Hellish Heaven 2

The examination couch had greenish paper towels covering it. I was scared more than humiliated. Cool and sticky. My presence on the couch soon to be removed with a swipe and scrunching of paper. Her eyes were too dark under the light she’d pulled over.

It felt unnatural to take down my trousers and expose myself. I remained suspicious of adults having being bullied at every turn. Kids my age were much more Freudian. All they wanted was sex or violence and more sex. Although sometimes we called it love. That had been my undoing.

Creating perfection from my imperfections. I stretched my legs into a V. Kept a hand on my Y-fronts and turn my head away. I’d wanted to be the hero in my own story. Not the pumpkin at a party I hadn’t been invited to anyway. I’d overdosed on bookish clichés. Life is a series of missed chances. Books you meant to read, containing a poem about love and death that you’d scribbled down and saved lives. The girl of your dreams finding you just as you are or were.

‘I’m not sure I can see anything,’ she sounded confused.

My left hand was damp from clutching the edge of the couch. Squirming, my foot jerks as if trying to find traction and make a run for it. I pulled up my pants. Ducked my head down.

She was looking at me evenly. ‘I need to examine you,’ she said, in that clipped voice, I knew so well. The voice of authority figures.

I’ve already mucked everything up. I buttoned my denims, zipped and swing my legs around. ‘You already have.’  

She nudged me with her hip. ‘Move over a bit.’

My legs graze hers as she sat beside me. I began sobbing and she waited, before handing me the obligatory hanky. If this had been a nineteenth-century romance, this is when we’d have kissed and pledged our betrothal. I’d have demurred and stressed it had all been a dreadful mistake.

‘What’s going on Richard?’ Her voice hesitant. ‘You are a boy?’ Then berated herself. ‘Jeez, I meant male gendered. I thought it might have said something in your file.’

I was hesitant as her. ‘I am a boy.’

She peered at me. ‘That’s good, because I didn’t notice a vagina. I did the obligatory six months on obs and gynae. I even delivered stacks of babies and did some sections. And I’ve got a vagina, myself. So, to have missed that…’ her voice trailed off. ‘But I don’t claim to be perfect. Is there some medical condition that I’m missing?’

‘No, not a medical condition.’    

‘Well, what is it then?’

I backtracked. ‘I guess it’s a medical condition too. Although I don’t know what it’s called. You see my cock… I mean my penis is so tiny, I need to pee all the time and it hurts my stomach. And it’s such high pressure it goes all o’er the place.’

‘Right,’ she said in such a way that meant it wasn’t right. ‘I’d need to examine you again.’     

‘OK,’ I played along. Tried not to make such a big deal of privates not being private. Gingerish hair between my legs. Not much, but enough to show my balls have hit puberty. Talking it about it gives my body permission. Pee scooted out of me and almost hits the ceiling. The doctor jumped backward, but then leant forward to get a better look when it slows to a trickle. No longer part of the medical profession but a tourist.

I was bracing myself against the couch to be seen and touched. She’d peeled off her plastic gloves before she’d sat down and hadn’t bothered with another pair. One of her knuckles looked inflamed, with a nick on it. Healthy pink fingernails parted the hair on my groin.

‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘How long has it been like this?’ 

‘Seven months and twenty-nine days.’ I used paper towels to wipe myself down and dressed quickly. I felt better. Didn’t mention that her touching me had got me excited and it was larger than normal.

I was the wrong kind of naked to make sense and she tried to argue her way out of it, like an Agatha Christie mystery where there are multiple murders but no sex or actual deaths. ‘What did you do? Castrate yourself of something?’  

I stared back at her. ‘I wish life was that simple.’

She retreated behind her desk and staring at her screen. ‘I’ll need to book you in for another appointment and for some bloods and other tests. You’ll need to get checked for STD and see some specialists.’

I eased into the chair facing her desk. ‘What’s STD?’  

I felt a sense of shame for not knowing, but the way she answered and was scheduling me into a new life meant we were back on normal.

‘Have you had sex with anyone?’ Her eyes sparkled. She was already looking at the screen and typing in the answer with a knowing smile.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I have sex three, four, five or more times a night and most days when my dad is out at work. She’s totally insatiable. Can never get enough of me. That’s why I’m here. I wonder if I could be prescribed Viagra?’