As I sat in the waiting room at the Dermatologist’s office, I tried to calm my nerves and relax. I had been dreading this day for over two months. My wife, Julie, told me that she had booked us back-to-back appointments with a new dermatologist–this time a female doctor.

She went a year ago to get a full-body skin check. I was in the office with her for emotional support, so I saw the male doctor go over every square inch of her porcelain skin with a blue light. It was chilly in the room, so the small bubble-gum pink nipples on her perky A-cup breasts were erect. Julie’s ample ass jiggled as she turned around for the doctor.

A nurse called my name, interrupting my reverie. She was a tall brunette in burgundy scrubs, her prodigious breasts drawing my eyes to her name tag. Becky led me through a maze of hallways, her chestnut ponytail bouncing to an exam room directly across from a nurse’s station. Two nurses, similarly clad in burgundy, were standing there chatting–one a petite, heavily freckled redhead, the other a short and very pregnant Hispanic lady.

Becky told me to remove all of my clothing, including socks and underwear, and sit on the examination bed. She handed me a paper sheet “to keep warm.” To keep warm, I thought to myself quizzically. She said the doctor would be right in as she pushed the door open to leave. As the buxom beauty left, I could feel my anxiety rising and my heart pounding in my chest. I had to rush if I didn’t want to risk being caught in the buff.

I hurriedly undressed but hesitated before dropping my boxer briefs. It was the moment of truth, the time I had been dreading. Previous to this moment, I had been obsessing over what say my penis would be in for this appointment. The five states of my penis are:

1. erect – 3 inches exactly, as measured by my wife

2. flaccid – slight shaft, no dangle, pokes straight out

3. mushroom – head only, no visible shaft

4. the uncircumcised look – the head is retracted back into the skin of the shaft

5. an innie – no dick at all, fully inverted, looks like a hole at the top of my scrotum where a penis should be

I could feel that it was definitely not any of the first three options. My relief that I did not have an erection was quickly replaced with horror that I either had a tiny uncircumcised-looking bump of a penis, or I looked completely dickless. As I dropped my drawers, I saw that it was the worst possible scenario–it was a ‘gone dick,’ a nickname coined by my doting wife (she’s pretty proud of that one).

Since the doctor could come in at any second, I quickly sat and covered my lap with the paper sheet. It covered my front only, leaving my ass completely exposed. My heart was racing, and I was fully in the midst of the fight or flight response. I tapped the heart rate function of my smart watch and was surprised to see that it was 119, in the cardio/aerobic range.

I forced myself to return my thoughts to the problem at hand. Do I go fishing and try to pull my dick out? Could it backfire and result in an erection? Wait, which is worse, no dick at all or a tiny 3-inch erection?

I finally decided that my current state was definitely the worst-case scenario, so I would try to fish it out and try for one of the middle scenarios, at the risk of an erection.

I started to lift the sheet when I heard a knock at the door as it opened (no pause at all). I quickly lowered the sheet back down and guiltily looked at the doctor as if I had been caught masturbating. Becky followed her in, holding a tablet. “Hello, I’m Dr. Bradford,” said the older lady with curly dark red hair and oval glasses. She was about average height for a woman and dressed in dark slacks, a tan sweater, and an obligatory white coat.

After exchanging pleasantries, she instructed me to stand and move to the center of the room under the light and took the sheet from me as I passed. The doctor inspected my back half from head to heel, dictating notes for Becky to log with the tablet. She circled a spot on my back with a marker and had the nurse take a photo. I kept wishing for the lil fella to come out of his hiding spot, as the two women had not yet seen my everlasting shame. Alas, it was not to be.

The doctor asked me to sit so she could inspect my front side, and I could feel my face flush anew. The time had arrived. I turned around and started toward the examination bed. I could see the look of shock on the nurse’s face when she saw my recently shaved crotch with no evidence of a penis in sight. I looked away shamefaced, turned, and sat.

Dr. Bradford had a quizzical look on her face and asked the nurse to see the iPad. She poked around in it for a bit and then asked why I didn’t list my aphallia in the medical conditions. After stammering for a few seconds, I was able to communicate to her that I didn’t know what that was.

She gestured to my groin and said matter-of-factly, “You have no penis. That’s called aphallia or absent penis.”

My face burned with the humiliation. The look on the doctor’s face morphed from quizzical to sympathetic understanding. “Oh, honey, was it an accident?” she asked gently.

“No. I do have a penis,” I almost whispered, looking away from her kind eyes. “I’m just nervous…and…and it’s cold in here,” I said, gradually increasing volume by the end of my excuses.

The doctor stood for a moment, eyes blinking before handing the tablet back to Nurse Becky and saying almost in monotone, “Let’s proceed with the examination.”

She had me lie back and pull out the bed extension for my legs. She closely inspected my skin with the blue light, dictating notes once more. Just above where my penis would have been, she circled a mole and had the nurse take a picture. I had thought I was past the worst–not even close.

Dr. Bradford told me she needed to check my penis and started probing my scrotum around the hole. She then inserted her index finger into the hole up to the knuckle and fished around. She was basically finger fucking my completely inverted penis! She sighed with frustration and asked the nurse to get her the small-size forceps. Becky pushed the door open to leave, and two other nurses were standing there facing the open door. One was the tiny freckled redhead I saw earlier and the other was a chubby young lady with a round face and short blonde hair. They stopped talking mid-sentence, and their eyes widened with surprise before shifting to a perplexed look, complete with a double head tilt. The door finally completed its slow swing shut.

After a few moments, Becky came back in, the two nurses following closely at her heels. Nothing was said, and they simply stood with their backs to the wall staring at my dickless crotch with fascination in their youthful eyes. Nurse Becky handed the forceps to the doctor, who then inserted them into my makeshift vagina. She pressed on my scrotum on one side and asked Becky to press on the other side to try to push something up enough to have some skin to grab with the forceps. I hissed in pain when she gripped the tip of my penis and started pulling. Once she got it out and released it, it at once sucked back in before she could grab it with her fingers.

The doctor sighed in exasperation and told the nurse to take it with her fingers next time and stretch it as much as she could. This process went about as well as it could, considering the indignities. She was finally able to inspect it with her blue light and declared it healthy.

“Becky, hold on for a minute. I want to check something,” said Dr. Bradford. She rummaged around in some drawers on the desk and came back with a small ruler. “Stretch it as much as possible,” she said as she held the ruler up against to top side of my penis and pressed it painfully into my pelvic bone. Becky stretched my diminutive flap of skin enough that I worried that something might tear. I gritted my teeth in agony as the doctor said, “Three and one-eighth inches. Make a note in the chart that he has a micropenis with a bone-pressed, stretched length of 3.125 inches. Look up the percentile and add it as well, please.”

Becky let go, and Mr. Winky sullenly retreated to his hidey-hole. I was told I could sit up, and the doctor pushed the leg support shelf back in. Becky announced, “Zero point zero two percent,” as she typed on the iPad.

Doing some quick math, I silently groaned as I realized that means 99.98% of penises are longer than mine. In a room with 5,000 men, I would be the smallest. I looked up to see the two visiting nurses with matching smirks as they watched comprehension dawn on me.

Dr. Bradford turned to me and sternly said, “Mr. Cook, you need to remember to list micropenis as a medical condition on all intake forms from now on. I don’t care if it’s a dentist, optician, or even a chiropractor. You never know when it could be relevant, and they need your medical history to be able to treat you properly. I will be sure to fax my findings to your general practitioner.”

She then spoke at length about the spot on my back and my pubis. It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably less than 10 minutes. I was kind of in a state of shock about how surreal it was that I was completely naked and dickless, having a conversation with four women. Becky and Dr. Bradford were very professional, but the much younger nurses were whispering and giggling softly.

I missed most of what the doctor was saying. Still, I finally realized that she wanted to biopsy the mole on my pubis (less than an inch from my Invisidick). She told Becky to numb the site and that she would be back to perform the procedure.

As the doctor pushed open the door, the pregnant Hispanic nurse I saw earlier was standing at the nurse’s station with my wife! They instinctively looked into the room without missing a beat, and my wife said, “It must be cold in there!”

She brought down the house with that one-liner. The laughter went on for what seemed like an eternity, the doctor, of course, holding the door wide open the entire time. Once the laughter had died down, the doctor let the door swing shut, but not before my sweet and innocent wife called out, “Love you, honey!” which caused a few snickers in the room.

Now I was down to three women in the room with me (Becky and the Looky-Loos, a potential name for a band?). Becky asked me to lie down, but instead of the shelf extension, she pulled out the stirrups used for gynecology exams and had me put my feet in them. She was then able to scoot her stool up close to administer the numbing agent above my scrotum and penis dimple.

After the busty brunette injected the numbing agent, she rubbed the injection site, and I could feel her breath on my ballsac. Uh oh. Things started shifting, and my innie slowly came out of its burrow, progressing to a raging hard-on (can a 3-inch erection be described as “raging”?)

The two visiting nurses started to snicker again as Nurse Becky gasped, “Did I do that??” All I could do was groan with embarrassment and start making apologies. At that point, the door again swung open, and the doctor breezed into the room, Julie and the pregnant nurse in her wake. My wife said, “I’m here to hold your hand during your procedure,” before bursting into laughter when she noticed the state of affairs. The other five women had differing looks on their faces, ranging from disbelief to glee.

The doctor said, “Well, let’s get started” and took over the stool from the nurse and hurried into place with a collection tube. “It doesn’t appear that we will be able to do the procedure with the stirrups.” With that, she stood up, helped me get my feet out of the stirrups, and pulled out the shelf.

My wife had to give up her spot at my side for the doctor, with Nurse Becky to aid from the other side. The nurse took my pride and joy with her index finger and thumb and bent it towards herself to allow the doctor room to maneuver.

That was all it took. That light touch triggered the biggest orgasm I have had in years. Despite having an erection in the 0% percentile and having proportionately small testicles, I came hard with rope after rope of jism. The first laid a stripe diagonally across Becky’s face and some in her mouth when she yelped in surprise. She let go of my miniature bucking bronco, and it snapped the other way, letting out the second rope onto the doctor’s glasses and nose. The last 3-4 ropes hit my bearded chin and all down my chest and abdomen.

Stunned silence.

“Talk about a hair trigger..” That was my wonderful wife, of course. There was no reaction from anyone to her joke.

The doctor took off her glasses and announced that she would be right back after getting cleaned up. Becky quickly followed without saying a word. The pregnant nurse took some initiative and started cleaning me up with damp paper towels. By the time she got me cleaned up and the procedure site re-sanitized, the source of all my strength and self-worth had retreated to its cave to hibernate for the winter.

Dr. Bradford and Nurse Becky bustled back into the room, all business. “Please get him back in the stirrups now that there is no longer a penis to get in the way,” said the doctor. While Becky was getting me situated, a fire alarm started blaring in the hallway. None of the staff made a move for the door and the pregnant nurse explained to Julie that the fire alarms are tested all the time, and they ignore it when they’re performing procedures.

The doctor carefully removed the mole and placed it into a specimen tube. Nurse Becky took the tube and handed her some gauze. Just as she started applying pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding, we heard running feet and a pounding on distant doors, followed by indistinct yelling. The petite redheaded nurse opened the door, and smoke at once rolled into the room.

There was a general panic in the room before the doctor took charge and started issuing commands. “Becky, get the patient out of these stirrups. Everyone else, get going!” The two voyeurs did not need to be told twice as they ducked out the door and to the right. Julie and Dr. Bradford helped the pregnant nurse navigate the smoke out the door. Meanwhile, Becky helped me out of the stirrups as she coughed and then rushed out of the room.

I couldn’t even see my clothes and belongings through the dense smoke, and I didn’t think I had time for that in any case. My lungs were burning, and my eyes were tearing up as I stumbled toward the door. As I rounded the corner into the hallway, I could barely see Becky about 10 feet away, hurrying toward the faint light of an open door in the distance. I couldn’t keep up, and she faded into the smoke.

It seemed to take an eternity, but I finally made it to the exit. I stumbled out into the fresh air, lungs heaving. I noticed Nurse Becky to my left just before she rounded the corner toward the parking lot. I jogged that way until I noticed a massive crowd of people as I rounded the corner. I panicked and ducked back around the corner to hide my nudity.

My heart was pounding, and my lungs were heaving and still burning from the smoke inhalation, but I couldn’t go out into that crowd in my birthday suit! There was a line of trees about 20 yards from this side of the building. I ran toward the trees and noticed a lot of dense vegetation between them trees. I groaned in despair but only hesitated a moment before somewhat carefully working my way into the foliage.

Every step was painful, and I felt my legs being shredded, but I pushed through. After about 10 feet of dense undergrowth, I came across a walking path. Just as I realized that this very walking path ran past the backyard of my house, I felt excruciating pain from my nut sack. I must have torn it on a thorn in the tall weeds. I stopped at the edge of the walking path to assess the damage.

I became lightheaded and almost passed out when I saw the bloody ruin that was my genitals. After regaining my equilibrium, I took a closer look and started gingerly feeling my nut sack. It seemed intact, but I could feel a small wound stinging under the slick blood. More blood gushed out of my penis hole down over my scrotum. It dawned on me that my mole removal surgery had continued to bleed this whole time and was collecting in my mini-me’s tiny burrow.

Despite the situation, I rolled my eyes and muttered, “That’s the least of my worries…”

Just then, I heard voices coming from just around the bend of the path. Crap! I quickly looked around and ran towards a large tree. I hid behind the tree and tried to control my breathing. I heard the voices of two women talking as they passed by. “…that’s a lot of dark smoke..” They were interrupted by the sound of a large dog barking and then, “Brutus, get back here!”

In a flash, a large brown dog was barking and snarling directly in front of me. I turned to run and smacked my head against a low-hanging branch and fell backward, landing on my butt first but continuing to smack the back of my head on the hard ground. I was pretty dizzy, but I could feel the dog sniffing around my bloody crotch.

“Oh my god!” cried a female voice. “Brutus, get off of him!”

“Marcia, your dog ate his penis! I’m going to call 9-1-1,” said the other female voice.

“Kim, wait,” said Marcia. “We need to get our stories straight. This naked pervert jumped out and attacked us. Brutus defended us.”

“Oh, uh, OK..” said Kim hesitantly.

“Wait!” I shouted. “There’s no need to call 9-1-1, I’m fine. Your dog didn’t eat my dick,” I said as I slowly stood up unsteadily.

“Sir, you must be in shock,” said Kim, a young blonde woman. “Your crotch is all bloody, and your penis is gone,” she continued as she started searching the ground. “Marcia, help me find it!”

Instead of helping Kim look for my missing penis, Marcia took something from her purse and sprayed me right in the face. It was mace, and the pain was excruciating. “Why?!” I shouted.

“I’m not losing Brutus for biting some pervert’s dick off!” Marcia roared.

I ran, tears and snot streaming across my face. My house was about two miles down the walking trail, so I planned to get there before any more people saw me.

Almost at once, I passed an old woman in her backyard watering plants. She stood up, covered her mouth with her hand, and stared but said nothing. A few more houses down, an elderly couple were lounging on a wicker loveseat. The lady giggled, and the man glared daggers at me as I jogged past.

I need to get in better shape, I thought inanely. My feet started hurting and gradually became more painful than the mace in my eyes, the smoke in my lungs, and the cut on my sack. This is by far the worst day of my life.

I jogged past many houses with empty backyards and slowed to a walk to catch my breath. Just when I thought I would make it the rest of the way back to my house unseen, a fit woman in her 30s came jogging the other way. She had short dark hair pulled back into cute little pigtails and was wearing yoga pants and a sports bra, nipples clearly visible. She stopped about 15 feet away, so I stopped also and covered my ruined groin with my hands.

“Are.. you.. OK?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you need me to call you an ambulance?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just trying to get home,” I said dejectedly as tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

“Sir, I think you should let me call 9-1-1 for you.”

“Please don’t. I’m already as embarrassed as I’ve ever been in my life,” I pleaded. “Maybe you could call my wife?”

“Of course,” she said sympathetically as she approached carefully as though I was a wounded animal that might dart away at any moment. “What’s her name and phone number? Oh, and your name. By the way, I’m Robin.”

I gave her the information, and she made the call but had to leave a message. “Hi Julie, my name is Robin. I have your husband, Glenn, and he’s injured. He doesn’t want an ambulance, so I’m going to take him home and try to help him.” She gave her number and address, told my wife that she should just come right in when she arrived, and ended the call.

“OK, Glenn, come with me, and I’ll see what I can do for you,” she said kindly. “Before we go to my house, which is right there.” She pointed at a beige house about three doors down. “Honey, can you tell me what happened to your penis?” she asked gently. “If we can find it, I’m sure they can re-attach it.”

I pointed at my mangled genitals and managed to get out, “It’s here,” before sobbing harder.

Robin took my hand and led me to her house. Unfortunately, we had to go around to the front. A few cars drove by slowly, passengers clearly rubbernecking.

Once inside, Robin asked me to wait in the foyer for a moment while she got a blanket to throw over the couch. With that done, she had me lie down on the couch so she could take a look. She gently moved my hands to my sides and said, “Oh. I don’t see a stump or wound where your penis should be. The bleeding seems to be coming from a cut just above. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

She hurried out of the living room and came back a few minutes later with a first aid kit and a damp washcloth. The nice lady started to wipe away the blood, working from the surgery site to my scrotum. “This is not nearly as bad as it initially looked, Glenn. You’re going to be OK,” she smiled. “Can you tell me how you lost your penis? Or were you born without one?”

“I have one. It just usually hides inside,” I whispered as my face reddened.

“Not again,” I groaned as my innie became an outie once more.

All of the blood that had pooled in my inside-out dick spilled out. Just then, we heard the door open, and my wife’s voice called out, “Hello?”

Robin yelled, “Back here!” and started wiping up around my three-inch erection and then worked on the short shaft and head.

She gripped the shaft with her index finger and thumb as she wiped with the other hand. Once again, I was on a hair trigger, and my little friend started convulsing. Only a small amount of cum seeped out and down the sides. Of course, my wife walked upright as if this was happening. “Oh honey, again?” she asked with a tone of profound disappointment.

Robin, on her knees in front of the couch, was stunned. Before she could think to clean up the tiny amount of jizz, my penis shrunk down to nothing and disappeared into my body for what seemed like the 100th time today. She had to cover her index finger with a wet wipe, stick it into the hole, and swish it around. I was being finger-fucked for the second time by a second woman, with my wife watching for the second time.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today, I thought, feeling sorry for myself.

“Hello, I’m Julie,” my wife said to Robin. “Thank you for taking care of my husband.”

After pleasantries were exchanged, Julie turned to me. She said, “The police are searching the neighborhood for a naked pervert that attacked two women and whose dick was then bitten off by their dog. Should I assume that was you?”

“I didn’t attack anyone!” I nearly shouted. “I was hiding behind a tree, and their dog attacked me! Then, the one woman sprayed me with mace and made up the whole story!”

Before Julie could respond, someone knocked firmly on the front door.

 

To Be Continued…

 

*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, formatting errors, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Even with the limited editing done here, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed (That’s the author’s job). The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story has been previously published on other free sites and is now public domain, which is why we can publish it here.