Names in this account have been changed to protect personal privacy. It is a story from long, long ago.
I was a lonely teenaged bronkin’ buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck.
But I knew I was out of luck …
For the first fifteen years of my life, I never gave much thought to doctors. I grew up in the country … in the South … in a little house at the end of a rumpled, red-clay road. My dad died when I was 10, and mom was a drug addict who more-often-than not, was in the county jail … until she finally disappeared somewhere into the lost streets of some favorite ghetto, when I was 11.
My grandmother raised me, and she did a pretty good job of it, all things considered. She drew a small pension from Sears & Roebuck; and I worked on the farm of a neighbor man whenever I had free time – bringing in a little extra cash here and there, as a farm boy.
Grandma was a no-nonsense woman. She kept a clean and orderly house … and I was kept a clean and orderly kid. My bed was made every day; I never missed a day of school; teeth were brushed; daily baths were taken; and homework was supervised with an eagle eye. When I was not doing chores or homework, I was expected to be out in the neighbor’s field picking tobacco … or driving a tractor … or birthing calves … or forking hay. It was a hard, but honest life.
She insisted that I get good grades in school. While I was pretty popular in school (I guess), the only real social outlet I had was FFA (Future Farmers of America), and the 4-H Club. The single concession she made to my teenaged social interests was that she allowed me to grow my hair into a mop that (I thought) resembled Paul McCartney … so, I was sort of a Justin Bieber look-alike years before the present-day boy-wonder made his entrance. I enjoyed the girls at school, and flirted often. But I knew having a date would be out of the question until I finished high school. So my teenaged sexual escapades were non-existent.
Grandma never had any use for doctors. Whenever I was sick (which was rarely) she would break out the Vicks Vapo Rub, aspirin, and hot tea. Fresh fruit always appeared, somehow, on the table. And we lived a healthy, country life.
One day, however, in the early summer of my 15th year, Grandma called me into the sitting room after school, and sat me down. She made the announcement that I was going to the doctor. When I asked “What for?” she told me she had been worrying about my weight (I was a relatively thin guy) … and she had made an appointment for me at a nearby pediatrics clinic … for a “thorough check-up” … to see why I wasn’t gaining weight. On one of the sitting room chairs, she had laid out a clean pair of jeans and T-shirt, clean underwear, and clean socks – really, the best set of school clothes I owned.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “I want you to wear this outfit. And you can drive the pickup truck yourself … to see the doctor!”
Now I had somewhat mixed reactions to this news. On the one hand, I was incredibly excited that she was going to let me drive myself into town in the pickup truck! Driving was a duty that was one of my favorites. In those days, seeing a fifteen-year-old driving a farm truck was not an uncommon scene. But on the other hand, I was a little bit uneasy that I was going to have to go to the doctor and get a “check-up” … thorough, or otherwise.
At that age, my only experience with doctors had been a few visits as a young child to get shots for school. And the possibility that I might get a shot ... especially in the butt ... was one that I didn’t care to think about.
The other thing that bothered me just a little, was the idea of going to a pediatric doctor. I figured that a fifteen-year-old was just a little too mature to be sent to a baby doctor. But I knew that any argument with Grandma would be a losing proposition.
And so, the next morning – a Saturday, of course – I took my shower and dressed up in the clean clothes Grandma had set aside. Then, I dutifully drove myself into town to the office of the pediatrician.
When I arrived at the doctor’s office, there were a few younger kids there … and one distressed-looking teenager (a ninth grader, with his mom) whom I recognized from school. I introduced myself to the receptionist and signed in … then I took a seat in the corner, trying to hide my face under my baseball cap so that the other high school kid might not recognize me. I was curious about why he was there, but quite fearful word would get out that I was seeing a “baby doctor.” But he never looked my way, and they were called back in just a few minutes – to my relief.
I tried to look at a few sports magazines in the waiting area, but I couldn’t really concentrate on them … for wondering what was about to happen to me. Mainly, I was worried that they were going to want to give me some kind of shot. But I later found out that there are a lot worse things that can happen in the doctor’s office besides getting shots!
After I’d waited for a few minutes … maybe 15 or 20 … a nurse came to the door and called my name. She wore one of those starched white suits, and a stiff, white nurse’s cap.
“Come on back,” she said. “And we’ll get you ready for the doctor!”
At first, we went back to a little table in an alcove off the hall, and she pulled the curtain closed for privacy. Then, there were a lot of questions about my health – when was my last physical? (never); was I sick? (no); how old was I? (15); and so forth.
She gave me a plastic cup, and I had to go into the little bathroom and pee in it ... then set the sample on a shelf.
When I came back out of the bathroom, she sat me down and said, “Roll up your sleeve.” I was afraid she was going to give me an injection. But she just took my blood pressure and pulse. There were two thermometers on the table – in glass containers – one with a red tip, and the other with a blue tip. She shook down the blue one, and I held it under my tongue for a few minutes. I remember the feeling of the straight mercury bulb pressing uncomfortably into the base of my tongue.
When she had finished with vital signs and health questions, I followed her down the hall into a small exam room, and she left my medical chart on the door. She said for me to “have a seat” and wait for the doctor. Then, she closed the door and left me alone.
I remember the whole clinic – and particularly the exam room – had an overpowering smell of alcohol. There was a small desk, with a metal chair beside it, and a rolling stool for the doctor, a medical scale, and a clothes rack with a few hooks missing. The exam table was in the center of the room; it was blue. Near it at the head stood a stainless steel Mayo tray, on which were placed an otoscope, ophthalmoscope, measuring tape, box of gloves, microscope slide, and a Scotch tape dispenser. There may have been some other items there, but I don’t remember them.
The outside window was curtained, and there was a bright fluorescent light glaring down from the ceiling. Directly over the exam table was a multi-bulbed surgical lamp. On one of the walls hung a menacing-looking, black electronic box with a two-pronged probe attached by a coiled wire … the label said “Hyfrecator.” I examined it closely, and sat there hoping there wouldn’t be any need for me to be “Hyfrecated” – with those pointy little probes.
I hung my baseball cap on one of the clothes rack hooks and sat down there for several minutes pondering the room and its contents, with a shiver still running up my spine as I wondered about the purpose of the black, electronic box.
In a few minutes, the door opened, and the doctor walked in – accompanied by a guy in a short white coat.
“I’m Doctor Richards,” he said. “And this is Mister Sperry – my assistant.” They both shook my hand, as I stood up respectfully when they entered the room. “And you are Matthew?” the doctor smiled at me. (I preferred to be called “Matt” but I did not go into the subject of my nickname preference.)
Mister Sperry pulled a clean piece of paper over the exam table while Doctor Richards took a quick look at my chart. “Says here, you’re fifteen … and you’re getting a complete physical exam … because of concerns about your weight. Is that right?”
I nodded “Yes sir,” and added, “but it’s mainly my Grandma who’s worried about it! I think my weight is OK!”
The doctor smiled, and then said something like, “Well, we’ll see if everything checks out alright!”
Mister Sperry flipped on the surgical lamp, and the doctor told me that the first thing they wanted me to do was to sit down and take of my shoes, socks, and T-shirt. So, I sat in the metal chair and untied my sneakers – following which I pulled off the freshly-laundered socks that my grandmother had provided. Even though my socks were clean, I could still smell the odor of my own feet. Then, I stood up and tugged off my T-shirt and carefully folded it over the back of the chair.
The doctor sat me down at the foot of the exam table – with one of those steps at the end – and looked into my eyes and ears with his lights. He took a tongue depressor from a cabinet and stuck it down my throat, while instructing me to say, “A-a-a-a-h.” Naturally, I gagged a little, which evoked a smile from Mister Sperry. Then, he took a blood pressure cuff and again took my pressure with it.
All the while he was doing these things, he was asking questions about my school and farm work. He seemed pretty impressed by my work and busy schedule, and I started to feel proud that I had a job like a grown man and making money for my Grandma. He asked some questions about my appetite; and I responded that it was “good.” Mister Sperry stood by, watched, and joined in the conversation; but I wasn’t really sure what he was doing there.
After a few minutes of that stuff, the doctor made some notes and then said, “OK, now I need you to take off your pants!”
I considered the request for a millisecond and decided that, even though I wasn’t happy about it, this was probably a normal thing for a doctor to do. And I had clean jockey shorts on underneath. So, I unbuckled my belt and unsnapped my jeans ... unzipped them and peeled them down my legs, and stumbled out of them – placing my Levis on the chair with the rest of my clothes.
They sat me down again on the table in my skivvies, and the doctor took one of those rubber hammers and started tapping on my knees and ankles. (I think I was surprised and giggled a little bit when my legs involuntarily flew up into the air during the reflex tests.) He tapped on my arms a few times, and then made me squeeze his fingers to test my strength.
“OK, stand up,” he said, after he was through with my reflexes. I stood up.
Mister Sperry, I noticed, began to watch more closely.
“Alright, son,” he said, pointing at my waist with a more serious tone in his voice. “I need you to slide out of your underpants now.”
When I heard that command, I could suddenly feel my face flush red . My situation was deteriorating fast!
“Take off everything?” I whimpered in surprise. “Like naked?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “Remove your underwear. I need to look at you all over ... from head to toe.”
Well, my heart started racing at ninety miles an hour. This was something I definitely did not expect! And I definitely did not like it! Slowly and unenthusiastically, I put my fingers under the waistband of my white jockey shorts (very clean jockey shorts!) and pulled them away from my waist … then reluctantly tugged them down my legs … all the way to the floor ... where they sat limply around my feet.
“Now step out of your shorts and put them on the chair,” he ordered.
I clumsily grabbed my underpants and tossed them over onto the chair – simultaneously bringing my hands together in front of my waist – to cover my private parts. So there I was now, completely naked!
I was feeling pretty confused and embarrassed.
At the age of fifteen, I was a fairly normal-looking adolescent boy. My body was essentially hairless, except for the Justin Bieber mop – and the usual teen male plumage. There was still only a very light down of hairs on my upper lip and on my calves. My chest, abdomen, and buttocks were as smooth as a girl’s. My underarms had tufts of stringy, brown filaments (I had been using deodorant since age 13). And my pubic hair, though reasonably full, did not extend onto my thighs nor up into any discernable “happy trail.” In short, I was a very smooth-skinned, but sexually-developing teenager.
As I stood there naked in front of the doctor, I was painfully bashful. I couldn’t believe they were looking at me without any clothes on.
“Let your arms relax, and put your hands by your side,” the doctor ordered. “Step out into the middle of the room.”
In spite of my embarrassment, I lowered my hands and stepped out in front of the two men – my face still flushing with shame. I stood there hesitantly, uncertain about where to look or what to do with my hands. So I simply remained at attention and stared forward.
“Just relax,” Mister Sperry said. “And let us look at you for a minute.”
The two men stared at me for a few minutes from the front ... inspecting my teenaged body from head to toe. “Now turn around,” the doctor said. So, I rotated facing away from them, and they looked at my back and butt.
Mister Sperry took the tape measure from the Mayo stand and handed it to the doctor. He rolled over on the stool to where I was standing. "Let's measure your waist," he said. And he wrapped the tape measure around my middle. "Twenty-eight inches!" he noted. And he wrote it on my chart. For several moments, he also measured the girth of my chest, calves, arms, and thighs ... making notes at each step.
“Step up on the scale, now,” he said. And I climbed onto the measuring scale, where he took my nude weight and my height. I stood there shivering for several minutes while they fiddled with the beam and counterpoise.
“Five feet, eight inches. One hundred twenty-five pounds. Everything looks pretty normal,” the doctor finally remarked. “Now let’s have you hop on the table – and lie on your back.”
So up onto the examination table I went – in all my naked glory. I gingerly positioned myself in the middle of the crispy paper that covered the cushions, and stretched out full length on my back. I remember vividly the feeling of the paper under my bare buttocks, and the crinkly-crunching noise it made when I shifted myself around.
Mister Sperry and Doctor Richards came to the opposite positions of the exam table and stood by my sides. The surgical lamp was adjusted so that it shone down all over me from head to toe.
At first the doctor took his stethoscope and listened to my heart. Then, “breathe out, breathe in.” I’m sure my heart was pounding loud enough to be heard throughout the room. He listened to my belly, and then to my neck and inguinal areas – quietly moving the ice-cold bell over my body.
Then, he put the stethoscope away and began to feel with his fingers – first my neck, then tummy, then kidneys. At one point, he raised my arms and felt of the sticky area under my armpits. That tickled a little, and I winced when he was doing that.
“He’s a little ticklish!” Mister Sperry laughed.
“There’s a small amount of hair in the axillae,” the doctor noted. He asked me about deodorant usage (I favored Old Spice, at the time), and continued for a few moments to feel under my arms.
After that, they moved my arms and legs around and tested my range of motion. Each of my legs was held up in the air and moved around to check my hips. Of course, everything between my legs was flopping around wildly while they did that.
I don’t remember much more about what else they checked on my upper body, arms, and legs. But they did several different tests, and I lay there quietly throughout.
My red face and embarrassment had begun to subside a little during those earlier parts of the exam ... at least, until the doctor moved his hands down between my legs.
“I need to check your genitals, now,” the doctor said clinically. And he reached down between my legs and grabbed me by the balls.
When I felt his fingers on my nuts, I reflexively started coming up off the table.
“Relax!” Mister Sperry said, and gently pushed me back down. “This will only take a couple of minutes. The doctor needs to examine your testicles.”
And examine my testicles he did! Before that day, no one had ever touched my testicles (at least since infancy). But this doctor felt, probed, and fondled every inch of my balls, and examined them in every conceivable way … while Mister Sperry watched. He ran his fingers over them, under them, around them, and everywhere between my legs.
“Normal teenaged boy,” the doctor said. “Tanner 4 pubic hair and genital growth. The scrotal skin is appropriately thinned and rugated. Good testicular growth. No lumps or lesions.”
As this went on – for a minute or so – I suddenly began to feel a new horror start to present itself. While I was terribly embarrassed by having to strip naked in front of two guys and get my marbles fondled, I started to notice that my penis was joining in the conversation. It was beginning to stiffen! Uh, oh!
My mind suddenly lit on the dismaying possibility that I might throw a boner during this exam. I lay there groping with my thoughts in a panic. If THAT happened, I’d never be able to live with myself! I closed my eyes and tried to think of something … anything! Anything else that would stop the progress of the disaster that was developing down between my legs.
But relief was not to come. The doctor finished with my balls and immediately went to examining my penis … with his fingers. Stretching it out … squeezing the tip ... palpating the shaft. And as he did, my young rod grew stiffer and stiffer. He looked closely into the urethral opening.
“Circumcised penis,” the doctor noted. “Good size. Adult length. Normal frenulum … glans. The shaft is without lesions.”
Mister Sperry watched closely as the doctor fingered my willy.
“Any burning when you pee?” the doctor asked, focusing on my meatus.
He fondled and examined my penis for what felt like an eternity ... until I was on the edge of being completely freaked-out ... but somehow I managed to keep my cool.
By the end of the exam, my whacker was standing at mostly full attention in front of the two men. I was totally abashed.
“Don’t worry about the erection,” chimed Mister Sperry. “It happens to a lot of young guys!”
The doctor made some notes about my junk, and then he gave me some embarrassing instructions about testicular self-exam – which I barely heard in the emotional furor of lying there naked and having an erection.
Following the penis and testicular debacle, there was a brief lull in the exam, while Doctor Richards made notes on my medical chart. I lay on the table, with Mister Sperry waiting by my side, looking at me ... running his eyes up and down my body. The unwanted tumescence in my pecker began to slowly abate. He tried to talk to me about school and sports, and probably the conversation helped to keep my mind occupied – and give my peter time to relax. But I was still lying there naked – and the examination was not over.
“OK,” the doctor said, turning away from his notes toward me. “Let’s have you roll over … onto your tummy!”
While I was relieved at being able to turn over and conceal my unruly penis, I started to worry about a new possibility when they rolled me over prone. Were they getting me into position for some kind of school shot or other injection? In my butt? My mind raced through several painful possibilities … but none of them seemed likely. Nevertheless …
Mister Sperry moved the Mayo tray closer to the table, while the doctor came over and started running his fingers up and down my spine.
“Any back pain?” he asked.
“No sir,” I politely replied.
They bent my lower legs up from my knees, and the doctor checked the bottoms of my feet. Then he ran his fingers between each of my toes. I worried some about my foot odor, and I was a little embarrassed that my bare butt was still in view, but it was better than lying on my back … or so I thought.
“OK, son,” said the doctor. “We need to check your seat, now.”
My seat? Hmmm? I wondered what …
Gently, the doctor placed both of his palms on my buttocks. “Now, just relax ...”
Mister Sperry was at the end of the table, and he moved my feet apart. Then, the doctor pushed down into my rear end and, with his palms, he started to spread my butt open!
Once again, I involuntarily lifted up when I felt the sensation of my butt being spread. Mister Sperry pushed me back down onto the exam paper. “Try to relax, son,” he said.
Well, telling a teenaged boy to relax – while he’s having his butt spread – is an exercise in futility. I could no more relax than I could satisfy an equation in differential calculus. My butt cheeks clamped down as tight as a tick!
“You’re gonna need to relax your backside!” Mister Sperry said. “So he can check you.”
It took me a couple of seconds to come around, but finally I managed to consciously relax my rear end. And in an instant, the doctor had my butt spread wide open.
Now, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that anyone would want to look at the inside of my ass crack! And when I heard that I was getting a doctor “check-up” I had no idea that he would be “checking-up” the intimate interior of my booty!
He held my cheeks open for several moments and examined me back there … while Mister Sperry looked on.
“He’s a normal teenaged boy,” the doctor said, looking up my narrow ass. “The anal mucosa is pink and moist. Good hygiene … No hemorrhoids. Excellent tone.”
Mister Sperry peered inside to make his own assessment. “Looks like his puberty is pretty good.”
My butt? Puberty back there?
“Yes,” said the doctor. “He has two stripes of moderate anal hairs running alongside his orifice. Wiry texture. I would rate him as a Tanner 4.”
I lay there facing forward, listening to them talk about my anus and butt hairs. I was mortified beyond belief, and just couldn’t conceive of the fact that someone was looking up my ass.
The doctor took his finger and poked around at the sides of my anus. I winced.
"Try to hold still, Matthew!" he cautioned me. "I need to examine you here for a few seconds."
He continued to poke and probe with his index finger ... for several moments ... casually pressing here and there around the margins of my tight butthole. Then, he ran his finger up and down through the hairs that encircled it.
"I don’t see any real problems back here,” the doctor said … to no one in particular. “I’d say he looks like a normal fifteen-year-old boy.”
To my relief, the doctor released my buttocks and put one of his hands on my back. “Do you have much itching back here, Matthew ... in your seat?”
“No sir,” I replied, trying to conceal my embarrassment and act “cool.” “Not much.”
The doctor made some notes on the chart, then he turned back around to where I was lying there on my stomach. “We just need to do a quick test for worms, and then we’ll be through.”
Worms? He thinks I might have worms?
Mister Sperry came to my side on the table opposite the doc. The doctor, meanwhile, came over to the Mayo tray and pulled out a strip of Scotch tape from the dispenser. He arched it in the fingers of his right hand – so that the sticky side of the tape was bowing outward.
“OK!” he said, and nodded to Mister Sperry.
Before I knew what was happening, Mister Sperry had his hands on my rear end again, and in a sudden motion, he spread my butt again. I buried my face in my hands in shame, when I felt the same humiliating exposure repeated once more.
“Now, just try to relax,” the doctor said. “Most boys don’t like this part.”
He brought the tape down into my crack and began to press the sticky side against my anus. When I felt the crinkly cellophane come down inside me and touch my hole, I jerked my butt cheeks again.
“Relax, please,” he said again.
I relaxed (as much as I could) while he pressed the tape firmly against my anal skin. Then, in a swift motion, he jerked it back out.
Well ... it didn’t really hurt, but the tape grabbed at my anal skin and butt hairs, and the sudden feeling surprised me.
He repeated the same process again. Tape against the anus. Followed by a sudden jerk outward.
I was shocked by the feeling, and again tensed up a little.
“This is a test for pinworms,” Mister Sperry said. “The pinworm test.”
The tape went in again. The tape came out. In again. Out again. Soon there was a rhythmic cadence to the procedure, and the sticky noise made by the tape echoed metronomically off the walls in the room.
In and out. In and out. Tape against the anus ... a sudden jerk out.
I was completely humiliated by the pinworm test … by the total nudity … by the intimate exposure of my butt crack and anus … and by the tacky sound made by the adhesive tape as it came in and out of my sticky butt.
More than that humiliation, however, I suddenly realized that the whole Scotch tape procedure was stimulating me sexually. As the doctor taped and taped and taped at my anus, my penis started to stiffen and grow harder and harder. I could feel myself – my member – pressing mercilessly into the crinkly paper of the exam table … getting more and more aroused by the cool air passing through my crack … and by the insistent tape clinging itself to my perineal skin and jerking rhythmically, sporadically at my young anus. I could not imagine how I could endure it any longer without having an orgasm.
But somehow, I escaped that fate. After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor stopped probing my butt with the tape, and the examination was over.
By the time the pinworm test was finished, my penis was rock hard and poking like a stake into the exam table. I knew that I had already secreted some seminal fluid into the paper, and I knew there was going to be a stain underneath me when I got up.
Sure enough, when they finished and told me to stand up, there was a little, round, wet puddle in the middle of the table. And my rod was sticking straight up in the air. They acted as though they didn’t notice, but I’m sure it was pretty obvious.
The doctor rolled his stool over to where I stood, and put his finger into my crotch. “Give me a cough ... [cough] ... now turn your head the other direction and cough ... [cough].” His hand brushed lightly and nonchalantly against the sides of my stiff penis each time he checked me.
Following the hernia examination, the doctor wrote for a few moments on my chart, while I stood there nude. I wondered if he was writing down things about how big my penis was ... or what my anus looked like.
After a few moments, he allowed me to put my clothes back on, and Mister Sperry left the room. I quickly pulled my underwear and pants back on to minimize the view of my rock-hard shlong. We sat at the little desk and talked about the results. He was very nice about it. Told me I was a good patient, and not to worry about having an erection. He said that he didn’t think anything was really wrong with me … but that they would have the results of my pinworm test in a few days. He offered to call Grandma with the report, but I told him I’d tell her everything had checked out OK. They put my name down as a regular patient, and the doctor told me I could come to see him any time, for any problems I had. We shook hands, and I left.
On my way home, I thought a lot about the physical exam I’d just had. I was still pretty worked up about it, and I swore to myself I’d never tell any of my friends the details of what had been done to me.
As I drove the truck home, I also thought about the other teenaged boy who had been in the waiting room – the ninth grader. I remembered the look of fear on his face, and I wondered what had happened to him when they took him back. Had he been stripped naked? Did the doctor fondle his penis? Did he have his anus checked? Had he been given the pinworm test? Was his mother in the room when they examined him?
Naturally, I didn’t tell Grandma any details about the exam; she was pleased that I had a clean bill of health, but she never asked about the examination.
At that age, I was trying my best not to masturbate. I always figured it was sort of sinful … based, I guess, on my upbringing. But when I got home … that night, as I lay in my bed, I could smell the odor of my own body under the covers. I thought about my own smell and the smell in the doctor’s exam room. I put my hand between my legs and started to move it. Massaging myself. Up and down. I thought about the ninth grader – lying there naked – with his penis exposed – getting taped up his butt. In a few seconds I was jerking furiously. And in a few more seconds, my entire body tensed and thrashed. And I had what was probably the most intense orgasm of my life. My seed went everywhere! Fingers, hands, thighs, underpants, sheets ... everything was covered with the white, sticky goo.
All from a physical examination.
I’m not gay, but those fantasies still lurk in a pleasant corner of my life.
That was the beginning of my medical fetish. I had several more examinations by Doctor Richards while I was in high school, and he actually became a mentor and a good friend. I also met the ninth grader in a less anxious environment. But those friendships and subsequent medical examinations are the fodder for other stories …