If you want to be a good boy, and you are under 18, please wait until you finish high school before going to this college story. It is only for dirty people who are older, not necessarily wiser, but lots of fun.
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Although the title of this story has the word "Doc", I am not really an MD, but I function as one. Someday, when I can get my college loans straightened out, I may yet go to medical school. Right now I am a trained medical assistant working under Dr. Fred Wilkey. Doc Wilkey is pretty old and ready for retirement. I do most of the work and see the patients. He signs the prescriptions, if any.
I am Jeff Gold, twenty-two year old medic. Medicine is second to my real passion, tennis. I play at a professional level, but I am only interested in playing, not getting seeded. One of the secret reasons I love playing, is humiliating those kids who think they are hot shots. Also, I look great in tennis clothes; my full, muscular legs with sheen of black hair look yummy. I have longish hair and when I serve, or go for a save, my hair flops in the breeze dramatically. Also, the waistband of my shorts and shirt move away from each other and expose my bare lower back with the fine sprinkling of hair there. Hey, no false modesty here, besides, it's just you and me talking.
Now let's get to my work-a-day world of college kids who come to the dispensary for treatment. Some of the gay kids are faking. They just want to see my hairy, muscular forearms showing out of the green scrub top.
Yeah, that's one type of kid who comes. Others, I think miss their Mom. They have the sniffles, or some minor sore throat and just need comforting and simple over-the-counter medicine. I note that when I put my hand on their shoulder while using the tongue depressor, they almost purr at the attention.
Of course, you get lots o f the kids who contracted an STD. I am required to question them about the partner and other matters. Kids are very forthcoming with the detail when requested by a professional. Some of the details inspire by cock at lot. For instance, just yesterday a cute sissy boy told me about the men's room outside the music lab. "It's very gay", he told me, as if I wouldn't know about such things. (I do, but I stay away from cruising spots on campus, too risky.) "There was this jock, you know him, Eddy Travers. Well he stood in front of my cubicle and kept watching me. Before I knew it, he opened the door (I never lock them) and stepped inside and...well, how could I refuse. He the highest scorer on the team, so I let him score with me."
"Eddy had a case of the Clap," I informed the cute boy, "I will have to contact him before he infects anyone else. But I will give you a prescription that will clear it up. No sex for a month." I gave him the prescription on one of the pre-signed pads. (I bad.)
"No sex for a month? I might as well ask for poison pills instead, I'll just die."
"No one ever died from not having sex. Just think of the buildup when you can finally do it."
But I really started this tale to tell you about Dave. Dave was one of the handsomest kids I ever had in my dispensary. He was tall, 6' 4". He had blond hair in a mass of curls all over his head. The kind you see on Greek statues. He had the Greek statue face as well; straight nose that started at the forehead, large oval eyes, bright blue, and those short upper lips that characterize those heroes. And the body! Yipes! Just perfection! And the wonderful part was that he seemed entirely unaware of his devastating good looks. It was his shyness that kept his light hidden from potential sexual partners. And his "light" I call it was a five-inch prick, when soft, laying cozily into the hollow on the top of his ball sac, caused by the hang of his extra large eggs.
He was charming. Always polite. Calls me sir. Oh be still my heart.
"Doc," he says, "I am desperate. I do anything to solve my problem. It's my penis."
"H-m-m," I say with the most profession face I can muster. Really I wanted to make nice to it.
Instead I said, "What is the problem with your penis?"
"It goes off too easily."
"I see, pre-mature ejaculation."
"If you say so doc. Just when I want to get it on, it goes off."
"That really screws up the screw, huh?"
He looked at me with a sidelong glance of disapproval. I better restrain my attempts at humor. I pulled myself together, pushed my half hard cock down one loose scrub pant leg and said with the most dignified tone I could muster, "Step into that booth and get undressed. There is a gown there for you to put on."
"Oh doc, that's not necessary. I'll just shuck my clothes right here. It's just us two, right? I'm just not modest. Years with the swim team cured me of that."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. It would have come out like a croak.
In a moment, he stood there on his perfectly arched feet; the glow from his smooth, pink/white skin lit the room. He turned his palms up to pantomime, "What should I do now."
I shook myself out of my growing sex haze. "Oh yes, hop on the table and lie on your back."
With admirable athleticism, he jumped up and placed his monumental (not meaning large, but meaning like found on a statue) ass on the black Formica. "Ouch, it's cold," he said in surprise.
I shouldn't have said, "Don't worry about it. Even with shrinkage you beat 90% of the population."
He gave me a raised eyebrow look. I think that our boy was not unaware of males making passes at him. Anyway, I rushed into the examine.
"So tell me exactly what occurs."
"Well, I don't get too many chicks to bed, but when I do, she undresses, I undress, I get hard, she admires it. Then she pets it and begins to get a little wet down there. 'Oh Dave, put it in.' I put on protection. I'm leaking like a faucet. I enter her, take one thrust, and wam."
"Wam?"
"Yeah, I fill the rubber until it breaks and then overflows all over her...you know. She says, 'if I wanted a douche I would have done it myself."
"All your sex goes that way?"
"Naw, sometimes I go off as I put on the rubber."
"This is a real problem. Let me examine you for any abnormalities."
I lifted his ball sac and shone a light under it. Shit, it was heavy with two big eggs in it. I could see the smooth area leading to his ass hole. I'll have a look at that temple of beauty sometime, Now for the main even, I lifted his cock. As I lifted it, it grew stiff in my hand and it length increased to about eight inches. The rapid erection caused his foreskin to retract and exposed his pink shiny head, the piss slit pulsing. What was that all about? He couldn't be preparing to ejaculate now, could he"?
I looked at his face. His eyes were clinched tight. His nice pink tongue tip was out of the side of his mouth, and he was breathing like a rusty bellows.
"Dave, Dave. Are you okay?"
With great difficulty he groaned out. "The stuff you're doing with my prick is getting me close. You better stop it."
I couldn't believe that. I had hardly done anything. You wouldn't call just peeking under his balls and lifting his cock a hand job would you?
I decided to press on. "Dave, I'm going to stimulate your penis. I ask that you concentrate on those muscles that control ejaculation. If you can last after six strokes, I will consider that you are curable with practice."
"Okay, I'll try, but don't do it too good."
His cock was waggling and jumping as I put my finger on the dewy head. He jumped and groaned. "Oh shit, don't stimulate me so much."
That wasn't much. He was too bossy. I took my loose fisted hand and stroked his long prong down and then up, then down and then up. That was twice. But on the up motion a bright red patch appeared on his chest and he began to drip sweat (it smelled heavenly) and his full thighs began to lift. He began to drool unto his beautiful chest, but the most notable thing was that his vocalizing changed from moans to warning sounds. Warning sounds that grew in volume and urgency. I stopped my stimulation, but it was way too late. I looked down at his penis. It was also blushing bright red. The cover moved further back and its head was fully exposed. I could actually see the piss slit open wide, like a little mouth, and that mouth began to spew.
I said spew, but it was more like a runaway fire hose, or to needle spray that might come out of a fire extinguisher. He was thrashing like he had an attack and that hose continued to pour out man essence. It hit the wall over his head, drenched his face, covered my front and hands, then finally dribbled and soaked his public hair. All through this display he was keening with a high pitch. At last he stopped emitting spooge, his breathing grew normal and he opened his eyes and gave me an embarrassed grin.
"Well Doc, that's it. You see I didn't exaggerate.
"Was it painful or uncomfortable?"
He blushed charmingly. "Oh no, it's great. I love cuming."
"What is your refractory period?"
"Huh?"
"I mean how quickly can you recover and cum again?"
"Oh, I get it. I can come again in a few minutes. I shoot about the same amount each time." "Wow!" I said unprofessionally. "Davy boy, your problem is too much for my meager medical knowledge. I am going to have a consultation with Dr. Wilkey and see what he recommends."
"Can I get dressed now, and do you have some paper towels?" He pointed shyly at the mess he had made.
"Oh sure. I'll give you some warmed damp towels to clean off. Then you can get dressed."
The last instruction I said with reluctance. How I would love to keep this living statue around forever.
End Part One
The MD has a weird treatment to suggest.
Stay tuned to this story.