A Comedy of AR's

Chapter 90
Let’s Get Physical

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“Now step off the scale.  We’ll do your blood test next.”

“Why?” I asked.

“To check your blood type.  I’ll need a little prick, only this time, it’s not the one between your legs.  It’s a wrapped, sterilized, tiny piece of metal.  Now choose a finger, Derrek … any finger.”

I offered her the middle finger of my left hand.  It was not a subtle gesture.  She stared into my eyes as she took my hand.

She told me, “I’m going to unwrap one end of the prick.  And you’re going to feel a little pinch.  Hold still now.”

I gritted my teeth and looked away.  “I mumbled through my teeth, “It’s hurting me.”  Then Kitti pressed the metal in harder and I yelled, “OOOwwwwwwwww!!!  You’re hurting me!  It’s worse than a shot!”  I stepped away.

“Quit your whining and get back here!” she scolded.

“What’s the matter, Kitti?” asked Nurse TiteRench.

“The boy is not cooperating.  Maybe his skin is too thick.”

The nurse came forward and asked to look at the metal prick.  “Kitti, you opened it from the blunt end.  The sharp prick is on the other end.  Now try again.”  Then she looked at me.  “Derrek, please come back to finish the test.”

Without much choice, I gave Kitti my other middle finger and she grabbed it harshly and stuck in the metal prick.  I said one ‘ouch’ and she put a drop of my blood on a glass slide.

“We’re going to do your cardio test next,” she said.  “See how many jumping jacks you can do in one minute.  Ready?  Go!”

“What?”

--- Whack! ---   (another swat to my buttocks)

“Owwww!  Stop it!”

“Begin!”

“Okay!”  I started doing my jumping jacks right in front of her, counting them off as she checked her watch.  She was no doubt enjoying the slapping sound I made each time my boner hit my tummy.

Huffing and puffing, I reported in at 63 jumping jacks.

“That’s pretty pathetic, Derrek … barely one per second… What are you, an old man?”

(I’m 28 which is not that old.)

“Now let’s check your heart rate.  Come close to me.”

“Are you going to slap my penis again?”

“Not if you cooperate.”

Kitti put the two ends of the stethoscope in her ears and cup end above my right nipple.

“Uh, Kitti … My heart is on the left side.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, you pencil-neck geek … Your heart rate is 162 beats per minute.  That’s extremely elevated.  Have you had any heart attacks recently?”

“No, but Kitti, I was just doing jumping jacks.”

“Nurse TiteRench,” said Kitti, “Derrek is still at full attention.”

“Then get his sperm sample first.”

“Wait, what?!” I called.  “Why do I need to give a sperm sample?”

The nurse answered, “Derrek, we always test for STD’s.  We don’t want any promiscuous children spreading syphilis and gonorrhea to other to other athletes.”

(Well, she got me there.  I had just written an essay on the dangers of pre-teen sexual promiscuity.)

Kitti pointed behind me.  “Sit on the exam table with your legs spread, and dangling on each side. 

I did so, getting up on the paper that covered the padded table.

“Now sit on your hands,” she ordered.

“Why?” I asked.

Kitti grabbed a fistful of my ample hair and said, “Derrek, I’m going to smack your penis a lot harder if you don’t follow your instructions.”

I put my hands under my butt.  Now I couldn’t move them.

Kitti began by questioning me, “How many times have you had sexual intercourse?”

“None,” I answered.  This was no place for the truth.

“And how often do you masturbate?”

(Again?  The same damn question that Frumpy asked me?)  “About once a day.”

“Does your mother know that you’re a masturbator?”

“Yes.”

“And do you know that only bad boys masturbate?”

“That’s not true,” I argued.

“And were you aware that excessive masturbation can lead to blindness?”

I rolled my eyes again … and came back with the standard response, “I’ll only do it till I need glasses.”

“Are you trying to be a smartass, Derrek?”

“No.”

I will administer your sperm sample.”

Then I meekly asked, “Can I please do it myself behind the curtain?”

“No way,” Kitti answered me.  “We’ve had boys in the past bring in a clean sperm sample from another student.  And we don’t have an hour to wait for you to build up vulgar fantasies in your head.  You don’t know how to do it anyway.”

(I already had a vulgar fantasy … to pound Kitti Power’s pussy till we woke up the neighbors.)

“But I do know how to do it,” I professed.

“Then show us,” Nurse TiteRench ordered.  “Show us what a big boy you are.”

Talk about a no-win situation.  Kitti freed my hands … and then she and the nurse moved in really close to the table, their faces only inches away from my member.  The blood pressure and the embarrassment had already intensified, even without this scrutiny.

I started rubbing the ‘mushroom-head’ part of my penis and my face must have been fully flushed in red.  I don’t think I’ve ever been this embarrassed before.

“Do you still play with your rubber duckies like this, Derrek?” Kitti asked, referring to the bath toys that I won with her when we went to Dave and Buster’s.

“Why is it taking so long?” asked the nurse?

“Derrek, are you sure you don’t want me to help you along?” asked Kitti.  The girl now had a plastic tube in her hand to ‘catch’ the sample.

“No, I can do it,” I responded, while rubbing harder.  I could almost cry, I was so humiliated.

The nurse commented, “This boy has no pubic hair.  Maybe he has no sperm either.”

My body suddenly jerked as I reached my climax and I called out, “No,no,no,no,no.”

Kitti grabbed the base of my penis and bent it forward to make sure the tube captured my little squirts.

“Good boy, Derrek,” said the nurse.

Kitti was quick with the next instruction.  “Now go behind the curtain and urinate by the toilet.”

I had to lift up my left leg so I could swing it around and hop off the exam table.

Then without warning, Kitti swatted my left buttock hard with her right hand.  “Hurry up, you little douchebag!” she yelled.  “We haven’t got all day.”

“Owwwwww!!  Stop it!!” I yelled, covering my butt with my hands.  I think I really was starting to cry a little.

It’s not easy to pee immediately after ejaculating.  My urethra is still filled with gunk and it kind of burns when I try to pee it out.  I used a tissue, flushed the toilet, and walked back to the exam table, still uncomfortably nude.

Kitti put her hands on her hips and yelled, “Well??!!”

“Well what?” I said softly.

Kitti stepped toward me and poked me in the chest with her index finger.  “Where’s your god damn little cup with the screw-on lid … your urine sample … Where is it?!” she demanded.

I stammered, “But, but … you didn’t tell me to pee in the cup.  You just said to go pee.”

Kitti shook her head.  “And what do you think those dozens of cups and lids were there for … right at the toilet?  Derrek, you are so fucking stupid that I think we should call the coach right now and tell him that you are the first boy in history who couldn’t pass his physical because of mental defection.”

I was crying freely now.  Kitti had psychologically broken me.  “Please don’t do that, Kitti.  I’ll try harder … Please give me another chance.”

Kitti asked the nurse, “What do we do now?”

The woman advised, “Well, we still need a urine sample, so use a catheter.”

Kitti pointed, “Back on the table, Derrek.”  And I complied, as I heard Kitti snap on a pair of latex gloves.  Nobody likes that sound.

The nurse handed the teenager a catheter kit.  “Kitti, this is a Foley French 12 kit, a small one.  You know what to do with it.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Kitti acknowledged.  “Derrek, I need you to lay your head back down and put your legs on both sides of table like before.”

I was getting really nervous.  “Will this hurt?” I asked.

“Only if you want to act like a baby.”

“Here’s some antiseptic, first.”  Kitti pulled my penis straight up and swabbed the tip with some liquid.  “Then we’ll dip the front end of the catheter in some lube, so you shouldn’t feel a thing.  Put your hands under your butt, Derrek.”

“Again?”

“Yes … Okay here we go.  I’m inserting the catheter into your little hole now.”

“AAAaaaaaaaaaaagggghhhhh … Oh, it hurts! It burns!”

“Don’t be a baby, Derrek … Okay, just a little farther now … and ‘pop’ into your bladder.”

(That felt like the uncomfortable ‘hot pop’, when I push too many bubbles up my urethra and they force their way into my bladder.)

“Do you like balloons, Derrek?  I’m pushing the air syringe forward so the retention balloon blocks the opening of your bladder … and what do you know?  Here comes the urine.  That didn’t take long, did it?”

“Are we done?” I squeaked.

“Yep.  Let’s deflate your balloon … and we can now pull out your catheter.”

“AAAaaaaaaaaaaagggghhhhh.”

“What did I say, Derrek?”

“Don’t be a baby.”