Last year, about the same time, I caught the flu, and due to me taking it lightly, a pretty strong case of pneumonia gave it to me good too. It could have left me some permanent damage if I didn't look out for it from since then, so I've been
trying not to get the seasonal flu this time around, but to no avail. At least since the dipshit that decided it was okay to come to his friends' band's rehearsal without mentioning he was with the flu, couldn't have been avoided, (Uhh... 15 feet cube room full of sweaty met exerting themselves over musical instruments and headbanging, hello?) I decided to play it safe and not leave my house for the duration of the virus. So, this is the seventh day of a fierce case of flu I've been down with. Headaches, weakness, hellish fever, vomit, the whole deal. Thankfully, it peaked at the fourth day and now it's winding down, but it's been a hell of a week. And to top it all off, I've had a doctor perform a physical examination on me today.
He was a middle-aged man, with a cropped mustache and a hat. I know the mustache should have tipped me off to something not being right, but anyway. He rest his doctor kid by the fucking bed and instructed me to strip to my boxers. First mistake. Last time I had the flu, the doctor asked me to strip to my waist. I disregard it, thinking "boxers, wait, same difference!". Woe. Little did I know what fate awaited me. Then he went to perform stethoscope examinations like he should with a minimal of fuss, and with total absence of feeling, like most doctors of his age. He asked me to cough, I did, he asked me to breathe deep, I did. Then he started feeling the lungs, the stomach, applying pressure to see what's up and what made me cough.
I was more prepared to see him suddenly picking up my Les Paul lying by the bed and letting rip a wailing Van Hallen solo, while discolights came out of the woodwork and he said "I used to do this for a living, son!" than what happened.
The dude slipped his hand into my boxers in the most casual of manners and pilfered my cock. Relaxed, methodically, he wiggled my balls, and while doing it,
turned to look at me. Not with a shit-eating grin that I could have handled(by punching it), but with the most passive of looks.
For a moment I thought he was expecting me to cough.
I'd love to say how I went 'Hey Mister get your freakin' hand off my fucking dick!" and pushed him away, or even more macho-like stood up and went "Flu or no flu I'm kicking your ass, man!" but I did neither. I sat there, with my face having lost all color, frozen, while this strange man with a cropped mustache was feeling his way around my penis.
I felt completely and utterly violated.
He finished his 'examination' and arrived at the expected results: No, I didn't have a pneumonia. No I didn't have the flu so bad either and it would get away without any serious medication. Yes, the examination was 60 bucks. When I handed him the money with a trembling hand, I felt like a complete moron. I was paying him to treat me like a little bitch. He then left, and as much as I'd like to, I didn't cry.
Now, before you begin to rationalize, there's no fucking relation between cock and flu. You can't fucking tell if you're down with it by touching it any more than you can by touching your cheek. And the dude did touch practically everywhere he could before going there. It was his finishing touch. I'd
like to believe there's some rational explanation on why I've been treated like a manwhore, but sadly I see none. I also lack the desire to obtain revenge by setting his kids on fire or something equally drastic. Maybe it is because the sweetness of such revenge is lost on the dull taste buds of the one down with the flu.
However, I've arrived to this two conclusions. First, if you have the flu, last it out on your own. Second, and more importantly, don't pay money to old men to touch your genitals.
Fuck you.
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