In the spring of his 18th year, young Dylan made the decision to join

the high school track team. Ever since his growth spurt over the summer,

the high school junior- who now was a respectable 6-feet tall- had been

encouraged by his friends to join the basketball team or the track and

field team.

In the past, Dylan had all kinds of excuses for not joining. "I'm too

busy...I don't like track...I want to spend time with my girlfriend."

In reality, it was the fact that he was very awkward and concerned about

his self image that stopped him from joining. Yes, puberty had been tough

on poor Dylan. All through his 15th year, his voice cracked, and the

lanky teen would often go through his days with a near-constant erection.

It was Dylan's best friend Lance who finally convinced him that the track

team would be a wise decision. "It'll make you more confident, stronger,

and you'll feel better," Lance said in a authoritative voice. And Dylan

agreed. That Monday, the two of them went to the gym to sign Dylan up

for the track team. The paperwork was simple enough...name, date of birth,

address, parents signature, and a doctor's note saying Dylan was in good

health and wouldn't keel over and die on the field.

Simple stuff. Except the doctor's note. It had been over a year since

Dylan had been to a doctor. He was healthy, and although his parents

wanted him to go more often, he convinced them it wasn't necessary. An

independent kid- he got his drivers' license the day he turned 18- Dylan

made no hesitation from the time he got home to call his doctor to schedule

the appointment. But there was a glitch: the receptionist told Dylan

his regular doctor was busy for the next three weeks. Dylan couldn't

wait; he explained that in order to join the team he needed the note

by the following Monday.

So the helpful receptionist made a suggestion. "We can set up an appointment

with Dr. Rosen, " she explained. "He's a new doctor who just joined our

practice a few weeks ago. He can see you Wednesday after school." Dylan

said that was fine, and the two friends spent the rest of the day hanging

out and playing.

When they were younger, Lance and Dylan were inseparable... they'd play

video games, go to the mall, and just hang out and have fun. So it wasn't

surprising that when Wednesday came, Dylan asked Lance to join him at

the doctor's office.

"I'm a little nervous," Dylan said. "And I want you to make sure that

things are okay. You know how I hate needles." Lance said, "sure," and

joked that he would even hold Dylan's hand if the doctor needed to draw

blood.

After school, the two friends jumped into Dylan's car and drove 2 miles

to his doctor's office. When they got to the office, they noted the new

sign on the door: Dr. Brian Rosen, Adolescent Medicine and Endocrinology.

Dylan felt pleased that he didn't have to see his

childhood pediatrician anymore...here was a doctor who dealt especially

with teens. No more baby stuff. A quick visit with the Doc, get the approval

note to join the team, and that's it. So he thought.

Dylan signed in and the two waited for about 10 minutes before a pretty

young nurse called his name.

As he walked to the door, he piped up, "Um, would it be okay if my friend

Lance can come in also?" The nurse thought a second

and then said, "sure." And the three walked down the hallway to an clean

examination room.

The nurse pulled out the roll of paper on the exam table and told Dylan

to take a seat on the table. Lance took a seat in the corner of

the room in one of two chairs facing the table. Dylan was dressed casually...a

plain white T- shirt and Levi's blue jeans; his short

brown hair was parted to the right. The nurse explained that the office

has been busy with students needing physical examinations

for sports at school. Dylan's eyes raised. He sounded concerned.

"I don't need an exam, just need a note from the doctor so I can play

sports. I feel fine."

"The doctor will determine that after he examines you," the nurse pleasantly

explained. "Now relax so I can take your temperature

and blood pressure."

The nurse popped the thermometer in his mouth and started pumping the

bulb on the blood pressure machine. Meanwhile, she

started telling the two young men that Doctor Rosen is an expert in the

field of adolescent medicine. "He's a fine young doctor who

knows his stuff and will treat you right. He's very thorough," she said.

Looking squarely at Dylan, the nurse said, "You're in great shape; everything

checks out fine. Now would you please undress to your

underwear and wait on the table. The doctor will be right with you."

And she left the room.

Lance could almost hear Dylan's heart skip a beat. "C'mon dude, it's

no big deal. Do you want me to leave?"

A long silence. "Nah, it's okay, Lance...we're best friends." And the

slim 18-year-old started removing his clothes. Shoes first...then

socks. He undid his belt and lowered his tight jeans and stepped out

of them, placing them on the other chair. He took a deep

breath and pulled his T-shirt above his head and off his body. Then,

he took a seat on the exam table, wearing nothing but clean

white briefs, his smooth legs hanging over the side. Dylan avoided eye

contact with Lance and waited quietly for Doctor Rosen.

Lance was starting at him and could sense that Dylan was nervous.

Soon, a knock on the door, and a handsome looking man in his early 30's

in a labcoat entered, carrying a clipboard and Dylan's

medical records. "Hello. I'm Doctor Rosen. You must be Dylan. Pleased

to meet you. I see you've brought a friend along."

"Hi. Um...this is my friend Lance...we grew up together and we just wanted

to come here to get a doctor's note so I can play sports

at school."

"Well, Dylan, I'll be happy to give you that, but we've got to make sure

that everything is fine and that you're healthy enough to play.

I'm going to do some tests and take some measurements to make sure that

everything is fine with you. And seeing how you just

turned 18, it's important that we make sure your adolescent development

is proceeding correctly. It's nothing to get nervous about."

"Sure." was all Dylan could say.

The doctor started by looking in Dylan’s ears, eyes, nose, and throat.

At the same time, the doctor tried to make small talk. "How

are you doing in school? Any sisters or brothers? Are you from here originally?

Who's your favorite football team? Are you into

computers?"

"Good, one, yes, I don't have one, yes," were his answers. His mind was

whirring. And he was worrying. He was wearing nothing but

his white briefs. And it was going to get worse.

The doctor took out a reflex hammer; Dylan's knees shot into the air

when the doctor tapped them. The doctor also tested Dylan's

elbow reflexes with similar results.

"Good man, Dylan, now please hop off the table and step onto the scale

so I can get your height and weight." The doctor fiddled with

the scale a bit and called out the numbers as he wrote them down on the

chart. "6-feet tall and 165-pounds." The doctor ordered

Dylan off the scale and told him to stand in the center of the exam room.

The boy complied and stood proud and upright, avoiding

eye contact with his best friend who watched silently from his seat to

Dylan's right.

"Just stare straight ahead at the wall," requested the doctor. The silence

was awkward. The doctor circled around Dylan several

times, sizing him up while taking notes, all the while visually examining

the boy's smooth and lightly-tanned body. Dylan's hazel

eyes gazed straight ahead, filled with a look of concern and embarrassment.

After a minute, the doctor rested the chart on the exam table. "Dylan,

I need you to bend down and touch your toes."

For the first time, the young doctor's hands touched Dylan's flesh. He

placed his index and middle fingers at the top of Dylans neck

and slowly moved his fingers down his back.

"I'm checking your spine for scoliosis," he explained to young Dylan,

still hunched over and touching his toes. "Good posture is vital

for good health. Now please stand as straight as possible with your hands

at your side."

The doctor reached into his labcoat and pulled out a small white fabric

tapemeasure.

"We're going to get some measurements here to make sure everything's

proportionate." The doctor started unraveling the

tapemeasure from the back of Dylan's skull and wrapped it all around

the boy's head. 22-inches in circumference, noted the doctor

on the pad.

"Let's get your chestspan; lift your arms, please". The tapemeasure circled

Dylan's smooth chest, resting slightly above his nipples.

"32 inches," the doctor announced. "As you get older, and especially

if you work out, your chest size will increase," he scientifically

proclaimed.

"Now let's get your waist size." The doctor's hands tickled as he wrapped

the tapemeasure around Dylan's 29-inch waist, an inch

above his bare stomach. "Good job. Now hop up on the table and lay on

your back." The boy silently complied as Lance looked on

with amazement. He was actually very aroused by the sight of his friend

getting examined.

Dylan was shivering, his lanky hands resting at his side while he stared

up at the ceiling. The doctor stood at the side of the table,

looking down at the young man laying down before him. "Clasp your hands

behind your head." The boy reluctantly obeyed. Dylan

had only recently started sporting armpit hair. The doctor rubbed his

finger along Dylan's warm left underarm and tugged on several

long black hairs. "This is a good sign of development, Dylan. How long

has the hair been coming out?"

"Um...a few months, I guess," was his quiet response.

The doctor told Dylan he could put his arms back at his side. Then the

doctor started tapping his fingers on the boy's chest and

breastbone.

The doctor explained everything. "I'm testing for respiratory congestion

right now. Checks out okay."

The next move startled Dylan. The doctor started tickling the boy's nipples.

"By carefully examining the area around the nipples, we

can get a good assessment if you're going to have a hairy chest. I don't

feel anything here, but then again, some males never

develop chest hair."

The doctor's eyes and hands then moved down to Dylan's navel area. The

doctor massaged Dylan's belly in a circular motion,

checking for bowel obstructions. "No problems here," he noted. However,

he took some interest in the fine line of hair that started at

the bellybutton and worked its way down to the region covered by the

boy's briefs.

"You've got some healthy hair development, Dylan. That's good. Now let's

have a look at your pubic area." Suddenly, Dylan's fear

became a reality. Putting his fingers under the boy's waistband, the

doctor commanded Dylan to, "lift your hips." As Dylan's

buttocks were in the air, he quickly pulled the underpants down the teenager's

slim hips until the waistband of the shorts was at

mid-thigh.

The doctor's eyes settled on Dylan's naked crotch. His penis was soft,

and his balls were pulled up tight. The small patch of pubic

hair formed a neat triangle pattern.

"You've got some healthy development here, Dylan. Now, just relax."

The doctor took out his tape measure again and ever-so-gently placed it

along Dylan's slender soft dick. He wrote the number in the

chart: 3.5" soft.

The doctor moved his fingers to the tuft of pubic hair and started tickling

the area right above Dylan's penis. The poor boy was

sweating like a pig. He forced himself to think about sports...and about

school...anything to get his mind off the fact that his most

private parts were being intimately examined. But it didn't work. Dylan's

boycock suddenly sprang to life.

Doctor Rosen took the opportunity to measure Dylan's engorged dong. The

feel of the doctor's hands on his hard penis sent a jolt of

pleasure to Dylan's brain. The doctor held the tape measure against the

boy's penis. "6.5 inches. That's very respectable, son. Now

spread your legs please." said the doctor bluntly. He removed the tape measure

and grasped the slender penis for several seconds.

He could feel it twitching in his hand.

The doctor released Dylan's penis and traded the tapemeasure for an odd

looking set of five plastic orbs. "These are called Tanner

Balls," he explained. "They help measure the size of your testicles.

It's a good way to assess what stage of puberty you're in."

With his left hand, Doctor Rosen gripped Dylan's right testicle. He rolled

it around in his fingers and tugged on it just a bit. Then he

did the same with Dylan's left ball. Dylan squirmed and his breathing

started getting heavier. With the tanner balls in his right hand,

the doctor measured the size of Dylan's testes. "Looks like you're in

Stage 4 development," he said dryly.

The doctor made some more notes and put the beads back in his coat pocket.

"Okay, Dylan, I need you up on your knees, and elbows, leaning over the

exam table. We've got to do a prostate exam."

"Do we have to?" he asked.

"Yes. It's important," was the answer.

As the doctor took out a pair of latex gloves from the cabinet, Dylan

haltingly got into the position.

"This won't hurt at all if you relax." With that, the doctor used his

left hand to gently spread the boy's buttocks a little more, and

pressed his gloved fingertip lightly against the virgin teen anus. "Just

press back as if you were going to the bathroom, Dylan."

Dr. Rosen could feel the boy's hole slowly open up. Gradually, accompanied

by an in-and-out motion, the doctor was able to slide

almost all of his finger into the young man and feel the familiar lump

of his prostate. He silently marveled at just how tight and warm

a teen's rectum was.

The doctor quickly glanced over at Lance. He was amused to see that the

18 year old was wide-eyed as he intently watched the

doctor penetrate his best friend's asshole.

Now Dr. Rosen began his massage of the boy's prostate in earnest.

In less than a minute, Dylan's legs began to quiver. The doctor picked

up the specimen jar with his left hand and reached under and

around Dylan's waist. He pried the teenager's rigid penis away from its

position against the boy's slight covering of pubic hair, and

inserted the glans into the wide-mouthed jar. He held it that way and

continued the massage. Dylan let out a grunt and Dr. Rosen

felt the boy's ass clamp down tightly against his finger. His young penis

jerked repeatedly, and the doctor could feel the jets of

semen hitting the walls of the jar. Dylan went limp. If it hadn't been

for Dr. Roesn's arm, the boy would have collapsed onto the table.

The prostate massage had caused him to have the most intense orgasm of

his life. The doctor eased his arm and the specimen jar

out from under Dylan and gently let the boy down.

He dragged himself off of the examination table and stood beside it.

He appeared almost oblivious to his surroundings. His face and

upper chest were flushed. His penis was still almost fully hard, its

head red and glistening wet with the remnants of his ejaculation.

Both his friend and Dr. Rosen were staring at him, but he didn't seem

to notice.

After a few seconds, Dylan began to dress. As the teen's white jockey

shorts became covered by his Levi’s, Dr. Rosen tore his eyes

away and began to fill out some paperwork.