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Trey's Hockey Injury and Exam
- Thread starter sfcfml
- Start date
sfcfml
On the Prowl
Hi. Here is Part III. Thanks again for all your comments. I'm having fun; hope you are too.
The story so far:
Part I: Dr. Bruce, although an eye doctor, is the only one at the arena who steps forward to help his 18-year-old tenant Trey after the junior-league hockey player took a puck to the privates. Bruce was asked to make sure the blond stud's plumbing worked. Suffice to say, it did. All eight inches of it.
Part II: The coach asked Bruce to perform physicals on four new recruits ages 18 to 20 next week, and Bruce starts fantasizing over the possibilities. Meanwhile, Bruce has a heart to heart with Trey, who's struggling with his sexuality. Then Bruce finds a spy hole into Trey's room and confirms that the kinky kid seems not to be straight as an arrow.
On with Part III. Sorry, it's a little long, but you can read it in parts.
It will come as no surprise that I spent the first few days of the next week fantasizing over the hockey-player bodies I would come to examine in coming days. All I had to go on were the brief health histories the coach had emailed me, but they were enough. Eighteen-year-old Sergei, at 5-foot-11 and 180, sounded intriguing, particularly if he looked anything like some of those lean Russians on the internet. Nineteen-year-old Spiegalman was a big guy, a lot bigger than me, which, to be honest, usually doesn't turn me on. But because of his fairly unusual name, it was easy for me to track down a previous team picture on the internet, and from what I could see the young man had a nice smile and facial features, sort of like a buff and younger Matt Damon's. Chris Manchester, age 20, seemed to be about Trey's size, maybe a little smaller. Couldn't find anything on him.
Brendan Phillips was the one who caught me eye. Eighteen, 5-foot-7, 155, on paper he was perfect! I found a waist-up picture of him on the net, wearing sharp hockey gear and also a bright smile. The young man appeared to have green eyes and the kind of jet-black hair that gets curly when wet. His face, complete with dimples, seemed to combine a pleasing combination of masculine and feminine traits but nothing extreme either way. He looked sort of Italian, sort of northern European, maybe a hint of Native Canadian. In general, a young and thoroughly appealing North American mutt. And if he looked half as good from the waist down as he did from the waist up, this was going to be an exam to remember!
Two days before the physicals, I finally got around to finding my old med school textbook in the basement. Then I trolled the internet to bone up on some sports-medicine pointers such as how to put the guys through agility drills. The literature did not recommend the state of the examinee's dress or undress. Sergei, I knew, would be in street clothes but it sounded as if Coach Richards had arranged for the others to come to me straight from the showers. While it was tempting to have each young man be completely naked for their whole exams, ordering as much might seem suspicious and in the end counterproductive. I did not want to press my luck, so getting the guys down to their undies would be my plan.
* * *
I arrived at the arena at around 3:30 with a medical bag that a family practitioner friend (and fellow hockey nut) had offered to stock. I of course had a stethoscope and instruments for ear, eye, nose, and throat exams, and the night before the exams I finally opened the bag to see that my colleague had left me with a good supply of tongue depressers, swabs, cotton, two STD kits, latex gloves, and KY Jelly. KY? Was I supposed to do rectal exams? On guys ages 18 to 20? I hadn't thought about that. I tucked the bag in the training room and headed out toward the ice. About half the current team had suited up to put the the prospective players thorough some drills, so I entered the bench and generally tried to look important while I soaked up some sights and smells of amateur hockey. Peter, an assistant coach, sought me out to introduce himself, thank me for coming and to explain what was going on.
"The guys in red, they're the newbies, or the wannabees I guess you could say. So keep an eye on 'em."
I was. Because Sergei was yet to arrive, it was fairly easy to tell who was who. The big guy Troy was on defense. The other two, Chris and Brendan, were forwards and it was pretty obvious that Brendan was the littlest guy on the ice. I focused my gaze on the 18-year-old from Manitoba, who at one point stormed the far corner for a loose puck with Trey and his blond curls in hot pursuit. My tenant battled with little Brendan against the boards and -- surprise! -- the recruit centered the puck to a defenseman who shoveled it to a teammate at the point who then fed Brendan as the little guy was charging for the crease. But Trey was on patrol and had the last lick. Just as Brendan fired off a wrist shot, my introverted tenant decked the kid from Manitoba with a strong but fair hip check and sent the little guy to the ice and the puck off the post. Brendan fell face-first and Trey ended up with his crotch on the back of the little recruit's breezers.
Just as I was thinking about Brendan having no clue about what lurked beneath the protective cup that was pressed against his ass, Coach Richards whistled the action dead. Trey got up and extended a glove to help Brendan from the ice. The kid from Manitoba accepted the offer and, once on his skates, brushed snow from the legs of his hockey pants. Trey must have seen me from across the ice because his next move was to charge the bench and make a hockey stop that sprayed my face with snow. "Thought you needed a cold shower, Bruce. From the sounds of it, you've got a tough afternoon ahead of you." Then Trey hopped the boards and crossed behind me for a towel, at which time I slapped his breezered butt and informed him I'd deal with him later.
Then Brendan entered the bench, removed his helmet, and headed toward Trey. The blood rushed toward my head as I confirmed that my last patient of the day was just as advertised. Indeed his jet-black hair got quite curly when it was wet, and even though he had just had a 170-pound defenseman on his back, the recruit still wore a smile that confirmed his teeth still had not met the fate of a hockey puck.
Brendan let his shin guards brush Trey's as the Manitoba kid took the lead in starting a conversation. I turned to watch the pair and let my eyes drift to the recruit's crotch, knowing full well that soon I would see what lurked beneath those baggy hockey pants!
"Whoa! Whew! This is fun!"
"Nice job out there," Trey answered. "Brad, is it?"
"Brendan."
"Brendan. Nice job Brendan. I'm Trey."
"Troy?"
"Trey." With an E.
"Trey. With an E. Got it. Thanks." Brendan caught his breath. "You decked me pretty good, though, Trey."
"Yeah, but you dug out the puck in the corner and centered it great. Ya hit the pipe, ya know."
"Whew. Wow, well, thanks. Yeah, I got to work hard. You know, size isn't on my side. Just a little guy, trying to keep pace with you bigger kids."
"Well, I'm not all that big. For a defenseman, at least. So I know what you mean."
"Yeah, but you get to deck little guys like me. And you got what, like, 20 pounds and four inches on me?"
Just as I was thinking to myself "if Brendan only knew!," Coach Richards interrupted my eavesdropping to skate over to greet me.
"Bruce, hi, thanks again."
"No problem, Coach."
"Sergei should be here in a few minutes, I hear. I guess his flight from Moscow to Toronto was on time, but the connecting flight out here was a little behind. I hope things with him go OK. I hear his English isn't so good."
"I'm sure we'll be fine."
"Look, one thing about Sergei. From what I hear, he's a star. So we're not putting him through as many drills the other guys are getting. So unless he bombs his physical, he's in. We'll just check him out quick after you do."
"OK."
"We're going to keep working the other three guys right up till the time of their checkups, if that's all right. How long for each physical, you think?"
"Oh, about a half hour I'd say. I'm sure the guys are in pretty tip-top shape."
"Hope so. All right. I'll have Peter watch the clock and get this Spiegalman character off the ice about 15 minutes beforehand. I've told him and the other two to hit the showers first. You probably get enough whiffs of sweaty hockey gear at home from Trey, right?"
"Right."
"But be warned, Bruce, this Spiegalman is a character, and not the brightest bulb in the lamp. We'll see how it goes. As for this Massachusetts kid, he needs an attitude adjustment. Can tell already. Maybe you can whip into shape."
"OK."
"Just kidding. Say, go ahead and make your way on back and let Peter here know if you need anything." A man's man of about 25 who was wearing a Boston Bruins sweatshirt, nylon pants, a whistle, and a little razor stubble tipped his Bauer Skates hat in acknowledgment. His eyes lingered with mine for just a minute in such a way that gave me a clue about which team he played for. And then I noticed his wedding ring.
"Thanks, Ray."
With that, I made my way back to the locker room to prepare for the exams. It was deja vu as I stepped around few piles of jeans, boxers and sweatshirts before reaching the training room. I had put my EENT light, stethoscope, and health-assessment forms in the medical bag. Within a few minutes, Peter and another guy entered with my sandy-haired Russian patient trailing behind. The recruit had perfect hockey proportions but sported a deer-in-the-headlights look as he stood clueless in a white dress shirt, red tie, form-fitting European-style dress pants, and backpack over his shoulder.
"Sergei, this is Doctor Silverman." Peter spoke loudly and slowly. I thought to myself, the kid isn't deaf, he just doesn't know Canadian, eh. "Sergei, he's going to give you an exam. A physical."
I grabbed my stethoscope and displayed it to the Russian, who nodded in recognition but did not smile.
"Aha!" Peter said. "A picture is better than a thousand words! Universal sign for turn your head and cough, I suppose." Peter winked as he said it and I laughed, thinking that I wouldn't mind having Peter turn his head and cough. Poor Sergei, meanwhile, just stood there wondering what was so funny.
I motioned for the Russian to take a seat on the trainer's table. Peter offered to stay but denied knowing how to speak Russian, so I made him leave. When I closed the door behind the assistant coach, it was just Sergei and me with no language in common. His hair was a little darker than Trey's and much shorter and straight as an arrow in a Cost Cutters sort of way. And like Trey, the Russian recruit had piercing blue eyes. But both his eyes and his face conveyed sort of a sullen look, and his skin did not have that pink, healthy glow like Trey's did after my tenant had worked up a sweat. As I continued to assess Sergei's general health, the young man swung his legs back and forth and I could not help but notice that he wore his trousers tighter in the crotch than Canadian guys do.
It was then that I realized that conveying the message of "please get dressed down to your underwear and I will be back in a minute" would be impossible, so I just plunged in with what I knew best -- a check of the Russian's blue eyes. Then I moved to his ears, nose and throat and did my best to convey that he was checking out OK. When I said "Ah," he opened his mouth wide and gave an "Ah" back. His tonsils looked fine, but he needed some dental work.
Then I jiggled the Russian's dress shirt collar back and forth, and he stripped off the tie, unbuttoned the garment, and pulled the tails out of his dress pants. When I began removing the shirt from his left shoulder, Sergei got the message and volunteered to make himself naked from the waist up. His shoulders were broad for his frame but his pecs and abs were not as well-developed as Trey's. I placed the stethoscope to his somewhat sunken chest and confirmed that his heart was fine. I took heavy breaths in and out and then so did he, and his lungs were in tip-top shape.
At that point, I motioned for Sergei to lie down on the training table and he did. I removed the young man's socks and shoes for him, since I had no means to tell him to do so. The Russian's feet checked out fine, so I moved to his upper body and palpated his chest and then his abdomen, attempting to assess any interal organ abnormalities. When my fingers slipped under the waistband of Sergei's trousers, he gasped just a little and moved his knees closer together.
Then it was time for me to somehow get the young man into his undershorts for some agility tests. I motioned for him to rise off of the table, and he did. But with no way to communicate to what degree he was to disrobe, I began undoing the hockey player's belt, thinking that he would follow suit as he had with his shirt. Instead he began talking in Russian as I unbuttoned his pants to learn of his apparent concern: he was wearing no underwear. I thought it odd that a young man would freeball it all the way from Moscow to rural Canada, but the poor kid probably had no clue that his first stop would be the doctor. The discovery was as awkward for me as it was for him, but I had to continue disrobing the recruit because he gave me no assistance until the dress pants were at his feet.
After Sergei placed the trousers on a chair, I stepped back to give him a once-over. He had perfect proportions for a hockey player. A little lean, but that was nothing that the trainers and some good cooked Canadian breakfasts could not fix. His waist had not a hint of fat, and an uncircumcized penis of perhaps 3 inches struggled to emerge from a healthy bush of sandy-colored public hair.
For the agility tests, Sergei and I played a game of Simon Says and charades as we reached for the sky, bent to the left, and walked like a duck. To check his back, I grabbed the young man by both shoulders, twirled him around, and pushed on him to bend over. His spine checked out fine, so I put my hand under his chest and moved the Russian into a standing position. I forgot about the latex gloves and just examined his genitalia bare-handed, peeling back his foreskin to confirm that there were no abnormalities. Next, I fished out his right testicle from the bush of pubic hair to assess its shape, firmness, size, and lack of lumps. I did the same with the left, noting that he was normal but perhaps a little less developed than Trey even though they were about the same age. I did my best to check him for a hernia and coughed with hopes that he would emulate. He did, and even turned his head before doing so! Peter was right. Apparently, turn your head and cough was indeed a universal language.
I gave Sergei a thumbs up, but he just continued to stare. Finally, when I tossed him his pants, he smiled as I headed from the training room.
* * *
Nineteen-year-old Spiegalman was not waiting nearby as I had hoped. Nor was anybody in the shower. It took me a minute or two to find my next patient near the locker room's entry looking at old team photos on the wall. The 6-foot-2 stud had had removed his skates, gloves and helmet but otherwise appeared to have just lugged his 210-pound frame off the ice.
"Are you Troy?"
"Uh huh. Why?"
"I'm Dr. Silverman. I'm giving you your physical."
"My what?"
"Your physical exam. A medical checkup. You were supposed to get off the ice and shower up to get ready."
"Oh, Coach just said I was supposed to take a shower and look for someone named Ben. Is that you?"
"Bruce. Bruce Silverman. Dr. Silverman."
"OK, where is the shower?"
Holy crap, had this guy never been in a locker room before? I was running late so a shower was now out of the question, so I told Troy to forget it and to just follow me. On our way to the training room we passed Sergei as he was standing in a t-shirt and cup and was preparing to put on his shoulder pads. Once in the place for the exam, Troy just stared at me in his green practice jersey, blue breezers, and hockey socks, oblivious to the fact that one takes off one's clothes when one goes to the doctor for a complete physical, particularly when one is wearing a green jersey, blue breezers, hockey socks with one too many holes, shoulder pads, shin and elbow guards, and a protective cup.
"Why don't you get undressed and I'll be back in a minute."
"Am I supposed to, like, get NAKED?"
"No, underwear is fine. You are wearing underwear, aren't you?"
"Yeeeah, geez! Who do you think I am?"
"Well, I thought I better ask." I tapped Troy on the ribs as I went for the door. "Just get out of this sweaty gear, please."
I used the opportunity to check my voicemail and take a pee. When I knocked and re-entered, Troy was out of his breezers but still had much of his gear to go. I lingered over the guy as he removed the socks, then the shin pads, and finally his sweat-drenched T-shirt to reveal a broad chest with a sizable tuft of black hair between the pecs and a telltale "treausre trail" from his abs into his groin. Finally, the towering defenseman stood before me in only his black, form-fitting Undergear, which by and large concealed the genitalia I would be examining. He was a stud, that was for sure, and could beat the crap out of me if he wanted to.
Once I got Troy on the trainer's table, the exam went pretty smoothly, mainly because I thought it best to not make small talk.
Given his history of asthma, I paid a little more attetion to his lungs, but he checked out fine and proved to be amazingly agile for a big guy.
I asked Troy to stand and face away from me and bend over so I could look at his spine, which also gave me an opportunity to see his strong and broad back from another angle. He was a fine specimen. Big, but fine. Then, it was time to finish up.
"OK, Troy, please stand up and turn back around, I'll check your plumbing, and then we're done."
"My plumbing?"
"Drop your shorts, Troy."
The dumb defenseman put his thumbs in his Undergear and lowered them to mid-thigh, revealing a trimmed-up set of pubes. I bent down to confront a circumsized penis of perhaps 4 inches, which was darker than his complexion and hung as confidently over a supple sac of balls. I palpated his length a few times, which caused the organ to lengthen but just slightly. I then pushed the penis into Troy's pubes to examine the underside, which was a little chafed. It was then that I noted some jock itch near the base of his penis, and the fungus seemed to run down to between his testicles and was pretty inflamed. The extent of the jock itch was hard to assess with him standing and from my crouched position, so I moved closer to get a look but was rewarded only a whiff of unshowered hockey-player crotch.
"This itch?"
"Oh, yeah, a little. Jock itch, I guess."
"I guess. We'll need to take a look. I can't do it from down here. Look, why don't you have a seat on the table."
Troy slipped up his undies as he headed for the table, oblivious to the fact that one can't wear underwear when one has his crotch examined.
"And out of the shorts, please."
"Out of the shorts?"
"Please take off your underwear, have a seat, and I will examine you for jock itch fungus. Got it?" I was getting frustrated.
I was the doctor, and I was getting testy, so Troy did as he was told and assumed a seated position on the training bench, completely naked. I still could not see what I needed to see, so I directed Troy to lie back and put his feet on the table. Finally, I had complete access to his entire scrotal region, and a pleasing one it was, other than the jock itch. I positioned myself at the foot of the table to confirm a fair amount of fungus throughout and inquired as to his bathing habits. He said he showered after practices and games whenver he rembered his shampoo, which wasn't very often. I told him to borrow some from a buddy and warned that unless he showered consistently, the fungus would invade his penis and that THAT could be VERY painful.
I figured I might as well complete the testicular examination and hernia check lying down. His testicles were firm and fine, probably about the size of Trey's. We finished with me asking him to put on his underwear for some additional agility tests. And then we were done. The exam was pleasant, I had gotten a good feel, and even maybe had made a difference in a young man's life. I told Troy to scoop up his gear and to remember to hit the showers after the rest of the drills and then anticipated that the 20-year-old from Massachusetts would be better.
* * *
I heard water running and headed for the shower room, where I found a muscular-backed young man who appeared to be 5-foot-10 rinsing soap out of what appeared to be short brown hair. I could only see him from the back, but from his stature I guessed he was a winger and not a defenseman. And from the looks of his perfect butt, I anticipated that he was going to be quite a specimen!
"Chris Manchester?" No answer. "Chris?" Nothing. "Man-ches-ter??"
"Yeah! Geez! Give me a minute, gawd!"
Whoa! Then I remembered that Coach Richards had warned about the kid's attitude.
After the soap was out of Chris' hair, he looked over his shoulder and saw me watching him from just outside the shower.
"Do ... you ... MIND? Puh-leeze!"
It was true that I was leering a little, but he must have known that he was not packing anything I would not be exploring shortly. But to keep the peace, I backed out of the shower room's entry and waited across from the drying-off area where a pair of blue and white boxers hung on a peg. Thirty seconds later I heard the water turn off and a minute after that Manchester emerged with a towel around his waist. He had tried off in the shower and was attempting to slide on his boxers while still wearing the towel. I thought to myself, Has this guy never been to the doctor before? What part of "complete physical" did he not understand?
Finally Manchester walked toward me but made no eye contact as he crossed in front of me and inquired where he was supposed to go. If I had met him on the street in Toronto, I would have guessed that he was a frat boy or pre-law student, not a hockey player.
"OK, now what?"
"Down the hall, Chris, second door on the right." As Manchester made his way to the training room, we passed an Undergear-wearing Troy in the hall. Chris made a bee-line to a seated position on the table and huffed. "Let's get this over with. I'm healthy as a horse. This really is unnecessary."
"Well, team policy."
"Whatever."
As I completed the early parts of the exam, Manchester explained that his dad was chief of cardiac surgery at a hospital in Boston and that his mom was a lawyer who defended insurance companies. He went on to brag that he had had the best of medical care that money could buy, much better than what Canadians could ever hope to expect what with their nationalized health care. He had just had a physical nine months earlier, he said, and had passed with flying colors. This, he said, was both unnecessary and unexpected.
"Well that's great, Chris, but the Blazers require this."
"Whatever."
His hair was still wet from the shower, and beads of water remained on his broad shoulders. I placed my stethoscope on his chest and got a refreshing whiff of soap instead of sweat. At least the frat boy was clean, I thought, and from the looks of him he worked out consistently, probably with a personal trainer who daddy had paid for. When I moved to examine Chris' knees, I noted that his thighs were strong. I stole a glance at his crotch but saw only a bit of a bump through his fairly loose-fitting boxers.
"OK, Chris, lie back please."
The 20-year-old sighed with indignation as he assumed a reclined position so that I could palpate his chest and abdomen and check his flexibility from this position.
"Is all this necessary?"
"Yes, Chris."
"No it's not. This is ridiculous."
"It is necessary. Your tryout depends on it."
"Stupid. My dad could BUY this team. He could BUY you!"
OK, that was the last straw. At that point, my bedside manner changed, and any hint of arousment that I had had was being replaced by anger and a need to take control.
"Get up and take off your underwear."
"Www-what?"
"Stand up up and out of the shorts. We're running short on time."
Chris stood and looked at me as if he had been asked to do maid's work. "You have GOT to be kidding."
I just filled out paperwork to send the message that this rude stud was not going to get out of here -- and not onto the team -- until he stripped off the shorts. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the cocky Easterner begin to comply, and when he turned his back I watched his every move as he revealed a perfectly proportioned backside that seemed lost on such an arrogant prick. Chris turned toward me but cupped his penis and testicles with both hands. I thought to myself, He's 20, and he's acting like he's 12.
"Stand over here." Manchester silently complied. "Arms at your sides." When he dropped his hands, I saw what he had been hiding, or had not been. He packed a thin penis of perhaps 3 inches and a crotch absent of any public hair. I bent down and began the exam, noting that even his scrotum as completely shaved, and recently so. I took extra time to palpate his smallish organ as I inquired about the razor habits.
"I just do it, I guess. Helps with the cup."
"I see. You shave all over?"
"W-what do you mean?"
"Crotch too? Your butt, too?"
"W--why do you need to know?"
"Just answer the question please."
"Yeah. All over. Why?"
I touched Chris' bald and fresh-from-the-shower testicles and inquired whether he was doing testicular self-examination. Chris claimed he was, but I said I didn't believe him and used the opportunity to do a thorough and slow palpatation of his smallish right ball. As I pulled it from his body, his penis started to grow, and Chris sought to conceal the beginnings of his erection with his right hand.
"Hands to your side."
He dropped his hand and sprouted a half-erection of maybe 4 inches as I examined the other ball. His penis was growing, so I decided to slow my exam even more. When I tugged lightly on his scrotum, the cocky stud's penis reached its fully erect state. I placed my index finger along his length to confirm that he'd be 5 inches on a good day.
When I rose to look the frat boy in the face, the hockey recruit's lips were pursed but his arrogance not broken. So I invaded his privacy for a good 20 seconds more by assessing him from head to toe, making it obvious that I was fixating with concern regarding his slightly throbbing erection and bald groin.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I turned toward my medical bag and put a latex glove on my right hand.
"Stand at the head of the table, turn away from me, and bend over."
"Wwha-- WHY?"
"This shaving habit of yours, I need to make sure you haven't injured yourself in your rectum. Insurance reasons. Your mom would understand."
The arrogant American did as he was told, and I positioned myself to examine Chris' anus with him in a bent-over position. But my angle was poor and the lighting even worse, so I ordered the frat boy onto his hands and knees and told him to slide toward me on the table so his butt was right in front of my face. By then, fear had caused the stud's erection to subside, and his sagging and hairless scrotum concealed all but the tip of his flaccid penis. I ever so lightly flicked his balls and watched them sway side to side, at which point he looked at me with a face reddened both from embarrassment and from being upside down.
I spread his cheecks to confirm his shaving habits and that he had cut himself in a couple spots. "You've got to be careful down here. You've cut yourself, and you're risking infection in a part of the body that is, quite frankly, full of germs. The team can't have that. You're lucky I checked."
This time it was Chris who stayed silent.
"You're 20, right."
"Yes." Being in a doggie-style position had made the hockey recruit's voice soft and compliant.
"When will you be 21?"
"In a couple months."
"Close enough."
I turned to the medical bag to retrieve the KY Jelly and squeezed a liberal amount on my fingertip and then the length of my index finger. Chris flinched when he sensed the cold lubricant on his anus. I told him to relax, breathe normally, and hold on. I slid the first inch of my finger into his anus and wiggled it back and forth a few times as his balls tossed from side to side. Then I plunged the length of my finger into the frat boy's butt, with Chris giving a trust-baby whine the whole way. When I was all in, I pushed even further in an attempt to find his prostate, and when I had met my goal the hockey player yelped and began breathing shallowly but rapidly. I massaged the hockey tryout's prostate for 10 seconds until fluid dripped from his dick, which had shriveled in humiliation. Chris cried with an "Ahh!" as I turned my finger 180 degrees and then back again. Then I removed my finger and the invasion was over.
"You can get down now, and put on your boxers. Rinse out your butt in the shower before you suit up for more."
He said not a word.
"You'll be getting more exams like this over the years. You're almost 21, so it's time to grow up, Chris."
The recruit remained silent as he slipped on his boxers and headed for the shower. Despite the 20-year-old's arrogance, by the end I had enjoyed the view of a frat boy doggie-style on the trainer's table, his balls swaying back and forth and his reddened face staring at me with compliance. But I had a feeling the best was yet to come.
* * *
When I found Brendan freshly showered and leaning against the wall outside the training room wearing just a towel and a smile, I nearly blew a load right then and there.
"Doctor? I'm next, I think."
"So you're Brendan?" As I shook his hand, I glanced not at his crotch but mine to make sure my penis was keeping its professional demeanor.
"That's me, sir."
Sir. I almost melted. I took a step toward the respectful stud and tugged at the top of his towel. "Do you have some boxers on under there?"
"Nope, fresh out of the shower." I felt my knees almost give out. Water droplets were still on the teen's chest and shoulders and his skin was just a touch from the hot spray. His hair was curly and still damp, particularly over his temples. He was reminding me of one of those energetic kids who's working his way through college at a sports bar, the kind can't help but give a 25 percent tip.
I made an offer that I hoped my next patient would refuse. "Do you want to grab some shorts first? We have time."
"Ah, no. I'm fine. Not unless you want me to."
"Nope, that's fine. Follow me." I was weak in the knees as I pivoted to lead Brendan into the training room, where I directed the hockey recruit to have a seat on the table as I pretended to review his health assessment form. He had his towel tied to the side such that I could not see a thing underneath it, but when it dawned on me that within minutes I'd have full rein, my heart pounded. I took just a moment to compose myself and could tell I was half-hard, but luckily I had worn tight-fitting briefs for just this very reason. My hands trembled a little as I approached my teenage patient, but then my professional training took over as I began the exam in a familiar place: his green eyes. After the EENT check, I made sure to warm my stethoscope in my hand before placing it on the 5-foot-7 stud's bare chest, and as I did I took note of just a few strands of black hair sprouting from his chest and what I would characterize as a five-pack.
"I saw you out there earlier. You're pretty fast out there, young man."
"I like to think so, Doc. Have to be, when you're my size."
I put my left hand on his shoulder as I shifted the stethoscope to his back and asked him to take several deep breaths. "What else you do besides hockey?
"Well, I'm a farm boy, actually. So that takes a lot of time."
"Lift those hay bales, I see." I gave his nicely toned right bicep a squeeze.
"And over the years, my dad and older brothers spent a lot of time getting me to and from practice. When I was younger, before I could drive, I read in the car a lot, did my homework, you know. I like music."
"You good in school?"
"Pretty good. Well, actually, really good. Thinking about college, but wanted to give this a shout first, this junior league hockey thing. Don't know unless you try."
"Don't know unless you try. Exactly." I began palpating the stud's shoulders and he chuckled when I let my fingers slip into his armpits. "Got sights on the NHL?"
"Oh, I have to be realistic. I hit the weight room, but somebody who's 5-foot-7 can only ask for so much. But I'll love hockey as long as I live, I'm sure. I'm sure I'll coach someday."
After making sure my wood was still concealed, I crossed to the front and told Brendan that he looked good to me.
"Thanks. Hopefully you'll see in a game jersey and not just that practice gear."
"Hope so."
I then retrieved a rubber hammer from my bag and dropped it on purpose so I'd have an excuse to glimpse under his towel. It was a silly ploy, since within moments I'd have him completely disrobed, but still, as I stood, I caught a peek of the very bottom of his healthy set of testicles. I pushed Brendan's towel back just a little to check his left knee and then his right and then moved to his showered-off feet -- the nails, each toe, his heels, his ankles. It tickled a little so he squirmed in a way that caused his towel to come undone.
"Any ankle problems, Brendan?"
"Oh, sometimes they get sore, but that's how it goes with hockey sometimes. I'm used to it."
"Let's take a look." I moved the young man's ankle in a way that made the untied towel fall away a little. I saw just enough of his penis to see that I'd be examining one with a carefully done circumcision scar, but then Brendan repositioned the covering to conceal himself for now.
"OK, why don't you lie back." Brendan held the top of his towel with his left hand as he reclined with his feet to my right. I was pleased with my professionalism as I turned to place the rubber hammer in the bag and then faced the trainer's table with anticipation. The 18-year-old kept his left hand on the top of his towel as I palpated his neck and his chest, but he moved his hand to his side to permit me to do the abdominal examination.
"I'll just move this over here." As I peeled back one side of Brendan's towel, I saw a nice tuft of jet-black hair as I palpated Brendan's groin -- first outside the towel and then underneath it. I went a little deeper than I needed to and pressed firmly into the base of the compliant hockey player's flaccid penis. I palpated the area a time or three and left that hand in place while using my other hand to peel back the rest of the towel. I could not help but stare. The hockey recruit was perfect for his size. He measured in at perhaps 4 inches, maybe a little longer, and as the organ pointed confidently toward the young man's right thigh. His genitalia were beautifully proportioned to his 5-foot-7 frame. His pubes were trimmed but not shaved, and from this angle his scrotum was still enjoying the lingering effects of the shower.
At this point, some boxer shorts would have come in handy for the naked hockey player, but it was too late. I looked Brendan in his green eyes and asked whether he was doing OK. He nodded as if to say, Why wouldn't I be?
"OK, great, I'm just going to put you through some agility moves. Hang tight, young man." As I guided the smallish hockey player's right knee to his chest, I took note of the muscular thighs that fueled his speed. When I did the same with his left, I confirmed that his range of motion was excellent but could not shift my gaze from assessing how the stud's testicles crowded to one side as I manipulated his leg. His scrotum had just a hint of black hair, but not too much. I pressed my crotch into the side of the training table as I continued the exam.
"You doing OK, champ?"
"Sure. Fine." The polite recruit kept wearing a grin, even while wearing no towel.
"Well, everything's checking out great."
"Well, that's good."
"You're in tip-top shape."
"I try. Weights, swimming, a little running, even basketball." The kid got up on his left elbow and seemed refreshingly comfortable with carrying on a conversation while completely naked on the training table.
"Basketball?"
"Think I'm too short?"
"Well--"
"Watch out! I'm fast!"
I scanned Brendan's body from his shoulders to his abs to his groin to his hamstrings. "And yes you do have a bit of a swimmer's build. Sort of unusual for a hockey player."
"Yeah, that's why I focus on the weights. And the swimming keeps me fast so I can out-skate those big guys." By now, Brendan was up on both elbows and his feet were flat on the table. He seemed almost strangely uninhibited by the thought of carrying on a conversation with dressed doctor while he was completely naked on a trainer's table. What a cool kid, I thought.
"You're OK? Not feeling too exposed?"
"Hey, one bathroom, four brothers. That's all I need to say."
Made sense to me, so I lengthened the conversation. "I'm a swimmer too, Brendan. Really enjoy it."
"Few things better than an hour at the pool. Doing some laps, hitting the sauna, then back for some laps, you know."
I nodded in agreement. "Why don't you lie back and we'll check out your plumbing." Brendan complied, put his right arm at his side and his left behind his head, revealing to me a perfect proportion of black underarm hair as he prepared himself for a genital examination. I began with his penis and took extra time to assess its perfect proportion and shape. As I palpated it for any hint of abnormality, Brendan lifted his head to watch my hand squeeze, stretch, and then lift his organ so it was perpendicular to his body. He smiled nervously as I rolled his flaccid penis between my right hand's thumb and next two fingers and then opened its tip to confirm that there were no signs of redness or abnormal discharge. The procedure had made him slightly erect, and me more so than that. But it was time for me to placed his fluffed-up penis back to its place, pointing toward his muscular thigh.
The testicular examination was next. I positioned myself toward the foot of the table, and when I touched his left ball still dangling from the effects of the shower, he spread his legs a little more to make sure I had the access I required. In response, his right drooped a little lower. His left was about my size, and I palpated it carefully to confirm the absence of any cancerous bumps. I did the same with his right, and as I did his penis lengthened more and took a position toward his belly. My careful palpatation had seemed to make Brendan about three-quarters hard. I finished the testicular exam by gently squeezing his entire sac and bouncing it up and down about four times, and then made sure I had placed his testicles back into their position just above the vinyl on the table. As I moved my finger into place for the hernia check, Brendan was completely erect, so I used my finger to confirm that he was about an inch longer than the jerk from Massachsetts, and a touch bigger than me. After the last of his coughs, Brendan looked at me with a coy grin.
"Sorry about that." He nodded toward his crotch, just as his erection experienced a spasm.
"Sorry about what, Brendan?"
"I didn't mean for that to happen, to, ah, you know."
"You mean your erection? No biggie, my friend."
He winced.
"Ah, sorry, bad choice of words. No big deal, I should have said. Happens all the time. And you're completely normal in the size department, but you probably know that."
Indeed, Brendan was normal in terms of penis size, particularly for his height. As for the "happens all the time comment," I didn't know that for sure, but it was true that I had sprouted an erection during a physical when I was 18. And for good reason. The exam was given by a hunky male physician's assistant fresh out of school who could not have been more than four years older than I was. For some reason, a female student was there too. It was highly erotic and embarrassing at the same time.
I placed my hand on the hockey player's shoulder and signaled that he could sit up. My patient sat Indian-style and looked at his crotch before looking at me. What he saw were a nice set of testicles pooling onto the table and a penis just brushing the inside of his thigh and sticking out parallel to the training table.
"We have a little extra time." A placed Brendan's health assessment form in my doctor's bag, on top of the KY Jelly. "You have any questions or concerns?"
"No. Should I?"
Then it dawned on me that there was one thing. "You're 18, right?"
"Right."
"You probably know that adults end up having rectal examinations at some point. It's pretty early for you, but since we have the time, and since you're an adult who can make his own decisions, it's up to you, but I thought I'd give you the option of having one today."
"Why?"
I thought fast. "Well, why not?, essentially. First, not to scare you, but you never know what we might catch. Second, the exams aren't a big deal, though many men make huge deals out of them. From my vantage point, it's good to get it over with. It can be a relief. I had my first when I was 20, when I volunteered to be examined by a medical school class."
"That must've been interesting."
"You could say that. But I'm glad I did because when they became required, it just wasn't a big deal."
"Hmm. OK. What do I have to do?"
"Well, not much. Leave the work to me. Lie back and get comfortable."
"Just like this, on my back?"
"That'll do."
I retrieved a glove from the bag, put it on, and moistened it with the KY as I had done with Chris a half hour earlier. But with Brendan, I planned to explain why I was doing what I was doing, and there was no question that I was going to be less domineering than with the arrogant 20-year-old. As I approached the side of the table, Brendan's green eyes signaled anticipation and he awaited direction.
"Just hold your knees to your chest, and I'll take a quick look." The athlete complied, and as I moved to the foot of the table I got a little lightheaded in anticipation of what I was to see and do. In this position, the hockey stud's thigh muscles really stood out. His penis was no longer hard and it drooped onto his sagging testicles, which in turn dangled just above his lightly haired anus. But as I slightly adjusted the athlete's position, I watched his penis rise and begin to disappear to a place on his belly.
"Again, ah, Doctor, I'm, ah sorry." He pulled his knees tighter to his chest, in an apparent attempt to conceal his failure in penis control.
"It's OK, Brendan. All right, you'll be feeling something a little wet and a little cold. It's my finger, with some lubricant on it." As I touched the athlete's anal opening, he lifted his head and moved his right hand from his knee so he could push his erection to the side just in case that would help him see what I was doing. He could not, so he looked at me for further instruction while gripping the base of his hard penis.
"You're fine. I'm going to go in a little further now." Because I was no pro at this, I had to watch what I was doing, so I alternated my gaze between his lightly haired crotch and his face as I began to slide in my right hand index finger, palm side down. As I began the entry, Brendan's testicles retracted pretty quickly and he lifted his reddening erection so that the six inches stood perpendicular to his body, which gave me perfect view of the healthy erectile tissue and purple veins on his underside. I could tell it was throbbing ever so slightly.
"Keep holding that knee, Brendan. Good. Spread your legs a little more. Perfect. Here . . . we . . . go."
Given the hockey player's 5-foot-7 frame, I should have expected the tight fit. I was glad I had used extra lube, and I went super slowly to guard against hurting the curious and polite athlete. When I was about halfway in, Brendan positioned his palm around his erection and bent it back toward his belly as he lifted his neck to try to peer over his penis. I paused for just a second before making the final thrust, stopping only when I felt my lower three fingers press against his recently retracted sac of balls.
At that point, Brendan dropped his shoulders and head, closed his eyes, and began palming his penis, slowly at first. I turned my finger 180 degrees to palpate the reverse side of his lower colon and with my thumb and middle finger assessed the health of the base of his strong, young erection. I pushed my own erection against the side of the training table as I turned my finger back to its original position and went in search of the 18-year-old's prostate. I was nearly breathless somehow found ability to give him the play by play.
"Brendan?"
"Y-yeah?"
"You OK."
"Uh huh."
"All right. Your anal opening is normal, and now I'm going to examine your prostate. This is entirely new, I know, but the prostate basically helps produce and pump out your semen, and it's important to make sure that it's the right size and not in any way abnormal." I curved my finger slightly in his tight rectum. "So that's what I'm going to do right ..." I found his little prostate. "... now."
At that precise moment, the hockey player flexed his leg muscles in a way that held my finger tight, and since I was all the way in I adjusted my stance to observe the athlete's reaction. His almost hairless pecs became more well-defined as he squeezed his shoulders together but kept his eyes closed. When I looked toward his crotch, I saw his penis head disappear and then appear over and over as he masturbated himself with his right hand while I had my finger in his rear. I pressed down a little harder, and he beat a little faster. After the palpation was done, I began removing my finger but Brendan lowered his knees halfway and grabbed my right hand with his left and would not let me go.
Once again, as with Trey, it became clear that a hockey player was not going to leave the training room without letting loose some semen. I moved my own erection onto the side of the table and pressed the 18-year-old's prostate several more times as he continued to jack faster and faster. From his gasps I could tell that the orgasm was near, but at just the right moment I pressed hard under his testicles and prevented the ejaculation. Brendan lifted his head, opened his green eyes, held his his six inches straight up, and gave it a "what the fuck?" look. Brendan tried to cum a second time but couldn't. The stud held his breath as I prevented the ejaculation one more time. But for the fourth, I released my pressure and stood back to see what would happen.
The 18-year-old's groan of relief was immense and so was the release. It was impossible to ignore the sound of a "thwap" as a thick rope almost instantly appeared and ran from just under Brendan's chin to a couple inches above his navel. The next cum was of the watery kind, deep from the recesses of the young man's plumbing. That one landed on his left temple, and the next -- honest to God -- in his right eye. As Brendan blinked, his wonderful smile returned as he arched his torso to watch himself plant a half-dozen more watery shots around his abdomen. He grunted with each successful convulsion, and when it was over, the hockey player finally released my finger from his behind.
"FUUUUUCK!" The sporty stud released the grasp on his slimy penis and put down his knees to inspect the mess that he had made. "OH MY GOD! SHIT!!" Then he let his torso fall back, closed his eyes, and laughed as he assessed the semen shots to his hair and his eye. He was giggling almost uncontrollably, so I put my nose perhaps eight inches from his torso to get a good whiff of his nutty display of cum.
"I ... have .. NEVER ...! Whoa. It'd been a few, whew, days, cuz, well ..." He opened his eyes and then apologized, all while smiling.
"No need to apologize. Sometimes this happens."
As Brendan turned slightly toward me, the cum rope stayed in place but the watery shots on his tummy were beginning to run onto his thigh. "Whoa! I might-- Is this what all rectal exams are like, Doctor?"
"No. Not all. And you can call me Bruce."
"OK. Bruce?"
"No, but having an erection is not that unusual, particularly for a younger guy. That's why it's good to get it over with when you're young, so you know what to expect."
"Well, I didn't expect ..." The hockey player touched the top of the cum rope, obviously impressed with the shot. After I ran my own finger through the trail and told him he needed to clean up, he swung his legs over the side of the table and sat for just a second to try to figure out what to do. A couple drops of watery semen had seeped from his thigh onto the table's vinyl covering, and much more of it had run into the young man's pubes and onto his relaxing scrotum. When he spotted the sink in the corner, he made a beeline for it, depositing a couple more drips on the tile floor on his way. Once at the sink, Brendan took stock in the mirror and I stood behind his 5-foot-7 frame to watch him marvel at the results of his powerful ejaculation.
Then Brendan made eye contact with me in the mirror. "Doc, it felt like I was broke, for a second."
"Broke?"
"That I couldn't, ah, spurt."
"You couldn't."
"Why not? Was it my the prostate? Anything wrong?"
"No, not at all. See, when you press under your testicles just right, it prevents the semen from escaping, but of course it has to escape eventually, and when it does, it's under immense pressure. So that was a good test of your plumbing." I touched the hockey player on the shoulder. "You passed, champ."
"Whoa! You learn that in medical school?"
"Sort of."
"I mean, Doctor, ah, Bruce, I -- I can't believe I'm talking like this, but, I hit my headboard once, after I had saved it up for, like, 5 days? That was the record."
"Headboard, eh? I remember those days."
"Um, ah, sort of embarrassing because -- I can't believe I'm saying this -- my brother came in when I still had my pants down and was wiping it up."
I handed the hockey player his towel and he seemed to flex his pecs just a touch as he gave one last look before wiping away what probably was the biggest cum of his life to that point. I had no view of him cleaning his groin, so I stood back and looked at his muscular butt and thought how great it would be to be 18 again for a day. But just a day. Too much angst.
"Here. Give me that towel and I'll get you another." I put the towel on the table next to my bag and headed for the locker room, counting my lucky stars that it had happened again -- that I had seen and indeed felt a hockey player at his sexual peak have an unpreventable and messy orgasm during an exam. Brendan was smaller than Trey in more ways than one, but just as sexual it seemed. There was no way to know whether he shared Trey's sense of kink, but the fact that he got into the size of his cumshot made me wonder. And, in the end, I thought, who doesn't have a sense of kink?
By then a small parade of hockey players were emerging from the arena. The rostered young men placed their sticks in a bin and used their gloved hands to unstrap their helmets and remove them as they walked their sweaty bodies on their skates to their lockers to begin the familar process of strippiing off hockey gear. I saw Troy head confidently toward his pile of clothes in the center of the room. Chris was a few guys behind, followed by Sergei. Those two recruits headed for their clothes in the corner.
I met Trey just as I was grabbing Brendan's towel from the stack. My tenant took off his helmet and shot me a grin.
"Some good players out there, Bruce."
"Great!"
"How'd things go on your end? How about the little guy, Brendan I think. He got a shot from your perspective?"
"You could say that."
"Good. I like his style. Seems really nice too. And my age. And a Canadian. Not an a-hole like, um ..." He was looking Chris' direction.
"Speaking of that, I need to get your Canadian friend another towel. Be back."
Brendan was appreciative for my delivery, since he entered the training room wearing not a stitch of clothes. I took one last look of his perfect proportions as he wrapped the towel around his butt and then his crotch and then followed his toweled behind out of the room. Brendan peeled off for a much-deserved shower just as another hockey stud did the same, and I continued toward the lockers and to Trey who was wiggling out of his shoulder pads. Chris was already down to his cup and was trying his best not to let anybody see anything. Sergei was next to him, uninhibited but clueless.
"Manitoba kid forget a towel?"
"He just needed another one."
"Thought he already took a shower."
"He had, but, well--"
"How about that big kid? Like he forgot his brain." Trey thought nothing of me as I watched him remove his suspenders and step out of his hockey pants to reveal that he was wearing form-fitting underwear under his protective cup. Good, I thought. No more slippage.
"Can you flunk anybody, like him, from his physical?"
"Well, no, probably not."
"Oh well. Doesn't hurt to ask." Trey struggled to slip out of his sweaty t-shirt. Once he did, I commented that the gash to his abs was healing fine. Chris put on his street clothes while Sergei crossed behind Trey to head for the showers. Behind him was Assistant Coach Peter, who for some reason also was finding need to bathe. Then Trey stripped off his hockey socks, with the shin pads to follow. "Sort of arrogant, that Chris kid. Didn't get a chance to talk to Sergei, obviously."
Finally, Trey was out of his cup and then his underwear. His flaccid six inches had been tightly constrained, so he fluffed himself up while cursing that the cup "isn't exactly made for me." I agreed and reiterated that it's better to be safe than sorry.
I said bye-bye to Trey's package for now as he wrapped himself in a towel and inquired whether I was going home. I said I was, and he said he was going out for pizza with the guys and would bum a ride later. As he headed for his shower, I scanned the room and took in the overall picture of about four more hockey players who were in various states of undress. Then the Coach appeared to inquire about the eminations.
"Hi Bruce. Any results?"
"Everybody's fine. No concerns. The big kid has to learn a little hygiene, and the Massachusetts kid is a little on the cocky side, as you said, but that wouldn't keep him from playing hockey in my book."
"Great. Good to hear. We've got three spots, so we're going to have to cut one of them. But from the sounds of it, you're not going to help me make the decision."
"Sorry. Personally, I really like that last kid, the little guy. Very friendly."
"Yes, he is, but between you and me, I'm not sure he's going to make it. We'll see. Pretty small. Fast, but small."
"Well, he's a gentleman, and I'd like to see him around. So would Trey, from the sounds of it."
"OK, well, good to know. Thanks again, we'll talk to you soon."
A few minutes later, Trey and Brendan emerged from the shower area together and were continuing a conversation that they had begun while naked under the spray. I picked up on their conversation just as I heard Trey say that "he's my landlord actually." Then Brendan surveyed me from head to toe. "And a doctor, too. Wow."
I clarified my profession. "Well, an eye doctor, the kind with a medical degree, but I'm dipping my toe in sports medicine, too."
"An eye doctor?" Brendan blinked his right eye. "Well, then, I guess I was in good hands." The little fireplug shot me a grin as Trey wondered what he was talking about.
Brendan's clothes were behind Trey, and it was hard not to notice that the 5-foot-7 player was lingering in front of my well-endowed tenant until such time that the towel ended up on the floor. I watched Brendan watch Trey, and when the little recruit realized he had been busted, he crossed behind my hunky tenant to get dressed.
It was then that I noticed Peter lingering to my left, also gazing toward Trey. A couple other teammates were doing the same as he toweled off his six floppy inches and his balls that were deliciously fresh from the shower. My eyes were torn between getting a glimpse of Peter's package for the first time or soaking up more of Trey. I chose Peter at first and was rewarded by seeing a decently fluffed-up piece of man meat and a pleasurable set of balls. When I turned back toward Trey, I saw Brendan touch himself through his towel before he dropped it and reach for his boxers. Finally, Trey slipped into his gray Hanes boxer-briefs and followed with his loose-fitting jeans, long-sleeve t-shirt, and the rest.
I returned to the training room to gather my things. I wadded up the towel so it would not dry, placed it in my bag, went straight home, and wanked with a taste of Brendan in my mouth.
The story so far:
Part I: Dr. Bruce, although an eye doctor, is the only one at the arena who steps forward to help his 18-year-old tenant Trey after the junior-league hockey player took a puck to the privates. Bruce was asked to make sure the blond stud's plumbing worked. Suffice to say, it did. All eight inches of it.
Part II: The coach asked Bruce to perform physicals on four new recruits ages 18 to 20 next week, and Bruce starts fantasizing over the possibilities. Meanwhile, Bruce has a heart to heart with Trey, who's struggling with his sexuality. Then Bruce finds a spy hole into Trey's room and confirms that the kinky kid seems not to be straight as an arrow.
On with Part III. Sorry, it's a little long, but you can read it in parts.
It will come as no surprise that I spent the first few days of the next week fantasizing over the hockey-player bodies I would come to examine in coming days. All I had to go on were the brief health histories the coach had emailed me, but they were enough. Eighteen-year-old Sergei, at 5-foot-11 and 180, sounded intriguing, particularly if he looked anything like some of those lean Russians on the internet. Nineteen-year-old Spiegalman was a big guy, a lot bigger than me, which, to be honest, usually doesn't turn me on. But because of his fairly unusual name, it was easy for me to track down a previous team picture on the internet, and from what I could see the young man had a nice smile and facial features, sort of like a buff and younger Matt Damon's. Chris Manchester, age 20, seemed to be about Trey's size, maybe a little smaller. Couldn't find anything on him.
Brendan Phillips was the one who caught me eye. Eighteen, 5-foot-7, 155, on paper he was perfect! I found a waist-up picture of him on the net, wearing sharp hockey gear and also a bright smile. The young man appeared to have green eyes and the kind of jet-black hair that gets curly when wet. His face, complete with dimples, seemed to combine a pleasing combination of masculine and feminine traits but nothing extreme either way. He looked sort of Italian, sort of northern European, maybe a hint of Native Canadian. In general, a young and thoroughly appealing North American mutt. And if he looked half as good from the waist down as he did from the waist up, this was going to be an exam to remember!
Two days before the physicals, I finally got around to finding my old med school textbook in the basement. Then I trolled the internet to bone up on some sports-medicine pointers such as how to put the guys through agility drills. The literature did not recommend the state of the examinee's dress or undress. Sergei, I knew, would be in street clothes but it sounded as if Coach Richards had arranged for the others to come to me straight from the showers. While it was tempting to have each young man be completely naked for their whole exams, ordering as much might seem suspicious and in the end counterproductive. I did not want to press my luck, so getting the guys down to their undies would be my plan.
* * *
I arrived at the arena at around 3:30 with a medical bag that a family practitioner friend (and fellow hockey nut) had offered to stock. I of course had a stethoscope and instruments for ear, eye, nose, and throat exams, and the night before the exams I finally opened the bag to see that my colleague had left me with a good supply of tongue depressers, swabs, cotton, two STD kits, latex gloves, and KY Jelly. KY? Was I supposed to do rectal exams? On guys ages 18 to 20? I hadn't thought about that. I tucked the bag in the training room and headed out toward the ice. About half the current team had suited up to put the the prospective players thorough some drills, so I entered the bench and generally tried to look important while I soaked up some sights and smells of amateur hockey. Peter, an assistant coach, sought me out to introduce himself, thank me for coming and to explain what was going on.
"The guys in red, they're the newbies, or the wannabees I guess you could say. So keep an eye on 'em."
I was. Because Sergei was yet to arrive, it was fairly easy to tell who was who. The big guy Troy was on defense. The other two, Chris and Brendan, were forwards and it was pretty obvious that Brendan was the littlest guy on the ice. I focused my gaze on the 18-year-old from Manitoba, who at one point stormed the far corner for a loose puck with Trey and his blond curls in hot pursuit. My tenant battled with little Brendan against the boards and -- surprise! -- the recruit centered the puck to a defenseman who shoveled it to a teammate at the point who then fed Brendan as the little guy was charging for the crease. But Trey was on patrol and had the last lick. Just as Brendan fired off a wrist shot, my introverted tenant decked the kid from Manitoba with a strong but fair hip check and sent the little guy to the ice and the puck off the post. Brendan fell face-first and Trey ended up with his crotch on the back of the little recruit's breezers.
Just as I was thinking about Brendan having no clue about what lurked beneath the protective cup that was pressed against his ass, Coach Richards whistled the action dead. Trey got up and extended a glove to help Brendan from the ice. The kid from Manitoba accepted the offer and, once on his skates, brushed snow from the legs of his hockey pants. Trey must have seen me from across the ice because his next move was to charge the bench and make a hockey stop that sprayed my face with snow. "Thought you needed a cold shower, Bruce. From the sounds of it, you've got a tough afternoon ahead of you." Then Trey hopped the boards and crossed behind me for a towel, at which time I slapped his breezered butt and informed him I'd deal with him later.
Then Brendan entered the bench, removed his helmet, and headed toward Trey. The blood rushed toward my head as I confirmed that my last patient of the day was just as advertised. Indeed his jet-black hair got quite curly when it was wet, and even though he had just had a 170-pound defenseman on his back, the recruit still wore a smile that confirmed his teeth still had not met the fate of a hockey puck.
Brendan let his shin guards brush Trey's as the Manitoba kid took the lead in starting a conversation. I turned to watch the pair and let my eyes drift to the recruit's crotch, knowing full well that soon I would see what lurked beneath those baggy hockey pants!
"Whoa! Whew! This is fun!"
"Nice job out there," Trey answered. "Brad, is it?"
"Brendan."
"Brendan. Nice job Brendan. I'm Trey."
"Troy?"
"Trey." With an E.
"Trey. With an E. Got it. Thanks." Brendan caught his breath. "You decked me pretty good, though, Trey."
"Yeah, but you dug out the puck in the corner and centered it great. Ya hit the pipe, ya know."
"Whew. Wow, well, thanks. Yeah, I got to work hard. You know, size isn't on my side. Just a little guy, trying to keep pace with you bigger kids."
"Well, I'm not all that big. For a defenseman, at least. So I know what you mean."
"Yeah, but you get to deck little guys like me. And you got what, like, 20 pounds and four inches on me?"
Just as I was thinking to myself "if Brendan only knew!," Coach Richards interrupted my eavesdropping to skate over to greet me.
"Bruce, hi, thanks again."
"No problem, Coach."
"Sergei should be here in a few minutes, I hear. I guess his flight from Moscow to Toronto was on time, but the connecting flight out here was a little behind. I hope things with him go OK. I hear his English isn't so good."
"I'm sure we'll be fine."
"Look, one thing about Sergei. From what I hear, he's a star. So we're not putting him through as many drills the other guys are getting. So unless he bombs his physical, he's in. We'll just check him out quick after you do."
"OK."
"We're going to keep working the other three guys right up till the time of their checkups, if that's all right. How long for each physical, you think?"
"Oh, about a half hour I'd say. I'm sure the guys are in pretty tip-top shape."
"Hope so. All right. I'll have Peter watch the clock and get this Spiegalman character off the ice about 15 minutes beforehand. I've told him and the other two to hit the showers first. You probably get enough whiffs of sweaty hockey gear at home from Trey, right?"
"Right."
"But be warned, Bruce, this Spiegalman is a character, and not the brightest bulb in the lamp. We'll see how it goes. As for this Massachusetts kid, he needs an attitude adjustment. Can tell already. Maybe you can whip into shape."
"OK."
"Just kidding. Say, go ahead and make your way on back and let Peter here know if you need anything." A man's man of about 25 who was wearing a Boston Bruins sweatshirt, nylon pants, a whistle, and a little razor stubble tipped his Bauer Skates hat in acknowledgment. His eyes lingered with mine for just a minute in such a way that gave me a clue about which team he played for. And then I noticed his wedding ring.
"Thanks, Ray."
With that, I made my way back to the locker room to prepare for the exams. It was deja vu as I stepped around few piles of jeans, boxers and sweatshirts before reaching the training room. I had put my EENT light, stethoscope, and health-assessment forms in the medical bag. Within a few minutes, Peter and another guy entered with my sandy-haired Russian patient trailing behind. The recruit had perfect hockey proportions but sported a deer-in-the-headlights look as he stood clueless in a white dress shirt, red tie, form-fitting European-style dress pants, and backpack over his shoulder.
"Sergei, this is Doctor Silverman." Peter spoke loudly and slowly. I thought to myself, the kid isn't deaf, he just doesn't know Canadian, eh. "Sergei, he's going to give you an exam. A physical."
I grabbed my stethoscope and displayed it to the Russian, who nodded in recognition but did not smile.
"Aha!" Peter said. "A picture is better than a thousand words! Universal sign for turn your head and cough, I suppose." Peter winked as he said it and I laughed, thinking that I wouldn't mind having Peter turn his head and cough. Poor Sergei, meanwhile, just stood there wondering what was so funny.
I motioned for the Russian to take a seat on the trainer's table. Peter offered to stay but denied knowing how to speak Russian, so I made him leave. When I closed the door behind the assistant coach, it was just Sergei and me with no language in common. His hair was a little darker than Trey's and much shorter and straight as an arrow in a Cost Cutters sort of way. And like Trey, the Russian recruit had piercing blue eyes. But both his eyes and his face conveyed sort of a sullen look, and his skin did not have that pink, healthy glow like Trey's did after my tenant had worked up a sweat. As I continued to assess Sergei's general health, the young man swung his legs back and forth and I could not help but notice that he wore his trousers tighter in the crotch than Canadian guys do.
It was then that I realized that conveying the message of "please get dressed down to your underwear and I will be back in a minute" would be impossible, so I just plunged in with what I knew best -- a check of the Russian's blue eyes. Then I moved to his ears, nose and throat and did my best to convey that he was checking out OK. When I said "Ah," he opened his mouth wide and gave an "Ah" back. His tonsils looked fine, but he needed some dental work.
Then I jiggled the Russian's dress shirt collar back and forth, and he stripped off the tie, unbuttoned the garment, and pulled the tails out of his dress pants. When I began removing the shirt from his left shoulder, Sergei got the message and volunteered to make himself naked from the waist up. His shoulders were broad for his frame but his pecs and abs were not as well-developed as Trey's. I placed the stethoscope to his somewhat sunken chest and confirmed that his heart was fine. I took heavy breaths in and out and then so did he, and his lungs were in tip-top shape.
At that point, I motioned for Sergei to lie down on the training table and he did. I removed the young man's socks and shoes for him, since I had no means to tell him to do so. The Russian's feet checked out fine, so I moved to his upper body and palpated his chest and then his abdomen, attempting to assess any interal organ abnormalities. When my fingers slipped under the waistband of Sergei's trousers, he gasped just a little and moved his knees closer together.
Then it was time for me to somehow get the young man into his undershorts for some agility tests. I motioned for him to rise off of the table, and he did. But with no way to communicate to what degree he was to disrobe, I began undoing the hockey player's belt, thinking that he would follow suit as he had with his shirt. Instead he began talking in Russian as I unbuttoned his pants to learn of his apparent concern: he was wearing no underwear. I thought it odd that a young man would freeball it all the way from Moscow to rural Canada, but the poor kid probably had no clue that his first stop would be the doctor. The discovery was as awkward for me as it was for him, but I had to continue disrobing the recruit because he gave me no assistance until the dress pants were at his feet.
After Sergei placed the trousers on a chair, I stepped back to give him a once-over. He had perfect proportions for a hockey player. A little lean, but that was nothing that the trainers and some good cooked Canadian breakfasts could not fix. His waist had not a hint of fat, and an uncircumcized penis of perhaps 3 inches struggled to emerge from a healthy bush of sandy-colored public hair.
For the agility tests, Sergei and I played a game of Simon Says and charades as we reached for the sky, bent to the left, and walked like a duck. To check his back, I grabbed the young man by both shoulders, twirled him around, and pushed on him to bend over. His spine checked out fine, so I put my hand under his chest and moved the Russian into a standing position. I forgot about the latex gloves and just examined his genitalia bare-handed, peeling back his foreskin to confirm that there were no abnormalities. Next, I fished out his right testicle from the bush of pubic hair to assess its shape, firmness, size, and lack of lumps. I did the same with the left, noting that he was normal but perhaps a little less developed than Trey even though they were about the same age. I did my best to check him for a hernia and coughed with hopes that he would emulate. He did, and even turned his head before doing so! Peter was right. Apparently, turn your head and cough was indeed a universal language.
I gave Sergei a thumbs up, but he just continued to stare. Finally, when I tossed him his pants, he smiled as I headed from the training room.
* * *
Nineteen-year-old Spiegalman was not waiting nearby as I had hoped. Nor was anybody in the shower. It took me a minute or two to find my next patient near the locker room's entry looking at old team photos on the wall. The 6-foot-2 stud had had removed his skates, gloves and helmet but otherwise appeared to have just lugged his 210-pound frame off the ice.
"Are you Troy?"
"Uh huh. Why?"
"I'm Dr. Silverman. I'm giving you your physical."
"My what?"
"Your physical exam. A medical checkup. You were supposed to get off the ice and shower up to get ready."
"Oh, Coach just said I was supposed to take a shower and look for someone named Ben. Is that you?"
"Bruce. Bruce Silverman. Dr. Silverman."
"OK, where is the shower?"
Holy crap, had this guy never been in a locker room before? I was running late so a shower was now out of the question, so I told Troy to forget it and to just follow me. On our way to the training room we passed Sergei as he was standing in a t-shirt and cup and was preparing to put on his shoulder pads. Once in the place for the exam, Troy just stared at me in his green practice jersey, blue breezers, and hockey socks, oblivious to the fact that one takes off one's clothes when one goes to the doctor for a complete physical, particularly when one is wearing a green jersey, blue breezers, hockey socks with one too many holes, shoulder pads, shin and elbow guards, and a protective cup.
"Why don't you get undressed and I'll be back in a minute."
"Am I supposed to, like, get NAKED?"
"No, underwear is fine. You are wearing underwear, aren't you?"
"Yeeeah, geez! Who do you think I am?"
"Well, I thought I better ask." I tapped Troy on the ribs as I went for the door. "Just get out of this sweaty gear, please."
I used the opportunity to check my voicemail and take a pee. When I knocked and re-entered, Troy was out of his breezers but still had much of his gear to go. I lingered over the guy as he removed the socks, then the shin pads, and finally his sweat-drenched T-shirt to reveal a broad chest with a sizable tuft of black hair between the pecs and a telltale "treausre trail" from his abs into his groin. Finally, the towering defenseman stood before me in only his black, form-fitting Undergear, which by and large concealed the genitalia I would be examining. He was a stud, that was for sure, and could beat the crap out of me if he wanted to.
Once I got Troy on the trainer's table, the exam went pretty smoothly, mainly because I thought it best to not make small talk.
Given his history of asthma, I paid a little more attetion to his lungs, but he checked out fine and proved to be amazingly agile for a big guy.
I asked Troy to stand and face away from me and bend over so I could look at his spine, which also gave me an opportunity to see his strong and broad back from another angle. He was a fine specimen. Big, but fine. Then, it was time to finish up.
"OK, Troy, please stand up and turn back around, I'll check your plumbing, and then we're done."
"My plumbing?"
"Drop your shorts, Troy."
The dumb defenseman put his thumbs in his Undergear and lowered them to mid-thigh, revealing a trimmed-up set of pubes. I bent down to confront a circumsized penis of perhaps 4 inches, which was darker than his complexion and hung as confidently over a supple sac of balls. I palpated his length a few times, which caused the organ to lengthen but just slightly. I then pushed the penis into Troy's pubes to examine the underside, which was a little chafed. It was then that I noted some jock itch near the base of his penis, and the fungus seemed to run down to between his testicles and was pretty inflamed. The extent of the jock itch was hard to assess with him standing and from my crouched position, so I moved closer to get a look but was rewarded only a whiff of unshowered hockey-player crotch.
"This itch?"
"Oh, yeah, a little. Jock itch, I guess."
"I guess. We'll need to take a look. I can't do it from down here. Look, why don't you have a seat on the table."
Troy slipped up his undies as he headed for the table, oblivious to the fact that one can't wear underwear when one has his crotch examined.
"And out of the shorts, please."
"Out of the shorts?"
"Please take off your underwear, have a seat, and I will examine you for jock itch fungus. Got it?" I was getting frustrated.
I was the doctor, and I was getting testy, so Troy did as he was told and assumed a seated position on the training bench, completely naked. I still could not see what I needed to see, so I directed Troy to lie back and put his feet on the table. Finally, I had complete access to his entire scrotal region, and a pleasing one it was, other than the jock itch. I positioned myself at the foot of the table to confirm a fair amount of fungus throughout and inquired as to his bathing habits. He said he showered after practices and games whenver he rembered his shampoo, which wasn't very often. I told him to borrow some from a buddy and warned that unless he showered consistently, the fungus would invade his penis and that THAT could be VERY painful.
I figured I might as well complete the testicular examination and hernia check lying down. His testicles were firm and fine, probably about the size of Trey's. We finished with me asking him to put on his underwear for some additional agility tests. And then we were done. The exam was pleasant, I had gotten a good feel, and even maybe had made a difference in a young man's life. I told Troy to scoop up his gear and to remember to hit the showers after the rest of the drills and then anticipated that the 20-year-old from Massachusetts would be better.
* * *
I heard water running and headed for the shower room, where I found a muscular-backed young man who appeared to be 5-foot-10 rinsing soap out of what appeared to be short brown hair. I could only see him from the back, but from his stature I guessed he was a winger and not a defenseman. And from the looks of his perfect butt, I anticipated that he was going to be quite a specimen!
"Chris Manchester?" No answer. "Chris?" Nothing. "Man-ches-ter??"
"Yeah! Geez! Give me a minute, gawd!"
Whoa! Then I remembered that Coach Richards had warned about the kid's attitude.
After the soap was out of Chris' hair, he looked over his shoulder and saw me watching him from just outside the shower.
"Do ... you ... MIND? Puh-leeze!"
It was true that I was leering a little, but he must have known that he was not packing anything I would not be exploring shortly. But to keep the peace, I backed out of the shower room's entry and waited across from the drying-off area where a pair of blue and white boxers hung on a peg. Thirty seconds later I heard the water turn off and a minute after that Manchester emerged with a towel around his waist. He had tried off in the shower and was attempting to slide on his boxers while still wearing the towel. I thought to myself, Has this guy never been to the doctor before? What part of "complete physical" did he not understand?
Finally Manchester walked toward me but made no eye contact as he crossed in front of me and inquired where he was supposed to go. If I had met him on the street in Toronto, I would have guessed that he was a frat boy or pre-law student, not a hockey player.
"OK, now what?"
"Down the hall, Chris, second door on the right." As Manchester made his way to the training room, we passed an Undergear-wearing Troy in the hall. Chris made a bee-line to a seated position on the table and huffed. "Let's get this over with. I'm healthy as a horse. This really is unnecessary."
"Well, team policy."
"Whatever."
As I completed the early parts of the exam, Manchester explained that his dad was chief of cardiac surgery at a hospital in Boston and that his mom was a lawyer who defended insurance companies. He went on to brag that he had had the best of medical care that money could buy, much better than what Canadians could ever hope to expect what with their nationalized health care. He had just had a physical nine months earlier, he said, and had passed with flying colors. This, he said, was both unnecessary and unexpected.
"Well that's great, Chris, but the Blazers require this."
"Whatever."
His hair was still wet from the shower, and beads of water remained on his broad shoulders. I placed my stethoscope on his chest and got a refreshing whiff of soap instead of sweat. At least the frat boy was clean, I thought, and from the looks of him he worked out consistently, probably with a personal trainer who daddy had paid for. When I moved to examine Chris' knees, I noted that his thighs were strong. I stole a glance at his crotch but saw only a bit of a bump through his fairly loose-fitting boxers.
"OK, Chris, lie back please."
The 20-year-old sighed with indignation as he assumed a reclined position so that I could palpate his chest and abdomen and check his flexibility from this position.
"Is all this necessary?"
"Yes, Chris."
"No it's not. This is ridiculous."
"It is necessary. Your tryout depends on it."
"Stupid. My dad could BUY this team. He could BUY you!"
OK, that was the last straw. At that point, my bedside manner changed, and any hint of arousment that I had had was being replaced by anger and a need to take control.
"Get up and take off your underwear."
"Www-what?"
"Stand up up and out of the shorts. We're running short on time."
Chris stood and looked at me as if he had been asked to do maid's work. "You have GOT to be kidding."
I just filled out paperwork to send the message that this rude stud was not going to get out of here -- and not onto the team -- until he stripped off the shorts. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the cocky Easterner begin to comply, and when he turned his back I watched his every move as he revealed a perfectly proportioned backside that seemed lost on such an arrogant prick. Chris turned toward me but cupped his penis and testicles with both hands. I thought to myself, He's 20, and he's acting like he's 12.
"Stand over here." Manchester silently complied. "Arms at your sides." When he dropped his hands, I saw what he had been hiding, or had not been. He packed a thin penis of perhaps 3 inches and a crotch absent of any public hair. I bent down and began the exam, noting that even his scrotum as completely shaved, and recently so. I took extra time to palpate his smallish organ as I inquired about the razor habits.
"I just do it, I guess. Helps with the cup."
"I see. You shave all over?"
"W-what do you mean?"
"Crotch too? Your butt, too?"
"W--why do you need to know?"
"Just answer the question please."
"Yeah. All over. Why?"
I touched Chris' bald and fresh-from-the-shower testicles and inquired whether he was doing testicular self-examination. Chris claimed he was, but I said I didn't believe him and used the opportunity to do a thorough and slow palpatation of his smallish right ball. As I pulled it from his body, his penis started to grow, and Chris sought to conceal the beginnings of his erection with his right hand.
"Hands to your side."
He dropped his hand and sprouted a half-erection of maybe 4 inches as I examined the other ball. His penis was growing, so I decided to slow my exam even more. When I tugged lightly on his scrotum, the cocky stud's penis reached its fully erect state. I placed my index finger along his length to confirm that he'd be 5 inches on a good day.
When I rose to look the frat boy in the face, the hockey recruit's lips were pursed but his arrogance not broken. So I invaded his privacy for a good 20 seconds more by assessing him from head to toe, making it obvious that I was fixating with concern regarding his slightly throbbing erection and bald groin.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I turned toward my medical bag and put a latex glove on my right hand.
"Stand at the head of the table, turn away from me, and bend over."
"Wwha-- WHY?"
"This shaving habit of yours, I need to make sure you haven't injured yourself in your rectum. Insurance reasons. Your mom would understand."
The arrogant American did as he was told, and I positioned myself to examine Chris' anus with him in a bent-over position. But my angle was poor and the lighting even worse, so I ordered the frat boy onto his hands and knees and told him to slide toward me on the table so his butt was right in front of my face. By then, fear had caused the stud's erection to subside, and his sagging and hairless scrotum concealed all but the tip of his flaccid penis. I ever so lightly flicked his balls and watched them sway side to side, at which point he looked at me with a face reddened both from embarrassment and from being upside down.
I spread his cheecks to confirm his shaving habits and that he had cut himself in a couple spots. "You've got to be careful down here. You've cut yourself, and you're risking infection in a part of the body that is, quite frankly, full of germs. The team can't have that. You're lucky I checked."
This time it was Chris who stayed silent.
"You're 20, right."
"Yes." Being in a doggie-style position had made the hockey recruit's voice soft and compliant.
"When will you be 21?"
"In a couple months."
"Close enough."
I turned to the medical bag to retrieve the KY Jelly and squeezed a liberal amount on my fingertip and then the length of my index finger. Chris flinched when he sensed the cold lubricant on his anus. I told him to relax, breathe normally, and hold on. I slid the first inch of my finger into his anus and wiggled it back and forth a few times as his balls tossed from side to side. Then I plunged the length of my finger into the frat boy's butt, with Chris giving a trust-baby whine the whole way. When I was all in, I pushed even further in an attempt to find his prostate, and when I had met my goal the hockey player yelped and began breathing shallowly but rapidly. I massaged the hockey tryout's prostate for 10 seconds until fluid dripped from his dick, which had shriveled in humiliation. Chris cried with an "Ahh!" as I turned my finger 180 degrees and then back again. Then I removed my finger and the invasion was over.
"You can get down now, and put on your boxers. Rinse out your butt in the shower before you suit up for more."
He said not a word.
"You'll be getting more exams like this over the years. You're almost 21, so it's time to grow up, Chris."
The recruit remained silent as he slipped on his boxers and headed for the shower. Despite the 20-year-old's arrogance, by the end I had enjoyed the view of a frat boy doggie-style on the trainer's table, his balls swaying back and forth and his reddened face staring at me with compliance. But I had a feeling the best was yet to come.
* * *
When I found Brendan freshly showered and leaning against the wall outside the training room wearing just a towel and a smile, I nearly blew a load right then and there.
"Doctor? I'm next, I think."
"So you're Brendan?" As I shook his hand, I glanced not at his crotch but mine to make sure my penis was keeping its professional demeanor.
"That's me, sir."
Sir. I almost melted. I took a step toward the respectful stud and tugged at the top of his towel. "Do you have some boxers on under there?"
"Nope, fresh out of the shower." I felt my knees almost give out. Water droplets were still on the teen's chest and shoulders and his skin was just a touch from the hot spray. His hair was curly and still damp, particularly over his temples. He was reminding me of one of those energetic kids who's working his way through college at a sports bar, the kind can't help but give a 25 percent tip.
I made an offer that I hoped my next patient would refuse. "Do you want to grab some shorts first? We have time."
"Ah, no. I'm fine. Not unless you want me to."
"Nope, that's fine. Follow me." I was weak in the knees as I pivoted to lead Brendan into the training room, where I directed the hockey recruit to have a seat on the table as I pretended to review his health assessment form. He had his towel tied to the side such that I could not see a thing underneath it, but when it dawned on me that within minutes I'd have full rein, my heart pounded. I took just a moment to compose myself and could tell I was half-hard, but luckily I had worn tight-fitting briefs for just this very reason. My hands trembled a little as I approached my teenage patient, but then my professional training took over as I began the exam in a familiar place: his green eyes. After the EENT check, I made sure to warm my stethoscope in my hand before placing it on the 5-foot-7 stud's bare chest, and as I did I took note of just a few strands of black hair sprouting from his chest and what I would characterize as a five-pack.
"I saw you out there earlier. You're pretty fast out there, young man."
"I like to think so, Doc. Have to be, when you're my size."
I put my left hand on his shoulder as I shifted the stethoscope to his back and asked him to take several deep breaths. "What else you do besides hockey?
"Well, I'm a farm boy, actually. So that takes a lot of time."
"Lift those hay bales, I see." I gave his nicely toned right bicep a squeeze.
"And over the years, my dad and older brothers spent a lot of time getting me to and from practice. When I was younger, before I could drive, I read in the car a lot, did my homework, you know. I like music."
"You good in school?"
"Pretty good. Well, actually, really good. Thinking about college, but wanted to give this a shout first, this junior league hockey thing. Don't know unless you try."
"Don't know unless you try. Exactly." I began palpating the stud's shoulders and he chuckled when I let my fingers slip into his armpits. "Got sights on the NHL?"
"Oh, I have to be realistic. I hit the weight room, but somebody who's 5-foot-7 can only ask for so much. But I'll love hockey as long as I live, I'm sure. I'm sure I'll coach someday."
After making sure my wood was still concealed, I crossed to the front and told Brendan that he looked good to me.
"Thanks. Hopefully you'll see in a game jersey and not just that practice gear."
"Hope so."
I then retrieved a rubber hammer from my bag and dropped it on purpose so I'd have an excuse to glimpse under his towel. It was a silly ploy, since within moments I'd have him completely disrobed, but still, as I stood, I caught a peek of the very bottom of his healthy set of testicles. I pushed Brendan's towel back just a little to check his left knee and then his right and then moved to his showered-off feet -- the nails, each toe, his heels, his ankles. It tickled a little so he squirmed in a way that caused his towel to come undone.
"Any ankle problems, Brendan?"
"Oh, sometimes they get sore, but that's how it goes with hockey sometimes. I'm used to it."
"Let's take a look." I moved the young man's ankle in a way that made the untied towel fall away a little. I saw just enough of his penis to see that I'd be examining one with a carefully done circumcision scar, but then Brendan repositioned the covering to conceal himself for now.
"OK, why don't you lie back." Brendan held the top of his towel with his left hand as he reclined with his feet to my right. I was pleased with my professionalism as I turned to place the rubber hammer in the bag and then faced the trainer's table with anticipation. The 18-year-old kept his left hand on the top of his towel as I palpated his neck and his chest, but he moved his hand to his side to permit me to do the abdominal examination.
"I'll just move this over here." As I peeled back one side of Brendan's towel, I saw a nice tuft of jet-black hair as I palpated Brendan's groin -- first outside the towel and then underneath it. I went a little deeper than I needed to and pressed firmly into the base of the compliant hockey player's flaccid penis. I palpated the area a time or three and left that hand in place while using my other hand to peel back the rest of the towel. I could not help but stare. The hockey recruit was perfect for his size. He measured in at perhaps 4 inches, maybe a little longer, and as the organ pointed confidently toward the young man's right thigh. His genitalia were beautifully proportioned to his 5-foot-7 frame. His pubes were trimmed but not shaved, and from this angle his scrotum was still enjoying the lingering effects of the shower.
At this point, some boxer shorts would have come in handy for the naked hockey player, but it was too late. I looked Brendan in his green eyes and asked whether he was doing OK. He nodded as if to say, Why wouldn't I be?
"OK, great, I'm just going to put you through some agility moves. Hang tight, young man." As I guided the smallish hockey player's right knee to his chest, I took note of the muscular thighs that fueled his speed. When I did the same with his left, I confirmed that his range of motion was excellent but could not shift my gaze from assessing how the stud's testicles crowded to one side as I manipulated his leg. His scrotum had just a hint of black hair, but not too much. I pressed my crotch into the side of the training table as I continued the exam.
"You doing OK, champ?"
"Sure. Fine." The polite recruit kept wearing a grin, even while wearing no towel.
"Well, everything's checking out great."
"Well, that's good."
"You're in tip-top shape."
"I try. Weights, swimming, a little running, even basketball." The kid got up on his left elbow and seemed refreshingly comfortable with carrying on a conversation while completely naked on the training table.
"Basketball?"
"Think I'm too short?"
"Well--"
"Watch out! I'm fast!"
I scanned Brendan's body from his shoulders to his abs to his groin to his hamstrings. "And yes you do have a bit of a swimmer's build. Sort of unusual for a hockey player."
"Yeah, that's why I focus on the weights. And the swimming keeps me fast so I can out-skate those big guys." By now, Brendan was up on both elbows and his feet were flat on the table. He seemed almost strangely uninhibited by the thought of carrying on a conversation with dressed doctor while he was completely naked on a trainer's table. What a cool kid, I thought.
"You're OK? Not feeling too exposed?"
"Hey, one bathroom, four brothers. That's all I need to say."
Made sense to me, so I lengthened the conversation. "I'm a swimmer too, Brendan. Really enjoy it."
"Few things better than an hour at the pool. Doing some laps, hitting the sauna, then back for some laps, you know."
I nodded in agreement. "Why don't you lie back and we'll check out your plumbing." Brendan complied, put his right arm at his side and his left behind his head, revealing to me a perfect proportion of black underarm hair as he prepared himself for a genital examination. I began with his penis and took extra time to assess its perfect proportion and shape. As I palpated it for any hint of abnormality, Brendan lifted his head to watch my hand squeeze, stretch, and then lift his organ so it was perpendicular to his body. He smiled nervously as I rolled his flaccid penis between my right hand's thumb and next two fingers and then opened its tip to confirm that there were no signs of redness or abnormal discharge. The procedure had made him slightly erect, and me more so than that. But it was time for me to placed his fluffed-up penis back to its place, pointing toward his muscular thigh.
The testicular examination was next. I positioned myself toward the foot of the table, and when I touched his left ball still dangling from the effects of the shower, he spread his legs a little more to make sure I had the access I required. In response, his right drooped a little lower. His left was about my size, and I palpated it carefully to confirm the absence of any cancerous bumps. I did the same with his right, and as I did his penis lengthened more and took a position toward his belly. My careful palpatation had seemed to make Brendan about three-quarters hard. I finished the testicular exam by gently squeezing his entire sac and bouncing it up and down about four times, and then made sure I had placed his testicles back into their position just above the vinyl on the table. As I moved my finger into place for the hernia check, Brendan was completely erect, so I used my finger to confirm that he was about an inch longer than the jerk from Massachsetts, and a touch bigger than me. After the last of his coughs, Brendan looked at me with a coy grin.
"Sorry about that." He nodded toward his crotch, just as his erection experienced a spasm.
"Sorry about what, Brendan?"
"I didn't mean for that to happen, to, ah, you know."
"You mean your erection? No biggie, my friend."
He winced.
"Ah, sorry, bad choice of words. No big deal, I should have said. Happens all the time. And you're completely normal in the size department, but you probably know that."
Indeed, Brendan was normal in terms of penis size, particularly for his height. As for the "happens all the time comment," I didn't know that for sure, but it was true that I had sprouted an erection during a physical when I was 18. And for good reason. The exam was given by a hunky male physician's assistant fresh out of school who could not have been more than four years older than I was. For some reason, a female student was there too. It was highly erotic and embarrassing at the same time.
I placed my hand on the hockey player's shoulder and signaled that he could sit up. My patient sat Indian-style and looked at his crotch before looking at me. What he saw were a nice set of testicles pooling onto the table and a penis just brushing the inside of his thigh and sticking out parallel to the training table.
"We have a little extra time." A placed Brendan's health assessment form in my doctor's bag, on top of the KY Jelly. "You have any questions or concerns?"
"No. Should I?"
Then it dawned on me that there was one thing. "You're 18, right?"
"Right."
"You probably know that adults end up having rectal examinations at some point. It's pretty early for you, but since we have the time, and since you're an adult who can make his own decisions, it's up to you, but I thought I'd give you the option of having one today."
"Why?"
I thought fast. "Well, why not?, essentially. First, not to scare you, but you never know what we might catch. Second, the exams aren't a big deal, though many men make huge deals out of them. From my vantage point, it's good to get it over with. It can be a relief. I had my first when I was 20, when I volunteered to be examined by a medical school class."
"That must've been interesting."
"You could say that. But I'm glad I did because when they became required, it just wasn't a big deal."
"Hmm. OK. What do I have to do?"
"Well, not much. Leave the work to me. Lie back and get comfortable."
"Just like this, on my back?"
"That'll do."
I retrieved a glove from the bag, put it on, and moistened it with the KY as I had done with Chris a half hour earlier. But with Brendan, I planned to explain why I was doing what I was doing, and there was no question that I was going to be less domineering than with the arrogant 20-year-old. As I approached the side of the table, Brendan's green eyes signaled anticipation and he awaited direction.
"Just hold your knees to your chest, and I'll take a quick look." The athlete complied, and as I moved to the foot of the table I got a little lightheaded in anticipation of what I was to see and do. In this position, the hockey stud's thigh muscles really stood out. His penis was no longer hard and it drooped onto his sagging testicles, which in turn dangled just above his lightly haired anus. But as I slightly adjusted the athlete's position, I watched his penis rise and begin to disappear to a place on his belly.
"Again, ah, Doctor, I'm, ah sorry." He pulled his knees tighter to his chest, in an apparent attempt to conceal his failure in penis control.
"It's OK, Brendan. All right, you'll be feeling something a little wet and a little cold. It's my finger, with some lubricant on it." As I touched the athlete's anal opening, he lifted his head and moved his right hand from his knee so he could push his erection to the side just in case that would help him see what I was doing. He could not, so he looked at me for further instruction while gripping the base of his hard penis.
"You're fine. I'm going to go in a little further now." Because I was no pro at this, I had to watch what I was doing, so I alternated my gaze between his lightly haired crotch and his face as I began to slide in my right hand index finger, palm side down. As I began the entry, Brendan's testicles retracted pretty quickly and he lifted his reddening erection so that the six inches stood perpendicular to his body, which gave me perfect view of the healthy erectile tissue and purple veins on his underside. I could tell it was throbbing ever so slightly.
"Keep holding that knee, Brendan. Good. Spread your legs a little more. Perfect. Here . . . we . . . go."
Given the hockey player's 5-foot-7 frame, I should have expected the tight fit. I was glad I had used extra lube, and I went super slowly to guard against hurting the curious and polite athlete. When I was about halfway in, Brendan positioned his palm around his erection and bent it back toward his belly as he lifted his neck to try to peer over his penis. I paused for just a second before making the final thrust, stopping only when I felt my lower three fingers press against his recently retracted sac of balls.
At that point, Brendan dropped his shoulders and head, closed his eyes, and began palming his penis, slowly at first. I turned my finger 180 degrees to palpate the reverse side of his lower colon and with my thumb and middle finger assessed the health of the base of his strong, young erection. I pushed my own erection against the side of the training table as I turned my finger back to its original position and went in search of the 18-year-old's prostate. I was nearly breathless somehow found ability to give him the play by play.
"Brendan?"
"Y-yeah?"
"You OK."
"Uh huh."
"All right. Your anal opening is normal, and now I'm going to examine your prostate. This is entirely new, I know, but the prostate basically helps produce and pump out your semen, and it's important to make sure that it's the right size and not in any way abnormal." I curved my finger slightly in his tight rectum. "So that's what I'm going to do right ..." I found his little prostate. "... now."
At that precise moment, the hockey player flexed his leg muscles in a way that held my finger tight, and since I was all the way in I adjusted my stance to observe the athlete's reaction. His almost hairless pecs became more well-defined as he squeezed his shoulders together but kept his eyes closed. When I looked toward his crotch, I saw his penis head disappear and then appear over and over as he masturbated himself with his right hand while I had my finger in his rear. I pressed down a little harder, and he beat a little faster. After the palpation was done, I began removing my finger but Brendan lowered his knees halfway and grabbed my right hand with his left and would not let me go.
Once again, as with Trey, it became clear that a hockey player was not going to leave the training room without letting loose some semen. I moved my own erection onto the side of the table and pressed the 18-year-old's prostate several more times as he continued to jack faster and faster. From his gasps I could tell that the orgasm was near, but at just the right moment I pressed hard under his testicles and prevented the ejaculation. Brendan lifted his head, opened his green eyes, held his his six inches straight up, and gave it a "what the fuck?" look. Brendan tried to cum a second time but couldn't. The stud held his breath as I prevented the ejaculation one more time. But for the fourth, I released my pressure and stood back to see what would happen.
The 18-year-old's groan of relief was immense and so was the release. It was impossible to ignore the sound of a "thwap" as a thick rope almost instantly appeared and ran from just under Brendan's chin to a couple inches above his navel. The next cum was of the watery kind, deep from the recesses of the young man's plumbing. That one landed on his left temple, and the next -- honest to God -- in his right eye. As Brendan blinked, his wonderful smile returned as he arched his torso to watch himself plant a half-dozen more watery shots around his abdomen. He grunted with each successful convulsion, and when it was over, the hockey player finally released my finger from his behind.
"FUUUUUCK!" The sporty stud released the grasp on his slimy penis and put down his knees to inspect the mess that he had made. "OH MY GOD! SHIT!!" Then he let his torso fall back, closed his eyes, and laughed as he assessed the semen shots to his hair and his eye. He was giggling almost uncontrollably, so I put my nose perhaps eight inches from his torso to get a good whiff of his nutty display of cum.
"I ... have .. NEVER ...! Whoa. It'd been a few, whew, days, cuz, well ..." He opened his eyes and then apologized, all while smiling.
"No need to apologize. Sometimes this happens."
As Brendan turned slightly toward me, the cum rope stayed in place but the watery shots on his tummy were beginning to run onto his thigh. "Whoa! I might-- Is this what all rectal exams are like, Doctor?"
"No. Not all. And you can call me Bruce."
"OK. Bruce?"
"No, but having an erection is not that unusual, particularly for a younger guy. That's why it's good to get it over with when you're young, so you know what to expect."
"Well, I didn't expect ..." The hockey player touched the top of the cum rope, obviously impressed with the shot. After I ran my own finger through the trail and told him he needed to clean up, he swung his legs over the side of the table and sat for just a second to try to figure out what to do. A couple drops of watery semen had seeped from his thigh onto the table's vinyl covering, and much more of it had run into the young man's pubes and onto his relaxing scrotum. When he spotted the sink in the corner, he made a beeline for it, depositing a couple more drips on the tile floor on his way. Once at the sink, Brendan took stock in the mirror and I stood behind his 5-foot-7 frame to watch him marvel at the results of his powerful ejaculation.
Then Brendan made eye contact with me in the mirror. "Doc, it felt like I was broke, for a second."
"Broke?"
"That I couldn't, ah, spurt."
"You couldn't."
"Why not? Was it my the prostate? Anything wrong?"
"No, not at all. See, when you press under your testicles just right, it prevents the semen from escaping, but of course it has to escape eventually, and when it does, it's under immense pressure. So that was a good test of your plumbing." I touched the hockey player on the shoulder. "You passed, champ."
"Whoa! You learn that in medical school?"
"Sort of."
"I mean, Doctor, ah, Bruce, I -- I can't believe I'm talking like this, but, I hit my headboard once, after I had saved it up for, like, 5 days? That was the record."
"Headboard, eh? I remember those days."
"Um, ah, sort of embarrassing because -- I can't believe I'm saying this -- my brother came in when I still had my pants down and was wiping it up."
I handed the hockey player his towel and he seemed to flex his pecs just a touch as he gave one last look before wiping away what probably was the biggest cum of his life to that point. I had no view of him cleaning his groin, so I stood back and looked at his muscular butt and thought how great it would be to be 18 again for a day. But just a day. Too much angst.
"Here. Give me that towel and I'll get you another." I put the towel on the table next to my bag and headed for the locker room, counting my lucky stars that it had happened again -- that I had seen and indeed felt a hockey player at his sexual peak have an unpreventable and messy orgasm during an exam. Brendan was smaller than Trey in more ways than one, but just as sexual it seemed. There was no way to know whether he shared Trey's sense of kink, but the fact that he got into the size of his cumshot made me wonder. And, in the end, I thought, who doesn't have a sense of kink?
By then a small parade of hockey players were emerging from the arena. The rostered young men placed their sticks in a bin and used their gloved hands to unstrap their helmets and remove them as they walked their sweaty bodies on their skates to their lockers to begin the familar process of strippiing off hockey gear. I saw Troy head confidently toward his pile of clothes in the center of the room. Chris was a few guys behind, followed by Sergei. Those two recruits headed for their clothes in the corner.
I met Trey just as I was grabbing Brendan's towel from the stack. My tenant took off his helmet and shot me a grin.
"Some good players out there, Bruce."
"Great!"
"How'd things go on your end? How about the little guy, Brendan I think. He got a shot from your perspective?"
"You could say that."
"Good. I like his style. Seems really nice too. And my age. And a Canadian. Not an a-hole like, um ..." He was looking Chris' direction.
"Speaking of that, I need to get your Canadian friend another towel. Be back."
Brendan was appreciative for my delivery, since he entered the training room wearing not a stitch of clothes. I took one last look of his perfect proportions as he wrapped the towel around his butt and then his crotch and then followed his toweled behind out of the room. Brendan peeled off for a much-deserved shower just as another hockey stud did the same, and I continued toward the lockers and to Trey who was wiggling out of his shoulder pads. Chris was already down to his cup and was trying his best not to let anybody see anything. Sergei was next to him, uninhibited but clueless.
"Manitoba kid forget a towel?"
"He just needed another one."
"Thought he already took a shower."
"He had, but, well--"
"How about that big kid? Like he forgot his brain." Trey thought nothing of me as I watched him remove his suspenders and step out of his hockey pants to reveal that he was wearing form-fitting underwear under his protective cup. Good, I thought. No more slippage.
"Can you flunk anybody, like him, from his physical?"
"Well, no, probably not."
"Oh well. Doesn't hurt to ask." Trey struggled to slip out of his sweaty t-shirt. Once he did, I commented that the gash to his abs was healing fine. Chris put on his street clothes while Sergei crossed behind Trey to head for the showers. Behind him was Assistant Coach Peter, who for some reason also was finding need to bathe. Then Trey stripped off his hockey socks, with the shin pads to follow. "Sort of arrogant, that Chris kid. Didn't get a chance to talk to Sergei, obviously."
Finally, Trey was out of his cup and then his underwear. His flaccid six inches had been tightly constrained, so he fluffed himself up while cursing that the cup "isn't exactly made for me." I agreed and reiterated that it's better to be safe than sorry.
I said bye-bye to Trey's package for now as he wrapped himself in a towel and inquired whether I was going home. I said I was, and he said he was going out for pizza with the guys and would bum a ride later. As he headed for his shower, I scanned the room and took in the overall picture of about four more hockey players who were in various states of undress. Then the Coach appeared to inquire about the eminations.
"Hi Bruce. Any results?"
"Everybody's fine. No concerns. The big kid has to learn a little hygiene, and the Massachusetts kid is a little on the cocky side, as you said, but that wouldn't keep him from playing hockey in my book."
"Great. Good to hear. We've got three spots, so we're going to have to cut one of them. But from the sounds of it, you're not going to help me make the decision."
"Sorry. Personally, I really like that last kid, the little guy. Very friendly."
"Yes, he is, but between you and me, I'm not sure he's going to make it. We'll see. Pretty small. Fast, but small."
"Well, he's a gentleman, and I'd like to see him around. So would Trey, from the sounds of it."
"OK, well, good to know. Thanks again, we'll talk to you soon."
A few minutes later, Trey and Brendan emerged from the shower area together and were continuing a conversation that they had begun while naked under the spray. I picked up on their conversation just as I heard Trey say that "he's my landlord actually." Then Brendan surveyed me from head to toe. "And a doctor, too. Wow."
I clarified my profession. "Well, an eye doctor, the kind with a medical degree, but I'm dipping my toe in sports medicine, too."
"An eye doctor?" Brendan blinked his right eye. "Well, then, I guess I was in good hands." The little fireplug shot me a grin as Trey wondered what he was talking about.
Brendan's clothes were behind Trey, and it was hard not to notice that the 5-foot-7 player was lingering in front of my well-endowed tenant until such time that the towel ended up on the floor. I watched Brendan watch Trey, and when the little recruit realized he had been busted, he crossed behind my hunky tenant to get dressed.
It was then that I noticed Peter lingering to my left, also gazing toward Trey. A couple other teammates were doing the same as he toweled off his six floppy inches and his balls that were deliciously fresh from the shower. My eyes were torn between getting a glimpse of Peter's package for the first time or soaking up more of Trey. I chose Peter at first and was rewarded by seeing a decently fluffed-up piece of man meat and a pleasurable set of balls. When I turned back toward Trey, I saw Brendan touch himself through his towel before he dropped it and reach for his boxers. Finally, Trey slipped into his gray Hanes boxer-briefs and followed with his loose-fitting jeans, long-sleeve t-shirt, and the rest.
I returned to the training room to gather my things. I wadded up the towel so it would not dry, placed it in my bag, went straight home, and wanked with a taste of Brendan in my mouth.
- Joined
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Another nice chapter. And I was so glad that Bruce didn't let that fine young cum go to waste. I'll be waiting for more of your story to cum soon!
harry113
JUB Addict
Ah! Brucie!! It's such 'hard' work, being a doctor!!
Seems there are a few guys not entirely straight!
Thanks for an 'uplifting' chapter.
Any more physicals to cum??
Harry
Seems there are a few guys not entirely straight!
Thanks for an 'uplifting' chapter.
Any more physicals to cum??
Harry
willuafan1
Slut
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Love taking the dirty towel home and tasting!!! very good story man!
A thoroughly refreshing examination of physicals! Nice writing. To be young and a jock, in there with all that testosterone!
Thanks for taking the time and effort to write for us.
I'm looking forward to the next installment.
Thanks for taking the time and effort to write for us.
I'm looking forward to the next installment.
latinoguy19
Sex God
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I really like this one! I know a guy named Brendan that is just the same size as this one...
Endlessnight500
On the Prowl
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WOW, I love this story so much. Physical stories are so hot.
sfcfml
On the Prowl
sfcfml
On the Prowl
Part IV follows. The story so far:
Part I: Dr. Bruce, although an eye doctor, is the only one at the arena who steps forward to help his 18-year-old tenant Trey after the junior-league hockey player took a puck to the privates. Bruce was asked to make sure the blond stud's plumbing worked. Suffice to say, it did. All eight inches of it.
Part II: The coach asked Bruce to perform physicals on four new recruits ages 18 to 20 next week, and Bruce starts fantasizing over the possibilities. Meanwhile, Bruce has a heart to heart with Trey, who's struggling with his sexuality. Then Bruce finds a spy hole into Trey's room and confirms that the kinky kid seems not to be straight as an arrow.
Part III: Dr. Bruce performs memorable physicals on four hockey players ages 18 to 20, but the patient who sticks in his mind is Brendan, a perfectly toned 5-foot-7 stud from Manitoba. Brendan agrees to have his first prostate exam, with remarkably messy results. Brendan also catches Trey's eye.
Part IV:
For a good 24 hours after the hockey player physicals, I replayed each exam in my head but could not stop fixating on Brendan's. And for good reason. The young man really was a likable kid, confident more than cocky, conversant, and sexy as hell. I hoped to high heaven I'd get to see more of him.
I saw nothing of Trey over those 24 hours, or the 12 hours after that. Finally, we met in the driveway as we both were coming home and I could tell that my tenant was bummed.
"Brendan got cut." My heart sank, along with Trey's.
"Bruce, he's the only one who didn't make it. Gawd! Coach took that Massachusetts kid instead. Can you believe it? Makes you wonder, Bruce. Money speaks, I bet."
I did my best to put my arm around my taller tenant's shoulders.
"Bruce, it was like Brendan and I were connecting."
"Maybe you'll stay in touch, you and Brendan."
"Maybe. Got his email, so we'll see."
Trey had a five-night road trip ahead of him, so I offered to spring for pizza, which we ate while watching a Canadian Idol rerun and generally trashing the contestants. I had a couple beers but with a road trip ahead of him the 18-year-old athlete stuck to Diet Dr Pepper.
"Trey, you ever sing?"
"No, not my thing."
"You do everything else as a star. Thought maybe Canadian Idol would be your next stop."
"Don't hold your breath. How about you?"
"Sang in high school. And in church. Took a music appreciation course in college, but that was it. But I have enough of an ear to know that THIS girl is TERRIBLE, dawg!"
Trey laughed, but his grin was quickly replaced with a frown. "Brendan said he sings," Trey lamented. "A little. High school choir at least. A tenor. That what he says."
Poor buddy. I did my best to distract my tenant from the disappointing news. When he headed for bed, I thought about heading for the storage room with hopes for a show but then decided that he deserved a good wank, or maybe a cry, all by himself.
* * *
The team bus left before dawn, and later in the evening I learned from the internet that the Blazers had won their first game of the road trip. The lost the next night in a bit of a scorefest, but Trey got a mention on the radio because he had scored two goals, including one while short-handed. Quite a feat for a defenseman. I was looking forward to having Trey around during the upcoming homestand.
My tenant called me at work the next morning, pumped as I had ever heard him during our short time together so far. "Bruce, you're not going to believe this."
"I heard, Trey. Two goals. Wow!"
"No, Chris, the jerk. He just up and left last night. Gone! No one knows where he's at."
"You're kidding."
"Coach is super pissed. I overheard him telling Peter that this was the last time he'd take a snotty-nosed kid from the Eastern States."
"Wow, I hope he's OK. Chris, I mean."
"But there's more. Peter told me that the team will be trying to track down Brendan, see if he's still interested, see if he still can come join us.
"Trey, that's fantastic!"
"I thought you'd agree."
"I do, I do. You two sure seemed to hit it off. And I must say, he is a polite young man. Works hard, I bet."
"That's what I thought."
"Well, that's great news. Thanks for calling. I'll see you when you get back. Play hard!"
"I will. Thanks. I'm gonna call my mom. See ya, Bruce."
"Bye, Trey."
* * *
Trey returned to town three nights later. I knew that his mom, Diane, and 15-year-old brother, Trevor, were visiting the next day. While Diane had stayed with me during her first trip in town, this time they insisted on the Country Inn & Suites near the arena. Trey planned to stay a night with them.
It was after midnight when I heard Trey's ride drop him off at my house. The home is a walkout and Trey's room is in the basement, so he has his own entrance and uses it most of the time. This time, though, he came in the main door and was not particularly quiet about it. He seemed to be making a racket, actually. Was he drunk? Better not be, I thought to myself. Annoyed, I got up to see what was the deal and stumbled to the kitchen in my short-sleeve t-shirt and sweats. Trey was hunched over the island, reading the sports pages I had left for him.
"Oh, Bruce, you're up."
"Yes, Trey, I'm up. Imagine that."
"Did I wake you?"
"No. Yes."
"Oh. Sorry."
"That's OK. I had to get up anyway to, ah, let the dog out."
"Bruce, you don't have a dog."
"I might as well get one, because I just LOVE getting up at ten past midnight."
Again, Trey was waiting for me to make the first move conversation-wise.
"Sooo ... Good news about the road trip. Three and one. You scored three goals in all, I see. Get lots of ice time?"
"Yep."
"Great news about Brendan."
"I'll say."
"Your mom OK? Still coming tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Brother?"
"why wouldn't he be?"
OK, something was going on. This eighteen-year old didn't want me out of bed to talk sports, that much was for sure.
"OK, Trey, what's on your mind? Spit it out."
My tenant took a seat at the kitchen island as I tried to coax whatever it was out of him.
"Hmm. OK. Bruce, you know that guy Cody?"
"The backup goalie?"
"Yeah, that is he. Well, Cody and I ended up being roommates for the last two nights of the trip, along with two others of course. God, the guy wouldn't stop talking about his girlfriend."
"That can be annoying."
"Yeah, but here's the deal. Cody and I, you see, ended up having to share a bed in the motel, and--"
"And what?"
Trey's voice got soft, apparently so the refrigerator would not overhear him. "I could tell Cody was watching me, when he thought I was asleep. Just as I was drifting off, I felt something me down here." Trey touched his crotch. "He seemed to be pretending he was asleep, and had put the back of his hand right on my, my junk. I froze for a second, but when he started rubbing me I rolled away. It just sort of bugged me, that he touched me like that, in that position, without my permission. Then it was hard for me to get to sleep. And then probably 15 minutes later, I could hear him, ah, jacking off next to me in the bed! It was just ... weird. And I could sense that he had rolled over and was was watching me, looking at my face, the side of my face, while he did it, while he beat off."
"Hmm. But he didn't try to get you to do anything against your wishes, right?"
"No, but it's bothering me."
"Because he has a girlfriend?"
"No. See, Bruce, here's the deal." Trey paused and was beginning to tear up again. "This is what's bothering me, what I can't figure out. Even though I think Cody's sort of a jerk, and I wouldn't want to hang out with him or anything, or God forbid DO anything with him ..."
"Yes ..."
"I can't believe I'm telling you this. Whew! Bruce, it just sort of turned me on, knowing that he was, you know, beating off while watching me. In fact, it DID turn me on. Let's just say I did something about it, right then and there."
"You and Cody had sex? I thought you said--"
"NO! Oh, no! No way! No, no, no! No, what I mean is that jacked myself off after he was done. I had to, or I wouldn't have gotten any sleep. Did it right there, in the bed. Three others in the room. It was the last night, so the sheets would be--. Well, anyway, I mean, it wasn't Cody that I was attracted to. It was the fact that Cody was watching me."
He was silent, and so was I.
"Bruce, should I see a psychiatrist or something, do you think?"
"Oh, Trey, absolutely not. What you just said, from being spied on in the shower to being watched in bed, is not that unusual."
"It isn't?"
"Oh, c'mon Trey. You've been on the internet. You've see what some people do and say. People, hell, animals! Farm animals! A lot of it is fantasy, some of it is not, but all of it -- as long as no one gets hurt, particularly kids -- is part of being human."
"I guess."
"What Cody did, and to a degree what got you off, it's called voyeurism, Trey. You're a smart guy, so you know what that means, right?"
"I think. But Bruce, I--." Trey spoke with a whisper. "I jacked off with him right there!"
"Well, I doubt you're the first one who's done that. In fact, you couldn't be, because Cody had just done it too."
I had made a good point. Then Trey started to tear up again.
"Bruce, am I gay?"
"I don't know, Trey. Are you?"
"I asked you first."
"Look, Trey, buddy. You're ahead of your years in many ways, so it's easy to forget that you're still eighteen. You're still figuring it all out, and that's OK. Look. Trey. Humans love to put things in buckets. It's A or it's B. You're male or you're female. You hate hockey or love it. Basketball, hate it or love it. But in real life, it's just not that way."
"True ..."
"Basketball. Take basketball. You like basketball?"
"It depends."
"See? When do you like basketball?"
I can't stand watching it on TV. The NBA in particular. If they'd only call traveling! As it is, it's just a joke. And why the Americans get so caught up in the NCAA, I have no idea."
Sure. That's what some people say about hockey, about the NHL, with the fighting. Total turnoff for lots of folks, folks who otherwise like your guys' style of hockey. And then there are those who like the ritz and glitz of the NHL but would never be caught hanging out in your cold, concrete rink, let alone on a pond. So, back to basketball, when do you like basketball?"
"I like high school basketball. It's just different. And wait-- Don't get me wrong, it's not the guys I'm necessarily attracted to." Trey started blushing. I knew he was lying. It's just the feel of it, how everybody gets so excited, face-painting, the sounds, the smell of popcorn, the pep band."
"See?"
"And I like playing a pickup game once in a while, even though I suck."
"I doubt you suck."
"Well ... OK, Bruce, so go on."
"Go on about what?"
"How does basketball connect with me maybe being, ah, possibly gay?"
"My point is-- Look. Trey. Sexuality is a complicated thing. No one is A or B. No one entirely hates or entirely loves everything about every type of basketball, or hockey. We'd like to think everyone is 100 percent gay or 100 percent straight because we like to -- need to -- put things in buckets. It's only human. We like categories. But it's not that way."
"OK, so ..."
"OK, so, from my perspective, it comes as little surprise that the guys watch you in the shower. Hell, Trey, I'd watch you in the shower!"
"You're losing me."
"I think you know why, Trey." I glanced at the counter as if I had x-ray vision to see his crotch.
"'Cause I'm gifted in that department?"
"Yes, because you're gifted in that department, buddy. I'll be honest with you, a lot of guys like me find guys like you intriguing, even though they'd never dream of falling in love with you. They -- we -- wonder what it's like to pack that sort of meat."
"Sometimes, it doesn't stay in the cup."
"See? Never thought about that before you got hurt and ended up cumming all over the training room."
"Having a big, ah, penis, is sort of like being a tall guy who has trouble getting into a compact car. And when I was a kid, like 13?, man, some days I lived in fear of getting called on to go to the dry-erase board."
"See, you're putting another spin on being a big guy in that department. Anyway, we're getting off topic. From my perspective, the fact that Cody finds you attractive in a sexual sort of way says something about you, but it says as much if not more about him."
"Yeah! I mean, he has a GIRLFRIEND, for goodness sake! Won't stop talking about how he's going to bone her during the homestand. And then, he's trying to feel me up in bed and jacking off while gazing at my face! Un-fucking-believable!"
"You're only helping me make my point. Is Cody A, or is he B?"
"He's neither."
"Exactly. He might have absolutely no interest in living with a guy, for example. He might go on to get married, have a couple kids, even grandkids, but to his dying day he might find the idea of feeling up another guy in bed appealing, particularly when the other guy has, what, eight inches?"
"You talking about me?"
"Yes."
"Eight and a half."
"OK, eight and a half. Eight and a--?! Shit! Ah, so, anyway. Ahem. So, as I was saying, Cody may never forget that little grope that he did. Never as long as he lives. He probably won't tell his grandkids about it, but he may jack off for years about it until the day he dies."
"And all this is ... normal?"
"Of course it is! OK, look. Does the fact that you don't find Cody attractive, but that you got turned on by him watching you, and then had to do something about it, does that make you A or B?"
"I frankly have no idea."
"The answer, Trey, appears to be neither. Look, Trey, I have known many gay men over the years. Some of them have been in committed relationships for 20 years or more. My Freshmen roommate is one of them. If you move away from here, which you will, you'll see them in the grocery store, out to dinner, in a lot of places. They're just like everybody else. Many of them have kids. Some are flaming, some work out constantly, some are chubby and burly bears, some bikers, some are jocks, some are artsy-fartsy, and there's everything in between. And oftentimes opposites attract. The ones who are couples are emotionally, physically, and socially attached to each other. For life."
"OK ..."
"Then there are other men who consider themselves gay who have no interest in being in a committed relationship with anyone -- male or female. That's their choice, as long as they stay safe. No, I take that back. That's how they are, how God made them. Some guys are attracted to guys but have no interest in spending their life with one, and are emotionally and usually sexually attracted to women too. And, again, that's how they are, and nothing is going to change that. Whether that's fair to his wife or girlfriend is another matter. But of course that assumes the wife is 100 percent straight. And, of course, she isn't."
"OK, Bruce, how about YOU?"
"What about me?"
"Where are you on the A-B scale."
"I'm a Z."
Trey chuckled. "No, seriously Bruce. You know a lot about me, and I don't know as much about you."
"What do you want to know?"
"As I said, where are you on the scale?"
"Well, Trey, it's complicated."
"You already said that."
"OK, Trey. Here's all about me, as of today. As me tomorrow, and it might be different. I've had 45 years to figure it out, and to be honest, it has changed over time."
"Interesting ..."
"The simple way to put it is this. I love women, but I like guys."
"OK, I'm confused."
"Trey, to be honest, I miss being in a relationship with a woman. I just connect emotionally with the opposite sex. It's not that I'm homophobic or trying to fit a societal norm. Anything but. As friends, as confidants, gay guys are much more reliable than straight dudes. Much less baggage. Ever notice what happens when you put three women together? Disaster! But three guys, regardless of sexual orientation, can be buds. And hey, I rebelled during college, big time. First two years, anyway. That Freshmen roommate! Fla-ming! But we had fun, and neither of us seemed to mind. Meanwhile, I dated women, and had sex with them too. Even got engaged at he end of college, but she broke it off. Thing is, I just don't want to be -- I can't be -- attached in an emotional way to a guy. Not now, anyway. Maybe that'll change. I don't know. There are guys who I enjoy connecting emotionally with. A buddy from high school comes to mind, and I have no interest in having sex with him. Completely none. And you and me, we -- ah, sorry, you and I, we're connecting in a lot of ways."
"I like to think so."
"So that's who I am today, Trey. Ask me again tomorrow."
"But you haven't answered my question."
"What more do you want to know?"
"You said you enjoyed helping me, in the training room, when I couldn't make sure I was OK by myself."
"I enjoyed it very much."
"So you like guys."
"I do. I like maleness -- our bodies, how we take care of them. As I said, some guys are into feminine guys, other guys into burly guys. I'm into sporty guys. Guys who do swimming, hockey, even golf. I like what we wear, how we look, and who we are. And I like how we have to get our rocks off -- every day -- and how that is a goal, every day. But what never ceases to amaze me is that after that goal is met, once we've done it, once we've jerked off, had sex with our wife, or gotten a blowjob from a stranger, that's that. We can get back to being an eye doctor or a hockey player, or just falling asleep in the arms of someone we love while watching Leno. I've just always found that very attractive, the sexual side of us, particularly us athletic ones. The idea of the male climax -- particularly an athlete's climax -- is just very appealing to me."
"So I appealed to you then, when I came all over the training room. When I missed a spot over the sink."
"Heh heh. You sure did, Trey. Your missed spot was a little gift, from you to me. You'll find that life -- your sexual life -- gives you little gifts from time to time. The guys in the shower, they probably look at you and your eight inches as a gift."
"Eight and a half."
"Stop bragging." I reached across the counter and tossled my tenant's curly hair. "Look, Trey, those guys in the shower, they'd love to see your eight and half in all its glory. Maybe they will, maybe they won't. That's up to you. But even if you gave them their gift, their quest will go on. They'll keep searching for the next one. Even if they're married with kids."
"Really? You think so?"
"I know so."
"I'd like to be married."
"Good for you! Marriage is great in many ways. But I'm sorry Trey, I'm not having your baby."
He laughed, but I was completely serious, I had no intention of making Trey any sort of life partner. And I could tell that his lack of precision of who he wanted to be married to was intentional. Still, it felt good to explain my complicated self to a young man still clearly grappling with important and sometimes painful issues of sexuality.
We sat at the island for a good two minutes without saying a word.
"Ready for bed, champ? Your mom and Trevor will be here in just a few hours."
My tenant rubbed the bridge of his nose with the first three fingers on his right hand and clearly had more to say.
"See, Bruce, the problem is--"
Another pause.
"Wow, Bruce, this is tough. I can't believe I'm telling you this. But I feel like I have to."
"You don't have to do anything. Not against your will."
"When I was jacking off, next to Cody?"
"Yes?"
"I wasn't thinking about him."
"OK."
"I started thinking about my girlfriend from eleventh grade."
"Sounds reasonable. I still think about my girlfriend from eleventh grade. She had great tits!"
"But my mind drifted to someone else."
I froze, pondering in an instant what I would do if he said he was thinking about me.
"I'm not going to force you to tell me who it is. It's up to you." Ten seconds passed.
"But I see you're not exactly scurrying off to bed."
"Brendan."
"Brendan?"
"Brendan."
Another pause. "Bruce, he told me."
"Told you what?"
"I called to congratulate him, about making the team, and he wondered whether you might have room for him too at the house."
"We'd have to think about that."
"But then one thing led to another, and he talked about his recruitment physical with you, how you gave him an adult exam, how he ended up, ah, cumming. How that had happened when he was, like 14, and the female doctor read him the riot act, but how it was no big deal with you."
"If that's what he said, it was his choice to tell you."
"I can't stop thinking about what that would be like."
I laughed. "Trey, from the looks of the mess you made in the training room, I think you know--"
"No, not that. I can't thinking about Brendan, what it would have been like to, ah, see what you saw."
"I see."
"What was it like?"
"Well, I think you've seen in the shower pretty much what I saw in the training room."
"No, his exam."
"You mean the adult part?"
"Yes."
"I asked him whether he wanted a rectal exam, since adults get them eventually."
"Yes, I know that, but what was it like, when he--"
"When he had an orgasm?"
"Yes. When he had an orgasm."
"Well, hmm. Pretty much like you. He couldn't help it."
"Wow!"
"He's got a healthy set of plumbing, that Brendan."
"Made a mess?"
"Yes, he made a mess. Just like you. Except he did not miss a spot over the sink."
"He came by the sink?"
"No, he was on the training table, and it just sort of happened. He was pretty charged up."
"How so?"
"Shot some semen into his hair, even his eye."
"His EYE? Whoa! Is that dangerous? You should know."
"No, it's not dangerous. Said it wasn't a record, though. Said he had hit the headboard once in his room."
"Holy shit! Well, come to think of it, I-- Well, anyway, so it's true that this all happened because he had a rectal exam?"
"I think that's what did it, yes."
"Does it happen often?"
"Rectal exams for 18-year-olds?"
"No. Having a, um, cumming during one."
"It's not unheard of."
"Brendan said you were very thorough during the exam, and said it was up to him whether he wanted to have that part of the exam."
"That's true."
"You know, I think I slipped through the cracks when I started here. Coach didn't send me for a physical."
"No?"
"How 'bout you check me out?"
"Would it make you feel better?
"Yes."
"When?"
"Now."
"Now? Trey, it's late. You mom will be here in--"
"Bruce, I'm at work all day tomorrow, and then I'll be at the hotel with Mom and Trevor, and then we have a heavy practice schedule coming up. C'mon, won't take but a half hour, right?"
"That's true."
I paused for a second are realized I wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon. And then -- boom! -- I came to my senses and realized that this 18-year-old stud with an eight-and-a-half inch erection was asking me to feel his naked body!
"OK, Trey, why don't you go down to you room and strip to your underwear, and I'll grab the bag from the car."
"Should I take a shower first?"
"No, you're fine."
Trey wasted little time in rising from the stool and scampering downstairs. As he did, I looked at his ass and realized that within 25 minutes I'd have my finger up it. Then I retrieved the medical bag and prepared to try to keep my professional demeanor with my hunky, big-dicked, curly blond tenant who talked me into giving him a complete physical at a quarter to one.
Trey's door was closed, so I knocked and then entered, as doctors have a way of doing. The overhead light was on and Trey sat on his bed wearing just his light gray boxer-briefs. I knew from the laundry that they were size 34, which fits his waist nicely but otherwise clings to his athletic frame like Saran wrap on a turkey. As he sat on his bed, his six inches of penis was clearly visible through the cotton material.
"There you are. Ready to go, I see."
"Ready to go. Should I stay where I'm at?"
I had furnished his room with a little desk from Target, which was small but sturdy enough to hold his 170-pound frame and could serve as an impromptu exam table. "Here, let's clear off your desk, and why don't you help me move it over here." When Trey rose, the bulge in his briefs became even more obvious. It was no wonder that his teammates were salivating over his goods, as was I.
"Great. Have a seat." I put Trey through the drill, checking his blue eyes, his ears, his nose, and mouth before checking his heart and lungs. I made sure that the stethoscope, fresh from the car, was good and warm for my tenant and friend. He checked out fine, and I let him know as much.
"Your skate injury is healing well, I see." I touched his abs and examined the place where I had applied salve about a month earlier. As I did, my fingers just brushed the elastic of his undies.
"Yep, no problem. Thanks. You treated me right."
"Let's see those feet." He raised his feet so I could examine them. They were a little stinky from a day of travel but checked out fine. From this angle, I could see not only the head of his penis through the briefs but even each testicle. I retrieved a hammer from the bag and checked his reflexes, and then gave his right knee a squeeze and said he was doing great.
"Well, that's good."
"OK, got to get you lying down. I don't think this desk is going to work. Why don't you try the bed."
Trey did as he was told and positioned himself on top of his bedspread for a chest and abdominal exam. His six inches were pretty bunched up right in front and seemed to be straining to be set from from the little briefs. I began the exam and felt a rush of excitement as I slipped my fingers under his waistband and palpated the region between his waist and the base of his penis. Then, it was time to finish the exam.
"OK, Trey, let's take a look down there. You said you were 100 percent fine ..."
My tenant put his thumbs in his skivvies and then had a question. "You want them off, or just down?"
"Well, do you want a rectal examination, like Brendan did?"
"Yes."
"OK, then off will be better."
Trey took little time to get his undies to his knees and then over his feet. I watched his genitalia bounce as he sat up on the bed to rid himself of his last remaining garment. Then he slowly laid back and his flaccid penis hung down over his supple scrotum of larger-than-normal testicles.
"You want me like this?" Trey had put both hands behind his head and was doing his best to make sure I had full access to his crotch but also was giving me a delicious view of the surprisingly light-color hair under his arms.
"That's great, yes." I began an exam that I had done the month before, carefully examining each length of Trey's six-inch penis including its underside. "Yes, looks all healed. Good job!" I squeezed both sides and stretched it to eight inches before placing it back on his belly. He stayed flaccid as I rolled his right ball between my fingers, noting its large size and perfect shape. I did the same with his left and then examined his scrotum at length, assessing the normal growth of blondish hair and the way his testicles moved independently in the relaxed bag of skin. Although he kept his dick under control, I could not, and I saw Trey glance at my sweats to confirm that I had pitched a tent.
He stayed silent as I finished that part of the exam and proclaimed him in good health so far.
"Still want what comes next?"
"Yes, please. Let's get it over with, see what happens."
The impromptu setup in his room was far from perfect for a rectal exam, so I debated what sort of position Trey should assume. "Hmm. Why don't you stand up, put your elbows on the desk, and we'll try that."
He did as he was told, but I could barely see his butt and I worried that he might lose balance and fall if he reacted with surprise as I fingered his butt. How would I explain that sort of injury to the coach?
"Nope. OK, I hate to ask you to do this, but I think you need to get on all fours on your bed."
Trey did as he was told. But with his butt toward the foot of the bed I had no room to work, let alone get a good glimpse of that sagging scrotum, and because he slept in a twin bed he did not have enough room to position himself sideways. Because the bed was low to the ground, doing a rectal exam with Trey on his back did not seem to be an option.
"Sorry, Trey, this is not working. Maybe we can go upstairs to my-- No, wait, I know." Trey was still positioned doggie-style sideways on his bed. "Why don't you sit on the bed facing me, bring your knees to your chest, and see if that gives me access."
Trey switched himself around and rolled back until he bumped his head on the knotty pine behind him. "Owww!"
"Watch it! Don't break my house!"
The position was a little unusual, but so was this whole damn situation. I bent down and confirmed that the access to his rectum was sufficient and apologized for putting my tenant in such a compromising position.
"Whatever, Bruce. It's fine. I mean, I asked for it. And it's not like you haven't seen me before."
"Well, that much is true. Put your legs down for a sec, and I'll tell you what's going to happen." I took time to explain to Trey what I was going to do and why I was doing it, occasionally stealing glances at the six inches of softness that rested on top of his testicles. That he'd feel a cold sensation at first, and then he'd feel my finger begin to enter his rectum, and then that I'd be pushing the entire length of my finger into his backside. He looked at me with anticipation as I put on a glove and lubricated it with KY.
"OK, Trey, up with the knees."
I crouched down and used my ungloved left hand to move Trey's testicles out of the way so I could enter his anus with my right index finger. I put it in about an inch, and Trey said he was doing fine. I did not have much leverage in that position, so I managed to stand while I kept my finger in his butt and then steadied myself on his right shoulder as I pushed my finger all the way in. I could not see what I was doing, but I did my best to guide my finger into his butt as my forearm pressed against the underside of Trey's growing penis, most of which was against my bare skin. He and I were face to face as I entered his rectum. Trey bit his lip and breathed through his nose as I entered his butt, but he made not a sound as I went all the way in. I could feel the head of his erect penis against my bare forearm, and I looked down and saw that there was no way that my tenant did not realize that my erection was brushing against his right thigh. He kept holding his knees as I located his prostate. I pushed down and told him he might feel like he was going to pee.
"Wow, wow!" Trey smiled, but then started looking aggressive. "Yeah, that's good!"
"That's your prostate, Trey. I'm palpating it now. That's what doctors check for during rectal examinations."
He looked me right in the eye with an wild-animal look and asked a very pointed question. "Is this what you were doing when Brendan shot his load?"
"This is what I was doing, Trey."
"Was your finger in him when he came?"
"Yes, it sure was."
My tenant started rocking back and forth so that his eight inches were being pleasured by my bare forearm and also latex glove. I cupped his balls with my lower three gloved fingers and joined in the sway, pressing my erection hard against his hard thigh. Trey rocked against my forearm for a good thirty seconds without saying anything further as I massaged his prostate as I had done wtih Brendan's. Then Trey closed his eyes and leaned back, and I felt his but muscles tighten around my index finger. His plumbing convulsed, and then I felt a warm shot on my bicep. I plunged in even further and pressed my forearm against the underside of Trey's erection even harder, which led him to convulse out six more shots of watery seed on the underside of my arm. I could smell his semen's nuttiness as it splashed above my gloved hand, and I stayed with him until what I thought was the end when I withdrew my finger to examine Trey's watery jizz seeping into the glove's loose opening.
Then Trey put his legs down and grabbed his dick, which remarkably was still hard. It became clear that although he had come, it was not in the way that he had wanted, and he was going to do something about it, with me watching, as Cody had watched him. He put his feet on the edge of the bed and began palming his massive meat with both hands, thrusting and then slowing and thrusting and then slowing as I had helped him do -- and, through the peephole, also seen him do -- before. Finally, he made that marvelous and aggressive "OH!" expression with his mouth. And then I learned why. My kinky hockey-playing tenant leaned forward, took aim, and was two for seven. The first two shots landed right in his mouth, the third on his left cheek, the fourth on his lower lip (off the pipe!), and the rest between his pecs.
The hockey symbolism was too rich for words.
"Oh, shit." That was Trey talking. "Man, whoa!"
"I think you matched Brendan shot for shot. Actually, you went into overtime."
"Shit, man, Bruce, thanks." He looked at my arm. "Sorry about that."
"No need to apologize. It was fun!"
"Man!" He wiped his mouth with his arm and seemed to be savoring the taste of himself. "Is that sort of how Brendan does it? From what you saw?"
"Pretty much. He's got a little different technique."
"How so?" Trey leaned against the wall, completely relaxed and wiped.
"Let's leave some things to the imagination."
"Oh, c'mon!"
"I think you'll just have to find out for yourself!"
Trey rose from the bed and walked naked toward the shower. I confronted the mess on my arm and gave it a good taste. Then I followed the 170 pound hockey player into the bathroom and stripped off my t-shirt to rinse out his semen. He showered with the curtain half-open and cared not that I was there.
"Say, Bruce?"
"Yeah."
"Remember how I said I was thinking about medical school?"
"I do."
"What's it like to, um, give exams?"
"Well, what do you mean?"
"I mean, do you get turned on?"
"Well, as you remember, I'm an eye doctor, so this physical stuff is pretty new to me. Hadn't done it since med school."
Trey was silent in a way that made me think the issue had been resolved. I stole a glimpse at him before turning to leave.
"Bruce?"
"Yes, Trey?"
"Is it gross to stick your finger up a guy?"
"Well, no grosser than having a patient puke on your lap?"
"That happened?"
"Sure did. About a year ago. I was treating a glaucoma patient who generally wasn't feeling well, and he blew chow right in my lap during an eye exam. Absolutely disgusting."
More silence, so I turned again to leave.
"Hey, Bruce?"
"What IS IT Trey? It's getting late, and it's a school night, young man."
"When's the last time you had a physical?"
"Why?"
"Just curious."
"Oh, I don't know, two years, maybe three."
"Aren't you supposed to have them more often than that at your age?"
"Yes."
I heard the water shut off. "How 'bout I give YOU a physical?"
I looked at myself in the mirror and then turned toward the shower
where Trey had flung the curtain wide open. He was dripping with water and also with sarcasm, or so I thought. I glimpsed at beautiful dick and balls but was getting tired and intended to go upstairs and relive our experience in private.
"Sure, buddy, sure."
I was kidding.
"Great!"
He thought I was serious.
"Bruce, hand me my towel."
"Here, Trey."
My hunky tenant started with his hair, and when he covered his head so I could see him but he could not see me, I packed away some visual eye candy for my own quick wank upstairs and headed for bed.
"Bruuu-uce!"
"WHAAAAT!?
"I'm serious."
"About what?"
"Giving you a physical."
"You've got to be kidding."
By this time, he had dried off his torso and was working on his backside. As he jiggled back and forth, his penis did too. I had to admit, the kid knew how to turn me on.
"I'm not kidding, Bruce. Let's get you checked out as soon as possible. Like, right now."
Trey toweled his crotch and then wrapped himself with his towel. I scanned the showered-off stud from his blond curls to his delightful feet, and pondered what to do. "Your legs are still wet."
"You just want to see me drop the towel."
"So sue me."
"I think it's time for me to get a look at you, your maleness. You've seen enough of me, for goodness sake."
Well, I had seen a lot of him, but not ENOUGH of him.
"Bruce, you can walk me through it. Show me what a doctor does. Please?? I really am thinking about med school."
"OK, Trey, what the hell."
"Yesssss!"
"Let me go get some underwear. We'll do it in your room. I mean, the instruments are all laid out."
"No, no, no. You're a mess. What's that all over your arm? Oh. Ha! It's me!"
"Very funny."
"Take a shower, Bruce, and then wrap yourself in a towel and enter my exam room!"
"I'd prefer to get some--"
"Brendan said you made him wear only a towel."
"That's a lie."
"OK. You're right. He said he wanted to wear only a towel."
"He said that?"
"Sure did."
"My towel's upstairs."
"Here." Trey threw me his, and sauntered off to his room bare naked.
Oh, what the hell, I thought. Sleep is for the dead. I stripped out of my sweats, turned on the shower, and entered the spray, realizing that even the scent of the shower after Trey had used it was turning me on. I bathed completely and paid extra attention to the region I knew Trey would be examining. Then I dried off and walked to his room with his towel tight around my waist.
"Mr. Silverman? I'm Doctor Trey." I chuckled when I saw that Trey had slipped into a pair of dress pants, a dress shirt, and the sports coat he sometimes wore to team events, and I started to belly laugh when I saw that the cuffs of his pants were pooled onto his bare feet. He looked ridiculous, but also irresistible.
"What's so funny, sir?"
"Ah, sorry. Nothing."
"So ... It says here you're here for a complete physical?"
He wasn't looking at a medical chart but rather a collection of short stories I guessed he had been reading on the team bus. At that point, the sight of the role playing completely turned me on as I quickly pondered the thought of him -- and not me -- being in control.
"Why yes, Doctor. Trey, is it?"
"Yes, Trey. But you can call me Trey."
"Um, OK, Trey. Yes, I'm here for a complete physical."
"How long has it been since your last exam?"
"Two years."
"And you're how old?"
"Eighteen."
He shot me a look as if to say, "C'mon Bruce, play along!"
"Forty-five."
"Mr. Silverman. This is unacceptable, going two years without a head-to-toe exam. You need to come in more often."
"OK, I'll try."
"Well, we have some time to account for, don't we? Have a seat and we'll get started."
I headed for the bed, but Trey redirected me to the Target desk where I had made him sit. I scampered on top and held my towel as I positioned myself.
For a second I thought about breaking the role play and leading Trey through the nuts and bolts of an exam, since he had mentioned that med school was a possibility for him. But then I realized that watching him fumble through this experience would be much more fun, for him and for me. I mean, if we were going to be up this late, we might as well enjoy it.
"Let's take a look at your eyes." He proceeded to give me a surprisingly good eye, ear, nose, and throat exam. "Now let's listen to your heart." He used my stethoscope with surprising skill and did not shy away from touching my chest hair with the rest of his hand and reassuring me by keeping his other hand on my right shouler. "And breathe in and out. Again. Again. Good."
"What's next doctor?"
"I need to check your chest, and your stomach area. Please lie over there on the bed and I'll be with you in a minute."
As I moved into position, Trey put the stethoscope back in the bag and then crossed back to the bed, leaned over, and palpated my midsection in no place in particular. I thought I saw him sport at least some wood through his light gray polyester blend dress pants, but when a guy already packs six inches when limp, who could be sure?
"Let's just check under there." It was at that point when the wannabe doctor let his fingers explore my pubic hair under my towel. With no no idea of what to feel for, he just pulled at my curls. I tried not to laugh and also to keep my erection from coming out to play until Trey at least got the towel off of me.
"OK, Mr. Silverman, I'm going to have to ask you to open up your towel."
"Now?"
"Now, Mr. Silverman. I do not have all day."
"Is this really necessary? I mean--"
With that, Trey took it upon himself to make both sides of the towel fall to the sides of my thighs. Then he bent over me and hesitated for just a second before picking up my half-hard penis and began palpating it for no medically apparent reason. "Any pain?"
"No, doctor."
"Let's look in here." My 18-year-old tenant then used both his thumbs to spread my pee slit apart and astutely took note that some moistening had appeared.
"Sir, you seem to have a discharge of some kind."
"I can explain--"
"Ah, sir, are you aroused by this experience?"
"What makes you say that?"
Doctor Trey huffed and said that now he was going to check my balls.
"My testicles?"
"Yes, sir, your testicles." Although my testicles generally were not as dangly as Trey's, I was glad I had taken a shower to put on at least some of a show for my better endowed tenant The 18-year-old hockey defenseman began rolling my left ball with surprising skill, in a way that made me think that he routinely enjoyed doing the same thing to himself. The thought of the hunky hockey player lying in bed and feeling himself up is what sent my penis into full mast.
"Hmm. Yes. That is fine. Good. And now, the other ... Hmm. Yes. Any pain at all?"
"No, sir."
"I see you're enjoying this exam."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, don't be concerned. You're having a natural reaction."
Judging by his trousers, so was Trey.
"Sir, what are you looking at?"
"I'm sorry."
"Well!" He said it with a huff. "Since you're enjoying this so much, I might as well take this opportunity to give you a complete exam, of your penis region. Before we get to the, um, rear end check, that is." You do realize you're having a rear end check, don't you?"
"I do now."
With that, Trey placed the head of my almost-six-inch erection between his thumb and first two fingers, palpated the head, rolled it back and forth, and then squeezed an almost embarrassing amount of preseminal fluid onto my groin. He applied just the right amount of pressure as he fully examined the tube-like erectile tissue on the underside. He moved inch by inch by inch until reaching the base, at which point he made my erection stand straight up. Then he used the thumb and first two fingers of both of his hands to additionally palpate the organ from just under the head to the base and then back again. As he reached my circumcision scar, the 18-year-old doctor almost put me over the edge.
"Doctor, I think--"
Trey knew what I was going to say, so he backed off so we could play a little more. He ordered me into the position I had forced him to take and helped me place my feet flat on the edge of his mattress. "Give me just a sec--" Trey turned back toward the desk and struggled to strap on a latex glove. With his back was turned, I stroked my erection until I could tell he was about to turn around and then put my right hand back on my right knee.
"Doing OK, sir?"
"Yes. You?"
"This isn't about me, sir."
"Oh. Sorry."
I could tell that Trey was fumbling with the KY. I resisted the urge to touch myself as Trey spread the lubricant on his index finger with his back still turned. My erection was dripping, throbbing, and resting against the hair of my lower belly. Finally, my examiner turned toward me with a glistening finger in the air, as if he found KY Jelly helpful for checking the wind's direction. Fumbling around with the glove and KY had caused Trey's erection subside, and he stood in front of me with obvious puzzlement over what to do next. Trey knelt down onto his knees and faced my crotch head on as he touched my anus for the first time.
As I felt the wet, cold sensation in my most private region, I looked past Trey's blond curls and watched him bite his lip while carefully beginning the insertion. Doctors are trained to reassure male patients at this point, but Trey just stayed silent and focused on his work as the nighttime silence mixed with the sound of lubed-up latex entering my behind bit by bit. Trey had put his finger in sideways, apparently forgetting how I had done the procedure on him just a half hour earlier. He stayed focused on his work as he wiggled his finger side to side in my lower colon, and then seemed stumped.
"Doctor Trey, aren't you going to check my prostate?"
"Oh yeah. Ah, yes, sir. Don't rush me! I'm getting to that."
He turned his finger so his hand was palmside up.
"Other way, Doctor."
Then he learned from his mistake and fished around till he found an organ I was sure he had never felt before but in the future certainly would. When he pressed down hard, my first shot of cum was locked and loaded.
"I think I have it."
"Ah, yes, Doctor, you do."
At that point, I moved my left hand from my knee and onto the top of Trey's blond curls and pulled his hair moderately hard as my naked and untouched penis blew a load onto my hairy tummy. I did nothing to stop Trey from moving his finger in and out of me as he watched me cum.
"Oh, Doctor. Yess! Ah."
My first four shots had been strong, but without manual stimulation the rest of my ejaculate just dribbled from my softening organ or stayed inside. Trey instinctively knew what to do and he finished me off with some manual jerks with his right hand as I removed my feet from the side of the mattress and held my partner with a light scissors grip. Trey seemed pleased with the mess as he got on his bare feet and displayed his trousers in front of me. Even though he had cum twice in the previous hour, a sizable wet spot had developed on the fabric on his right thigh and I guessed he also had had an orgasm during his time as the doctor. But then he silently unbuttoned and then unzipped his pants, fished his half-hard meat out of them, and began jerking it into a three-quarters erection. I leaned forward and was ready to place his massive tool in my mouth, but he lightly pushed me away and said not now.
"Just watch me, Mr. Silverman."
"Yes sir."
"You have to enjoy just watching me."
I leaned back just a bit for the show. First Trey showed me his right hand, which still had a little of my semen on it. Then he closed his eyes, started licking his lips, and moistened his penis with my seed. His pants fell down enough so I could see that his lovely balls were freely swaying in a state of post-orgasmic relaxation. Given the events of the night, his dick was not fully hard, despite his tender 18 years. So he used a one-handed technique to massage my seed into his head over and over. I saw his body shudder and then he came into his hand.
At first I was bummed when I did not get to see the ejaculation, even if was going to be only a dribble. But then the kinky hockey player did something I will never forget. He touched my shoulder with his left hand, put his right hand on display and then put it under my chin, and then yanked it away as I tried to lap it up. He teased me three more times and then stepped toward me, pinched up a load of my semen with his left hand, brought it to his mouth, and ate me at the very same time he finally gave in and let me taste him.
He was thick, salty, and warm. I savored the taste, and vowed that next time I would drink from the tap.
Part I: Dr. Bruce, although an eye doctor, is the only one at the arena who steps forward to help his 18-year-old tenant Trey after the junior-league hockey player took a puck to the privates. Bruce was asked to make sure the blond stud's plumbing worked. Suffice to say, it did. All eight inches of it.
Part II: The coach asked Bruce to perform physicals on four new recruits ages 18 to 20 next week, and Bruce starts fantasizing over the possibilities. Meanwhile, Bruce has a heart to heart with Trey, who's struggling with his sexuality. Then Bruce finds a spy hole into Trey's room and confirms that the kinky kid seems not to be straight as an arrow.
Part III: Dr. Bruce performs memorable physicals on four hockey players ages 18 to 20, but the patient who sticks in his mind is Brendan, a perfectly toned 5-foot-7 stud from Manitoba. Brendan agrees to have his first prostate exam, with remarkably messy results. Brendan also catches Trey's eye.
Part IV:
For a good 24 hours after the hockey player physicals, I replayed each exam in my head but could not stop fixating on Brendan's. And for good reason. The young man really was a likable kid, confident more than cocky, conversant, and sexy as hell. I hoped to high heaven I'd get to see more of him.
I saw nothing of Trey over those 24 hours, or the 12 hours after that. Finally, we met in the driveway as we both were coming home and I could tell that my tenant was bummed.
"Brendan got cut." My heart sank, along with Trey's.
"Bruce, he's the only one who didn't make it. Gawd! Coach took that Massachusetts kid instead. Can you believe it? Makes you wonder, Bruce. Money speaks, I bet."
I did my best to put my arm around my taller tenant's shoulders.
"Bruce, it was like Brendan and I were connecting."
"Maybe you'll stay in touch, you and Brendan."
"Maybe. Got his email, so we'll see."
Trey had a five-night road trip ahead of him, so I offered to spring for pizza, which we ate while watching a Canadian Idol rerun and generally trashing the contestants. I had a couple beers but with a road trip ahead of him the 18-year-old athlete stuck to Diet Dr Pepper.
"Trey, you ever sing?"
"No, not my thing."
"You do everything else as a star. Thought maybe Canadian Idol would be your next stop."
"Don't hold your breath. How about you?"
"Sang in high school. And in church. Took a music appreciation course in college, but that was it. But I have enough of an ear to know that THIS girl is TERRIBLE, dawg!"
Trey laughed, but his grin was quickly replaced with a frown. "Brendan said he sings," Trey lamented. "A little. High school choir at least. A tenor. That what he says."
Poor buddy. I did my best to distract my tenant from the disappointing news. When he headed for bed, I thought about heading for the storage room with hopes for a show but then decided that he deserved a good wank, or maybe a cry, all by himself.
* * *
The team bus left before dawn, and later in the evening I learned from the internet that the Blazers had won their first game of the road trip. The lost the next night in a bit of a scorefest, but Trey got a mention on the radio because he had scored two goals, including one while short-handed. Quite a feat for a defenseman. I was looking forward to having Trey around during the upcoming homestand.
My tenant called me at work the next morning, pumped as I had ever heard him during our short time together so far. "Bruce, you're not going to believe this."
"I heard, Trey. Two goals. Wow!"
"No, Chris, the jerk. He just up and left last night. Gone! No one knows where he's at."
"You're kidding."
"Coach is super pissed. I overheard him telling Peter that this was the last time he'd take a snotty-nosed kid from the Eastern States."
"Wow, I hope he's OK. Chris, I mean."
"But there's more. Peter told me that the team will be trying to track down Brendan, see if he's still interested, see if he still can come join us.
"Trey, that's fantastic!"
"I thought you'd agree."
"I do, I do. You two sure seemed to hit it off. And I must say, he is a polite young man. Works hard, I bet."
"That's what I thought."
"Well, that's great news. Thanks for calling. I'll see you when you get back. Play hard!"
"I will. Thanks. I'm gonna call my mom. See ya, Bruce."
"Bye, Trey."
* * *
Trey returned to town three nights later. I knew that his mom, Diane, and 15-year-old brother, Trevor, were visiting the next day. While Diane had stayed with me during her first trip in town, this time they insisted on the Country Inn & Suites near the arena. Trey planned to stay a night with them.
It was after midnight when I heard Trey's ride drop him off at my house. The home is a walkout and Trey's room is in the basement, so he has his own entrance and uses it most of the time. This time, though, he came in the main door and was not particularly quiet about it. He seemed to be making a racket, actually. Was he drunk? Better not be, I thought to myself. Annoyed, I got up to see what was the deal and stumbled to the kitchen in my short-sleeve t-shirt and sweats. Trey was hunched over the island, reading the sports pages I had left for him.
"Oh, Bruce, you're up."
"Yes, Trey, I'm up. Imagine that."
"Did I wake you?"
"No. Yes."
"Oh. Sorry."
"That's OK. I had to get up anyway to, ah, let the dog out."
"Bruce, you don't have a dog."
"I might as well get one, because I just LOVE getting up at ten past midnight."
Again, Trey was waiting for me to make the first move conversation-wise.
"Sooo ... Good news about the road trip. Three and one. You scored three goals in all, I see. Get lots of ice time?"
"Yep."
"Great news about Brendan."
"I'll say."
"Your mom OK? Still coming tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Brother?"
"why wouldn't he be?"
OK, something was going on. This eighteen-year old didn't want me out of bed to talk sports, that much was for sure.
"OK, Trey, what's on your mind? Spit it out."
My tenant took a seat at the kitchen island as I tried to coax whatever it was out of him.
"Hmm. OK. Bruce, you know that guy Cody?"
"The backup goalie?"
"Yeah, that is he. Well, Cody and I ended up being roommates for the last two nights of the trip, along with two others of course. God, the guy wouldn't stop talking about his girlfriend."
"That can be annoying."
"Yeah, but here's the deal. Cody and I, you see, ended up having to share a bed in the motel, and--"
"And what?"
Trey's voice got soft, apparently so the refrigerator would not overhear him. "I could tell Cody was watching me, when he thought I was asleep. Just as I was drifting off, I felt something me down here." Trey touched his crotch. "He seemed to be pretending he was asleep, and had put the back of his hand right on my, my junk. I froze for a second, but when he started rubbing me I rolled away. It just sort of bugged me, that he touched me like that, in that position, without my permission. Then it was hard for me to get to sleep. And then probably 15 minutes later, I could hear him, ah, jacking off next to me in the bed! It was just ... weird. And I could sense that he had rolled over and was was watching me, looking at my face, the side of my face, while he did it, while he beat off."
"Hmm. But he didn't try to get you to do anything against your wishes, right?"
"No, but it's bothering me."
"Because he has a girlfriend?"
"No. See, Bruce, here's the deal." Trey paused and was beginning to tear up again. "This is what's bothering me, what I can't figure out. Even though I think Cody's sort of a jerk, and I wouldn't want to hang out with him or anything, or God forbid DO anything with him ..."
"Yes ..."
"I can't believe I'm telling you this. Whew! Bruce, it just sort of turned me on, knowing that he was, you know, beating off while watching me. In fact, it DID turn me on. Let's just say I did something about it, right then and there."
"You and Cody had sex? I thought you said--"
"NO! Oh, no! No way! No, no, no! No, what I mean is that jacked myself off after he was done. I had to, or I wouldn't have gotten any sleep. Did it right there, in the bed. Three others in the room. It was the last night, so the sheets would be--. Well, anyway, I mean, it wasn't Cody that I was attracted to. It was the fact that Cody was watching me."
He was silent, and so was I.
"Bruce, should I see a psychiatrist or something, do you think?"
"Oh, Trey, absolutely not. What you just said, from being spied on in the shower to being watched in bed, is not that unusual."
"It isn't?"
"Oh, c'mon Trey. You've been on the internet. You've see what some people do and say. People, hell, animals! Farm animals! A lot of it is fantasy, some of it is not, but all of it -- as long as no one gets hurt, particularly kids -- is part of being human."
"I guess."
"What Cody did, and to a degree what got you off, it's called voyeurism, Trey. You're a smart guy, so you know what that means, right?"
"I think. But Bruce, I--." Trey spoke with a whisper. "I jacked off with him right there!"
"Well, I doubt you're the first one who's done that. In fact, you couldn't be, because Cody had just done it too."
I had made a good point. Then Trey started to tear up again.
"Bruce, am I gay?"
"I don't know, Trey. Are you?"
"I asked you first."
"Look, Trey, buddy. You're ahead of your years in many ways, so it's easy to forget that you're still eighteen. You're still figuring it all out, and that's OK. Look. Trey. Humans love to put things in buckets. It's A or it's B. You're male or you're female. You hate hockey or love it. Basketball, hate it or love it. But in real life, it's just not that way."
"True ..."
"Basketball. Take basketball. You like basketball?"
"It depends."
"See? When do you like basketball?"
I can't stand watching it on TV. The NBA in particular. If they'd only call traveling! As it is, it's just a joke. And why the Americans get so caught up in the NCAA, I have no idea."
Sure. That's what some people say about hockey, about the NHL, with the fighting. Total turnoff for lots of folks, folks who otherwise like your guys' style of hockey. And then there are those who like the ritz and glitz of the NHL but would never be caught hanging out in your cold, concrete rink, let alone on a pond. So, back to basketball, when do you like basketball?"
"I like high school basketball. It's just different. And wait-- Don't get me wrong, it's not the guys I'm necessarily attracted to." Trey started blushing. I knew he was lying. It's just the feel of it, how everybody gets so excited, face-painting, the sounds, the smell of popcorn, the pep band."
"See?"
"And I like playing a pickup game once in a while, even though I suck."
"I doubt you suck."
"Well ... OK, Bruce, so go on."
"Go on about what?"
"How does basketball connect with me maybe being, ah, possibly gay?"
"My point is-- Look. Trey. Sexuality is a complicated thing. No one is A or B. No one entirely hates or entirely loves everything about every type of basketball, or hockey. We'd like to think everyone is 100 percent gay or 100 percent straight because we like to -- need to -- put things in buckets. It's only human. We like categories. But it's not that way."
"OK, so ..."
"OK, so, from my perspective, it comes as little surprise that the guys watch you in the shower. Hell, Trey, I'd watch you in the shower!"
"You're losing me."
"I think you know why, Trey." I glanced at the counter as if I had x-ray vision to see his crotch.
"'Cause I'm gifted in that department?"
"Yes, because you're gifted in that department, buddy. I'll be honest with you, a lot of guys like me find guys like you intriguing, even though they'd never dream of falling in love with you. They -- we -- wonder what it's like to pack that sort of meat."
"Sometimes, it doesn't stay in the cup."
"See? Never thought about that before you got hurt and ended up cumming all over the training room."
"Having a big, ah, penis, is sort of like being a tall guy who has trouble getting into a compact car. And when I was a kid, like 13?, man, some days I lived in fear of getting called on to go to the dry-erase board."
"See, you're putting another spin on being a big guy in that department. Anyway, we're getting off topic. From my perspective, the fact that Cody finds you attractive in a sexual sort of way says something about you, but it says as much if not more about him."
"Yeah! I mean, he has a GIRLFRIEND, for goodness sake! Won't stop talking about how he's going to bone her during the homestand. And then, he's trying to feel me up in bed and jacking off while gazing at my face! Un-fucking-believable!"
"You're only helping me make my point. Is Cody A, or is he B?"
"He's neither."
"Exactly. He might have absolutely no interest in living with a guy, for example. He might go on to get married, have a couple kids, even grandkids, but to his dying day he might find the idea of feeling up another guy in bed appealing, particularly when the other guy has, what, eight inches?"
"You talking about me?"
"Yes."
"Eight and a half."
"OK, eight and a half. Eight and a--?! Shit! Ah, so, anyway. Ahem. So, as I was saying, Cody may never forget that little grope that he did. Never as long as he lives. He probably won't tell his grandkids about it, but he may jack off for years about it until the day he dies."
"And all this is ... normal?"
"Of course it is! OK, look. Does the fact that you don't find Cody attractive, but that you got turned on by him watching you, and then had to do something about it, does that make you A or B?"
"I frankly have no idea."
"The answer, Trey, appears to be neither. Look, Trey, I have known many gay men over the years. Some of them have been in committed relationships for 20 years or more. My Freshmen roommate is one of them. If you move away from here, which you will, you'll see them in the grocery store, out to dinner, in a lot of places. They're just like everybody else. Many of them have kids. Some are flaming, some work out constantly, some are chubby and burly bears, some bikers, some are jocks, some are artsy-fartsy, and there's everything in between. And oftentimes opposites attract. The ones who are couples are emotionally, physically, and socially attached to each other. For life."
"OK ..."
"Then there are other men who consider themselves gay who have no interest in being in a committed relationship with anyone -- male or female. That's their choice, as long as they stay safe. No, I take that back. That's how they are, how God made them. Some guys are attracted to guys but have no interest in spending their life with one, and are emotionally and usually sexually attracted to women too. And, again, that's how they are, and nothing is going to change that. Whether that's fair to his wife or girlfriend is another matter. But of course that assumes the wife is 100 percent straight. And, of course, she isn't."
"OK, Bruce, how about YOU?"
"What about me?"
"Where are you on the A-B scale."
"I'm a Z."
Trey chuckled. "No, seriously Bruce. You know a lot about me, and I don't know as much about you."
"What do you want to know?"
"As I said, where are you on the scale?"
"Well, Trey, it's complicated."
"You already said that."
"OK, Trey. Here's all about me, as of today. As me tomorrow, and it might be different. I've had 45 years to figure it out, and to be honest, it has changed over time."
"Interesting ..."
"The simple way to put it is this. I love women, but I like guys."
"OK, I'm confused."
"Trey, to be honest, I miss being in a relationship with a woman. I just connect emotionally with the opposite sex. It's not that I'm homophobic or trying to fit a societal norm. Anything but. As friends, as confidants, gay guys are much more reliable than straight dudes. Much less baggage. Ever notice what happens when you put three women together? Disaster! But three guys, regardless of sexual orientation, can be buds. And hey, I rebelled during college, big time. First two years, anyway. That Freshmen roommate! Fla-ming! But we had fun, and neither of us seemed to mind. Meanwhile, I dated women, and had sex with them too. Even got engaged at he end of college, but she broke it off. Thing is, I just don't want to be -- I can't be -- attached in an emotional way to a guy. Not now, anyway. Maybe that'll change. I don't know. There are guys who I enjoy connecting emotionally with. A buddy from high school comes to mind, and I have no interest in having sex with him. Completely none. And you and me, we -- ah, sorry, you and I, we're connecting in a lot of ways."
"I like to think so."
"So that's who I am today, Trey. Ask me again tomorrow."
"But you haven't answered my question."
"What more do you want to know?"
"You said you enjoyed helping me, in the training room, when I couldn't make sure I was OK by myself."
"I enjoyed it very much."
"So you like guys."
"I do. I like maleness -- our bodies, how we take care of them. As I said, some guys are into feminine guys, other guys into burly guys. I'm into sporty guys. Guys who do swimming, hockey, even golf. I like what we wear, how we look, and who we are. And I like how we have to get our rocks off -- every day -- and how that is a goal, every day. But what never ceases to amaze me is that after that goal is met, once we've done it, once we've jerked off, had sex with our wife, or gotten a blowjob from a stranger, that's that. We can get back to being an eye doctor or a hockey player, or just falling asleep in the arms of someone we love while watching Leno. I've just always found that very attractive, the sexual side of us, particularly us athletic ones. The idea of the male climax -- particularly an athlete's climax -- is just very appealing to me."
"So I appealed to you then, when I came all over the training room. When I missed a spot over the sink."
"Heh heh. You sure did, Trey. Your missed spot was a little gift, from you to me. You'll find that life -- your sexual life -- gives you little gifts from time to time. The guys in the shower, they probably look at you and your eight inches as a gift."
"Eight and a half."
"Stop bragging." I reached across the counter and tossled my tenant's curly hair. "Look, Trey, those guys in the shower, they'd love to see your eight and half in all its glory. Maybe they will, maybe they won't. That's up to you. But even if you gave them their gift, their quest will go on. They'll keep searching for the next one. Even if they're married with kids."
"Really? You think so?"
"I know so."
"I'd like to be married."
"Good for you! Marriage is great in many ways. But I'm sorry Trey, I'm not having your baby."
He laughed, but I was completely serious, I had no intention of making Trey any sort of life partner. And I could tell that his lack of precision of who he wanted to be married to was intentional. Still, it felt good to explain my complicated self to a young man still clearly grappling with important and sometimes painful issues of sexuality.
We sat at the island for a good two minutes without saying a word.
"Ready for bed, champ? Your mom and Trevor will be here in just a few hours."
My tenant rubbed the bridge of his nose with the first three fingers on his right hand and clearly had more to say.
"See, Bruce, the problem is--"
Another pause.
"Wow, Bruce, this is tough. I can't believe I'm telling you this. But I feel like I have to."
"You don't have to do anything. Not against your will."
"When I was jacking off, next to Cody?"
"Yes?"
"I wasn't thinking about him."
"OK."
"I started thinking about my girlfriend from eleventh grade."
"Sounds reasonable. I still think about my girlfriend from eleventh grade. She had great tits!"
"But my mind drifted to someone else."
I froze, pondering in an instant what I would do if he said he was thinking about me.
"I'm not going to force you to tell me who it is. It's up to you." Ten seconds passed.
"But I see you're not exactly scurrying off to bed."
"Brendan."
"Brendan?"
"Brendan."
Another pause. "Bruce, he told me."
"Told you what?"
"I called to congratulate him, about making the team, and he wondered whether you might have room for him too at the house."
"We'd have to think about that."
"But then one thing led to another, and he talked about his recruitment physical with you, how you gave him an adult exam, how he ended up, ah, cumming. How that had happened when he was, like 14, and the female doctor read him the riot act, but how it was no big deal with you."
"If that's what he said, it was his choice to tell you."
"I can't stop thinking about what that would be like."
I laughed. "Trey, from the looks of the mess you made in the training room, I think you know--"
"No, not that. I can't thinking about Brendan, what it would have been like to, ah, see what you saw."
"I see."
"What was it like?"
"Well, I think you've seen in the shower pretty much what I saw in the training room."
"No, his exam."
"You mean the adult part?"
"Yes."
"I asked him whether he wanted a rectal exam, since adults get them eventually."
"Yes, I know that, but what was it like, when he--"
"When he had an orgasm?"
"Yes. When he had an orgasm."
"Well, hmm. Pretty much like you. He couldn't help it."
"Wow!"
"He's got a healthy set of plumbing, that Brendan."
"Made a mess?"
"Yes, he made a mess. Just like you. Except he did not miss a spot over the sink."
"He came by the sink?"
"No, he was on the training table, and it just sort of happened. He was pretty charged up."
"How so?"
"Shot some semen into his hair, even his eye."
"His EYE? Whoa! Is that dangerous? You should know."
"No, it's not dangerous. Said it wasn't a record, though. Said he had hit the headboard once in his room."
"Holy shit! Well, come to think of it, I-- Well, anyway, so it's true that this all happened because he had a rectal exam?"
"I think that's what did it, yes."
"Does it happen often?"
"Rectal exams for 18-year-olds?"
"No. Having a, um, cumming during one."
"It's not unheard of."
"Brendan said you were very thorough during the exam, and said it was up to him whether he wanted to have that part of the exam."
"That's true."
"You know, I think I slipped through the cracks when I started here. Coach didn't send me for a physical."
"No?"
"How 'bout you check me out?"
"Would it make you feel better?
"Yes."
"When?"
"Now."
"Now? Trey, it's late. You mom will be here in--"
"Bruce, I'm at work all day tomorrow, and then I'll be at the hotel with Mom and Trevor, and then we have a heavy practice schedule coming up. C'mon, won't take but a half hour, right?"
"That's true."
I paused for a second are realized I wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon. And then -- boom! -- I came to my senses and realized that this 18-year-old stud with an eight-and-a-half inch erection was asking me to feel his naked body!
"OK, Trey, why don't you go down to you room and strip to your underwear, and I'll grab the bag from the car."
"Should I take a shower first?"
"No, you're fine."
Trey wasted little time in rising from the stool and scampering downstairs. As he did, I looked at his ass and realized that within 25 minutes I'd have my finger up it. Then I retrieved the medical bag and prepared to try to keep my professional demeanor with my hunky, big-dicked, curly blond tenant who talked me into giving him a complete physical at a quarter to one.
Trey's door was closed, so I knocked and then entered, as doctors have a way of doing. The overhead light was on and Trey sat on his bed wearing just his light gray boxer-briefs. I knew from the laundry that they were size 34, which fits his waist nicely but otherwise clings to his athletic frame like Saran wrap on a turkey. As he sat on his bed, his six inches of penis was clearly visible through the cotton material.
"There you are. Ready to go, I see."
"Ready to go. Should I stay where I'm at?"
I had furnished his room with a little desk from Target, which was small but sturdy enough to hold his 170-pound frame and could serve as an impromptu exam table. "Here, let's clear off your desk, and why don't you help me move it over here." When Trey rose, the bulge in his briefs became even more obvious. It was no wonder that his teammates were salivating over his goods, as was I.
"Great. Have a seat." I put Trey through the drill, checking his blue eyes, his ears, his nose, and mouth before checking his heart and lungs. I made sure that the stethoscope, fresh from the car, was good and warm for my tenant and friend. He checked out fine, and I let him know as much.
"Your skate injury is healing well, I see." I touched his abs and examined the place where I had applied salve about a month earlier. As I did, my fingers just brushed the elastic of his undies.
"Yep, no problem. Thanks. You treated me right."
"Let's see those feet." He raised his feet so I could examine them. They were a little stinky from a day of travel but checked out fine. From this angle, I could see not only the head of his penis through the briefs but even each testicle. I retrieved a hammer from the bag and checked his reflexes, and then gave his right knee a squeeze and said he was doing great.
"Well, that's good."
"OK, got to get you lying down. I don't think this desk is going to work. Why don't you try the bed."
Trey did as he was told and positioned himself on top of his bedspread for a chest and abdominal exam. His six inches were pretty bunched up right in front and seemed to be straining to be set from from the little briefs. I began the exam and felt a rush of excitement as I slipped my fingers under his waistband and palpated the region between his waist and the base of his penis. Then, it was time to finish the exam.
"OK, Trey, let's take a look down there. You said you were 100 percent fine ..."
My tenant put his thumbs in his skivvies and then had a question. "You want them off, or just down?"
"Well, do you want a rectal examination, like Brendan did?"
"Yes."
"OK, then off will be better."
Trey took little time to get his undies to his knees and then over his feet. I watched his genitalia bounce as he sat up on the bed to rid himself of his last remaining garment. Then he slowly laid back and his flaccid penis hung down over his supple scrotum of larger-than-normal testicles.
"You want me like this?" Trey had put both hands behind his head and was doing his best to make sure I had full access to his crotch but also was giving me a delicious view of the surprisingly light-color hair under his arms.
"That's great, yes." I began an exam that I had done the month before, carefully examining each length of Trey's six-inch penis including its underside. "Yes, looks all healed. Good job!" I squeezed both sides and stretched it to eight inches before placing it back on his belly. He stayed flaccid as I rolled his right ball between my fingers, noting its large size and perfect shape. I did the same with his left and then examined his scrotum at length, assessing the normal growth of blondish hair and the way his testicles moved independently in the relaxed bag of skin. Although he kept his dick under control, I could not, and I saw Trey glance at my sweats to confirm that I had pitched a tent.
He stayed silent as I finished that part of the exam and proclaimed him in good health so far.
"Still want what comes next?"
"Yes, please. Let's get it over with, see what happens."
The impromptu setup in his room was far from perfect for a rectal exam, so I debated what sort of position Trey should assume. "Hmm. Why don't you stand up, put your elbows on the desk, and we'll try that."
He did as he was told, but I could barely see his butt and I worried that he might lose balance and fall if he reacted with surprise as I fingered his butt. How would I explain that sort of injury to the coach?
"Nope. OK, I hate to ask you to do this, but I think you need to get on all fours on your bed."
Trey did as he was told. But with his butt toward the foot of the bed I had no room to work, let alone get a good glimpse of that sagging scrotum, and because he slept in a twin bed he did not have enough room to position himself sideways. Because the bed was low to the ground, doing a rectal exam with Trey on his back did not seem to be an option.
"Sorry, Trey, this is not working. Maybe we can go upstairs to my-- No, wait, I know." Trey was still positioned doggie-style sideways on his bed. "Why don't you sit on the bed facing me, bring your knees to your chest, and see if that gives me access."
Trey switched himself around and rolled back until he bumped his head on the knotty pine behind him. "Owww!"
"Watch it! Don't break my house!"
The position was a little unusual, but so was this whole damn situation. I bent down and confirmed that the access to his rectum was sufficient and apologized for putting my tenant in such a compromising position.
"Whatever, Bruce. It's fine. I mean, I asked for it. And it's not like you haven't seen me before."
"Well, that much is true. Put your legs down for a sec, and I'll tell you what's going to happen." I took time to explain to Trey what I was going to do and why I was doing it, occasionally stealing glances at the six inches of softness that rested on top of his testicles. That he'd feel a cold sensation at first, and then he'd feel my finger begin to enter his rectum, and then that I'd be pushing the entire length of my finger into his backside. He looked at me with anticipation as I put on a glove and lubricated it with KY.
"OK, Trey, up with the knees."
I crouched down and used my ungloved left hand to move Trey's testicles out of the way so I could enter his anus with my right index finger. I put it in about an inch, and Trey said he was doing fine. I did not have much leverage in that position, so I managed to stand while I kept my finger in his butt and then steadied myself on his right shoulder as I pushed my finger all the way in. I could not see what I was doing, but I did my best to guide my finger into his butt as my forearm pressed against the underside of Trey's growing penis, most of which was against my bare skin. He and I were face to face as I entered his rectum. Trey bit his lip and breathed through his nose as I entered his butt, but he made not a sound as I went all the way in. I could feel the head of his erect penis against my bare forearm, and I looked down and saw that there was no way that my tenant did not realize that my erection was brushing against his right thigh. He kept holding his knees as I located his prostate. I pushed down and told him he might feel like he was going to pee.
"Wow, wow!" Trey smiled, but then started looking aggressive. "Yeah, that's good!"
"That's your prostate, Trey. I'm palpating it now. That's what doctors check for during rectal examinations."
He looked me right in the eye with an wild-animal look and asked a very pointed question. "Is this what you were doing when Brendan shot his load?"
"This is what I was doing, Trey."
"Was your finger in him when he came?"
"Yes, it sure was."
My tenant started rocking back and forth so that his eight inches were being pleasured by my bare forearm and also latex glove. I cupped his balls with my lower three gloved fingers and joined in the sway, pressing my erection hard against his hard thigh. Trey rocked against my forearm for a good thirty seconds without saying anything further as I massaged his prostate as I had done wtih Brendan's. Then Trey closed his eyes and leaned back, and I felt his but muscles tighten around my index finger. His plumbing convulsed, and then I felt a warm shot on my bicep. I plunged in even further and pressed my forearm against the underside of Trey's erection even harder, which led him to convulse out six more shots of watery seed on the underside of my arm. I could smell his semen's nuttiness as it splashed above my gloved hand, and I stayed with him until what I thought was the end when I withdrew my finger to examine Trey's watery jizz seeping into the glove's loose opening.
Then Trey put his legs down and grabbed his dick, which remarkably was still hard. It became clear that although he had come, it was not in the way that he had wanted, and he was going to do something about it, with me watching, as Cody had watched him. He put his feet on the edge of the bed and began palming his massive meat with both hands, thrusting and then slowing and thrusting and then slowing as I had helped him do -- and, through the peephole, also seen him do -- before. Finally, he made that marvelous and aggressive "OH!" expression with his mouth. And then I learned why. My kinky hockey-playing tenant leaned forward, took aim, and was two for seven. The first two shots landed right in his mouth, the third on his left cheek, the fourth on his lower lip (off the pipe!), and the rest between his pecs.
The hockey symbolism was too rich for words.
"Oh, shit." That was Trey talking. "Man, whoa!"
"I think you matched Brendan shot for shot. Actually, you went into overtime."
"Shit, man, Bruce, thanks." He looked at my arm. "Sorry about that."
"No need to apologize. It was fun!"
"Man!" He wiped his mouth with his arm and seemed to be savoring the taste of himself. "Is that sort of how Brendan does it? From what you saw?"
"Pretty much. He's got a little different technique."
"How so?" Trey leaned against the wall, completely relaxed and wiped.
"Let's leave some things to the imagination."
"Oh, c'mon!"
"I think you'll just have to find out for yourself!"
Trey rose from the bed and walked naked toward the shower. I confronted the mess on my arm and gave it a good taste. Then I followed the 170 pound hockey player into the bathroom and stripped off my t-shirt to rinse out his semen. He showered with the curtain half-open and cared not that I was there.
"Say, Bruce?"
"Yeah."
"Remember how I said I was thinking about medical school?"
"I do."
"What's it like to, um, give exams?"
"Well, what do you mean?"
"I mean, do you get turned on?"
"Well, as you remember, I'm an eye doctor, so this physical stuff is pretty new to me. Hadn't done it since med school."
Trey was silent in a way that made me think the issue had been resolved. I stole a glimpse at him before turning to leave.
"Bruce?"
"Yes, Trey?"
"Is it gross to stick your finger up a guy?"
"Well, no grosser than having a patient puke on your lap?"
"That happened?"
"Sure did. About a year ago. I was treating a glaucoma patient who generally wasn't feeling well, and he blew chow right in my lap during an eye exam. Absolutely disgusting."
More silence, so I turned again to leave.
"Hey, Bruce?"
"What IS IT Trey? It's getting late, and it's a school night, young man."
"When's the last time you had a physical?"
"Why?"
"Just curious."
"Oh, I don't know, two years, maybe three."
"Aren't you supposed to have them more often than that at your age?"
"Yes."
I heard the water shut off. "How 'bout I give YOU a physical?"
I looked at myself in the mirror and then turned toward the shower
where Trey had flung the curtain wide open. He was dripping with water and also with sarcasm, or so I thought. I glimpsed at beautiful dick and balls but was getting tired and intended to go upstairs and relive our experience in private.
"Sure, buddy, sure."
I was kidding.
"Great!"
He thought I was serious.
"Bruce, hand me my towel."
"Here, Trey."
My hunky tenant started with his hair, and when he covered his head so I could see him but he could not see me, I packed away some visual eye candy for my own quick wank upstairs and headed for bed.
"Bruuu-uce!"
"WHAAAAT!?
"I'm serious."
"About what?"
"Giving you a physical."
"You've got to be kidding."
By this time, he had dried off his torso and was working on his backside. As he jiggled back and forth, his penis did too. I had to admit, the kid knew how to turn me on.
"I'm not kidding, Bruce. Let's get you checked out as soon as possible. Like, right now."
Trey toweled his crotch and then wrapped himself with his towel. I scanned the showered-off stud from his blond curls to his delightful feet, and pondered what to do. "Your legs are still wet."
"You just want to see me drop the towel."
"So sue me."
"I think it's time for me to get a look at you, your maleness. You've seen enough of me, for goodness sake."
Well, I had seen a lot of him, but not ENOUGH of him.
"Bruce, you can walk me through it. Show me what a doctor does. Please?? I really am thinking about med school."
"OK, Trey, what the hell."
"Yesssss!"
"Let me go get some underwear. We'll do it in your room. I mean, the instruments are all laid out."
"No, no, no. You're a mess. What's that all over your arm? Oh. Ha! It's me!"
"Very funny."
"Take a shower, Bruce, and then wrap yourself in a towel and enter my exam room!"
"I'd prefer to get some--"
"Brendan said you made him wear only a towel."
"That's a lie."
"OK. You're right. He said he wanted to wear only a towel."
"He said that?"
"Sure did."
"My towel's upstairs."
"Here." Trey threw me his, and sauntered off to his room bare naked.
Oh, what the hell, I thought. Sleep is for the dead. I stripped out of my sweats, turned on the shower, and entered the spray, realizing that even the scent of the shower after Trey had used it was turning me on. I bathed completely and paid extra attention to the region I knew Trey would be examining. Then I dried off and walked to his room with his towel tight around my waist.
"Mr. Silverman? I'm Doctor Trey." I chuckled when I saw that Trey had slipped into a pair of dress pants, a dress shirt, and the sports coat he sometimes wore to team events, and I started to belly laugh when I saw that the cuffs of his pants were pooled onto his bare feet. He looked ridiculous, but also irresistible.
"What's so funny, sir?"
"Ah, sorry. Nothing."
"So ... It says here you're here for a complete physical?"
He wasn't looking at a medical chart but rather a collection of short stories I guessed he had been reading on the team bus. At that point, the sight of the role playing completely turned me on as I quickly pondered the thought of him -- and not me -- being in control.
"Why yes, Doctor. Trey, is it?"
"Yes, Trey. But you can call me Trey."
"Um, OK, Trey. Yes, I'm here for a complete physical."
"How long has it been since your last exam?"
"Two years."
"And you're how old?"
"Eighteen."
He shot me a look as if to say, "C'mon Bruce, play along!"
"Forty-five."
"Mr. Silverman. This is unacceptable, going two years without a head-to-toe exam. You need to come in more often."
"OK, I'll try."
"Well, we have some time to account for, don't we? Have a seat and we'll get started."
I headed for the bed, but Trey redirected me to the Target desk where I had made him sit. I scampered on top and held my towel as I positioned myself.
For a second I thought about breaking the role play and leading Trey through the nuts and bolts of an exam, since he had mentioned that med school was a possibility for him. But then I realized that watching him fumble through this experience would be much more fun, for him and for me. I mean, if we were going to be up this late, we might as well enjoy it.
"Let's take a look at your eyes." He proceeded to give me a surprisingly good eye, ear, nose, and throat exam. "Now let's listen to your heart." He used my stethoscope with surprising skill and did not shy away from touching my chest hair with the rest of his hand and reassuring me by keeping his other hand on my right shouler. "And breathe in and out. Again. Again. Good."
"What's next doctor?"
"I need to check your chest, and your stomach area. Please lie over there on the bed and I'll be with you in a minute."
As I moved into position, Trey put the stethoscope back in the bag and then crossed back to the bed, leaned over, and palpated my midsection in no place in particular. I thought I saw him sport at least some wood through his light gray polyester blend dress pants, but when a guy already packs six inches when limp, who could be sure?
"Let's just check under there." It was at that point when the wannabe doctor let his fingers explore my pubic hair under my towel. With no no idea of what to feel for, he just pulled at my curls. I tried not to laugh and also to keep my erection from coming out to play until Trey at least got the towel off of me.
"OK, Mr. Silverman, I'm going to have to ask you to open up your towel."
"Now?"
"Now, Mr. Silverman. I do not have all day."
"Is this really necessary? I mean--"
With that, Trey took it upon himself to make both sides of the towel fall to the sides of my thighs. Then he bent over me and hesitated for just a second before picking up my half-hard penis and began palpating it for no medically apparent reason. "Any pain?"
"No, doctor."
"Let's look in here." My 18-year-old tenant then used both his thumbs to spread my pee slit apart and astutely took note that some moistening had appeared.
"Sir, you seem to have a discharge of some kind."
"I can explain--"
"Ah, sir, are you aroused by this experience?"
"What makes you say that?"
Doctor Trey huffed and said that now he was going to check my balls.
"My testicles?"
"Yes, sir, your testicles." Although my testicles generally were not as dangly as Trey's, I was glad I had taken a shower to put on at least some of a show for my better endowed tenant The 18-year-old hockey defenseman began rolling my left ball with surprising skill, in a way that made me think that he routinely enjoyed doing the same thing to himself. The thought of the hunky hockey player lying in bed and feeling himself up is what sent my penis into full mast.
"Hmm. Yes. That is fine. Good. And now, the other ... Hmm. Yes. Any pain at all?"
"No, sir."
"I see you're enjoying this exam."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, don't be concerned. You're having a natural reaction."
Judging by his trousers, so was Trey.
"Sir, what are you looking at?"
"I'm sorry."
"Well!" He said it with a huff. "Since you're enjoying this so much, I might as well take this opportunity to give you a complete exam, of your penis region. Before we get to the, um, rear end check, that is." You do realize you're having a rear end check, don't you?"
"I do now."
With that, Trey placed the head of my almost-six-inch erection between his thumb and first two fingers, palpated the head, rolled it back and forth, and then squeezed an almost embarrassing amount of preseminal fluid onto my groin. He applied just the right amount of pressure as he fully examined the tube-like erectile tissue on the underside. He moved inch by inch by inch until reaching the base, at which point he made my erection stand straight up. Then he used the thumb and first two fingers of both of his hands to additionally palpate the organ from just under the head to the base and then back again. As he reached my circumcision scar, the 18-year-old doctor almost put me over the edge.
"Doctor, I think--"
Trey knew what I was going to say, so he backed off so we could play a little more. He ordered me into the position I had forced him to take and helped me place my feet flat on the edge of his mattress. "Give me just a sec--" Trey turned back toward the desk and struggled to strap on a latex glove. With his back was turned, I stroked my erection until I could tell he was about to turn around and then put my right hand back on my right knee.
"Doing OK, sir?"
"Yes. You?"
"This isn't about me, sir."
"Oh. Sorry."
I could tell that Trey was fumbling with the KY. I resisted the urge to touch myself as Trey spread the lubricant on his index finger with his back still turned. My erection was dripping, throbbing, and resting against the hair of my lower belly. Finally, my examiner turned toward me with a glistening finger in the air, as if he found KY Jelly helpful for checking the wind's direction. Fumbling around with the glove and KY had caused Trey's erection subside, and he stood in front of me with obvious puzzlement over what to do next. Trey knelt down onto his knees and faced my crotch head on as he touched my anus for the first time.
As I felt the wet, cold sensation in my most private region, I looked past Trey's blond curls and watched him bite his lip while carefully beginning the insertion. Doctors are trained to reassure male patients at this point, but Trey just stayed silent and focused on his work as the nighttime silence mixed with the sound of lubed-up latex entering my behind bit by bit. Trey had put his finger in sideways, apparently forgetting how I had done the procedure on him just a half hour earlier. He stayed focused on his work as he wiggled his finger side to side in my lower colon, and then seemed stumped.
"Doctor Trey, aren't you going to check my prostate?"
"Oh yeah. Ah, yes, sir. Don't rush me! I'm getting to that."
He turned his finger so his hand was palmside up.
"Other way, Doctor."
Then he learned from his mistake and fished around till he found an organ I was sure he had never felt before but in the future certainly would. When he pressed down hard, my first shot of cum was locked and loaded.
"I think I have it."
"Ah, yes, Doctor, you do."
At that point, I moved my left hand from my knee and onto the top of Trey's blond curls and pulled his hair moderately hard as my naked and untouched penis blew a load onto my hairy tummy. I did nothing to stop Trey from moving his finger in and out of me as he watched me cum.
"Oh, Doctor. Yess! Ah."
My first four shots had been strong, but without manual stimulation the rest of my ejaculate just dribbled from my softening organ or stayed inside. Trey instinctively knew what to do and he finished me off with some manual jerks with his right hand as I removed my feet from the side of the mattress and held my partner with a light scissors grip. Trey seemed pleased with the mess as he got on his bare feet and displayed his trousers in front of me. Even though he had cum twice in the previous hour, a sizable wet spot had developed on the fabric on his right thigh and I guessed he also had had an orgasm during his time as the doctor. But then he silently unbuttoned and then unzipped his pants, fished his half-hard meat out of them, and began jerking it into a three-quarters erection. I leaned forward and was ready to place his massive tool in my mouth, but he lightly pushed me away and said not now.
"Just watch me, Mr. Silverman."
"Yes sir."
"You have to enjoy just watching me."
I leaned back just a bit for the show. First Trey showed me his right hand, which still had a little of my semen on it. Then he closed his eyes, started licking his lips, and moistened his penis with my seed. His pants fell down enough so I could see that his lovely balls were freely swaying in a state of post-orgasmic relaxation. Given the events of the night, his dick was not fully hard, despite his tender 18 years. So he used a one-handed technique to massage my seed into his head over and over. I saw his body shudder and then he came into his hand.
At first I was bummed when I did not get to see the ejaculation, even if was going to be only a dribble. But then the kinky hockey player did something I will never forget. He touched my shoulder with his left hand, put his right hand on display and then put it under my chin, and then yanked it away as I tried to lap it up. He teased me three more times and then stepped toward me, pinched up a load of my semen with his left hand, brought it to his mouth, and ate me at the very same time he finally gave in and let me taste him.
He was thick, salty, and warm. I savored the taste, and vowed that next time I would drink from the tap.
I always wanted to play Doctor as a kid, too.
Can I cum over and play with Trey and our good Doc?!!!
Very nice chapter.
And then there were three? . . . Yay, Team!
Can I cum over and play with Trey and our good Doc?!!!
Very nice chapter.
And then there were three? . . . Yay, Team!
thermodynamics
Resident Enginerd
Love the story! HAWT!
I'm hopeful that a Trey/Brendan romance!
I'm hopeful that a Trey/Brendan romance!
latinoguy19
Sex God
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This story is really hot. Keep it coming.
