I was banging away on the drums & the cymbals in our combo at the contemporary service at church when she strolled in. It was Helen, my baby sitter from 15 years ago. She was stunningly beautiful, in a light blue sleeveless dress with a flaring skirt and matching heels. We only had 40 young people, so anyone new attracted attention. At coffee she was glad to see me, giving me a hug.

“What are you doing back in town?” I asked. “You graduated from school, went to college and that’s the last I heard of you.”

“I went to medical school, and now I’m a gastroenterologist. I just finished training, looked around, and found that here in our little town there’s a need for this specialty. There’s no one for a hundred miles.” She wanted to come home, tired of the big city, and felt comfortable back in the church she grew up in, even if we now had rock music instead of the choir & organ for young people. At 29 she fit in nicely with our young singles group in the evening. Even if she’d been my baby sitter, now we were both adults & I was really coming on to her.

The next day I saw my doctor for recurring cramps. He had me pull up my shirt, unzip my pants and push them down a little, pressed here & there, and listened with a stethoscope. “I can’t find anything that’d cause the cramping, especially that you’ve had them for a few months. If it were serious, it’d be progressive & cause more trouble. Six months ago I’d have had you come back in 3 months, but we have a new doctor that specializes in the abdomen right here in town. Would you like an appointment?”

“It’s Helen, right?”

“Yes. You know her. Only she’s Dr. Shapeero now. She bought Dr. Kraft’s old office. You remember he was killed in the accident 6 months ago. Lucky for his widow that Helen came along & took on the practice.”

“I’ve never had a woman doctor.”

“It’s not what’s between the legs,” he said. He tapped his head. “It’s what’s up here. She took her training at UC San Francisco. We’ve been referring our tough cases there. When I checked up on her, Dr. Carbone told me not to bother sending things three hundred miles anymore. Dr. Shapeero was the sharpest resident he’d ever had.” That gave me confidence.

His secretary called & found they could see me right away. I had the morning off from work anyway so I drove over to the converted house where Dr. Kraft had been practicing for years.

“Good morning, Ted,” said the lady behind the desk. It was Mrs. Coelho, a nurse who used to work at the hospital and mother of one of my best friends. I’d spent a lot of time at their house; she was a great cook. When I had pneumonia at age 10 she was one of my nurses. She gave me some forms to fill out.

I noted that the office was empty. “Not much business,” I commented, as I returned the forms.

“ We’ve just been going since last week. The word’s not out yet. Many of Dr. Kraft’s old patients have gone somewhere else, but we do have eight more patients this week. We’d like to have eight every morning. Well, lucky you. You have her undivided attention all morning.”

Mrs. Coelho was just a few pounds overweight and looked good for woman near 50. She was an old school nurse, still wearing a white dress, white stockings, white shoes and nurse’s cap. I noticed that the dress was polyester instead of starched cotton she wore in the hospital. “Those were a pain,” she said. “But now it’s 1972 & we don’t have to starch and press them. And panty hose are a lot easier than a girdle, garters and stockings.”

She took me back to the eye chart—I saw 20/20. It was hot & I was wearing just a tee shirt, cut offs and sandals. She had me kick off the sandals and weighed me, sliding the weights on the balance beam. She then slid the bar to the top of my head.

Helen, Dr. Shapeero had been sitting in her office watching the proceedings. “Come on in, Ted,” she said. It was warm in the office, but over a cotton print dress she wore a long white coat with her name embroidered on the left. Very professional. She stood up and we shook hands. She indicated that I should be seated on the other side of the old mahogany desk.

“It’s a novel experience to talk to the doctor first in the office,’ I commented.

“My professor, in his private practice, always did consultations in the office. He said that patients listen and communicate better with their clothes on.” She proceeded with an extremely detailed history, concentrating on the special interest. I told her I had cramps that doubled me up, at odd hours but usually during the day. They lasted sometimes an hour. I had to stop work often. We talked a lot about my diet, eating habits, and elimination. “What goes in the top is going to go out the other end, and some things can cause all kinds of trouble, while other things can do lots of good,” she pontificated.

Mrs. Coelho took me back to the exam room, seating me on the end of exam table. It was an old wooden table but of the usual design: a step sat the bottom, a slide for the feet, socket fore stirrups, and crinkly paper for sanitation. She popped a thermometer in my mouth. She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my arm, pumped it up firmly, uncomfortably so, and donning a stethoscope, listened at the bend of my elbow. “135/85, pulse 88. Are you nervous?” I nodded my head, the glass rod still in place. “That’s normal. Many people are scared of the doctor or the nurse.” She pulled out the thermometer. “98.2 normal. She pulled out a sheet, not very large. “Please take off all of your clothes, and you can cover up with the sheet.”

“Even my underwear?”

“She’s going to examine your rectum, so yes, take off your underwear too.” She turned and walked out the door, leaving it ajar. I had no sooner stripped and returned to the table when the beautiful Helen came back, accompanied by Mrs. Coelho. I felt quite vulnerable, covered only by the sheet across my lower abdomen down to mid thigh in the presence of

“Let’s take a look at you,” she said. She started with my head, feeling all over; she checked my eyes: side vision, movement, pupils and looked in. Using a tuning fork she checked my hearing and peered in the ears. As she looked in the mouth she commented I needed a dentist. I gagged as she stuck the tongue blade in. She felt my neck as I swallowed. The stethoscope was warm on my chest as I breathed in & out. Mrs. Coelho pulled out the slide and they had me lie down. Dr. Shapeero—I wanted to think of her as the doctor, now that she was examining me--thumped my chest and listened to the heart. She took a cursory glance and my legs and feet. She mentioned she was checking the ‘pedal pulses,’ whatever that was.

As she pulled the sheet down exposing my pubic hair casually she said, “Now for the main event.” Carefully she pressed, I jerked. “Ticklish?”

“I had this trouble with my pediatrician a couple times,” I said lamely.

“Let’s bend your knees,” she said. She and the nurse being on opposite sides of the table each drew up a leg. I was conscious that in this position my butt was exposed, but they were at the abdomen level, not looking up at my butt. She first had me put my own hand on my belly and press. Of course that didn’t cause tickling. Then she put he hand on the back of mine and she pressed on the belly. Finally she had me put my hand on hers and while she pressed & I didn’t spasm. I had to take a deep breath as she pushed up under my right ribs. “I can’t feel the live. That’s good. Also there’s no pain. She listened and found nothing unusual.

Dr. Shapeero pushed in the slide; my legs dangled. “Let’s have you stand up on the step, please.” As I slid off the table and straightened up, clutching the sheet she said conversationally, “Now I’ll examine you for hernias and your genitalia.” She tugged at the sheet & I resisted.

“I didn’t know you were going to examine my..my…” I was red in the face. It must have been obvious.

She took a step back, letting go of the sheet. I was expecting to be scolded. “A lot of people are shy, and become embarrassed at this part of the exam,” she said. “I like to be complete in my examinations. Even as a tummy doctor, I look at the eyes and ears. However, it’s especially important to check for hernias. The intestines sometimes pass into the groin causing trouble in the gut.” I clutched the gown even tighter.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said taking a different tack. “When I baby sat you your mother had me give you baths, up to ten years old. I know you liked it when I pulled back your foreskin & washed underneath.” I blushed, remembering getting erections and giggling.

“And I gave you tub baths when you were in the hospital, Ted,” said Mrs. Coelho. “You let me wash and dry you off.”

I started feeling silly. Not only were they professional women and were used to seeing men, they reminded me they’d already not only seen me, personally, but had washed me, even though I was a kid then and an adult now. I dropped the sheet, exposing myself. Mrs. Coelho took the sheet from me and put it way out of reach.

I looked up at the ceiling and away from Mrs. Coelho as Dr. Shapeero sat down in front of me. I felt her touch me, then push a finger into my scrotum and up into the groin. It was not painful, but uncomfortable as she impaled me on her finger. I’d had 3 other hernia exams. None was this thorough. I could feel her probing finger meet some resistance, then push forward as she found the ring and canal. She pushed her finger in gently, but firmly, as much as my scrotal skin allowed. “Cough please.” I choked out a cough. She repeated it on the other side.

“How come you didn’t ask me to turn my head?” I asked.

“We only do that if the patient is looking and might cough in my face. You were looking up and away. I’ll examine your penis next.”

My erect penis is over 5 inches. But it’s a ‘grower,’ that is, when it’s not erect, like a airplane’s landing gear, it retracts so only the tip shows, covered by the foreskin.

The lady doctor pushed on the tissue on either side of my penis and another 3 inches popped out. “Same as when I gave him a bath when Ted was a little boy,” she commented to Mrs. Coelho. The penis exam took only seconds as she retracted the foreskin, held the glans between the 2nd and 3rd fingers of each hand and peeled back the slit of the meatus, replaced the skin and felt the shaft. It was enough touching to make it grow, not hard but it stuck out 5 inches. She didn’t comment on the arousal as she felt the testes briefly.

Putting her hands on my hips the rotated me and asked me to bend over, telling me she was going to do a rectal exam. I’d never had one. The only thing I’d ever had up my butt was the tiny rectal thermometers that I hardly felt. I can’t, for the life of me, understand why people want to ‘moon’ someone. This was a horribly embarrassing position. I realized my scrotum was dangling and visible to the 2 women. I heard snapping sounds as Dr. Shapeero put on a pair of rubber gloves. “KY please, Mrs. Coelho.” There was a ‘glorp’ sound as Mrs. Coelho squirted out the jelly, and then I felt hands on my cheeks pulling them apart, and cold jelly dripped on my hole.

“I’m going to touch you now,” said the doctor. I jerked as she lightly touched me. She paused as I relaxed and then very gently pressed and slid the finger in. “Breathe deeply, but slowly,” she said, I squeezed to no avail, as her finger was already in. As she felt around, I realized the sensation in the anus was quite pleasurable, exactly like a firm bowel movement passing the anus. I gasped as she pressed firmly on something. “This is your prostate,’ she said. “No lumps.”

“Guiac,” she said. “I’m checking the stool for blood with a test. We put it on a paper and drip a chemical on it. A blue color means blood.”

“I feel some hemorrhoids inside,” she said. Meanwhile I felt paper wiping me off. Fingers held my scrotum while tissue cleaned off the copious KY jelly, which had dripped down. The doctor was at the side table. I realized it was Mrs. Coelho cleaning me off. Thinking back at the start I had felt two hands on the cheeks and one inside. Mrs. Coelho had been pulling my butt too.

“All done,” said the nurse. She had been holding my scrotum and testicles! I stood up, turned and sat with my hands over my crotch covering the erection, stark naked.

Her comment earlier about consults with the patient clothed, now Dr. Shapeero was addressing me as if my nudity were of no relevance. “I need examine your colon. We can do a sigmoidoscopy right now. But higher up we need to do a barium enema exam, which is an X-ray. The other problem that causes cramps is your gall bladder, so we need X-ray studies of that too. So to do the sigmoidoscopy we need you clean. Do you have about an hour? Then you won’t have to come back.”

“I have the morning off,” I replied.

“Excellent. Mrs. Coelho will clean you out with some enemas and I can look in.”

Enemas! I’d heard about enemas but never thought I’d be on the receiving end. The doctor left. I watched as the nurse took a small box from the drawer and extracted a four-inch bottle with a nozzle sticking out of the top.

“Lie back down on the table, please.” She slid the support out and rolled me over on my left. “Flex your top leg.” I felt my butt open up. “I’m going to put this in your rectum. It’ll go in easily. Then I’ll put in the fluid. Please hold it as long as your can, or about 15 minute.” The enema slid in easier than the finger. The cool fluid felt weird. I stayed in that position for a seemingly long time. By and by, I felt full and had to clamp down on the anus. When the pressure started to get to the point where I didn’t think I could hold it, I called out for Mrs. Coelho.

She came back in, and helped me up to a sitting position. I had one hand on the table and the other over my crotch. “Let’s go over to the toilet,” she said. “It’s just down the hall.”

As I stood up, I looked around for the sheet. It had apparently fallen on the floor on the other side of the table. “I, uh, can I have the sheet to cover up?”

“Oh don’t worry. There’s no one in the office but the doctor and me.” With that, she propelled me out the door and led me naked the 20 feet to the toilet, past the gaze of the young woman doctor peering at me as I passed her office. A thought intruding was that barefoot, the sensations of the carpet on my feet made me feel really naked. I was desperate the time I reached the toilet. I seized the door, jerked it open and dropped down on the seat, not wasting time putting a liner on. A gush of fluid splashed into the toilet noisily for 2 seconds. Then I felt the shit oozing out like toothpaste. As I strained, I realized the nurse was standing over me as I sat on the ‘throne’ naked and taking a shit. The embarrassment & humiliation was furthered by the ugly sounds and the smells that I knew were assailing her senses. More fluid and shit alternated pouring into the toilet. Finally, it was over. I sat panting.

“How are you doing,” she asked.

“I need to rest a few moments.”

“Okay. I’ll be back. Clean yourself off when you feel better.”

The cramping and soreness inside subsided, & I wiped myself. Her sharp ears must have heard the toilet paper roll sounds. She was back as I finished the last three wipes. I flushed toilet.

“One more,” she announced. She indicated a chair in the next room, which had a towel on the seat. “Wait over there a couple minutes while I set up.”

Mrs. Coelho had a blue plastic board about four ½ feet long. She put a chair on in front of the toilet & rested the board on the toilet bowl and the chair. I noticed the board had a hole, over the bowl and a raised part behind the bowl. She rolled in a stainless steel stand with two large bags with tubes dangling. I didn’t like the looks of things.

She had me lie down on a towel over the blue board. “Now pull up your knees, and hold your legs up behind the knees.” I had been trying to protect my modesty before, with a hand over myself when possible, but this was total exposure. She took another rolled up towel and placed it under my lower back elevating me even more.

“I’m going to put in this tube for the enema. I’ll use a lot of fluid, so to keep it from leaking out there’s a balloon inside to plug it up. There’s another one on the outside to keep the inside balloon from getting out of place.”

I watched between my legs. My genitals were right in view at what was now the top of my upside down torso, totally exposed to the nurse. The tube looked huge. Worse were the two limp fluted bags on the sides. She inserted the tube. I gasped as the first bag slid in stretching my hole. Finally, I felt the sphincter close down on the smaller tube, and pressure on the skin from something on the outside.

“Now I’ll inflate the balloons,” she said. I could see she had bulbs like blood pressure cuff inflators. The pressure increased on the inside. Something felt really good and my penis swelled. When it got all the way up, she said quietly, “That happens to many men. You don’t have to worry about offending me or covering it. I’m now bothered by your erection.”

She continued pumping. “It hurts,” I moaned. “Please, no more.”

“Okay. Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry, but I heard a hiss and felt a little less pressure. Puff, puff, puff. Now there was a lot of pressure on the outside of my butt. She pulled the roll from under my back and had me let put my legs down. I found there were two depressions for my feet; the location kept my knees spread and bent. Maybe it was silly, but I put one hand on my crotch. Mrs. Coelho attached the tube from the huge bag to my ‘tail.’ I could feel the warm water flowing up inside. Soon the sensation was pressure; the big bag 5 feet in the air was rapidly shrinking while my belly was swelling. “Please, no more,” I moaned again—not for the last time. She shut off the tube, and then deflated first the outer then the inner bags with loud hisses.

“When I pull it out, just relax and let it out.”

The fluid rushed out like a horizontal geyser. The backsplash between my legs deflected the stream into the toilet. She watched the gushing fluid dispassionately with one hand on her hip. When the last drops dribbled out, she said, “It’s still dirty. We need one more. I rolled my eyes. I assumed the ‘diaper’ position again, and gritted my teeth as she slid in the tube and balloon in again. This time she was satisfied the water was clear enough. I was exhausted. She dried me off, and then helped me roll over to the right. Dr. Shapeero came back in. With one woman on each arm, I was able to get up. I stumbled a couple steps; they supported my firmly, preventing me from covering up. With a wide based gait, I made it the 15 feet to the procedure room. I was conscious of my unsupported balls swaying in the open and my half-erect penis. I was grateful they were on either side, not in a position to see my crotch.

In the procedure room, I saw the Mayo stand. A short tapered steel tube and a 2 foot long stainless steel cylinder were on the tray. There was a rubber inflation bulb. A balloon with a web net was attached to rubber inflation tube gleaming stainless steel table was ‘broken’ 90°. “Climb up & kneel on the step, facing the table,” said the woman doctor. I got up on the step; it was down to low, so I got down, waiting nude as they raised the step. Finally got on and bent over the break; my scrotum drooped through the hole in the pads. They adjusted another shelf so that I could rest on my elbows. Mrs. Coelho rotated the table so my back was down at a 40° angle. I heard the snap of rubber gloves. I knew the game was on. Mrs. Coelho squeezed jelly on the smaller instrument.

“I’m going to put in a small speculum to look at the inside of the anus,” said Dr. Shapeero. I involuntarily squeezed as she touched the tip to my hole, but she was able to insert in half way in easily. “Just push like you want to have a bowel movement,” she said. I took a deep breath and grunted. The tube slid all the way in. “I’m pulling out the obturator. There’s a slit on the side so I can inspect the walls of the anus.” I felt her rotate the speculum. The slit rubbed uncomfortably against my sphincter. She stopped and moved it back and forth a little. “You have some small hemorrhoids,” she said, slipping it out. “They’re not causing any trouble.”

Now I heard clanking as she assembled the long sigmoidoscope. “More KY,” she said. “This one is a lot bigger,” she warned. My whole body tensed up and spasmed when she touched my anus. As before, she was able to insert the tip a short distance. I pushed. She rotated it and wiggled it from side to side, keeping steady pressure. “Push more,” encouraged Mrs. Coelho. It suddenly dropped in and I sagged, as the inward pressure on my anus released. I’d been holding my breath and panted. “I’ll insert all the way, and then inspect more as I come out. To avoid damage I’ll inflate your rectum with air.”

It couldn’t be worse than the enema, I thought. I felt intermittent pushing. “Ouch!” I cried more than once. ‘Squish, hiss’ went the balloon. More slow advancement. Finally, she announced, “It’s all the way in.” As she backed out, she stopped once to insert a suction tube to clean out left over stool. All I felt was pressure and sliding at the anus. Finally, it popped out. Mrs. Coelho cleaned me off; this time I wasn’t shocked wherever she wiped. She went over me again with a wet towel and then a dry one. She cranked it up level and said, “Now you can stand up.” I put down first my left, then right leg as the 2 women steadied me. Mrs. Coelho let the table down and I sat gratefully and covered my crotch.

Dr. Shapeero took off her gloves. She leaned against a bank of cabinets with the chart in her hands, scribbling a couple notes. Mrs. Coelho behind me was cleaning up. “Well, so far I haven’t found anything wrong. You looked okay inside. There was no blood or inflammation. I haven’t figured out what’s bothering your, but sometimes no news is good news. I’ll order a gall bladder x-ray and a barium enema and we can go from there, okay? Any questions?” I shook my head. All I wanted to do at the moment was to get my clothes on. “Okay. Then Mrs. Coelho will make an appointment for you a few days after the radiology. You can get dressed now.”

“Um. My clothes are in the other room.”

“Oh, sure.” She stepped aside. I stood up to go, and let out the world’s largest fart! Right in front of the most beautiful woman I’d seen in years. Was there no end to the humiliations? She just said sympathetically, “That’s just the air I used to inflate the rectum.”

With both hands over my crotch I fled the room toward the exam room with my clothes, feeling their eyes on my bare butt. I never dressed so quickly in my life. At the reception area I had to wait until Mrs. Coelho made the radiology appointments. Just before I left, Helen came out, and said, “You were a good patient. Are you going to singles Bible study tomorrow night? I’ll see you there.”