A gay sex story: Dr. Assad’s Physical Exam
In an earlier story, Mom’s Boyfriend, I detailed how I got into a relationship with Joe, a man that my mother was dating back when I was 19. Joe was a man’s man, but while he had a thing for the ladies, he also had a thing for young men.
My mother happened to walk in on us just as Joe was putting that “thing” into me in bed. She went ballistic, and was even going to have the guy arrested for rape, because her son would never want what that evil man was doing to me.
The fact was that Joe wasn’t evil and I certainly did like what she saw him doing to me. Joe liked it too, because my petite mother wouldn’t give up her ass to him, as he had explained to me earlier.
Eventually Mom calmed down, but insisted that I go to the doctor and get checked out, because there was no way that her well hung boyfriend couldn’t have done extensive damage to my “Bottom parts”, as Mom described it.
Additionally, after seeing me naked that night for the first time since I was a kid, Mom was a bit disturbed at what she saw. Being a bit of a Mama’s boy since Dad had gone out of the picture, I went along with it, even though I loathed the idea of getting an exam.
***
If there was something that could possibly be worse than me standing in the dreary examination room of Dr. Assad on a Thursday afternoon in the summer of 1973, it had to be having my mother standing there watching.
Not only watching, but going on and on about me, explaining what had occurred to prompt this physical exam I was about to have to endure. This was something I had been able to avoid for the most part in my teen years.
I did have to put up with the “physical” we got in school, where a doctor and nurse would treat us guys like an assembly line, checking our heartbeat, looking down our throats and then making us drop our underwear and cough while he grabbed our nuts.
That was the worst, standing there with my shortcomings exposed to a couple of strangers. My twig and berries may not have been the most pathetic they might see during the course of the day, but I had to be in the bottom 10.
Since high school, I had managed to lose the baby fat and had actually ended up with a decent body thanks to working out. The stuff that no amount of exercise could help? I was finding out that most guys not only didn’t seem to care, but many took great pleasure in my boyish look. Like Joe.
“Nineteen?” Dr. Assad repeated, and I nodded.
“He’s really done a lot of exercising,” my mother tossed in, babbling as usual. “He lost 35 pounds last year.”
“Ma?” I whined, wanting her to shut up and stop looking at me.
Mom had seen all of me that there was to be seen that night when she barged in and saw her then-boyfriend slamming his cock in and out of my ass, and that was another of the reasons I was being subjected to this exam.
Not only was my mother fearful that my “bottom parts” had been shredded by her gentleman friend’s gigantic organ, she was also concerned when she saw my private parts, fearing that there might be something wrong since in her mind I didn’t look like a 19 year old guy should look.
“Maybe he’ll have you take vitamins or something,” Mom had suggested, which even to my ears sounded stupid.
Dr. Assad was a guy who was probably in his late 40’s or so, about my height, slender, with a deep voice. He was probably from somewhere in the middle east, but I didn’t know or care. I just wanted it to be over.
He kept nodding as my mother babbled, giving me a look that hinted that he understood how I must feel as he checked my ears and throat, and as the cold stethoscope hit my chest I’m sure my heart was racing.
“Not like most men,” my mother was explaining while I tried to sink into the floor. “He hasn’t got hair on his body.”
I had body hair alright, just not very much of it. So little that I had taken to shaving the dusting on the inside of my calves, the faint wisps under my arms, and for a while even removed the tuft above my dick.
Since I lifted weights, I could explain that it was for weightlifting or bodybuilding competitions, even though my body wasn’t at that level of development. Anything was better than having no excuse for my relative smoothness, which was something I loathed about myself, because I wanted to be a hairy guy. It was sexy to me.
Dr. Assad kept nodding and I kept cringing as he had me lift my arms. For a second I feared he was going to count the tiny hairs that had grown since I shaved last a couple of months ago, and it wouldn’t have taken that long either.
We were behind this green portable screen, and Dr. Assad was asking me to take down my underwear. I did so, even though to my chagrin my mother was peeking behind the barrier.
“See, Dr. Assad!” my mother exclaimed as I stood there trembling. “Isn’t there something you can do about that down there?”
“Ma?” I almost cried, and I whispered something to the doctor as he prepared to examine me “down there”.
“Mrs. Wells,” Dr. Assad said, coming around the screen and herding my mother like a border collie, gently but firmly ushering her out to the waiting room. “Why don’t you go out and give my receptionist the insurance information so your son doesn’t feel so uncomfortable?”
I wanted to kiss him, and suddenly this wasn’t the most horrendous experience of my life. It was close though, because now my hero was coming back to me to probably do the cough thing.
“Better now?” Dr. Assad asked in his soothing deep voice, and I thanked him for saving my sanity.
“Mothers are like that,” he assured me. “Now according to my records you haven’t had a physical since you were 15.”
“Here,” I said. “We get them at school.”
He nodded, and I suspected that if he had a memory I probably looked exactly the same. He asked me to cough, and when his brown hand cupped my nuts I was happy to feel that his hand was warm.
My balls, which were trying along with my dick, to crawl up into my intestines, were shivering in their tiny wrinkled pouch as Dr. Assad had me cough several times. Although this made me nervous for fear that there was something wrong with me, the warmth of his hand got my nuts to loosen up, so at least he eventually had something to hold onto.
The humiliation returned when he took a ruler and put it under my dick. Seeing my toadstool resting on that silver ruler, with his brown fingers holding both it and me, was the worst. He wrote something down on the chart. The number 2, and he might have been generous at that.
“Are you able to achieve an erection?” Dr. Assad asked in his only slightly stilted English.
“Yes,” I said, and was tempted to tell me that that was the one thing I was able to do quite well, and in fact I was always amazing people with my abilities in that regard.
“I know this is awkward, but can you…”
Awkward? I was naked, and my mother was probably telling the receptionist about my little dick and everything else, and he wanted me to get a hard on?
“I’ll try,” I said as I started to pull on my dick. “It’s about 5″, if that’s what you need to know. It gets lots bigger than this. I’m kinda nervous.”