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Date Posted: 15:47:33 05/26/08 Mon
Author: Nick
Subject: embarrassment

Throughout my childhood and adolescence, virtually every visit to the doctor ended with the dread command, "Pull down your pants and bend over." Even worse, bending over was always across the receptionist's lap. When very young, I was encouraged to think that what I felt was the girl pinching my bare bottom with her long fingernails. Even when I was older and knew what was really happening, embarrassment was my overwhelming fear, particularly because receptionists changed frequently so it was often a new girl and they were always young and very attractive. The older I was, the nearer I became to the receptionist's age, making the ordeal all the more humiliating. By adolescence, there was probably no longer the need to be held down but, as "bend over" has always meant across the girl's lap, I continued to get my shots that way. I had to pull everything all the way down and then stand there, regaling her with a frontal nude until told to bend over. Sometimes she would obligingly hitch up her skirt first to give me a better look at her shapely legs. Even in my teens, the injection was never prepared until after I bent over, so I had a long wait in position. I remember ogling and sometimes fondling her legs as a diversion - at least until I noticed her stiletto heels, the points of which reminded me of the needle. When at last I felt the shot - no matter how much it hurt - I welcomed it as heralding the end of my degradation. When it was over, I usually stood up and rubbed my sore cheek before her with my pants still down, just grateful that it was over. Sitting (or trying to sit) on the tender site later could provoke a curious sensuality as I recalled exactly how my bottom had become injection-sore. The soreness was somewhat conforting as a reminder that the ordeal I so feared was over, so I indulged in erotic reminiscence but it was never enough to mitigate my terror when next I went to the doctor. Every time, I prayed that I wouldn't need an injection, that if I needed one it wouldn't be in the bottom and that even if in the bottom, the receptionist wouldn't know where I was getting it, much less watch. Invariably, however, all hopes were dashed and I again found myself across a girl's lap as she watched me get a painful shot in the bare bottom.

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