The thought of the fleshy pink dildo dangled above my head like the sword of Damocles, hanging on by the thread of horse-hair, threatening to fall at any moment. That night I tossed and turned, stirring with anxiety and worry about what might befall me in my sleep. I wondered how long Mary would stretch this out.
Would there always be this elephant in the room so long as I lived and breathed?
By morning, I was exhausted, but grateful we both had work to distract us that day.
We worked in awkward silence for the first half of the day and only exchanged glances when she came in to hand me my files and supplies.
However, come noon, her attitude changed and her spirits brightened.
"Prostate exam," she announced with a bright smile, handing me a tube of lubricant.
"Ha, ha, very funny," I said, placing the KY on the countertop.
"Your four o'clock, Mr Miller, age fifty," Mary placed a hand on my forearm, "It's his first time. Go easy on him, would you?"
I opened the file on my desk and held back a groan. Aged fifty, twenty stone. I may have groaned out loud. Okay, I most certainly did.
Mr Miller walked in, or rather waddled in. It was apparent, going by his chart, that he had gained a few since his last visit. He was sweating profusely and was panting heavily. I could smell his halitosis across the room, along with his pungent body odour. It was enough to make my eyes water.
I'll spare you the graphic details, but let me just say, I was tempted to solder my hand with a blow torch after the whole experience.
While I was washing up, scrubbing up to my elbows, and trying to rid my mind of the mental image of Mr Miller bending over to reveal his fleshy white pockmarked bottom, Sherlock walked in unannounced.
"Sherlock, I'm working," I said, trying not to acknowledge his presence.
"I have an appointment," he said, handing me his chart.
"What?" I asked, truly startled.
I looked through his medical records with intrigue. I don't know why, but I was fascinated to see his medical history. I was half expecting a list of injuries, half a mile long, but it appeared he hardly frequented the A&E. Which made sense, he was more likely to try mend his own wounds than let some doctor touch him.
"Don't tell me you need a prostate exam as well," I said lightly.
"No, I need a professional opinion."
"It'd be a conflict of interest," I said, shutting his file.
"I've lost my ability to obtain a full erection."
Did my ears deceive me? Did I truly hear what I thought I had heard?
"Okay, let me have a look at my list of referrals," I said as casually as I could muster. I pulled my binder off the shelf and started thumbing through, looking for a GP for Sherlock. Unfortunately the ones I knew and trusted were all women. I shut the book and took in a deep breath.
"Have a seat," I finally said pointing to the chair, "Make yourself comfortable," Sherlock hopped up on the examining table, brought his long legs up into a lotus position, and held his hands steepled under his chin in a Buddhist prayer, "What are you doing?"
"You said 'make yourself comfortable'," he said staring at me intently.
I took a seat in my chair, let out a deep breath, grabbed my pen and paper, and began the examination, trying my best to maintain a professional appearance.
"Are you on any-"
"No," he answered quickly.
"Have you felt-"
"No."
"Sherlock," I said, rubbing my forehead, "Let me get through with the questions."
"Have I been feeling increased levels of stress, anxiety, or new or worsening depression? No. Do you have a family history of ED, no. Heart disease, no. Diabetes, no. Cancer on my mother's side," Sherlock pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it out for me, "I've taken the liberty of running my own CBC; I'll also have you know my lipid profile is exemplary, and I can assure you my testosterone levels are quite normal."
I took the paper from his hand and stuffed it in his file without looking at it, "So you believe it's purely psychological?"
"No," he scoffed, "What would make you believe that?"
"You ran tests and going by your medical history-"
"I believe there's an underlying condition, much less benign."
"Cancer?"
"No," he said, shifting uncomfortably.
"Sherlock, when was the last time you had an erection?"
"Age twelve."
"Sherlock," I warned.
"Age thirty," he tried again. I looked at him disapprovingly and he averted my gaze, "Three months ago."
"Good," I said encouragingly, "Well... not good, but it's a start," I said, jotting down notes on my pad of paper, "And how was the...erm... quality of the erection?"
He stared at me blankly, "Decent?"
"Alright, do you currently have a sexual partner?"
"You know that answer."
"Have you ever-"
"No," he said shortly, uncrossing his feet and letting them dangle over the edge, "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't ask such personal questions."
"It's kind of a personal matter," I said with a look of confusion. Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a puff of air, "So what brought all this up? Or rather-"
"Don't joke about this, it's a serious condition."
"Of course, I'm sorry."
I sat there, silently wishing I wasn't having this conversation with my best friend. Watching and waiting for him to make the next move, not wanting to compromise his trust.
"What do you propose, doctor?" he finally asked.
"I suppose a physical examination is in order," I said, trying not to make it sound like a come on. I removed my stethoscope from around my neck and watched as Sherlock gave me a confused look with his hands at the ready to unzip his trousers, "We'll start by taking a listen to your heart."
"Is this what you do to all your patients? Give them the run around?"
"I need to check your vitals."
Sherlock grabbed his wrist, checking his pulse, "Not dead!" he announced.
"Ha, ha, very funny," I mocked, "There will be plenty of opportunity to drop your trousers later on."
"Promise?"
I startled at his offhanded comment and I was slow to recover from it. I worked on auto-pilot, examining his heart, lungs, eyes, ears, nose, throat, anything to delay the unavoidable.
I pulled out a clean hospital gown and offered it to him. He refused and pushed my hand away.
"I'm not wearing that," he said haughtily.
"Fine, just drop your trousers round your ankles then, and let's get this over with."
Sherlock obliged and I looked away.
"Gloves," I said to myself. I grabbed a pair of gloves and wheeled over my chair to sit in front of Sherlock while he stood, with his hands to his sides, staring at the ceiling. Thank God for that.
I gathered my courage and donned my vinyl examination gloves. I closed my eyes and opened them to regard Sherlock clinically, divorcing myself from all my awkward feelings, as I searched for abnormalities.
The first thing I saw were his ginger-brown pubes. It made me want to laugh, but I knew that it would scar him for life if I did, so I kept a straight face. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be; not that I thought Sherlock's cock would be exceptional or anything. It was just an average, ordinary, flaccid penis, nothing I hadn't seen before.
"Alright, I am going to touch you now," I warned, placing my hand against his inguinal region, pressing in gently, searching for any bulges or scaring. I moved on to his penis and found myself hesitating. I blinked a few times before taking the head of his penis between my thumb and forefinger.
"Any abnormal discharge?" I asked suddenly breaking the silence and spooking Sherlock.
"No, no," he sputtered with a cough. He placed his hands behind his back and continued looking up at the ceiling. I looked up to see his eyes glance down at me and quickly back up at the ceiling.
I felt down the shaft of his penis and he hardened to my touch, which isn't unusual during an examination of this nature. I didn't linger long, but by the time I was ready to move on to his testis, he'd grown quite a bit, so to speak. There was nothing remarkable about the curvature, his skin was intact, no signs of swelling or abnormalities, altogether a normal healthily adult penis.
I was tempted to measure, to... you know, compare size, but I thought he might catch on that I was a bit envious. All men are, really. Not that he was huge by any means. Not that I'm saying I'm small or anything. I'm not. His is just... bigger.
Alright so it's not that much bigger.
Okay, moving on. I examined his testicles, a left and a right, of equal size, and by the end of the exam his erectile dysfunction wasn't as dysfunctional as he had once thought.
Sherlock pulled up his trousers, I threw away my gloves, and I looked him straight in the eye and asked, "What techniques are you using?"
"What?" he asked, looking at me in horror.
"To masturbate."
"I don't."
"Don't lie."
"I don't," he insisted.
"Then why did I just fiddle with your bits for the past ten minutes?"
"Mary-"
Just then Mary walked through the door and I felt an electric shock wave whip my spine, making me jolt at the sight of her.
"Sorry, am I interrupting?" she asked.
"No, no," I stammered. Sherlock did up his zip and stood leaning against the examining table.
"Everything alright?" she asked, noting my wandering eyes.
"Yeah, sure, everything's fine," I lied, "Sherlock?"
"Fine," he agreed with a diffident shrug.
"It's fine, it's all fine," I said reassuringly.
"We're closing up now," she said softly, looking at both of us like she knew something was amiss. "Sherlock, are you joining us for dinner?"
"I should... go," he hesitated, looking to me for an answer, "Yeah."
He left the examining room and I noticed him walking with a slight limp. I walked into the waiting room and watched as Sherlock shrugged on his coat and drew it in close.
"Sherlock?" I asked, "Would you like a ride home? We could share a cab."
"I'm fine," he said, waving his free hand dismissively.
"We won't be long," I said, as Mary started locking up.
"Nah," Sherlock said, still holding the front of his coat in a death grip.
"Alright, you call me if you need anything," I regretted saying it the moment the words crossed my lips. If that didn't sound like a come on, nothing did. I might as well have given him a wink and told him I'd take care of that little erection problem of his.
And the problem was, once I started thinking about Sherlock getting an erection, my own penis got it inside its head that it should be aroused as well. It was neither the time nor the place to be getting a hard-on, yet there I was, starting to lose blood flow from my brain.
I had jitters in my fingertips and a low burning flame in my groin by the time we stepped outside of the clinic. By the time Mary and I reached the tube station I had to stop her by tugging on her elbow.
"I can't," I told her.
"You can't what?"
"I can't ride the train like this."
"Are you?"
"Yes, now can we please hail a cab," I said shortly.
"Alright," she giggled, "Let's get you home."
The more times I told her to stop laughing, the more her laughter grew. By the time we arrived home she sounded like she had a case of whooping cough, unable to breathe between laughing spasms.
"It's not funny," I said, shedding my coat.
"It's not, I'm sorry, it's not," she panted. Her face was bright red, her eyes were watering, and she had to hold her sides to keep from doubling over in pain, "It hurts."
"Stop laughing!" I shouted, throwing my jacket on the back of the sofa.
"I can't!" she cried out.
I retreated to the bedroom and slammed the door shut.
"Oh, why don't you let the nurse have a look?" she asked, swinging the door open.
"It's gone now, you laughed it away," I said, drawing a pillow on to my lap.
"Let me see," she smiled, trying to pull the pillow away.
"No, you laughed," I said, tugging on the pillow.
"So grumpy," she pouted and matched my expression, furrowing her brow, pretending to be cross.
"Leave me alone," I said, trying to conceal my smile.
"Not until you let me see it," she said, tearing the pillow away.
"I'm not in the mood," I said, turning my nose up to the air.
"Oh really?" she asked.
"Yep," I said with a pop.
"Then what's that?" she asked, pointing to bulge in my trousers.
"It's always like that," I said with a shrug.
Her hand was on my crotch so fast I didn't have time to blink, before she started groping me.
"Oh, God," I panted.
"Lay back," she said, pushing down on my shoulder. I removed the pillows from behind my head and sunk down, flat onto my back, just as asked.
There are about ten good things a woman can do to a man while he's on his back, and I was hoping for at least three that evening. I closed my eyes and concentrated on her wanderings hands, working their way up my legs, massaging my thighs, getting closer and closer, until...
"Wait right there, don't move!" she shouted.
I sat up and looked through glazed eyes at my fiancée riffling through the sock drawer.
"Oh, no," I groaned, lying back down. I covered my eyes with the heels of my hands.
"Just in case you change your mind," she said, rushing back. She leapt on to the bed with me and placed the strap-on right next to my head.
"Does it have to be right there?" I asked.
She ignored me and went to work unzipping my trousers and sliding them halfway down my hips. I lifted my bum and she slid them the rest of the way off, taking my shoes and socks with them, and leaving me only in my collared shirt. I lay at half-mast, considering my options, none of which looked bright.
I let her return to her physical examination and tried to think happy thoughts. Then she gave me a lick and my thoughts turned elsewhere. Like to her tongue on my shaft and her hand on my balls.
I was completely at ease, my head was floating in space, her mouth was wrapped around my cock, I was happy; everything was right with the world. And then she stuck a finger where it didn't belong.
My head hit the headboard, she swallowed me whole, I squirmed and curled my toes, her long finger curled upwards, and I thought I had died. This wild fire and ice prickling sensation travelled throughout my whole body. I could feel her inside me. I found my hips moving on their own accord to the strokes of her finger.
I went boss-eyed and held my breath when she found my prostate. It wasn't painful per se, more like too much all at once, a sharp stab of pleasure. Definitely the best blow job I'd ever had, yet I was more focused on her finger than anything else. It was just enough stretch and stimulation to cause me to squirt a load so far back in her throat there was no way she could possibly spit it out.
She released me completely and I suddenly felt very cold. I felt like apologising but I couldn't form the words. She left and the last thing I remember was hearing the water running in the en suite.
I fell asleep a happy man.
