“Exactly the same as last year,” she muttered,
writing after adjusting the scale’s weights.

“Hasn’t changed since college,” I answered.

“Good. Now please sit on the examining table and
let me see your feet.”

I walked the three steps to the table, dreadfully
conscious of the breeze blowing into the opening at
the back of the hospital gown. She snapped on a
pair of latex gloves as I hoisted myself onto the
paper covered table and presented my feet. She
pulled over a stool, sat and examined my toenails
and the soles of my feet. She wrote more notes. She
examined my calves and knees. More notes. She took
me by the left hand and turned my arm this way and
that, then the right. More notes. What was she
seeing, I wondered, that warranted all those notes?

“Excellent,” she finally said. “Now, scoot forward,

I scooted until just my ass-cheeks were on the
table, my toes just barely touching the floor. The
nurse raised the front of my gown and began to
touch my *testicles*! I was completely taken aback!

“Spread your legs, please.”

She began to work her fingers all over my scrotum,
rubbing and pinching here and there as she went.
First one side then the other, from the base of my
penis down to the perineum. Then the other side.

“Hold this and relax,” she said, holding up the
front of the gown.

I took the proffered cloth in both hands, tried to
think of my work, the things I had to do tomorrow,
dead animals… anything to take my mind off what
this stunning blonde was doing. How could I relax?
A gorgeous young woman was fondling my private
parts! And as she bent forward, she gave me a
rather clear view of her bra-less chest. Despite my
efforts, my penis was rising.

She took my scrotum in her left hand and made a
ring of thumb and forefinger, capturing the
testicles, then gently palpated them, squeezing and
feeling them all over.

“Testicular cancer,” she said, “is a nasty disease
that can creep up on you if you don’t check. You
should do this yourself, you know – look for little
hard nodules.”

She released her grip, only to push my engorging
penis aside and take a different grip, full handed,
on my scrotum behind the balls. Drawing them down,
she renewed her gentle squeezing, rolling them
inside the sac, and pushing them apart and back
together. By now my penis was full hard and
throbbing, despite my embarrassment. I didn’t think
I could get more disturbed, but then she let go of
my scrotum and grabbed my dick, lifting it out of
the way with her left hand while with her right
felt the cords and vesicles connecting my balls to
my body.

Did it feel like she was moving her left hand? Her
thumb, under the glans, was it moving, gently
rubbing? Or was that my imagination? This certainly
didn’t feel like a clinical examination, and for
sure nothing like any annual physical I’d ever had.