Full Body Exam
The beautiful Dr. Barbara Baxter swept into the exam room, her
flaxen hair draped over her white doctor’s coat.
She was as beautiful as I remembered from my first visit in which
she recommended that I receive a “full body exam.”
She asked if I had any Irish in me because, I thought, Irish skin
incubates the big C. I regretfully admitted that I did have
Irish in me. She laughed and began her examination. She eased
down the top of my paper gown while telling me, in her
sing-song voice that, after she took her boards in dermatology,
the examiners played recorded bagpipe music.
“Are bagpipes Irish or Scottish? she wondered, as I felt her hands
move down to my shorts. “It upset some people to hear bagpipe
music after the exam,” she purred, and peeled off my tighty-whities.
She studied my business, if you know what I mean, and then,
as if asking me to pass the salt said, “Would you pick up your penis
so I can look underneath it?” She wants me to turn it over?
I thought. Well, if she grabs my balls, it will flip itself over.
Then she grabbed my balls with her
unspeakably soft hands and noted that they sported some purple moles, but
“nothing to worry about.” Frantic to prevent the inevitable, I said,
“Did you know that the English hated bagpipes so much they considered them
weapons of war?” She smiled, “There’s a mole on your thigh, next to
your scrotum,” she said, while still cupping my jewels. “Here, look at it.” I raised
my head, beheld the beautiful Dr. Barbara Baxter holding my nugget pouch
in one hand, while pointing to the mole on my thigh with the other. “I see it,”
I lied, and lowered my head. “Do they play bagpipes only at funerals?”
she asked, a sugary lilt to her voice. “Oh no,” I gulped, trying to control my quivering
voice, “they play them at weddings, at all occasions.” “Turn over on your tummy
please,” the beautiful Dr. Barbara Baxter said. I obeyed and felt her hands nudge down
my skivvies again. “You have a mole on each buttock,” she said, gently replacing
my underpants. “It’s nothing to worry about.” Her fingers on my hiney caused
my lips to tremble, my toes to twitch. Had there been a power outage
my body could have served as an emergency generator. After my exam, the beautiful
Dr. Barbara Baxter gave me extra samples of hand and body lotion.
How precious these emollients were to me—especially now. As a token of undying gratitude,
I promised, as we parted, to send her a CD of bagpipe music.