Day at the Doc

It was the first time I was visiting a skin specialist. Being a very hygenic person I had never ever had these red rashy patches before. The clinic was as usual small, white, and uncomfortable. It had 2 large sofa’s and one reception desk.

Behind the reception sat a short, dark and stout woman who looked more like a cook than a receptionist. She had an expression on her face that looked like something a pig would give if you threw a stone at it, with her eyebrows narrowed and her lips puckered in an upturned curve. I went up to her. she looked at me without blinking. I looked back.

“yes?” she grunted like an angry pig after its had a stone thrown at it.

“My name is Editor Man. I have an appointment for 7 o clock.”

“sit.” She grunted.

I sat. The sofa’s were probably from some prehistoric era, for they were hard as if made of stone. It was 6:50. Still 10 minutes before the doctor would see my red rashy patches. I stared at the ceiling then I stared at the clock, then I stared at the receptionist’s cleavage. She caught me staring at her ample outer crust and gave me a look that reminded me of Gabbar Singh for some reason. I looked away.

That's when the bombshell entered. She was a tall leggy girl, wearing a tight hip hugging skirt. She had such a silky voice, as she asked that female wrestler of a receptionist whether the doctor was ready to check her not. I don’t know about the doctor, but I sure was checking her out. She came and sat next to me and my heart sank down into my pants and began rising up again. I looked at her and smiled. Big mistake. On her face were big pulsating boils. Which wobbled each time she moved her head. To make matters worse, she had a yellow rashes running all over her checks. I’ve seen south American toads with better faces than her. My heart promptly retreated from my pants.

And then, thankfully my turn came. I pushed opened his door and entered. My doctor was a certain Dr. Bhimdev Balraj Ahuja. He had the kind the kind of name that would have passed unquestioned in a boxing or body-building competition but raised doubts when a Dr. was attached in front of it.

But he was a short smiling man with a cheerful personality. I sat on the examination table. He chit chatted for a while then he asked me to show him the problem. I slowly and embarrassedly unbuckled the belt, opened the button, pulled down the zip and underwear and lowered the trousers and turned my head the other way. I couldn’t believe I was letting another man have a look at my private part. To my horror, the doctor then reached out and grabbed it in his gloved hand and raised it up to see my red rashy patches.

Now the thing is millions of years of adaptation and instinct have wired thus that when a foreign object or anything resembling a hand grabs the little instrument and raises it or does anything to it in general, the thing begins to activate. It begins to “rise”. London Bridge starts building up again. It begins swelling as if its been punched by Mohammed Ali. And mine was no different. The moment the Doctor grabbed my thing, it began inflating like a balloon. There I was sitting with my pants down with red patches near my genitals, with a male doctor inspecting it while holding my organ while it was getting erect. Perfect.

The doctor realised what was happening in his hands and looked at me with a smile.

“well well well.” He said.

I was redder than the rag that bulls charge at. “I didn’t mean to... it just happened...” I mumbled.

“oh I understand” said the doctor, “here is your prescription.”

I took it, dressed up and hurriedly left the room. It was only later that I saw the backside of the prescription. It was written “9899980008- call me! With love, Dr. Bhimu Ahuja.”

By Editor Man