I picked up the clipboard, shaking my head at the rather insane working conditions I found myself in. A path to something even more odd wasn’t possible, or so I thought until I started to read the medical exam description. It was only a bulleted list. The first several things were obvious and expected: vital signs, blood samples, urine samples, review of medical history, immunization status, and more things I expected. And then came the rest of the list: 100% visual survey of skin for unusual moles, lesions, etc., testicular cancer examination, prostate exam, sexual function test and sperm sample. Yes, I was a bit surprised, but mostly by this time the surprise was limited to ‘how does she plan to do this?’
The medical history was typical and required little more than a lot of short answers and box checking. I knocked on the door fifteen minutes later. “Come in,” she called. I entered the room to find her standing in a white uniform with white two inch heels, her hair now down, and most strikingly, the top three buttons on her uniform undone. I couldn’t tell if she was wearing a bra, but the cleavage she was sporting could almost put Christina Hendricks to shame. She held out a hand and I passed her the clipboard. “Please sit here,” she said, motioning to a chair that was also equipped with an apparatus for me to sit my arm on while a blood sample was taken. She reviewed my medical history, making notes and asking me questions every now and then. Then she donned a pair of latex gloves and prepped some sample vials. “Are you allergic to rubbing alcohol or latex?” She asked.
“No,” I said, and moved the armrest into position.
She frowned at me, removed my arm from the rest and moved it out of the way. Then she moved the armrest into position and positioned my arm upon it. I didn’t get it, but I let her do as she wanted. “Please keep your arm here while I sterilize.”
She raised an eyebrow and said, “Hmm. I think this will go better if you acknowledge my orders more precisely.” I nodded. She smiled, “Do you understand?”
As Ms. Olson had said, she was precise, and I was beginning to understand something about this woman. “I understand, Nurse Jenkins. I will keep my arm here while you sterilize.”
For my words I was rewarded with that brilliant smile. She broke the seal on an alcohol wipe, then held my wrist as she thoroughly scrubbed the inside of my elbow. Next she picked up a tourniquet strap and tied it around my upper arm. “Please make a fist and squeeze three times, holding on the last,” she said.
“Make a fist and squeeze three times, holding on the last, aye,” I repeated back as if in the Navy again.
Her cheeks flushed and her nostrils flared (I swear they did), as she produced the sample syringe, selected a vein, and stuck me for the sample. She was well practiced and it was a good stick. After drawing two vials she pulled the syringe and applied a square of gauze, “Apply pressure,” she said as she disposed of the syringe and then started to invert the sealed vials a few times.
“Apply pressure, aye,” I said, and she smiled again.
She took the vials to a nearby machine, where she inserted the tubes and pressed a few buttons. Then she returned, bringing an elastic, self stick bandage with her. She took the gauze from me and applied a new piece, “Apply pressure,” she said.
I repeated back the order, and was rewarded with another bright smile as she applied the bandage. She then stood and motioned for me to follow her. “Employment does require verification that you are drug free, so next up is the urine sample.” She crooked an eyebrow at me, “Are you sufficiently hydrated to provide a sample at this time?”
I checked, yep. “Yes, Nurse Jenkins.”
“Do you typically suffer from stage fright? As they say?” She asked.
“Um, no Nurse Jenkins,” I said, though in truth I was certain I had never tried whatever it was she appeared to have in mind.
Then she laughed and handed me a specimen jar. “I’m just messing with you,” and she pushed me into the small restroom and shut the door. She came back a couple minutes later and took the now filled, sealed and cleaned specimen bottle from me. “Now, Tom, please remove your clothes and put on the gown over there. Be sure the gown opening is to the front.”
I’ll go easy on you here and just say I continued to repeat back all of her instructions verbatim.
Her expression was not so much professional detachment as it was desire when I finished the repeat back. Apparently such over the top verbal obedience was high on her list of triggers. She left the room, closing the door behind her, and I took off my clothes, folding them and setting them on a shelf. Now nude, I picked up the gown and pulled on the sleeves with the opening in the front. Now, normally such gowns tie in the back and the opening starts somewhere just over your butt. In this configuration the opening started at my belly button, putting everything on display. However, I wasn’t really surprised.
I knocked on the door and her voice replied, “Come in.”
Entering the room she gestured to the exam table. I noticed it was now pleasantly warm in the room. “Please sit and we will review your medical history and start the skin survey.”
I sat down, with my now semi-hard cock pointing up from my groin. And it was in this configuration, with me mostly naked and her sitting fully clothed only a few feet away and right in front of me, that we discussed my medical history for the next twenty minutes. Seemingly satisfied with the evaluation, she set the clipboard aside and washed her hands again. “Now, Tom, I find it best to conduct the exam of your epidermis with my bare hands. If you have any objections I will switch to gloves of course.”
Of course, I thought. Then she asked, “Do you have any objections to my use of bare hands?”
Shaking my head, I said, “No objections Nurse Jenkins.”
She beamed at me, then said, “Very well. Please remove the gown and lay down on your chest and I will examine your back first.”
I gave the repeat back and added, “Yes nurse”. Then I pulled the knot loose, dropped the gown to the floor and turned and lay down on my chest. It was at this point I realized the only purpose of the gown was to reinforce the fact she was fully clothed and I was definitely not.
No sooner was I lying on my chest when I felt her hands on my feet. Her fingers alternately stroked, pressed, probed and felt my skin. She took her time, asking about various moles, small scars, and other things of interest. As she went over my thighs and buttocks I started to get aroused again even though she wasn’t really doing anything to directly elicit such a response. She seemed to sense my discomfort as she worked on my lower back. “Please roll to your left side,” she said. Rather than repeat this, I simply rolled as directed. She took hold of my stiffening cock and adjusted its position before rolling me back onto my belly. She then finished her examination of my backside, informing me I would have follow ups with a dermatologist for two odd looking moles, just to be sure.