“WHAT THE FU… - Baby! Come and look at this!”
I pointed at my dick.
“What is it?”
“I dunno. Looks like a rash.”
“How long has it been there?”
“I just noticed it this morning. It wasn’t there yesterday.”
“That’s weird. Does it hurt? Does it itch?”
“Nope. Feels fine.”
“Let me Google it.”
“Don’t Google it!” I said, getting out of the shower. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” I’ve had recurring problems with my skin all my life. “I’ll make an appointment with the dermatologist.”
And so, I did.
“Would you please lower your mask – just for a moment, sir – so we can take a profile picture?”
Puzzled, I look at the secretary sitting behind the front desk. I thought I’d come here to show them my dick – why do they need a picture of my face? Begrudgingly, I take off my mask for the mugshot.
The Doctor’s office is modern and white.
“How are you today?” She smiles at me from across her desk. I can see my open mugshot on the laptop screen behind her.
“I’m fine thanks. How are you?”
“I’m great!” She beams at me. “So, how can I help you?”
“Uuh…”
It’s always weird being at The D. Doctor. I shrink in my seat, like a convict under interrogation.
“So, a couple weeks ago I noticed a rash on my penis. I think it’s nothing – it kinda comes and goes. I have problems with my skin sometimes, so I thought it might be a hygiene issue, or maybe I’m sensitive to the soap I was using – so I went to the pharmacy and asked for a washing lotion for my intimate area.”
Just to make sure she knows the area I’m talking about, I hover-circle over my crotch with my hand – like a UFO that’s come to beam up my dick.
“They gave me something – I can’t remember what it’s called now – they said it was for women, but it works just fine for men too.”
“Lactacyd?” she asks.
“Sure. Maybe. Either way, the rash seems to have vanished – but I took a picture of it a couple days ago, so I could still show you in case it went away.” I realize suddenly that I’ve been nervously fidgeting with the Ring my fiancé gave me some months ago. It has a spinning mechanism – and so, toying with it has become an unconscious habit.
“Wonderful. Well, why don’t we check up on you first and you can show me the picture later?” She points me to the examination table. “You can take off everything aside from your t-shirt and underwear.”
I take off my shoes, hang my shorts over a chair and lie down.
“Please pull down your boxer shorts.” She’s still smiling.
Here we go. I pull them down and she leans in close to examine the skin on my penis through a magnifying lens.
“Oh, look at that,” she exclaims. “You’ve got a lot of birthmarks! Let me look at those too – if you’re already here – to make sure they’re all benign.”
“Oh. Sure.” That’s nice of her, I think.
“What’s this?” she asks, pointing at some skin.
I look down. “What?” I have no idea what she’s pointing at.
“Has this been there long?” She prods at a completely unremarkable spot.
I look closer. I still can’t see anything.
“Uuh. No? I mean, it’s always been like that. I don’t know. I can’t see anything.”
“Well, it might be something.” She looks at me sternly. “We have two options. Either I can prescribe you an ointment – but I’m not sure you need it because it could be nothing – or I can take a sample and send it in for examination.”
“A sample?”
“Yes, a sample. I’d recommend we find out what it is – if it is anything at all – before I prescribe you an ointment. Do you have time now?”
“Uuh. Sure. I guess.” It also made sense to me, to find out what it was – if anything at all – before prescribing me an ointment that might prove unnecessary.
“What does the taking of a sample involve?” I asked, with a swab test in mind.
“Oh, nothing major. We’ll apply a freezing aesthetic and scrape it off. It’s no worse than cutting yourself with a razor.” She calls in her assistant. “Please, take off your clothes again and lie down.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. Did she just say she’s going to freeze my dick and cut it off?
I take off my clothes and lie down. The assistant joins, and as they loom over me, I realize this is not what I imagined it would feel like to have two women staring at my dick.
“Will it hurt?” I ask the assistant.
“Oh no. It’s no worse than cutting yourself with a razor.” She smiles ominously.
I close my eyes, hear the freezing spray, feel a quick scrape – and it’s over before I even know it. I look down. The Doctor has nicked the skin and it’s bleeding freely. Huh. That wasn’t too bad No worse than cutting yourself with a razor, I think.
“You can get dressed now,” she says. Her tone is cool.
I pull up my boxershorts and get dressed. I’m ready to leave.
“Do you ever have unprotected sex?” she suddenly asks, with a penetrating eye.
“Uuh. No. Well only with my partner.” I thought we were done.
“Good. Well just so you know,” she says earnestly, “to be completely safe, you should avoid intercourse altogether. Protection is okay, but if you really want to be safe, you should not have intercourse at all.”
“Are you serious?” I look at her in incredulity.
“Yes. Don’t have sex. Ever.” Her eyes blaze.
“Umm. Okay. Thanks.” Wtf just happened?
“We’ll give you a call in the next weeks with the results. But I’m sure it’s nothing.” She’s smiling again.
“Okay. Thanks.” I make for the door. “And the rash?” I ask. I’d almost forgotten.
“Oh – that’s nothing. It’s a very common condition. Just keep using the washing lotion. The one for women.”
I peer over her to see if I can catch a glimpse of her tail. Then I leave.
Only after exiting the building do I realize that she didn’t give me a plaster for the cut. It hurts. The open wound chafes angrily against my clothes. I can feel myself bleeding. As I cycle home, the feeling that I’m being punished for something I did not do creeps up on me.
In the bathroom, I dab at the wound and cover it with toilet paper to stop the bleeding – as anyone who knows razor cuts would do! – and finally, the penny drops.
“Baby!” I yell standing half-naked in the hallway, my bloody penis hanging lose. “You are never going to believe what this Evil Dick Doctor just did to me!”
THE END
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