Embarrassing Moments

What are your most embarrassing moments? I was having a conversation with a good friend the other night and the subject of embarrassing medical moments came up. I can’t even remember what my friend (who shall remain nameless. At least for the moment. You know who you are) and I were talking about at the time, it isn’t important. What came next had us in stitches. I was reminded of one event where I’d had what can best be described of a blockage in my left nut. My G.P.’s practice is a training pracice and on this particular day he was being occampanied by a lovely young female junior doctor.

I explained my predicament, a bad case of blue ballitis. My G.P. at that time said he needed to examine me. Usually I’m a little more bashful but I was in so much discomfort, that I consented to the examination despite the third person in the room.

Nervously, I lay on the treatment couch and shimmied down my trousers and underwear and for some reason I felt it important to appologise for being clean shaven. WTF? With only two thoughts going through my head, Why that one would blurt out I don’t know. Then, to my absolute horror, he asks the sexy young junior lady doctor to have a feel as well. It was bad enough willing away an erection when he was touching it – I’m as straight as they come, but certain things are simply outside of conscious control. There I am, nothing else going through my mind other than a repeatative mantra ‘Don’t get an erection, don’t get an erection, don’t get an erection, DON’T GET AN ERECTION!”


I’m not sure who was more embarrassed. Me, the poor junior doctor, or a man I’ve known for decades.

But it doesn’t end there. After being checked out by both of them, they agree on both a diagnosis and a treatment. I’m lucky, despite being hyper mobile, there’s no sign of a testicular torsion, just blockages. The cure? Now I shit you not, my G.P. of nearly twenty years tells me to go home and either fuck my wife bandy, or spend the next few days masturbating until it’s cleared.


Armed with this prescription from Tyche herself – the Goddess of good fortune, I hurried home to share the good news. 😛

Recounting this tale to my good buddy, reminded me of another embarrassing medical moment that had a not so cheerful outcome.

Aged twelve, I was hit by a car, the first of four such incidents. I was hit side on and knocked off my Raleigh Grifter, clean over the top of the oncoming car, and face first into the curbstone. I smashed all my front teeth and all but shattered my right tibia. I was fucked up big time. I’d had to have a plaster cast from the tips of my toes, right up to my bollocks.

As a consequence, I had not been allowed to dress, as I was unable to get out of bed, unable to turn on my side, unable to even take a shit anywhere but a bedpan – with help. The upside being daily bed baths by the lovely nurse that shared my surname. She may well be the reason I have a thing for nurses uniforms. I must confess to having had just a little schoolboy crush on her. Sigh.

Having just had my favourite nurse give me my daily bed bath, I was in good spirits, and being a twelve year old boy, having another uncontrollable, stonking hard-on. Time for doctors rounds. Shit! I’m the first bed on the ward. There’s six or seven of them. My Pediatrician and her hangers on. Unbeknownst to her, I still wasn’t able to get out of bed, still unable to get dressed, still unable to put on underwear. She ignored my pleas and tore back the covers to inspect my plastered leg, only to hook my still rigid cock with the blanket, making it twang back against my belly with a loud ‘SLAP’, in front of her, the hangers on, my favourite nurse and my Mother.

All she said was “Oh! We’ll come back tomorrow.” I just wanted to die.

I hope you found those snippets enjoyable? I welcome comments and feedback.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s