27 Stories About Going To The Doctor That Will Leave You Breathless And Totally Embarrassed

11. I was 15 getting my balls cupped and coughed for a physical. The doc held my balls in his hand and asked me to flex. Confused, I focused all my energy in my dick muscles and made the little fella bounce a bit. The doc laughed his ass off and said… “oh no son, I meant flex your muscles… like you’re lifting weights…”

Whatever, his loss.


12. My penis turned red and splotchy, and when I got it checked out I was referred to a penis specialist (term?) by my doctor to get STD treatment.

I accused my girlfriend of cheating on me, and we wound up breaking up after a fight.

The penis doctor and his female assistant (not hot) took a quick look and said “Yeh, that’s a sunburn.”

On the plus side, my girlfriend was cheating on me, so whatevs.

– Anonymous

13. Had some crazy health problems in college and had to see a cardiologist. So I have to take my top off, as well as any metal jewelry and lay on the table. Weeks before I’d gotten my nipples pierced but just completely forgotten about them (female, btw). So he’s doing the scan or whatever, basically an ultrasound of my heart, and mentions again that jewelry interferes with the scanner–casually trying to get me to take the rings out. So I realize, he politely turns away and I try to remove the captive ball rings.

But I can’t. Fuck did I try and I got the right one out but damn if the left just. won’t. budge. So after me frantically half-ripping my nipple off, he says (very meekly), “Do you, uhh, need some throat clearing help?” And you just know he doesn’t want to. But I can’t get it out, so just as meekly I say, “Yes please. Sorry.” And after some finagling he’s able to get the damn nipple ring out and we go on with the exam.

Afterwards, I called up a friend and got INCREDIBLY drunk while he laughed at my pain.

TL;DR Forced an unsuspecting, middle-aged cardiologist to touch my boobs.


14. When I was about 14 I crashed my bicycle going down a little hill. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but the shorts I was wearing had zippered pockets. When I fell, the toggle on the zipper dug into my hip and as I slid down the hill it dug a gash about three inches long into my leg.

I go to the urgent care center with my father an hour or so later because I needed stitches (this was an unfortunately common occurrence for us for a while in my teens) and instead of the usual wrinkly old doctor that normally sewed me up, I was given over to his new, young, very attractive female medical student.

Because of the location of the gash, I had to remove my shorts and underwear so that she could get at it and I was given a small washcloth-type thing to protect my modesty. So she sets to work sewing me up, leaning over the top of me, her boobs pressing into the side of my leg, her breath slowly blowing over my cloth-covered loins, and I couldn’t stop it. I got that feeling, you know, the 8am-Math-class-hot-girl-sitting-next-to-you-in-short-shorts-better-move-the-textbook-to-my-lap feeling. Sure enough, after about 20 stitches the cloth starts to swell, and then peak, and then push to the side.

I was panicking. I tried to figure out how to get a hand down there to fix the cloth. I tried to think of my grandmother mid-coitus with a hairy leprechaun. I tried not to think about sticking it directly into her mouth. Nothing worked. For the better part of 45 minutes I lay there with my erect penis not a foot away from her head almost completely exposed.

To her credit, she was very professional about the whole thing, and made no recognition to the fact that some teenage boy popped a huge boner in her face. I’m sure it was something of a regular occurrence for her, anyways.



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