PART 1 

I had been going to my allergy doctor, who was also my family doctor, since I was a little kid. He had a German type of an accent. He reminded me of the character actor, S.Z. Sakall who was the maître d’ in the movie Casablanca and a bunch of other movies. Anyway, he had a daughter who I thought was really pretty and I often saw her in the office. I had the hots for her and whenever she talked to me, I would kind of blush. I also wanted to see her naked and have sex with her, even before I was able to, or whatever I thought sex was, which was probably seeing a girl naked. She was about ten years older than me, so by the time I got to be 18, I figured she was in her late twenties. She was also working as his nurse in the summers so it was a long wait till every summer until I saw her. The thing was, at the time I was 18, I still hadn't matured -- meaning I couldn't ejaculate, didn't have pubic hair yet and I thought my penis was way too small—still little boy sized. Finally, I asked my doctor about it -- I just said I didn't have hair yet and hoped he would understand the rest. He told me that boys sometimes mature as late as 18 and that it's usually not a problem, but he can check it out for our next appointment. Well, maybe not a physical problem, but it was sure embarrassing in locker rooms and swimming pools when boys had to swim in the nude at that time and not coming on too strong with a girl because I wouldn't be able to do anything. I always felt embarrassed and humiliated in those situations. I had already graduated high school and a girl had never seen my dick yet because I was too embarrassed to show her. Most of my fantasies about girls consisted of seeing them naked and feeling them up. I didn't really fantasize about having sex with them or getting blow jobs that much because I couldn't even come at that point.

So, the time came for my appointment. The only thing was, his daughter called me in. "Good afternoon Steven," she said as we entered the examining room. I wondered how much the doctor told her about me. "Dr. H has filled me in completely. I'll be giving you a full exam today because that's more my expertise just to rule out a number of other possibilities. Endocrinology is my field.  Then I'll call Dr. Hellreich in to confirm. Is that all right?" I wasn't even sure if she was a nurse or a doctor yet.

"OK."

She was kind of skinny with brown hair and whenever I could I tried to see how much her breasts stuck out.  That was what I was into. Breasts. I especially liked small ones. It didn't seem like they stuck out much. Just up my alley. It was hard to tell though because her uniform was always starched and shapeless from head to toe and never revealed much other than her ankles and a bit of calf. She always wore opaque white nylons. I tried not to stare too much in case I got an erection there that she might notice. She was a lot taller than me, about 5'10" to my 5'5" but I think I weighed more. She had high heels on though. Not the pointy kind. I don't know what you call that style. I didn’t know anything about women’s styles then. Big thick heels. I'm sure I weighed more than her. I figured she didn't top much more than 100 pounds and I always imagined her ribs would show. I figured she was just going to ask me some questions. I didn't even wanna think about what she was gonna ask me.

I thought she was very pretty for an older woman, even for a younger woman. When I was in junior high school and had bus passes I used to bring a friend or two along with me for the bus ride and just to see her but they didn’t think she was as pretty as I did. But there was also a black and white drawing in the doctor's office of a totally naked girl being pulled by a skeleton on one side and a doctor on the other side that we used to like. You could even see her pubic hair. Most magazines then didn’t show pubic hair so that was a big deal. The doctor’s office was in Coney Island. Then we could hang out in Coney Island after and talk about fucking the doctor's daughter and the girl in the painting. I really didn’t like how they talked about her like that but I really didn’t say anything about it to them for the most part. She didn't have an accent like her father. She didn't even have a Brooklyn accent like me. She spoke perfect English. I had just started going to community college at the time of my exam. This happened fifty years ago. It was April of 1969.  A very good year. I still remember it better than yesterday. Yesterday I don't remember where I put my car key.

She led me into the exam room. She looked at my file. "We just want to make sure there are no other problems first before we determine you are just a late bloomer and can give you testosterone shots safely. So, take off your clothes Steven and sit on this table. I'll give you some privacy." And then she left.

Uh oh, maybe the doctor is gonna come back in. She probably just means I should just get in my T shirt and underpants. That's what I did. She came back in by herself. I was sitting on the table in my underwear.

"Lose the underwear, Steven," she said like she was in charge. She was. She looked me in the eye without really looking at my underwear.

"Oh. I really wasn't sure," I stammered. I took my T shirt off first and looked around where I put my clothes. I couldn't think right. I couldn't think at all. The nurse I was fantasizing about and trying to flirt with for years was going to see my tiny hairless pecker.

"You can put them over here with your other clothes," she said when she realized I was having trouble finding my clothes.

"Oh yeah," I smiled, obviously nervous to her although I was trying to make believe I wasn't. I slowly took my underpants off and put them there too and was kind of bent over.

When I was a kid, I mean like 8 or 10, I thought rape meant being forced to take off your clothes and show your privates and that was it. I didn’t realize then that forced sex was part of it until a few years later. But being forced to take off my clothes and expose my penis felt like my early idea of rape. And if there was one person in the world who I wouldn’t want to see me naked and my immature penis, it was her.

"Back on the table, Steven," she said. "It's OK, you don't have to be anxious. This is my field. I've seen a number of young men like this and answered a lot of questions, so don't worry. OK?"

I didn't even know her name. "Sure, it's OK," I said like it was no big deal as I hopped up on the table and looked down at my shriveled little dick that was even more contracted into itself of course and looked back at her. I instinctively placed one hand casually over my crotch and looked at her. She was looking at my face with kind of a smile.

"I'm not a full doctor yet, Steven. Just a resident. Still a couple of years to go, so you can still call me Clotilde."

How did I not know that? What a beautiful name!

"OK," I said as if I was bored and just as casually made sure I didn't have a hard-on as and kept my hand as casually as possible across my crotch to make sure she couldn't see. No hard-on and still just the opposite and as shriveled as possible.

"Say my name, Steven."

"Clotilde. I really never knew your name all these years. Just knew you as Dr. Hellreich's daughter."

"I know." I almost thought she said that as if she were annoyed, as if I were supposed to have known her name.

"We're going to start off with your blood pressure. Give me an arm." Wow, she was annoyed.

She brought over a portable table with the blood pressure apparatus. Of course I gave her the arm I wasn't using.

She wrapped the thing around my arm and it got tight when it blew up. When it finished, she read off some meaningless numbers to me. Then she took the arm I was using and held my wrist with her hand. It felt nice for her to hold me. I liked her touch. I thought to myself that I was sitting there totally naked with the girl I fantasized about and tried to jerk off about and she was touching my arm and my dick was exposed. I looked at her face. She was looking at her watch and listening to her stethoscope. She wasn't looking at my little pecker. Maybe she won't notice it at all? I hoped. Maybe there was a chance I could still get through this without her noticing.

Then she told me some more stupid numbers about my heart beat and I casually put both my hands across my crotch.

She still had her stethoscope on. She huffed on it with her breath. She placed it on my chest and listened. I wished I had lots of hair on my chest for Clotilde, I said to myself. Then she had me breathe a few different ways soft and panting like a dog and put it on my back and a few more types of breathing. She was really in charge.

PART 2

I didn't feel like I was wheezing. Having Clotilde notice made me feel weak. "I still detect a bit of a wheeze. Do you still use your asthma inhaler?"

I kind of slumped a bit. "Sometimes."

"How often?"

"When I play ball or run a lot," I offered, in redemption.

"Good," she smiled. "That's good that you're able to be active in exercise or sports. You don't overdo it with the inhaler though, do you because there's some ingredients in there like steroids that if you take too much of it could possibly hinder the growth of your genitalia and reproductive system. OK Steven?"

"OK, I don't." I didn't like her talking about the size of my genitals. She might look at them. I looked down I felt them shrink even more. Sometimes it seemed like my balls disappeared inside me.

"Good. Just take it when you really need it and not more. We can rule out the inhalers then. Right?"

"Yes."

"How did you do with the draft?"

"I'm 1-Y."

"Because of the asthma?"

"I think so."

"Did they take the note that Dr. Hellreich signed and listen to your chest?"

"Yes, both."

"I actually wrote that, you know, and he signed it. He doesn't write English very well. 1-Y is almost as good as 4-F, isn't it? I mean, they won't take you unless well, they'll take me, too then. I almost want to give you a hug." She patted me head. She was really smiling. She looked so pretty. I remembered she did that--patted me on the head when I was a little kid. I kind of blushed. She was an anti-war Eugene McCarthy activist. I loved her. She kept getting more and more beautiful. I tried to think of baseball statistics.

"Thank you," I smiled. "I um, also, at the time got busted for having a little pot and was in between a court date, so that helped, too," I offered.

"You have asthma and you smoke pot, Steven?"

I shrugged my shoulders and instantly regretted saying that.

"You smoke cigarettes too, don't you? I thought I could smell them but I didn't want to believe it."

I had a feeling she was going to turn that back to why I wasn't maturing. I'm stupid, I'm stupid. I kept telling myself. I made sure I was covering my dick.

"How many?"

"About half a pack a day," I lied.

"I don't care about the pot so much but the cigarettes are bad. Bad! I know you don't think so now, but they will do real damage to you. Promise me you will seriously consider quitting. OK?"

"OK."

"It's not cool to smoke cigarettes. It's not cool to smell from it. Give me your hand. I held my hand out." I thought she might smack my hand with a ruler or something.

She grabbed it and smelled my fingers. She made a weird face. "Yuck!" She threw my hand back down.

"Say you will try to quit smoking, Steven."

"I promise I will try to quit smoking cigarettes, Clotilde," I said sincerely and I meant it. I knew I didn't want to make her angry and I wanted to make her happy.

"I believe you. I'm not writing this down, but how often do you smoke pot?"

"Just a joint or two on weekends. Maybe a little hash, too. Really."

"OK. Try to keep it at a minimum. When I was in college, I know a lot of kids did it. I never got around to it, though. No one asked me."

I wondered if she was hinting that I should get her a joint or smoke with her. Almost felt like asking her but thought better of it.

"Do you do any other drugs? LSD, cocaine? Anything like that?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Steven, it shows up on a urine test and your medical record. You will be taking a urine test here you know, but I don't have to keep it on your record even though they are confidential, although a subpoena from a judge can overrule the confidentiality."

Uh oh, here comes the drugs can stunt your genitals again.

"I did LSD and cocaine once and seconals once each to come down from the LSD."

"Really? Just once?"

"Really. Just once so far.

"Did you like the acid?"

"Yeah, it was mind opening. I mean, it's not just about hallucinations. It's a mind opening drug."

"Well, just be careful Steven," she smiled.

"Thank you. You're really cool, Clotilde." I almost forgot I was naked. I love her.

"And thank you, Steven. I'm not judging. Well, except for the cigarettes," she laughed. "We still have a ways to go, though. Do you taste the foods you eat?"

"Yes," I answered, a little puzzled.

"Some people who don't mature physically don't have a keen sense of taste or smell. There are other symptoms. But that's rare. It's called Kallmann's Syndrome, but we have to rule it out."

Back to my lack of maturity again. There it is. I wondered if she saw my penis and baldness yet.

Do you get erections?"

"Yes." I smiled. Uh oh. I removed my hand and looked down. It was still all shriveled up. Then I looked at her. She saw me look though. What was she getting at?

"That's normal, Steven. People with Kallmanns usually never get erections. Let me see your fingernails."

Uh oh. I held out my nails.

"I wasn't looking to see that you bite your nails which you do, just to see if you had ridges on your nails, which is a secondary characteristic of Kallman’s but you don't. Try to find a way to stop biting your nails though. It doesn't look becoming of a young man. OK?"

"OK, Clotilde."

She smiled at me for using her name. I noticed she didn't look at my penis when I held my hands out. I put them back over my crotch.

"Toenails." She ordered next.

I held my legs straight out. She examined my toes and toenails. Even looked in between them. She was looking at everything. Jesus, I said to myself.

"Good, no fungus," she said.

"OK. Next. Height and weight and then your muscular skeletal structure. Let's walk over to the scale."

It was one of those professional ones with the bar. I stepped up. I watched to make sure she didn't look down. She probably saw my ass though. She moved the bar and the other lever around.

"124 pounds," she said and wrote it down. "Turn around."

I did and put my hands around my crotch.

"Shoulders back. Stand straight up. Feet flat. Hands at your sides."

I did as she said. Maybe she wouldn't notice.

She stepped back and made sure I complied. She looked me up and down. Up and down. She couldn't miss. I looked at her eyes and face as she passed by my hairless little dick. They showed no difference. I thought she was looking straight at my dick now. I felt my knees shaking. I almost felt like peeing. "Straighten your knees Steven. I don't want to shorten you. Good." Then she got the lever and measured me. 5 feet 5 and one eighth. Good. That's about the right weight for your height or vice versa." She wrote that down.

"Now I just want to make sure no part of you is growing faster or slower than any other part, OK?"

"OK." I said. That didn't sound good.

"I'm just going to look at you front and back and side and measure some bones. Nothing to be concerned about. You can stand on this towel and don't mind me staring for a few minutes."

She got out a tape measure from a cabinet. I just stood there. I guess there was no avoiding it. I let out my breath. She went around behind me. I looked behind me to look at her. "Just face forward. I'm not going to do anything. She must have looked at me from behind for at least two minutes. I know she had to be looking at my ass too. "Just measuring your femur and calf. Shoulders to hips. Excellent bone structures Steven. I'm sure there is absolutely nothing to be concerned about. In some cases there is abnormal bone development in one part of the body that can signify some problem." I felt her touching me with the tape and her fingers. "Just using the measurements as a baseline for the future." She walked around to my front. "Look straight ahead." Looked me up and down again. Had to see my penis. Gave no indication that anything was amiss.

She stood in front of me and stared for a minute. Looked at me up and down again. Measured my chest and shoulders. Made me expand my chest and hold it and measured that and my neck. Then my waist. I refrained from thinking about measuring her although I fantasized about that a hundred times. 30-24-30. AA Cup. But back to Mickey Mantle again. She measured my legs from my ankle to my knee and then from my knee to my hip. She had to see my penis. I looked at it. It looked like a baby acorn or a pretzel nugget. It was all shriveled up and my balls were gone—contracted into my groin that happens sometimes and left with an empty sack until I pull them out again. She didn’t say anything other than mumbling the measurements and writing them down.

Finally, she spoke.  "Excellent!" she said.

"I pass?" I asked

"With flying colors," she answered. "You could pose for one of those Roman statues like Michelangelo's David."

"Wow, thank you." I knew all those statue guys had little penis' but at least they had hair and I thought their dicks were still bigger than mine.

"Everything in the right place, Steven. Just a few more tests to go and some results to get back from the lab but I'm starting to suspect that we will find that the only problem we will find is that your problem will be classified as constitutional, meaning that there is no problem holding your physical maturity back. Or, that's just the way it goes and we can safely give you a testosterone shot or two and that will give you a boost. I don't want to say it's 100 per cent yet but it's starting to look like it. Probably in about three weeks. OK?"

"Good. That would be a big load off my mind. Thanks, Clotilde."

"You're welcome."

"We move on. Next. "Do you have regular bowel movements?"

"yes"

"How often"

"About once or twice a day."

"When was the last one?"

"This morning."

"Diarrhea?"

"No."

"Do you have to go now?"

"No."

Wonder why she asked that. She got the thermometer from the hot thing she keeps the sterilized stuff from. I got ready to say "Ah."

"Sit back on the cot and roll to your side," Clotilde ordered.

I started to pant.

PART 3

"You get a more accurate read with it anal than oral," she explained when she saw that I started to get more nervous.

"Oh, I didn't know that." I said because I didn't know what else to say and didn't want to say I was nervous and didn't want to say I still didn't want her to see my little penis. Maybe she wouldn't see it anyway. I guess it wouldn’t be that bad if she just saw my asshole. I also was starting to wonder if I was beyond the stage if where she still might not notice my dick.

I looked behind me at her and saw her shake the thermometer.

"Just face the wall, Steven."

My cheeks were clenched tight.

"Relax. Loosen up."

Nothing happened.

"Steven, I have to get a good view of your anus so please don't make it difficult. Please unclench your cheeks. Take a deep breath, let it out and try to relax."

I did as she said. But I could tell my cheeks still wouldn't relax. "I'm sorry. I don't know why that's happening."

"It doesn't hurt, Steven. You won't even feel it. You just have to let me do it. OK, pull your cheeks apart with your hands."

I did that.

"More."

"Good. Thank you.

"Don't squeeze. This is made of glass. You could hurt yourself."

"It's in?"

"Yes. Good boy. I said you wouldn't feel it. I didn't even have to put Vaseline on it now. I'll just keep it in another minute. She patted my buns and held my cheeks together around the thermometer with her hand. "Nice buns." Wow, another compliment. Is she really coming on to me? Nah, she's just trying to get me to take part in the exam. She pulled the thermometer out and looked at it. "99 exactly. Perfect." She put the thermometer in the used hot thing.

"I'm going to give you a rectal now. Do you know what that is?"

"No." But it sure didn't sound good.

"I'm going to stick my finger into your anus and probe for any lesions or bumps or polyps. I'll check your sphincter. It should take five minutes or less if you cooperate. First I will put a little lubricant on your anus so it slides in easier. Do you have any concerns?"

"I'm a little nervous."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Just lay down on your stomach, a little to your side. Spread your cheeks with your hands. Good. The lubricant might feel a little cold."

"Good."

"It won't hurt?"

"Of course not, Steven."

"Excellent looking anus." I felt the lubricant and the touch of her bare finger touching my asshole. At that time doctors and nurses didn't have to wear gloves for that. "Beautiful." So when she said nice buns, maybe she meant that in the medical way that my anus is beautiful. Weird to call an asshole beautiful. “The best looking anus I’ve ever seen, Steven.”

"Do your friends still call you Stevie or are you always Steven now or Steve?"

"My older friends call me Stevie." I felt her finger sliding in. She's just trying to distract me.

"I remember when we first met when you were ten years old and I asked you your name and you told me your name was Stevie."

"I remember." I felt her finger press the sides of my asshole.

"Can I still call you Stevie then?" She pressed again and moved around and it went in another notch.

"Sure." I said struggling.

"Slowly move up a bit off your belly and move up into me now."

I felt her long finger pressing the sides of my asshole and wriggling about. It felt weird but also good. I was being stretched.

"Good, Stevie."

"I remember how we met then for the first time walking up the block to Dr. Hellreich's office. I had a bunch of schoolbooks."

"Yeah, I helped you carry them."

"Yes, such a little gentleman. I was also so impressed that you took a bus all the way there all by yourself when you were ten years old."

"It was just a straight ride and my mother went over it with me a few times before when she used to take me."

"That's when I told you my name but I guess you forgot."

"I didn't remember that you told me your name. I was just glad that such a pretty girl was talking to me. You have a long finger. It feels weird."

"What?"

"You have a long finger. Ooow!"

"Before that."

"It feels weird."

"What pretty girl was talking to you?"

"That's probably why I didn't hear you tell me your name then. Oow." I felt like my balls were dangling and she could see them. They came back out by themselves. They usually didn’t do that.

"The girl on the wall? I noticed when your mother wasn't there, you always sat facing the drawing of the girl. Naughty boy."

"I meant you, Clotilde."

"You thought I was pretty then?"

"Of course. You were wearing those brown and white shoes with the pink laces that girls wore then and short white socks and I could just see your calves. I don't know what you call them and a long plaid skirt and a pink shirt with no buttons that went all the way up to your neck. And even then you were so tall."

She slid her finger out slowly. I felt like I was missing something. I slumped down on my belly. It felt good to get that off my chest.

"Stevie, you remembered all that. Even the pink laces. And you thought I was pretty? I always thought you thought I was funny looking."

She sat down on a high stool next to me. I looked back at her.

"No, of course not. Why?"

"I was tall and skinny and kind of gawky. Still am."

"No you're not. You're even prettier now. And you're so smart. Tall is good. How tall are you?"

"5'10" without the heels. 6 feet  with. OK, this is weird, Stevie. All these years, you're thinking that I'm pretty and I never knew it and while I'm examining you while you're naked, you're thinking about how pretty I am? Is that about right?"

"I guess."

"Why didn't you ever say something or let me know in some way. What about when I was in Europe?"

"I didn't know what to say. I asked your father when you would get back and you were only here in the summers anyway and I always asked your father when you would be working here. But I couldn’t ask him too much."

"That explains a few things going on here today then."

"What?"

"Why you kept covering up and why you were so tight."

"You noticed?"

"Of course I noticed you trying to hide your penis from me. Don't worry. I didn't look. And I guess you didn't want me to see your anus either. Even though I'm only trying to help you? I'm going to have to see everything, though, Stevie, OK?"

"OK, but you know, it's really embarrassing."

"Sometimes I actually forget that I'm also a female when I examine males and it might be uncomfortable for them. Plus, you and I have a relationship that might make it more difficult in addition to your specific problem. I should take all that into account. Shouldn't I, Stevie?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry I didn't. I like you personally, too, not just as a doctor, or soon to be doctor. Let me ask you this, Stevie. Suppose you felt a bump or something on your anus. Would you say to your friend: Jimmy," and she started to talk in some deeper exaggerated voice imitating a male Brooklynese voice 'Hey Jimmy, take a look at my asshole and see if it looks all right."

"Ha ha," I laughed. "You're funny, Clotilde. No, I couldn't say that."

"But you could ask Clotilde but not so vulgar to take a look at your anus if something didn't feel right. Couldn't you, Stevie?"

"Yes, maybe, now."

"Everything was fine."

"See, we work together. We are a team, Stevie. You and I. A team. OK?"

"OK. I'm sorry I was difficult."  She extended her hand. We shook hands.

"Oh, here's some paper towels to wipe the lubricant off. You want me to get it?"

"I could do it." I reached around behind me and wiped it off with a few paper towels.

I handed the paper towels to her. She threw them out and then went and washed her hands.

"You know you could ask me anything about anything medically or sexually. Never be embarrassed in front of me. Right Stevie? Any problem, no matter what, ask me. OK?”

“OK, Clotilde. Thank you.”

“And if you were concerned about your penis or something not right with it, you could ask me, Clotilde, your teammate, to take a look at it, at your genitalia. Couldn't you, Stevie?"

"I guess."

"Good. OK, ask."

"Now?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "Stevie." She made believe she frowned.

I started to pant. "I don't have any pubic hair and my penis is tiny and I'm totally embarrassed and humiliated."

"Oh Stevie. I'm sorry. I hate putting you through this. Sit up. Sit at the end of the table. We’ll figure it all out and everything will be all right."

She pulled her stool around and adjusted it so we were eye level. She leaned over and hugged me. Tight. "We will get through this, Stevie and come out just fine. I promise." She cupped my head and put it on her chest near her neck or collarbone. She patted my back a few times while she held me tight. She did this for a few minutes. "Everything is going to be all right.  "Please don't worry. OK?"

I began to feel better but I also felt so small and childlike. "OK"

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes."

"Will you be able to sit back on the cot with your hands behind your head and your knees apart?"

"Now?"

"Now. Yes."

"OK."

"Turn over on your back."

I did so. I felt like an invalid. Like an old man. But I didn't hide my penis.

"Slide back to the end. I'll lift the end up so you can see and have a headrest. Good. Good Stevie. Clasp your hands behind your head. Good. Good. Good Stevie. There we go. You’re going to have to be a little brave about this. I promise I will respect you. Legs straight out. Lift your knees up now. Spread them apart. Give me a view. I'm going to look. There. Thank you. Thank you so much Stevie."

"Whew," I smiled. I looked at her face as if to see what she thought.

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”