Ethan drove home in a daze, the winter sun dipping low behind the bare trees, casting long shadows across the suburban streets. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles white against the faded leather. The exam had only lasted about 45 minutes, but it felt like hours, every touch, every measurement, replaying in his mind like a loop he couldn't pause. At 20, Ethan wasn't a stranger to physical intimacy; he'd hooked up a few times in college, fumbling explorations in dorm rooms or at parties. But this was different. Clinical, yet oddly personal. Harlan's voice echoed: "Normal size... healthy... firm but not hard." It was all so matter-of-fact, but Ethan's body had betrayed a flicker of response during the genital check, a slight twitch he hoped went unnoticed.

Pulling into his parents' driveway, he sat in the car for a minute, engine off, staring at the garage door. His face still felt warm, a residual flush from the exposure. Embarrassment hit first, sharp and familiar. What the hell had he been thinking? Responding to a random online ad? Stripping down in a stranger's home office? He imagined telling his roommates back at school, they'd laugh, call him an idiot, or worse, question his motives. "Dude, that's sketchy as fuck," one might say. And yeah, it was. But beneath the shame was something else: a thrill. The vulnerability of it all, the way Harlan's gloved hands had assessed him like a specimen, commenting on lengths and consistencies. It made Ethan feel seen in a way he hadn't before, objectified, maybe, but also validated. "Peak health," Harlan had said. It stroked his ego, even as it stirred confusion.

Inside the house, his mom called from the kitchen, asking how his "errand" went. "Fine," he muttered, heading straight upstairs to avoid eye contact. He flopped onto his bed, phone in hand, and pulled up the classifieds app again. The ad was still there, Harlan's profile unchanged. Ethan scrolled through their chat history, rereading the messages. "Underwear optional." Why had that not scared him off? Curiosity, he told himself. Boredom from break. But now, in the quiet of his room, he felt a low hum of arousal building. He shifted, adjusting his jeans, remembering the caliper on his skin, the precise notations. It wasn't about Harlan specifically. The guy was old enough to be his dad, unremarkable in appearance. It was the power dynamic, the surrender to scrutiny. Ethan's mind wandered: What if he went back? The card was in his pocket, a simple white rectangle with an email and number.

Guilt crept in next, mixing with the excitement like oil in water. Was this weird? Perverted? He wasn't gay, or at least, he didn't think so. Girls at college caught his eye, but this experience poked at unexplored corners of his psyche. He opened his laptop, typing vague searches like "free physical exams at home" into incognito mode, half-expecting horror stories. Instead, forums popped up with guys sharing similar tales, some creeped out, others intrigued, a few admitting it turned them on. "It's like a kink thing," one anonymous post read. Ethan closed the tab quickly, heart pounding. Kink? He wasn't into that... was he?

Dinner with his family was torture. He picked at his food, mind elsewhere, nodding absently to his dad's questions about school. "You seem distracted, bud," his dad noted. Ethan forced a smile: "Just tired." Back in his room that night, sleep evaded him. He tossed, replaying the rectal exam, the lube, the pressure, the clinical detachment. It had been invasive, borderline humiliating, yet there was a strange comfort in the all-clear verdict. No issues. Healthy. It eased some vague anxiety he'd carried about his body since puberty, comparisons in locker rooms, insecurities from porn. Harlan's exam had quantified it, made it real.

By morning, the emotions had settled into a restless curiosity. Ethan texted a friend vaguely: "Weird thing happened yesterday, tell you later." But he didn't. Instead, he found himself drafting an email to Harlan: "Thanks for yesterday. Everything okay?" He deleted it, then rewrote it. Sent. The response came quick: "All good. Glad you reached out. Follow-up anytime." Ethan stared at his screen, a mix of relief and anticipation washing over him. The aftermath wasn't resolution, it was an open door, pulling him toward whatever lay beyond. For the first time in break, he felt alive, even if it scared him.