From time to time I have seen on this board experiences reported which seem highly unlikely – interesting but which sound more imaginative than real. What I am about to relate happened to me exactly as I will describe it. But for you to accept and savor it depends on your ability to accept that a surprising coincidence happened. I swear it did and that the details of this story are exactly true.
I was born just before WWII in the Roslindale section of Boston, living from the ages of 3 through 7 near Florence St. In the house next to ours lived the T—ey family that included the oldest girl, Jill, who was 7 or 8 years older than me, and her three younger brothers, one my age (who I never much liked) and two younger still, the youngest being Georgie.
Jill was an energetic, attractive girl with a slim build, a good sense of humor and eyes that really looked into you. My mother sometimes referred to her as bold, I thought of her as an older sister/mother type, and in retrospect she seems best described as a “take charge” person. She often baby-sat my brother and me and we liked her. I can remember her giving us bedtime baths, and occasional lights swat on our backsides if we misbehaved.
I am not circumcised and about the age of 5 or 6 developed some sort of rash under my foreskin. Treatment was a thorough soap-and-water cleaning followed by applying oil to the glans. My mother was very uncomfortable touching me there (she read books about how to raise kids), so usually it was done by her or my father with a cotton puff. But when Jill gave us a bath she just went ahead and soaped up my penis, rubbing it thoroughly and giving me a stiff little erection and then oiled it, sliding my foreskin up and down. I can recall her drying me outside the tub and my standing there with a nice feeling in my upright little penis – not yet identified by me as a sexual feeling – and then Jill hugging me to her and putting me to bed.
In addition to having a loving disposition, she had a fiery temper, which I experienced to my dismay on one memorable occasion. One day, when the roof of my house was being re-shingled and the ground was covered with the scraped-off shingle pieces, I discovered how well they could be scaled through the air. My younger brother and I began scaling them, including over the fence into Jill’s yard. It was a solid fence and we could not see over it. She came around the fence and angrily told me to stop or she would spank me because Georgie was playing in the yard and I could “put his eye out”.
We tried to scale them in only our own yard, but one went over the fence by mistake and was quickly followed first by a yelp from Georgie and then by his very angry older sister. She grabbed me by my wrist, dragged me around the fence into her back door, picked up Georgie with her other hand and took us both into her living room. After looking at Georgie’s leg – there was not even blood, just a red mark – she dragged me over to the sofa, stripped off my shorts, underpants and for some reason my shirt until I was totally nude, put me over her lap and proceeded to give me the spanking of my young life. When I was screaming in pain and begging her to stop, she stood me up, grabbed my wrist, marched me over to where Georgie was still whimpering, pointed out where the shingle had hit him, and, re-infuriated by the scene, began to spank me again harder than ever, this time while I was standing beside her and she was holding my wrist. In addition to hurting like blazes, I clearly remember realizing how strong she was. She knew how to spank since she often spanked her younger brothers, they had told me.
Now comes the big coincidence. A few months after the spanking incident my family moved to another part of Roslindale and a few years later to another Boston suburb (also technically a part of Boston). When I was 19 and in my second year of college – now 12 years after we had moved from the house beside Jill’s house – I discovered a small growth of some sort on the meatus of my penis, right near the opening of the urethra. Of course I was terrified. Eventually I got to a urologist who said he would cauterize it, but also wanted to perform a cystoscopy – a procedure in which a thin tube is inserted into the urethra with a light for the purpose of inspecting the inside of the bladder. This was about 1959 and in those days such a procedure required a 2 or 3 day stay in the hospital.
When I checked into the hospital, an attractive nurse in her late twenties met me at the admitting desk and led me to sort of an examination room. I say “sort of” because at one end, around a corner to the left of the entrance door was a screened off area. At the other end of the room were lockers, tables and chairs, and, it turned out, a coffee machine. The nurse ushered me into the area that had a curtain hanging from the ceiling. She did not draw the curtain, but instead told me go behind a standing screen, remove my clothes and put them in a large basket she provided. Then I was to put on a gown, open side forward. I did this, tying the strings in front securely. .
When I came out she smiled at me, addressed me by my first name, not the more expected “Mr. ——“, and asked me if I recognized her. She had looked familiar but I could not place her. Then she told me. It was Jill T—ey! Now she was a nurse! We briefly exchanged pleasantries, got caught up on who was where, etc. She was much more interested in this than I was – I don’t know whether this was because I was now a sophisticated college sophomore, or because I vaguely recalled the spanking or because I was concerned about my health, or what. In any case, I guess I was a bit standoffish. She said she had to check me in and do a few things so she proceeded to draw blood, take my temperature, blood pressure, etc.
Then she said she had to prep me for the procedure the next morning and asked me to lie down on the examining table. I did so. She opened my gown and, holding my penis in her left hand, used a pair of scissors to snip off the pubic hair around it and my testicles. Her hand was warm and she was talking throughout the procedure, chatting away in a familiar, ordinary way. She asked me to draw my knees up to my chest and spread my legs as much as I could so she could snip underneath my testicles. I did so and she moved her left hand to my testicles, lifting them up and out of the way. At about this time, since the curtain had never been drawn, I was aware that other people had entered the room and glanced nervously over at them. It was two other women, one a nurse the other a candy striper, and they had sat down at the table about 30 feet away, after getting some coffee. “Don’t worry,” Jill said, “they are just nurses too” as she continued with her snipping.
Now as you can imagine, by this time I was getting hard. Her warm hand on my genitals, my recollections of my childhood experiences with Jill, her attractiveness and the entire situation of being essentially nude in the company of three woman – all conspired to cause my penis to assert its own opinion of the situation. A hard, albeit unrequested, opinion. She told me to lower my knees, but as I did so my penis erected still further and I was aware that it was sticking straight up now. But Jill seemed to ignore my quivering manhood completely, smiled at me with those intense eyes, and told me that she did the shaving in two steps to make sure she did not knick me with the razor.
Jill then produced a can of shaving cream and a Gillette, double-edge safety razor, exactly like the one I shaved my face with. She shook the can, spurted some into her hand and spread it over my pubic area and testicles. Again she grasped my penis in her left hand – it was now rigid and up out of the way on its own but she wrapped her warm fingers around it anyway – and proceeded to carefully shave my pubic area around its base, up my belly and even partly onto my thighs. Then she turned my attention to my testicles, pulling the scrotal skin taut with her left hand and shaving with her right. When she was done, she once again had me raise my knees to my chest and shaved my perineal area. She finished by cleaning me up with a wet towel and then drying me. I have to tell you there was a naturalness about how she did it that reminded me then of how she had bathed and dried me when I was a child and she was my baby-sitter. And she was chatting away warmly throughout it all, occasionally touching casually my now ragingly hard erection with a maddening softness.
Next she had me stand up and returned to the side desk to check her clipboard. I was now directly exposed to the two other women, drinking coffee at the end of the room. As I said I was 19 when this happened and I was in pretty good physical shape. I am exactly 6 feet tall and I had been lifting weights and swimming for several years before. Also, I was proud as any 19-year old male of my penis, especially when it reached its very solid, thick and straight 8.75 inch erection (yes, I had measured it!). That independent, prideful erection was now standing up at a 45-degree angle from my belly, and its foreskin was slowly peeling back. And both women were looking at it – I swear this is true – and the pretty candy striper who was about my age or slightly younger was smiling. She had blond hair.
Jill returned from the side desk with the clipboard and said she had forgotten to weigh me and take my physical measurements. She led me to the scale and asked me get on it. I was now in profile to the other women. She said that she really should weigh me without the gown. That gown was covering only my backside at this point and probably weighed less than a few ounces. But she lifted it off my shoulders anyway and slid it down my arms until I was totally nude in front of her. I mounted the scale, my erection bobbing tightly as I did so. Facing me, she adjusted the weights on the balance bar, recorded my weight (a bit less than it is now!), had me turn round, again with my erection bobbing, and moved around the scale to face me. She produced a cloth tape measure and with it measured my chest and waist. She then draped the cloth tape over my erection (I kid you not!), had me turn around again – more bobbing – and adjusted the height bar on the scale to the top of my head.
That done she asked me to step down. More bobbing. I was extremely excited by now and my foreskin had pulled back almost completely, and my penis was as erected and as hard as it has ever been, before or since. I wanted to adjust the foreskin, but somehow resisted doing so in front of Jill and the other two women. She looked directly at the empurpled glans as she slid her tape measure off my erection – to this day I wonder if she was checking for that childhood rash of so many years ago – watched it a moment, smiled at me and told me to put my gown back on. She put her hand on my bottom as she guided me to my gown, which was about 6 feet away on the examining table. My rock hard penis bobbed and wagged with every step and I was acutely aware of the maddening tickle the bobbing created, acutely aware of the two other women watching me. The blonde candy striper was still smiling.
As I put it on the two other women finished their coffee, got up and walked past me toward the door. I had put the gown on with the opening in the front, so my erection was still standing out, proudly and of course visibly, from between the folds. The candy striper, almost giggling, told me I had it on backwards as she passed me. I was of course red-faced and flustered by this time, so Jill helped my by first removing it and then putting it back on me with the opening in the back. Of course this meant the gown tented out in front, but at last I felt a modicum of privacy finally return. Jill told me she would be back for me in a while and left the room and I could sit and wait. I wanted greatly to masturbate and was sure I would ejaculate quickly if I did, but I was afraid Jill would return, or someone else would come into the room, as I was doing so. So I did not. After 15 or 20 minutes my erection subsided so the tenting was no longer visible. Shortly later Jill returned, put me in a wheelchair (for reasons I still don’t understand) and wheeled me through the hospital to my bed.
The cystoscopy itself was pretty uneventful. The next morning I was awakened early, given a pill and by the time I was on the operating table, and asked to put my feet in the stirrups, I was pretty groggy. Next thing I knew I was waking up late in the day back in my bed. I had to pee, could not get the nurse to respond, so got up and walked into the men’s room. Two nurses came running in after me and it was good they did, because as I tried to pee I felt both pain in my penis and dizziness in my head. They put their shoulders under my arms and helped me back to bed.
As I said at the beginning, I know that a lot of people reading this may not believe these events actually happened. I assert they did, and as closely to what I have reported as I am capable of reporting. Many years later I wondered why I did not object to being so clearly put on display by Jill. After all, for about 10 minutes I was paraded, humiliatingly naked, erect – indeed stiffly, uprightly erect – in front of several women for their emotional and sexual gratification. Part of the reason was that, back in 1959, I was naïve. Also, the whole thing unfolded gradually and each scene fell naturally upon its predecessor. I think Jill took advantage of the coincidence of my coming into the hospital when she going to be on duty (or perhaps she learned I was coming and engineered her presence). She did it for her own purposes, her own gratification and that of her friends, I believe, in part from our earlier history. Nor am I angry about it now, although from time to time I have been embarrassed about recollecting it. In fact it was exciting in a way that its recollection has been sexually stimulating to me from time to time.
What it also did was establish for me as true several things that various people today take as untrue. For one, some women (probably most) get strong gratification from controlling and viewing naked men, especially sexually aroused men, at least at some point in their lives. Two, many men, myself included, get both sexual gratification and an autonomous sexual reaction from being naked in front of women. One and two together mean that exhibitionism is both mutual and interactive between the genders. Three, not all examples of “sexual harassment” are completely wrong, and many are clearly instigated by women.