been granted, the one he had opened first, the one that had trembled and surrendered beneath his hands alone.

He closed his eyes and felt it again—perfect muscle yielding, the virgin ring fighting then giving way, the helpless drip of clear fluid onto the paper, every flawless inch catalogued by his touch under the unforgiving light.

Twenty years of practice, thousands of patients (mostly women), and yes, he had once examined a woman so breathtakingly perfect that the memory still surfaced unbidden. But Jordan Hayes was different. He was the male counterpart, the living proof that perfection could exist on both sides of the gender line, and Dr. Everett had been the first to claim him.

He killed the lights, locked the clinic door, and stepped into the December dark. The wind cut sharp across the empty lot, but it could not touch the warmth still burning inside him.

Jordan Hayes was no longer just a name on a chart. He was the single, exquisite male examination Dr. Everett had performed perfectly... and one of only two patients (one woman, one man) he would carry, quietly and fiercely, for the rest of his life.