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

21. When I was 14, my mother took me to the pediatrician for my yearly check up. I was pretty angry with her, because I felt like I was getting too old for a pediatrician and the doctor was an incredibly hot black woman, and I knew she’d have her hands on my junk. At 14, a hot woman touching your junk is never a good thing. Well, it is, but it isn’t.

This woman was a chocolate Aphrodite. Looked like Vivica Fox with glorious tits. To be honest, I’d had a couple of private sessions thinking about her. Now, I’ve never had a thing for black women, but she was incredible.

Chances are she’d had a long day. Her hair was pulled back and she was wearing her glasses instead of her typical contacts. She was in a gray Rutgers t-shirt that accentuated her tits perfectly. I remember that well. Some kid had probably spit up on her during an exam while having a panic attack about a shot.

So she does her thing. Takes some blood, asks me questions about my sexual activities (which at that time were nothing more than solo).

Then the time comes and she tells me to take off my pants. Thank God she asked my mother to leave the room first. I do as she asks, I lie back on the table and she pulls up the gown.

Not even one finger on my nut and I immediately jumped to attention, then came the fireworks. Within a couple of seconds of lying down on that table, I had blown my load. It shot two feet in the air, and popped her all over the glasses and face.

She didn’t say a word. I was equally mortified. Just walked over to the sink and stuck her glasses under the stream of water, then wet a paper towel and wiped her face clean.

Turned around to me, said, “Ok, I think that’s it,” and walked out of the room. I never went back to her as a doctor again.

Though a few years later, I did run into her. Still just as hot as ever. I doubt she remembered me. Though if I’d brought it up, I’m sure she would have.


22. When I was in high school, I was having severe, chronic stomach pains. After a number of exams, the doctors were no closer to having any answers, so they ordered me to have lower GI x-rays.

The day of the exam, I go in and I’m given the instructions on what the procedure will entail. I will be receiving a barium enema which will allow the xrays to show any abnormalities in my GI tract. Now, the doctors failed to really get SPECIFIC about the enema part — particularly how much pressure the enema would put me under. They also kind of forgot to mention the fact that the “seal” isn’t always sufficiently strong to contain the pressure.

All of this information (and lack of critical information) came to a head as I’m on the x-ray table, in my green hospital gown with a tube up my ass getting pumped full of barium. Then the x-ray tech walks in. As if God hasn’t cursed me enough but just placing me in that particular situation, he decided to ice the cake by having the x-ray tech be a very attractive blonde woman.

I’ve spent the past 20 years of my life trying to forget the 20 minutes that followed…

There, with a semi-erect wang plainly visible through the wafer-thin aquamarine hospital gown and a tube hanging out of my ass, the beautiful blonde woman was just trying to do her job and tell me how I should position myself for the next x-ray in the sequence only to have her requests met with awkward shuffling and random fart squeaks and splurts as the seal of the enema tube moved around in my b-hole leading to the occasional trickle of barium leaking onto the x-ray table.

The only reprieve I got that day was that she at least vacated premises before I had unleashed a post-procedure barium monsoon in the bathroom.



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