Monday, July 26, 2010

Probing Myanus

All things considered, it wasn't the best start to my week, lying on my side as a man with an enormous moustache rammed his finger into my arse.

I'd finally snapped a few days ago, deciding one afternoon as I ambled nervously towards the toilet that I simply couldn't take any more anal Russian Roulettes, and booked myself into a humiliating first visit to my new doctor.

Having never met said doctor before, I was hoping for an ageing and indifferent GP; a cantankerous old bastard so inured to life's ailments, who'd seen more arseholes than an LA barmaid, that he could happily be wrist deep inside a weeping, trembling rectum whilst thinking about nothing else but cricket.

As it was, I got the next best thing; a cheerful, middle-aged Indian with a moustache so thick and lustrous that it felt as if I'd been transported back to the Victorian age to see the best practitioner in the Raj.

I didn't realise he was more like Freddie Mercury until after he did what he did.

The doctor asked me what was wrong, and I approached the subject tentatively. I knew this was going to ruin someone's day and to be perfectly honest, at that stage I still wasn't sure whose. But he didn't blink when I told him. He was like some kind of doctor. I'd spent the better part of eight months shitting either cactii or bricks (the bricks being preferable as they didn't cut me up on their way out). If I looked uncomfortable admitting that, the doctor looked positively thrilled. I mean that. I told him the problem was my raw back passage and he practically clapped with glee as he stood up and told me to drop 'em.

"Oh christ," I thought as I lay on the examination table, the doctor jabbing at my bowels with ninja-like accuracy and asking if it hurt.
"Oof", I said. Actually "oof".
Plus my cock was out and he could see it.

Then he told me to roll onto my side.

"Here we go," I thought as I felt my cheeks being pulled apart and a finger - god, I hope it was a finger - prodding at the lower opening of my digestive tract.

"Does that hurt?", he asked again. By now I assumed he meant mentally, not physically.

"Yes, doctor. Very much so."

"Well blah blah blah!" he said as he cheerfully released my buttocks and trotted over to his table of gadgets. "Blah blah blah blah", he continued. I still have absolutely no idea what he said, as I was now in a very dark place and feeling more than a little vulnerable. All I wanted was his prognosis, and to get the fuck out of there.

Then it happened. No "Brace yourself!", not a damn bloody word, not that I was listening anyway. The doctor walked back to my prone body and rammed - rammed - his index finger, with not inconsiderable force, into my raw sphincter like a rat up a drainpipe.

"AARGH!" I screamed. And then he twisted it around as if I had an old dial-up phone wedged in my colon. "AAAARGH!"
I punched the wall.

"Well blah blah blah blah blah blah..." he continued as he walked over to the sink with all the air of a man who hadn't just inserted a digit into another man's rectum.

I hadn't expected that. The problem, after all, was on my outside. The doctor walked back to his desk as I pulled up my shorts and headed for the chair.

"I feel like I should buy you flowers now," I said in an attempt at levity, but he just looked confused.

I remained pretty mute after that. Pretty mute as he scribbled down the name of a good laxative, pretty mute as I sat on the train staring at the other commuters and wondering whether they'd been violated that morning, pretty mute as I got to my desk with a finger-shaped cavity in my cavity.

None of it would matter quite so much if I had actually listened to his diagnosis. Instead I just felt dirty while the doctor looked really bloody pleased with himself.

Plus I'm not sure if he even wore gloves.



soupemes said...

some men love a digit up the anus. some men don't.

You do not.

I have nothing helpful to say. Just the bleedin' orrbvious.

I hope he didn't make you bleed.

I once dated a chap, no names mentioned, who used to ram my finger up his bum! I felt like I was violating him the whole time.

daisyfae said...

ouch. not even a courtesy spit? that is indeed harsh...

Liana said...

So the Doc is only taking you out on a date next week? Seems a bit backward to
Seriously though, I wonder what the use of anal probing is? I had ovarian cancer and got a digit up the bum. It makes no sense.
Good luck with the date :)

i am not your freud said...

"i feel like i should buy you flowers now" hahaha

ah now you're just being paranoid. he is a doctor for buddha's sake. he examines assholes for a living and i don't think he was particularly happy about touching yours. oh and YAY for dates.

Dandelion said...

Interesting angle. You should count yourself lucky you're not a girl.

But what about your new diet? Shouldn't that have an impact on your...faeces?

Z said...

I do hope the laxatives work, as otherwise you're going to have to go back.

McTodd said...

It was only a finger...

Tired Dad said...

Oh. You're bringing the funny again. Good. And I swear the last time I had to suffer this indignity he was actually gripping the back of my shirt-collar for leverage.

fwengebola said...

Soupy ~ You've reminded me of my old mate Rob. He told us he was definitely a fan. Then again, if he was red raw, and the digit was inserted violently by a man he'd only just met, I dare say he'd appreciate it less.
I didn't bleed, thank you. But I did wince a tad.
Df ~ That might've made me think twice about his medical credentials.
Liana ~ Oh hello. I hope to god you're all clear. I don't think anal probing means anything. I just think it's a fetish health professionals are into.
And Thank you.
E ~ If he wasn't happy, he hid it well. And yay for dates indeed. At this rate, I've ruined it before it began (I called her when sober, you see)
Dand ~ I like the way you pause to come up with a word a moment's thought would've avoided. The point to bear in mind is everything smarts.
Z ~ Thank you for shitting on my parade.
McT ~ I have every confidence you've had larger, and repeatedly.
TD ~ Oh I'm not alone? Oh good. In fact, I think I read that. Did I read that? I could be making that up. Or perhaps it was a haircut you had.
Ignore me. It's late.

looby said...

Oh dear that was funny. I think the Visible Willie Syndrome would have worried me as much as whatever it was he was hoping to find.

Can't wait for next week! Everything crossed for you Fweng!

Tired Dad said...

No, I've not written about it. You probably are thinking about the over-zealous barber.

Funny thing was, I only went to the GP in question because of a persistent water infection.

Now, I'm not a medical man, but I'm pretty sure you cannot effectively check either the bladder or the kidneys via one's arsehole.

Sounds like we've both been had.

livesbythewoods said...

The date's not with the moustache/anus man, is it? Hope it goes well, or at least that nobody shoves anything up your arse.

fwengebola said...

looby ~ I'm afraid a doctor seeing my cock was the least of my worries. Plus I had to guess that he'd seen a couple before.
(And thanks)
TD ~ I'm sure it was The Haircut. The jury's out, though. According to friends and acquaintances, you can virtually practice divination with ones index up a back passage.
lbtw ~ Yes, granted, that reads as if there's an awkward transition between doctor, and date.
But not in reality.

luna said...

All this ordeal and for the sake of some fig syrup?
So are you gonna take your oil like I told you to now?

They do that not that they';re kinky, but to check the old prostate .The joy of discussing middle age troubles!

I find that taking digestive enzymes improves things much more than laxatives.

luna said...

Anyway I laughed.Especially when you screamed.

fwengebola said...

I didn't. Too busy screaming.

Essentially, it all boiled down to a laxative to get the ball rolling, so to speak.

You should've made your fig suggestion more loudly.

luna said...

You're deaf to my good advice anyway.
You're like toddlersa who yell NO the second they see their mother opening their mouth to speak.
It's called the opposition phase and last about 18 months.I'm beginning to suspect you got stuck at 2 1/2 years old.Not to offend you or anything.