I had stopped off in Partick on my way home having left work an hour early and strolled up and down Dumbarton Road for a while before I settled upon the Clyde Valley. This was before I used to frequent it with my brother in recent times. It was about 5 years ago.
It was just after 4pm on a weekday and it was relatively busy. I drew a few looks as I walked in. I don't think it's a normal watering hole for men in suits. I ordered a pint and stayed at the bar, standing with my back against it to view the customers. I felt good standing there in my suit. Smart, tidy. I felt quite cool.
The bar area was busy and there was little space. I soon attracted the drunken attentions of two women standing next to me. These weren't nubile blondes. Remember it was half four on a weekday in Partick. Any nubile blondes are either at home or walking along Dumbarton Road with their prams, possibly standing in groups with a few neds standing close by (the fathers?) and giving renditions of their social loves to the passing public ie. "Haw yous.." "Ah says tae him, and he says tae me..." "Ya cunt..." Ya fanny..." etc etc etc.
I think any nubility in this pair vanished several decades ago, if it was ever there.
"Aright pal?"
"Hello" I said nodding courteously to acknowledge their presence...in my presence, sort of thing.
I then directed my eyes back to the high television screen hoping to hell they wouldn't talk to me again.
"Yer lookin' awfy smart rer in yer suit 'n that"
"Uh, thanks...thank you" nodding courteously again.
"Very attractive"
"Oh..uh, thanks" Please fuck right off I thought.
"Aye, yer lookin' awfy smart rer in yer suit 'n that. That's a nice tie you've goat oan"
I thought I was about to get fucking mugged and searched about quickly for the group of accomplices to start furtively looking around and move in on me. Nothing though.
"Thanks very much." I said, still nervous.
"D'yd dae?"
"What?" I said
"D'yd dae?" one said nodding as if to emphasise the question.
"Sorry , what?"
"Whit dae ye dae?". She said louder in that whiny Glasgow voice. It wasn't her accent that I couldn't catch as I like to think I can understand most of the Glesca vernacular. It's just that she was mumbling like a drunken hobo.
"Oh right!. What's my job?" Why the fuck didn't you just say that?
"Aye"
It's not important what I do, or what I told them, but I made up some shite to make myself sound more interesting, and they appeared impressed.
I'd had most of my pint and I was weighing up my options of ordering another and drinking it fairly rapidly and having to visit the bog before I left, and possibly losing the suit and the wallet in the process or just finish up and leave.
One of the women moved closer to me, about as close as she could get without actual fornication taking place.
Suddenly she reached out to the front of my jacket, grabbed my tie, and I thought Christ, this is it, I'm getting mugged, watch for others coming in, watch for the hand going to the wallet, don't let them get my watch, watch my pockets.....wallet, wallet, wallet!!
She said...
" 'Next'....silk....that's a nice tie"
"Thanks", heavy breathing. Watching her grubby smoke stained calloused hand stroking my silk tie. I could just imagine the rough skin ripping the hell out of the silk and grimaced at the thought but kept watching for any sign of movement towards my inside pocket.
To this day I still thank God she never pulled open my jacket to look at the label there.
George from Asda. That would have killed it right there.
Monday, 28 July 2008
Seat Sniffer
Many years ago I was on a works Christmas night out with my girlfriend at a pub in Shawlands. It was her work night out. She worked for the council... as a joiner. A joiner. It did come in handy on occasions.
It follows then that all of her colleagues were men and I don't think they had ever seen her in a dress and were quite amazed, as she usually wore a boiler suit at work. I'm setting the scene. These guys weren't polite and reserved chaps.
The night wore on, the drink flowed. About halfway through the night my girlfriend was at the toilet and there was a bit of moving about between out group and the group next to us. About half of us were sitting round a couple of tables and there was a spare seat.
One of the guys went to sit in it and one guy held his hand up to stop him and said "Oh no, you cannae sit there, there's a lassie sittin' there". Very courteous.
The other man then did something I had never seen before and have never seen since.
He bent very quickly and with his nose to the material of the seat, ran a line from the front of the seat to the back, took a long deep breath in and stood up and breathed out slowly, and said "Aaahh".
The reaction was that everyone laughed, including me. What the hell was I going to do? Call him a pervert? In front of all his friends?
It follows then that all of her colleagues were men and I don't think they had ever seen her in a dress and were quite amazed, as she usually wore a boiler suit at work. I'm setting the scene. These guys weren't polite and reserved chaps.
The night wore on, the drink flowed. About halfway through the night my girlfriend was at the toilet and there was a bit of moving about between out group and the group next to us. About half of us were sitting round a couple of tables and there was a spare seat.
One of the guys went to sit in it and one guy held his hand up to stop him and said "Oh no, you cannae sit there, there's a lassie sittin' there". Very courteous.
The other man then did something I had never seen before and have never seen since.
He bent very quickly and with his nose to the material of the seat, ran a line from the front of the seat to the back, took a long deep breath in and stood up and breathed out slowly, and said "Aaahh".
The reaction was that everyone laughed, including me. What the hell was I going to do? Call him a pervert? In front of all his friends?
He Takes A Good Picture
I was walking on Argyle Street in my lunchhour and I saw an old man walking along clicking his white cane back and forth on the pavement. He had a camera slung around his neck. Quite a large one with a big lens. Probably cost a few bob.
A camera around his neck.
He's blind.
A camera around his neck.
He's blind.
Personality Transplant
One of my colleagues overheard this gem on a bus at 5pm one day recently. It was full with commuters.
There were a few people standing and at the front was a man holding a small baby. Someone pressed the bell to stop the bus at the next stop, but stood where they were, holding on to stay safe while the bus was still moving.
The bus kept going at the next stop and the man with the baby said to the driver there were people wanting off. The driver said...
"Well there's no-one down here waiting to get off and I can't fucking stop in between stops"
So the passenger had to stay where they were. Going round George Square there was a car parked at the corner which gave the driver a bit of trouble turning so he sounded the horn then let rip with a torrent of abuse at the parked car...which was unoccupied.
The man with the baby said to him "I think you should calm down a little"
The driver turned to him and said "I think you need a fucking personality transplant, what the fuck are you doing telling me that?!!"
Some re-training perhaps?
There were a few people standing and at the front was a man holding a small baby. Someone pressed the bell to stop the bus at the next stop, but stood where they were, holding on to stay safe while the bus was still moving.
The bus kept going at the next stop and the man with the baby said to the driver there were people wanting off. The driver said...
"Well there's no-one down here waiting to get off and I can't fucking stop in between stops"
So the passenger had to stay where they were. Going round George Square there was a car parked at the corner which gave the driver a bit of trouble turning so he sounded the horn then let rip with a torrent of abuse at the parked car...which was unoccupied.
The man with the baby said to him "I think you should calm down a little"
The driver turned to him and said "I think you need a fucking personality transplant, what the fuck are you doing telling me that?!!"
Some re-training perhaps?
Saturday, 26 July 2008
Half Price Hand Jobs
Some years ago I was working overtime on a Saturday at my office. My routine was to get in as early as possible, do a full 7 hours and get home for the early afternoon. This meant I would be up around 5am, train at 6am, in for 7am. You'd be amazed at the type of people that are around the centre of Glasgow at that time.
You can see the people still drunk from the night before, the homeless, the neds who can appear anywhere at anytime with seemingly no reason to be there, early morning travellers with the suitcases and the excited chattering, the people going to work, the people at work sweeping the streets and picking up the crap the drunk people dropped the night before, and then the others.
On one particular Saturday morning a few weeks ago I was standing at Central Station in Glasgow at the exit on Gordon Street. I had gone into the newsagents to get a newspaper and was going to walk the short distance to my office but realised I had about 15 minutes before it opened and looked round and saw a few people who caught my interest, so I stood against the wall and watched.
The people that caught my eye were a couple. They looked as though they had been on a long night out. She was dressed in a mini skirt as and other skimpy items. He was dressed relatively casually. An odd couple. They were talking to each other, but after only a minute she walked away from him, turned towards the station exit and started walking towards me. There were a few people around and I thought she may be trying to get a cigarette from someone.
This is the conversation as best as I can recall it word for word.
"Hi there"
"Hi"
"What are you up to?"
"Just reading the paper for a while, before I go to work"
"You going to work?"
"Yup"
"You work in town?"
"Aye, just a couple of blocks away"
"When you do you start?"
"Around seven"
"That's good you're going to work"
"Mmmm"
"I work as well"
"Oh right"
"I'm a working girl"
"Oh right......oohhh, right"
(pause, while she looked around, and I watched her)
"Are you looking for business?"
"No, I'm not, I am going to work in a few minutes"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, I'm sorry I'm not interested"
(pause while she was considering options)
"Look, I've finished for the night, but I need some money for the bus home"
(finished working as a hooker after a whole night and no money for the bus? pimp?)
"Sorry, I'm really not interested."
"I really need some money for the bus home."
"I'm really sorry but I can't help."
(long pause while we both looked around. a rather awkward pause)
Suddenly intrigued I said... "Umm, what exactly could you do?"
"Handjob fiver, blowjob twenty, full sex forty" reeled off as quick as you like.
You can see the people still drunk from the night before, the homeless, the neds who can appear anywhere at anytime with seemingly no reason to be there, early morning travellers with the suitcases and the excited chattering, the people going to work, the people at work sweeping the streets and picking up the crap the drunk people dropped the night before, and then the others.
On one particular Saturday morning a few weeks ago I was standing at Central Station in Glasgow at the exit on Gordon Street. I had gone into the newsagents to get a newspaper and was going to walk the short distance to my office but realised I had about 15 minutes before it opened and looked round and saw a few people who caught my interest, so I stood against the wall and watched.
The people that caught my eye were a couple. They looked as though they had been on a long night out. She was dressed in a mini skirt as and other skimpy items. He was dressed relatively casually. An odd couple. They were talking to each other, but after only a minute she walked away from him, turned towards the station exit and started walking towards me. There were a few people around and I thought she may be trying to get a cigarette from someone.
This is the conversation as best as I can recall it word for word.
"Hi there"
"Hi"
"What are you up to?"
"Just reading the paper for a while, before I go to work"
"You going to work?"
"Yup"
"You work in town?"
"Aye, just a couple of blocks away"
"When you do you start?"
"Around seven"
"That's good you're going to work"
"Mmmm"
"I work as well"
"Oh right"
"I'm a working girl"
"Oh right......oohhh, right"
(pause, while she looked around, and I watched her)
"Are you looking for business?"
"No, I'm not, I am going to work in a few minutes"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, I'm sorry I'm not interested"
(pause while she was considering options)
"Look, I've finished for the night, but I need some money for the bus home"
(finished working as a hooker after a whole night and no money for the bus? pimp?)
"Sorry, I'm really not interested."
"I really need some money for the bus home."
"I'm really sorry but I can't help."
(long pause while we both looked around. a rather awkward pause)
Suddenly intrigued I said... "Umm, what exactly could you do?"
"Handjob fiver, blowjob twenty, full sex forty" reeled off as quick as you like.
I never realised it was so cheap, but I suppose it's like the stock market and supply and demand causes fluctuations in prices.
I said "No, thanks anyway", and then she said the immortal words...
"I'll do it for halfprice"
A handjob for £2.50. Fuck me. That's a bargain.
I didn't.
The Spar Shop Beggar
The Spar shop is a wonderment.
On a very recent travel up north this week I found it very difficult to find mainstream shops like Asda, Morrisons, Tesco, etc. All I saw was Spar shops. I'm talking north of Inverness.
Anyway, I have a Spar shop not too far from me, and one Sunday morning about 6 weeks ago I had reason to go there on a Sunday morning. I usually drive there. It's fucking sad I know. It takes just over five minutes walking, but...I drive there. It's about 50 seconds in the car. God, this is shocking actually. I must change.
Anyway. A few weeks ago I go to get milk for the in-laws who were over, and I walk past the chemist on the way to the Spar shop, and there's a man sitting on the low wall outside the chemist. He's in a tracksuit. Need I say anymore at all.
I look ahead and some of the staff of the Spar shop are outside for a smokebreak.
As I pass, the man gets my attention and asks me if I have any change for food. I give him a very quick up and down appraisal and say "No, sorry" and walk on. The man wasn't badly dressed. He sure as shit wasn't homeless and if he was that poor for food he was in some serious shit to be begging for it outside the Spar shop on a Sunday.
I bought my supplies on the Spar shop and on the way out the staff asked me what the man had said.
"He just asked me for some money for food"
"Aye, he always does that. Every Sunday. It's no' food though. It's drink"
It then seemed so blatantly obvious. Apparently he was also waiting for his methadone from the chemist when that opened. It seems he sits on that wall every Sunday morning and begs for cash....for drink. Cans of Tennants. (a small point - you can't buy alcohol before 12.30pm on a Sunday in Scotland. I know. I've tried.)
The staff told me one morning 'a little old lady' passed him and was completely oblivious to his ulterior motive, as I was. When he asked he for some pennies for food, she went into the Spar shop and bought a couple of pre-packed sandwiches and went back out and handed them over. According to the staff he was mighty pissed off.
I might take along some leftovers from my Saturday night curry in a wee box and offer that to him. I'd just love to have a shouting match with him...
"No, you fuck off"
"No, you fuck off"
"No, you fuck off"
"No, YOU FUCK OFF YA CUNT" etc etc etc.
On a very recent travel up north this week I found it very difficult to find mainstream shops like Asda, Morrisons, Tesco, etc. All I saw was Spar shops. I'm talking north of Inverness.
Anyway, I have a Spar shop not too far from me, and one Sunday morning about 6 weeks ago I had reason to go there on a Sunday morning. I usually drive there. It's fucking sad I know. It takes just over five minutes walking, but...I drive there. It's about 50 seconds in the car. God, this is shocking actually. I must change.
Anyway. A few weeks ago I go to get milk for the in-laws who were over, and I walk past the chemist on the way to the Spar shop, and there's a man sitting on the low wall outside the chemist. He's in a tracksuit. Need I say anymore at all.
I look ahead and some of the staff of the Spar shop are outside for a smokebreak.
As I pass, the man gets my attention and asks me if I have any change for food. I give him a very quick up and down appraisal and say "No, sorry" and walk on. The man wasn't badly dressed. He sure as shit wasn't homeless and if he was that poor for food he was in some serious shit to be begging for it outside the Spar shop on a Sunday.
I bought my supplies on the Spar shop and on the way out the staff asked me what the man had said.
"He just asked me for some money for food"
"Aye, he always does that. Every Sunday. It's no' food though. It's drink"
It then seemed so blatantly obvious. Apparently he was also waiting for his methadone from the chemist when that opened. It seems he sits on that wall every Sunday morning and begs for cash....for drink. Cans of Tennants. (a small point - you can't buy alcohol before 12.30pm on a Sunday in Scotland. I know. I've tried.)
The staff told me one morning 'a little old lady' passed him and was completely oblivious to his ulterior motive, as I was. When he asked he for some pennies for food, she went into the Spar shop and bought a couple of pre-packed sandwiches and went back out and handed them over. According to the staff he was mighty pissed off.
I might take along some leftovers from my Saturday night curry in a wee box and offer that to him. I'd just love to have a shouting match with him...
"No, you fuck off"
"No, you fuck off"
"No, you fuck off"
"No, YOU FUCK OFF YA CUNT" etc etc etc.
The Spar Shop In A Hula Skirt
Tonight as I walked to the Spar shop to buy a Euromillions ticket to get me out of this hole, I saw a rather startling sight.
In the queue to get money from the autoteller was a girl...woman, late teens I would say with blonde hair, a tight white strappy top (no bra - I mention purely for information so you get the whole picture...it was a bit cold), strappy white/straw effect high-heel sandals.....
..and a grass hula skirt.
She also had on a large necklace of fake flowers. Fuck know where she thinks she was going. She didn't look lost. Beside her on a low wall was a slightly drunk woman counting her money, legs splayed, low cut top...lower than it should be showing off her pink flowery bra to any bloke who wanted to look, and there was a few (inc. me), given the girl in the hula skirt at the autoteller.
I wish I'd had reason to stay. And watch.
In the queue to get money from the autoteller was a girl...woman, late teens I would say with blonde hair, a tight white strappy top (no bra - I mention purely for information so you get the whole picture...it was a bit cold), strappy white/straw effect high-heel sandals.....
..and a grass hula skirt.
She also had on a large necklace of fake flowers. Fuck know where she thinks she was going. She didn't look lost. Beside her on a low wall was a slightly drunk woman counting her money, legs splayed, low cut top...lower than it should be showing off her pink flowery bra to any bloke who wanted to look, and there was a few (inc. me), given the girl in the hula skirt at the autoteller.
I wish I'd had reason to stay. And watch.
A Tear To A Glass Eye
It's good to know that people are still reading this and to receive a comment only a few hours after posting for the first time in over 3 months is certainly encouraging. I literally have only looked at my own blog a handful of times in that period. As a wise man once said "That would bring a tear to a glass eye". I say wise, I think he was mostly pissed. It was my pal, Belzo.
I had a look at my stats by way of onestat.com, a site which tells me how many people look at it on each day/week/month etc, and their locations.
Even today I have people reading my blog from Chicago, Valkenswaard in the Netherlands, Calcutta (Calcutta!), Cardiff, Dundee and Glasgow of course. Even in the 'dead' period, it has still been looked at every day with an average of around 7 hits a day. It's not quite at Bloodbus level yet but we're getting there.
A while ago I registered this site on a kind of ratings/blogger award site which I came across by chance in my internet travels.
Basically bloggers register their blogs, people vote for a blog, and something happens at the end of the year. I don't know what. So far I have 2 votes. Me and my brother.
I added my site in March this year and deliberately didn't advertise the fact on my blog to see if anything happened via that ratings site. Nope. So I'm advertising it now. Vote for me. At the moment I have one more vote than Bloodbus.com, so that's something.
Go to www.bloggerschoiceawards.com, search on the word 'Glasgow', go under the category Best Humour Blog, and then vote. I think you have to register in order to vote but don't let that put you off, you're not handing over bank details or anything.
I see, even now, the top blogger is about a woman with Cystic Fibrosis, and she only has 953 votes. Doesn't sound alot. I'm not particularly keen on knocking a woman with CF off the topspot, but needs must. So if you can, vote.
I had a look at my stats by way of onestat.com, a site which tells me how many people look at it on each day/week/month etc, and their locations.
Even today I have people reading my blog from Chicago, Valkenswaard in the Netherlands, Calcutta (Calcutta!), Cardiff, Dundee and Glasgow of course. Even in the 'dead' period, it has still been looked at every day with an average of around 7 hits a day. It's not quite at Bloodbus level yet but we're getting there.
A while ago I registered this site on a kind of ratings/blogger award site which I came across by chance in my internet travels.
Basically bloggers register their blogs, people vote for a blog, and something happens at the end of the year. I don't know what. So far I have 2 votes. Me and my brother.
I added my site in March this year and deliberately didn't advertise the fact on my blog to see if anything happened via that ratings site. Nope. So I'm advertising it now. Vote for me. At the moment I have one more vote than Bloodbus.com, so that's something.
Go to www.bloggerschoiceawards.com, search on the word 'Glasgow', go under the category Best Humour Blog, and then vote. I think you have to register in order to vote but don't let that put you off, you're not handing over bank details or anything.
I see, even now, the top blogger is about a woman with Cystic Fibrosis, and she only has 953 votes. Doesn't sound alot. I'm not particularly keen on knocking a woman with CF off the topspot, but needs must. So if you can, vote.
Friday, 25 July 2008
Tests and Testicles
I've had a little while away from blogging. I lost the drive to do it daily for a while as there was some other things hanging over me like potentially losing my job and going for hospital tests in my nether regions.
Anyway, after a period of some uncertainty at work, we are moving to another location so that's a load off.
On the other subject I've mentioned before about some tests I had done at the hospital. The one I had recently. I received a letter for a testicular ultrasound. I started reading up on it, to find out what was involved and what exactly would be done to me. It did sound very simple.
I had to let my boss know that I was going for a test. My new female boss. I mentioned I was going in for a scan and she told me to bring the letter in as proof, so I did. When I gave it to her the next day she asked casually "What type of scan is it?" I said "Umm, have a look at the letter." She did, and I think she wished she'd never asked. Her eyebrows lifted and she just said "Oh". No more was said about it.
At the hospital a couple of weeks ago, I was kept waiting for a while in the room while other people went in the be scanned. Every time a patient was taken into the room by the male nurse, a suited man in his late 50s would drift in a few minutes later, then come out after about 5 minutes and leave. I deduced very quickly this was the doctor who was just in there to do the scan and leave.
It was late on a Thursday afternoon and the clinic was running late. I was last to be taken and the nurse apologised for keeping me.
When he eventually took me in I shed my suit jacket and he advised me to lay back on the low cushioned bed. He said just to push my trousers and underwear down to my knees and he very courteously tore off a large section of the paper roll and draped it over me to protect my modesty while I whipped down my tweeds. When I was done I lay back and tried to relax.
He said the doctor would be in shortly. About 60 seconds later this female walked in wearing blue scrubs. "Hello, the doctor's busy at the moment, do you mind if I do the scan for you?"
Female, late 30s, long brown wavy hair, pristine hospital scrubs, sexy as hell, asking if she can do some work on my balls for a few minutes.
"No, that's fine" I said.
She sat down on a low swivel stool beside the scanner and explained she was going to apply some gel to my testicles to help the scan. Don't get hard, don't get hard, don't get hard.
She lifted the torn paper sheet back and then picked up my cock in her right hand and very casually said "Can you hold this back please?". I looked down and there it was...looking no' bad. At that moment I thanked a higher being. I was not shrivelled to a point of non existence but I was looking quite 'full'. We did the handover of my penis and I held it against my belly. This is not weird at all.
"This may be cold" she said as she started smearing some gel over my balls. I'll remember this for some time.
Well, I can tell you - she worked those balls. It took about 15 minutes while this female played around with my testicles...while I held my cock in my left hand...while a male nurse watched. I wouldn't have been so uncomfortable with it all if the nurse was a 20 year old blonde. I spent the time staring at the ceiling. With no pillow it was a bit awkward to lift my head and watch what she was doing to me, much as I would have liked to.
So after the scan she said there was nothing to worry about. She gave me some information and I asked a few questions. Unfortunately the question and answer session was going on while I was trying to get dressed.
Getting dressed wasn't too easy as, if you recall my testicles were smeared with gel. It was my job to get the gel off. I don't think that's part of the service. So the nurse handed me a wad of tissues and I wiped, all the while standing up having a conversation with the doctor and trying to hang on to my trousers so they didn't fall completely around my ankles.
There was a slightly awkward moment when I was trying to talk to the doctor about the tubes in my testicles and I held my hand out for more tissues from the nurse and he grabbed the damp ones from my hand and put them in the bin thinking I was done. My balls were still wet and sticky and he goes to leave. "No no no, can I have some more" I said holding the waistband of my trousers so they didn't fall down and the hem of my shirt so it didn't fall against me and get gel all over it.
He gave me some more but it was very awkward to get everything off and it got to a point when I thought 'fuck it, I'll just leave it" and I gave up the fight for a gel-free scrotum.
My last moment of embarrassment happened as I went to leave. I thought I'd done quite well up til that point considering I'd had to hold my own cock for 15 minutes in front of two strangers and then clean my testicles...in front of two strangers. I picked up my messenger-style work bag and went to casually sling it over my shoulder as I was walking out, but it caught on the handle on the end of hospital bed and jerked me backwards. I felt a complete arse as I stood there trying to untangle it as they watched.
But it's not all bad. I've got to keep my job and my testicles. So that's a bonus.
Anyway, after a period of some uncertainty at work, we are moving to another location so that's a load off.
On the other subject I've mentioned before about some tests I had done at the hospital. The one I had recently. I received a letter for a testicular ultrasound. I started reading up on it, to find out what was involved and what exactly would be done to me. It did sound very simple.
I had to let my boss know that I was going for a test. My new female boss. I mentioned I was going in for a scan and she told me to bring the letter in as proof, so I did. When I gave it to her the next day she asked casually "What type of scan is it?" I said "Umm, have a look at the letter." She did, and I think she wished she'd never asked. Her eyebrows lifted and she just said "Oh". No more was said about it.
At the hospital a couple of weeks ago, I was kept waiting for a while in the room while other people went in the be scanned. Every time a patient was taken into the room by the male nurse, a suited man in his late 50s would drift in a few minutes later, then come out after about 5 minutes and leave. I deduced very quickly this was the doctor who was just in there to do the scan and leave.
It was late on a Thursday afternoon and the clinic was running late. I was last to be taken and the nurse apologised for keeping me.
When he eventually took me in I shed my suit jacket and he advised me to lay back on the low cushioned bed. He said just to push my trousers and underwear down to my knees and he very courteously tore off a large section of the paper roll and draped it over me to protect my modesty while I whipped down my tweeds. When I was done I lay back and tried to relax.
He said the doctor would be in shortly. About 60 seconds later this female walked in wearing blue scrubs. "Hello, the doctor's busy at the moment, do you mind if I do the scan for you?"
Female, late 30s, long brown wavy hair, pristine hospital scrubs, sexy as hell, asking if she can do some work on my balls for a few minutes.
"No, that's fine" I said.
She sat down on a low swivel stool beside the scanner and explained she was going to apply some gel to my testicles to help the scan. Don't get hard, don't get hard, don't get hard.
She lifted the torn paper sheet back and then picked up my cock in her right hand and very casually said "Can you hold this back please?". I looked down and there it was...looking no' bad. At that moment I thanked a higher being. I was not shrivelled to a point of non existence but I was looking quite 'full'. We did the handover of my penis and I held it against my belly. This is not weird at all.
"This may be cold" she said as she started smearing some gel over my balls. I'll remember this for some time.
Well, I can tell you - she worked those balls. It took about 15 minutes while this female played around with my testicles...while I held my cock in my left hand...while a male nurse watched. I wouldn't have been so uncomfortable with it all if the nurse was a 20 year old blonde. I spent the time staring at the ceiling. With no pillow it was a bit awkward to lift my head and watch what she was doing to me, much as I would have liked to.
So after the scan she said there was nothing to worry about. She gave me some information and I asked a few questions. Unfortunately the question and answer session was going on while I was trying to get dressed.
Getting dressed wasn't too easy as, if you recall my testicles were smeared with gel. It was my job to get the gel off. I don't think that's part of the service. So the nurse handed me a wad of tissues and I wiped, all the while standing up having a conversation with the doctor and trying to hang on to my trousers so they didn't fall completely around my ankles.
There was a slightly awkward moment when I was trying to talk to the doctor about the tubes in my testicles and I held my hand out for more tissues from the nurse and he grabbed the damp ones from my hand and put them in the bin thinking I was done. My balls were still wet and sticky and he goes to leave. "No no no, can I have some more" I said holding the waistband of my trousers so they didn't fall down and the hem of my shirt so it didn't fall against me and get gel all over it.
He gave me some more but it was very awkward to get everything off and it got to a point when I thought 'fuck it, I'll just leave it" and I gave up the fight for a gel-free scrotum.
My last moment of embarrassment happened as I went to leave. I thought I'd done quite well up til that point considering I'd had to hold my own cock for 15 minutes in front of two strangers and then clean my testicles...in front of two strangers. I picked up my messenger-style work bag and went to casually sling it over my shoulder as I was walking out, but it caught on the handle on the end of hospital bed and jerked me backwards. I felt a complete arse as I stood there trying to untangle it as they watched.
But it's not all bad. I've got to keep my job and my testicles. So that's a bonus.
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