The Full Body Check
An SPH Experience by SnooPuppers2605.
My GP referred me to a dermatology clinic in the city. Clean, white, clinical. The sign in the waiting room said: “Please undress to your underwear before the doctor enters.” Standard protocol. I stripped down to my boxer briefs, folded my clothes neatly, and sat on the edge of the exam table, feeling the paper crinkle under my thighs.
The door opened, and Dr. Chen walked in. She was about thirty-five, I’d guess, with dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, wearing a white coat over a blouse and slacks. She was attractive in that professional, no-nonsense way that made me feel like a specimen rather than a man. She smiled, introduced herself, and started with the standard questions: any new moles? Any changes? Any family history?
I mentioned the one on my scrotum. She nodded, said no problem, but added, “For any genital examination, I need a second person present for supervision. Just protocol. I’ll call in my assistant.”
I’d heard about that rule. It seems some patients receive inappropriate care, so the clinic covers its bases. Fine by me. I wasn’t here for anything weird—I genuinely wanted to make sure I wasn’t growing a melanoma on my ball sack.
The door opened again, and a young woman stepped in. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, maybe twenty-one. She had a round face, a bit of a soft, curvy build under her scrubs, and the kind of fresh-faced look that made her seem like she should still be in school. Her name tag said “Ella, Clinical Assistant.” She smiled politely and stood near the door, clipboard in hand, ready to document.
So there I was: lying on the exam table in my tight boxer briefs, exposed to two women—one a confident, attractive doctor in her prime, the other a young, probably still inexperienced assistant. I’d made the mistake of shaving everything down there the night before. Usually, I just trim, but I wanted a clean look for the check. Now I was smooth as a prepubescent boy, and the room was cold. Australian winter is just around the corner, and the air conditioning wasn’t helping.
I could already feel my penis shrinking. Not just soft—shriveling. Retreating into my body like a turtle pulling its head in. The scrotum was tight, the skin goosebumped, and my cock was a tiny nub curled against my pelvis.
“Alright,” Dr. Chen said, pulling on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. “Let’s start with your back and shoulders. Roll over for me.”
I did. She worked methodically, her gloved hands pressing and scanning my skin. The young assistant watched, sometimes stepping closer to note something on her clipboard. I tried not to think about the fact that I was basically naked under bright lights with two women looking at every inch of me.
We worked through my torso, my arms, my legs. Each time I shifted position, my cold-shrunken dick would press against the waistband of my boxer briefs, a tiny, pathetic lump. I could feel it barely protruding. Once, when I adjusted, I caught the assistant’s eyes flick down for a fraction of a second. She looked away quickly.
“Now, you mentioned the spot on your scrotum,” Dr. Chen said. “Let’s have a look. Just pull your underwear down enough to expose the area. Lie back and spread your legs comfortably.”
My heart raced. I did as instructed, lifting my hips and pulling the waistband of my briefs down just past my balls. The cold air hit my groin. My penis, now fully exposed, was a tiny thing—maybe an inch soft, if that. The head was barely visible, tucked into a fold of skin. My testicles were tight, drawn up close to my body.
I reached down and tried to guide her attention to the mole, which was at the base of my penis, near the junction with my left testicle. I cupped my balls gently and angled my pelvis, trying to show the spot without being weird. “It’s right there,” I said, my voice a little tight. “See the dark one?”
Dr. Chen leaned in with her dermatoscope, the little handheld light and magnifier. The assistant stepped closer too, peering over the doctor’s shoulder. They were both looking directly at my crotch, their faces inches from my shriveled cock. I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. My dick was so small, so shriveled, so utterly unimpressive. And these two women—one professional and beautiful, the other young and fresh—were staring right at it.
Dr. Chen examined the mole for maybe ten seconds. “Yep, that’s fine. Just a benign nevus. Nothing concerning.”
I let out a breath. “Great. Thank you.”
I went to pull my underwear back up. But my hand was sweaty, and the waistband was elastic. As I hooked my thumb under the fabric and tugged, my thumb slipped. The waistband snapped back against my groin—and my tiny, shrunken cock, completely soft and cold, flicked out from under the fabric and was exposed in the open air for a full, terrible second.
It was like a bad dream. My penis—barely an inch, wrinkled, hairless, looking like a little button—was on full display between two women who had just been professionally examining me. The light caught it. There was no hiding it.
The young assistant—Ella—let out a small giggle. It was quick, involuntary, the kind of sound you make when something catches you off guard and you can’t help it. She covered her mouth immediately, but the damage was done.
Dr. Chen cleared her throat, a sharp, purposeful sound. She glanced at Ella with a subtle raise of her eyebrow—the kind of look that said get it together. The assistant’s cheeks flushed pink, and she looked down at her clipboard.
I yanked my underwear up, my face burning. “Sorry,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure why I was apologizing.
“No need to apologize,” Dr. Chen said smoothly, her voice professional but with a hint of warmth. She was smiling, just slightly, as she turned to write something on my chart. “Let’s finish up with your feet and scalp.”
The rest of the exam was a blur. I lay there in silent mortification while Dr. Chen checked my toes, my scalp, and the areas behind my ears. Every time I glanced at the assistant, she was studiously avoiding eye contact, but I could see a faint smile still playing at the corner of her lips. She was thinking about it. I knew she was.
Finally, it was over. Dr. Chen pulled off her gloves and dropped them in the bin. “Everything looks good. No concerns. You’re clear for another year.”
I sat up, pulling my clothes onto my lap. “Thanks, doc.”
She paused at the door, her hand on the handle. She looked back at me, her expression unreadable. Then she said, with that same slight smile, “You know, it’s getting cold now. You might want to book your next appointment earlier in the year—maybe spring or summer. Less… chilly.”
She held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, and then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. The assistant followed, but not before I caught her biting her lip to suppress another laugh.
I sat there alone, my underwear still bunched, my cock a tiny, cold memory. I replayed the moment in my head—the waistband slipping, the tiny dick flopping out, the giggle, the doctor’s subtle smirk, that parting comment. Less chilly. A jab at the size or just a remark on the weather?
I knew. I fucking knew.
I dressed slowly, my face still hot. Walking out of the clinic, past the reception desk, past the waiting room full of people, I felt like everyone knew. Like my tiny, shrunken cock was written on my forehead.
In the car, I sat for a long time, my hands on the wheel. I was hard now—ironic, cruel. My dick had swelled to its full four inches, pressing against my jeans. I touched myself through the fabric, thinking about the doctor’s smirk, the assistant’s giggle, the way my little dick had been on display, a joke between two women.
I drove home with a boner and a strange, twisted sense of arousal. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I still can’t.
The End.
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