GUM

I have a higher connectivity with my body than most; a greater sense of what it needs; how it works; and how mind and body can mutually benefit each other.  This doesn’t make me a better person in a righteous sense but as a human exhibit I exist on a higher level.  Examples include rapid self healing (occasionally through mind control), enhanced awareness of  bodily needs and a greater ability to exist in extreme environments.

All this meant and means nothing when it comes to my genitals – no amount of mind-mastery has helped establish any degree of control over my penis and while this may be an issue of sex (in every sense) it was and is a crack in my self-belief. 

 

Therefore I was worried from the day I booked the appointment; my dreams exaggerated and embellished this worry into embarrassing and sometimes erotic situations invloving blonde haired nurses and low-cut uniforms and, of course, a complete lack of control.

I managed to stay cool in the reception area; the receptionist was only mildly attractive and I could cope with her simple requests of form filling and ingesting information on HIV and AIDS, a few signatures and ticked boxes proved to be perfectly platonic.  I relaxed with a copy of Dostoevsky’s work and a dictionary, happy that the afore-dreamed ‘reception scenes’ would not unfold.

Time passed quickly, I was relaxed, but my throat still went dry when my name was called and I could only grunt a throaty response and follow the female nurse along a terribly lengthy 3m corridor to a door, whose sign proclaimed it to be for the purposes of ‘examination’.  Through the door I empathised with the lonely plastic chair on which I was invited to sit. 

She was a large afro-carribean lady with one of those infinately friendly faces, a person from whom you’d expect the constant flourishing of candy from unknown hiddyholes on her curvacous body just to settle your nerves.  She was also fairly old: definitely not a hot blonde.  This did eliminate a fair majority of my fantasies and fears but still left one niggling issue;  was getting an erection from this kind grandma figure better or worse than from my fantastical and sexy NHS nurse? 

Oral sex? Yes. Throat swab: painless.

Does it hurt when you urinate? No. Are your testicles swollen? No. Have you experienced any discharge? Yes. Interesting.

Vaginal sex? Yes. Cell samples required from uretha: painful.

I knew it would come to that, of course I knew, it was the basis for my entire worry.  She delayed the inevitable by meticulously washing her hands with soap and water and then dry-washing with alcohol solution, as if to highlight the fact that I was dirty, diseased and she was clean, healthy.  Slowly she lay the instruments upon the desk infront of me and began to lubricate a small red stick, explaining that there was likely to be a small ammount of discomfort.  She took her time.  Maybe it was a well laid plan, maybe she was just evil at heart.  Whatever the level of premeditation, by the time she asked me to drop my pants and lay on the bed my manhood and retracted like a scared snail, but without a shell to boast its actual potential.  

As I lay there slightly embarrased for smaller reasons than expected I thought to myself; still the women has control, then the searing pain of invasion struck and I focused on what I could control.  Pain: Mind: Body.