A BUTT-CLENCHING MYSTERY
The Point Of No Return
The True Case Of The Disappearing Doctor
Being the indestructible, cowardly male type, I rarely venture to see a doctor unless it’s absolutely necessary — like when I got out of breath standing on an escalator only to discover I had pneumonia. The reason for my irresponsible check-up avoidance is I’ve had two cancer scares diagnosed by overzealous doctors who wanted to tell me the worst immediately, just in case I felt like getting litigious later.
The first resulted in a traumatic biopsy in my femur that turned out to be nothing. The invasive surgery put me on crutches for six months while I was living in a fourth-floor walk-up. After months of stair climbing, my upper torso became jacked, while my right leg atrophied to resemble a hanging stocking of limp skin. Overall, I looked like a badly stuffed toy.
The second scare occurred when I had my chest x-rayed to confirm the pneumonia. The scan displayed a “nodule” that was either cancerous, or just the shadow of my left nipple. When I returned for my all-clear a few weeks later, I had to sit in a sterile room and wait fifteen minutes for a doctor to walk in and say, “cancer” or “nipple”. To my relief, it was just my attention-seeking “man teat” that wanted its fifteen minutes of fame.
So, what ailment finally drove me to visit a doctor? For over a year, I’d been experiencing a few strange aches and pains “down there” — and I don’t mean Florida — so my wife finally convinced me to get it checked out. She referred me to her doctor, who happened to be a woman, and I scheduled an appointment. As I described my symptoms, you could see the color drain from the doctor’s face — we both knew the awkward intimacy we were about to share: a prostate exam.
She left the examination room so I could undress, slip into the sacrificial gown, and prepare for her return. I imagined her like a pro boxer in a locker room getting psyched up by her entourage before the big fight. When she returned, I expected her to be wearing a hooded robe and dancing to some adrenaline-building entrance music from the Rocky 4 soundtrack. But no, she silently reentered the room like an ass assassin.
I got into position and without warning I could feel a latex-covered missile trying to penetrate my rear blast-doors. She asked me to relax as I was clenching like a bigoted redneck in a gay bar. What didn’t help was the dry gloved finger catching on the hairs around my butthole and ripping them out like a rubber King Kong tearing out trees from their roots. A few moments later, I heard the door open and close — she was gone.
In the deafening silence I felt like I’d failed her in some way, like an impotent lover with “sphinctile dysfunction”. I waited and waited, then waited some more. After about thirty minutes it dawned on me that she wasn’t coming back, so I got dressed and waited again. After another fifteen minutes she still hadn’t returned, so I walked out of the room, headed past the receptionist and left.
Being an expert in medical avoidance, I never went back and managed to self-diagnose myself back to health. Self-diagnosis is never a wise move, but it turns out I’d been crushing my urethra on my daily bike ride to work because my saddle was too hard.
I still don’t know why the mysterious doctor never re-entered the room that day, but I have some theories:
1. She rushed back to her office and typed up her resignation letter, effective immediately.
2. The latex had torn leaving her finger exposed to my ass juice, so she was still frantically scrubbing her contaminated finger as I left the building
3. One of my butt pubes had sliced her finger like a cheese wire and she was in the next room waiting to get a few stitches.
4. Due to my excessive clenching, she found a small pressure-formed diamond up there and headed to a jeweler to get it appraised.
5. She couldn’t handle the rejection from my uptight anus because she was in the middle of a break-up, and the last thing she needed was another stubborn asshole in her life.
6. She was upset because I was her first, and she’d always imagined losing her “finger virginity” to be more special.
7. Was she even a doctor? Perhaps a medicated patient had wandered into my examination room and thought she’d just give it a go.
8. She was busy expediting my bill because she knew it would take forever to collect payment from such a tight ass.
9. Her aggressive action created a vacuum in my rectum that sucked her inside and she’s still trapped in there like a Chilean miner. Maybe I should insert a pen and paper so she can get a head-start on her memoir?
As the mystery continues, sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get to the bottom of it.