Like many other people I simply do not enjoy going to the doctor. I basically won't even go unless I'm really sure there is something wrong with me that can't be corrected on its own. Plenty of water and a few good nights of sleep take care of most ailments, in my experience.
One morning I woke up with one of those things I knew I had to call about. There was a sharp, pulsating pain in my scrotum right above the testicles. I could barely walk around the apartment it was so bad. I had seen my Dr. Lou earlier in the year because of some painful hemorrhoids that wouldn't go away. And now maybe six weeks after I had him poking around in my butthole, I was going to have to ask him to handle my balls. Not exactly what I want to put another man through, but sometimes these things are necessary. I entered the number on my phone.
"I need to make an appointment to see Dr. Lou, as soon as possible," I said to the receptionist.
"He is actually out the rest of the week. What is the nature of the problem?"
"Well...I have a very sharp pain in my...testicular region," I said, not knowing how to be delicate about it.
"Okay, well if you think you can wait, I can get you in to see Dr. Lou at 7:30 on Monday morning, or if you'd like to be seen today, Dr. Patel can see you at 3:30."
"Better give me Dr. Patel."
I didn't know who Dr. Patel was, and I didn't really care. As intimate as I had been with Dr. Lou lately, I really didn't have any particular allegiance to him. Again, I only see doctors when things get really bad. In this circumstance, I wanted to be seen by whoever would see me the soonest.
That afternoon, wearing the loosest, most comfortable sweats I had, I hobbled into the medical office about ten minutes after three. The waiting room was relatively crowded, as people of all ages thumbed through magazines or smartphones, waiting for doctors to see them.
The door to the patient rooms would open every few minutes or so, and a tall female doctor (or nurse, I couldn't be sure) would come out and call for the next patient. It was a woman I recall seeing on my last visit. She was a really quite attractive Indian woman, likely in her early 30s, tall and thin with light brown skin and stylish glasses with thick black frames. She had a very cold, clinical way of speaking. Very business-like, with a hint of an English accent. I smiled at her each time she opened the door, hoping she would smile back. Though she did occasionally make eye contact, her face never formed even the slightest expression as she escorted patient after patient back into her chambers.
After waiting 25 minutes or so, she finally came out calling my name. I slowly got up and walked over to the woman, smiling the whole way, despite the absolute pain I was feeling.
"Please be seated in room 5 and I will be right with you," she said, again not smiling back at all.
I read the ID she had hanging from a lanyard around her neck, which said, "Dr. Shruti Patel." I went down the hall into the assigned room, and unsure whether to sit in one of the chairs or on the exam table, I opted to just sort of lean against table until she made her way in to see me.
"Dr. Shruti Patel," I said out loud.
I felt dumb for never considering that the hot lady from Dr. Lou's office was actual the Dr. Patel I was going to be seen by today. It just seemed like they would only have a man examine me down there, but I am an adult and she is a doctor and I was sure we could get through this just fine.
After a minute or two, Dr. Patel entered the room and introduced herself. We talked a bit about the pain I was having, and she silently listened, nodding a couple of times as I spoke. Up close I began to notice just how gorgeous this woman was. Cute didn't really do her justice. She was actually a knockout. Her skin was perfect and smooth, her hair shiny and black with just a slight wave, her eyes big and brown and sparkly. Her body was very thin, without much curve, but still very sexy, even through her modest clothing.
"Okay I need you to take off your pants and underwear and sit at the edge of that table please."
Her voice, though monotone, still managed to turn me on a bit. Maybe it was the subtle accent, and maybe it was the fact that she was a beautiful woman bluntly telling me to take my pants off. I thought it a bit strange she didn't give me a gown or something to wear, but I guess there wouldn't be much point because she needed to look directly at my junk anyway. I was ever-so- slightly erect, which was good, because you don't ever want a woman to see you completely flaccid the first time she sees your dick. Even though I am packing a pretty good size, of course it still shows much better with about a 20% chub.
Naked from the waist down, I sat on the edge of the exam table and spread my legs apart so Dr. Patel could have a look. She crouched down in front of me and gingerly pinched my penis with her thumb and forefinger of her left hand, picking it up and out of the way of my scrotum, which she began fondling with her right hand. I had to remind myself there was nothing sexual about the situation, and that this woman was a professional.
"Let me know whenever it becomes painful," she said, gently squeezing my left ball.
"It feels pretty good so far," I said. And it did feel good. "The pain is mostly right there on top," I added, letting her know I wasn't just in it for the massage.
She continued to explore my balls with her right hand, stroking and pulling and pinching and squeezing, but never quite getting to the painful area I was referring to. I was actively fighting getting a full hard-on, but despite my best efforts I was still close to halfway there.
"Does it hurt more during an erection?" she asked, perhaps noticing I was inching my way towards one.
"I-I don't know, I haven't really had one yet today."
"When was the last time you ejaculated?"
I blushed. I had been single for several months, and after an initial period of watching lots of porn and masturbating frequently, lately I had been trying to abstain from masturbation, sometimes "edging," or touching myself but always stopping short of orgasm.
