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A couple of weeks before my four year hitch in the Air Force was to end, I received notice to report to the base hospital for a discharge physical. I was to see a Major Hughes on Thursday at 0900.
On the appointed day, I arrived at the clinic in the hospital about 5 minutes before the scheduled time. A cute nurse at the reception desk signed me in and told me to take a seat in the waiting room. After 15 minutes, a male orderly called my name and led me to an exam room.
“Go ahead and take everything off, except your undershorts,” he said. “Dr Death will be with you momentarily.” Then he laughed and left the room.
As I began to undress, I wondered what the heck the “Dr Death” crack meant. I figured it was some inside Air Force medical humor. After I was wearing only my boxers, I sat down in one of the chairs to wait for the doctor. The exam room was pretty routine: a long exam table, a couple of chairs, a sink, and a scale. I did notice that the room seemed very bright. Must have been the mil-spec fluorescent lights.
Just a couple of minutes later the exam room door opened and a tall African-American man entered. “Good morning, Sgt. Peterson,” he said. “I’m Dr. Hughes. I’ll be doing your exit physical today.”
He was at least 6 ft tall, and maybe 40 years old or so. He had on a white lab coat over the top of his Officers uniform with the Majors insignia on his collar. I am not gay or anything but he was kind of a handsome man and he looked strong. I recalled some of my black friends I had served with and their amazing big cocks. I had always hid my small genitals from them because I always felt embarrassed by the comparison.
Then I realized that my meager genitals would soon be completely exposed to this black man. A mixture of fear and humiliation replaced my appreciation of Dr. Hughes’ good looks. I could feel my balls retracting tightly to my body. I knew my cock would be just a stub. My only hope was that somehow I would be able to leave my shorts on during the exam.
Not a chance. I awoke from my daydreaming as Dr. Hughes began to speak. “The purpose of today’s exam is to make sure that you don’t have any service-connected injuries or illnesses,” he said. “Please remove your shorts and we’ll get started.” Then he sat down on an exam stool and flashed me a sly grin.
“Yes Sir,” I croaked as I stood up and began to slip off my boxers. Major Hughes was sitting only 3 or 4 feet from me, and was focused like a laser beam on my crotch. As my shorts hit the floor his huge smile let me know how small my package had become.
“It’s not THAT cold in here,” he chuckled.
“No Sir,” I agreed.
I looked down and saw that my cock and balls had shrunk to baby size. “I’m just a little nervous.”
“With the emphasis on ‘little’,” Dr. Hughes laughed. “Well, just try to relax, sergeant. Let’s begin.”
Then Dr. Hughes opened a cabinet and removed a large specimen beaker. Still sitting on the exam stool he motioned for me to stand next to him. “We’ll start with a urine sample,” he said.
Smiling, he reached out and held the beaker up to my tiny pecker. “Ok, let ‘er rip,” he chuckled.
I looked (and felt) like a two year old being potty trained by his mommy. The Major had my cock AND shrunken balls inside the specimen beaker. And of course, I just couldn’t pee with him staring at me. The humiliation was too extreme.
“Come on, sergeant,” said Dr. Hughes. “We don’t have all day. If you’re unable to urinate, I’ll have to catheterize you. And I know you won’t like that.”
“Yes Sir,” I said.
I remembered the catheter from my appendectomy two years before. So I concentrated on peeing, and was soon able to produce a little trickle of urine.
“Good boy,” said Dr. Hughes when I had filled up the beaker with enough for a sample. “Go ahead and stand on the scale while I seal up this container.”
I walked across the room to the scale as Major Hughes dealt with the urine sample. When he was finished he joined me at the scale. “Don’t be shy,” he said. “Step right on.”
With his left hand on my bare ass he guided me onto the scale. “190 lbs,” he announced.
Then he extended the scale bar to get my height. “6 ft, 3 inches. You’re quite a big boy,” he teased as he looked at my still shrivelled package.
Then Dr. Hughes had me get off the scale and stand in the middle of the exam room. He sat down a couple of feet from me and had me begin a series of exercises. “We need to test your range of motion,” he said.
He directed me through a series of deep knee bends, toe touches, and jumping jacks. He carefully observed me with the same amused grin on his face. My tiny pecker barely moved at all and my balls were still tightly contracted. If every guy was hung like me the jock strap manufacturers would all go bankrupt.
When the exercises were finished Dr. Hughes told me to sit on the end of the exam table. He first took my blood pressure, then began to listen to my heart and lungs. As he held the stethoscope to my chest with her left hand he casually rested his right hand on my thigh. His long, slim fingers were only about half an inch from my shrivelled cock which at this point was also only about half an inch long.
After a quick check of my ears and throat the doctor then took a vial of blood from my left arm. As he turned to place the blood sample on the counter Dr. Hughes uttered the words I had been dreading: “Ok Sarge, let’s check you for any hernias. Please lie down on the table.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I said as I stretched out.
He walked back to the side of the exam table and seemed to pause as he stared at my pale tiny prick. With a grin he began a thorough examination of my genitals. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing any exam gloves. As he held my cock between her thumb and forefinger I wondered if he had any children. Because I would probably compare unfavorably to a five year old at the moment.
After what seemed like a two hour scrutiny of my shrivelled goods Dr Hughes walked over to a cabinet and began to put on some latex gloves. “Let’s take a look at your prostate,” he said. “Pull your knees up and hold them apart with your hands.”
I did as I was instructed, and was soon spread out on my back like a woman having a gyno exam. Dr Hughes strolled over to the foot of the exam table, stopped between my widespread legs and smiled down at me. “Just relax, this won’t hurt a bit,” he said, as she began to insert her long middle finger into my anus.
He quickly found my prostate gland and began to massage it. And just like he had thrown a light switch I began to sense a stirring in my cock. “Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?” asked Dr. Hughes as he continued to finger my ass.
I couldn’t disagree, and was soon sporting my usual 4 inch wood.
“Looks like your little friend woke up,” laughed Dr. Hughes.
Then as I started to feel an orgasm building up he began to move his finger rapidly in and out of my ass.
That did it.
Before I could say a word of warning I shot a huge load of cum all over my stomach and chest. Some even landed on my chin.
“Wow, it always amazes me how much you shrimp dick men can shoot,” chuckled the doctor as she pulled his finger out of my ass. He took off his gloves and threw them in the trash telling me I could get dressed.
“You seem to be in excellent health,” he said as he gathered up my medical records. “If I may give you some advice with such a tiny honky cock I suggest you marry an Asian woman as they tend to have smaller vaginal orifices. No white or black woman will get any satisfaction from that! But good luck with your civilian life.”
Then he smiled and waved his little finger at me and left the exam room.
It took me a few minutes to catch my breath clean myself off and get dressed. I quickly left the clinic feeling thankful that was over. I knew of course that the Doctor probably shouldn’t be making me cum in his office like that. But I decided to let it pass and just get on with life.
I was out of the Air Force in another 2 weeks and I never saw “Dr Death” again but I did take his advice. I married a Japanese girl 15 years ago. And she still loves to tease me about what she calls my “little Samurai sword”.