by Marc P. Anderson
I was only 18 years old, but I understand now that was no excuse. I could have been 28 or even 38 years old. The way my body works, it should have been predictable that it would be unpredictable. Still.
It was the 1970s. The accident at the university in Chicago where I was a student had severely damaged my left knee. The eventual result, after tests and truly dumb moves by doctors that added excruciating pain to the experience, was that surgery was required to correct the problem and allow me to walk normally again. On the day before the operation, accompanied by a change of clothes, toiletries and something to read, I checked into the hospital for preparations. I had very little idea of what they were going to do but there wasn’t a choice and I was cooperative. Soon, minor tests (blood, urine, general health status) followed. They checked my slim, black male college student body as necessary. The reason for all this was not fun but at least it had a certain quality of adventure to it.
Early in the evening, I was sitting in the hospital bed, wondering what was next. It was a double room but I don’t recall anyone in the second bed at that time. I had been told that a medical assistant or hospital orderly would come by and take things further. My leg would be shaved. No problem.
A nice, decent looking young white male, not far above me in age, entered the room wearing hospital scrubs and carrying various tools and supplies. We could almost have been peers; he had to be in college, too. He told me that he was there to shave me in advance of the procedure that would occur the following day. No problem.
Then he explained that he would be shaving my entire left leg. Not just the area around my knee. He would remove hair from my foot up to and into my groin. Huh?
I thought he was kidding, but he was merely informing me of what to expect. He told me to remove my underwear. I could keep my t-shirt on, but I would be naked below my waist. My right leg would be uncovered as well, although it was just an innocent bystander.
He put on a surgical mask which surprised me. What for? No way could the hair on my leg could be toxic. I was a guy with hair on my body in the usual places, but it was a very normal amount, not extreme. I was not a wild, furry creature.
The orderly turned away from me and readied his tools. I pulled down my briefs and tossed them aside on the bed. I looked at my dick and balls, darker than the rest of my caramel colored skin, suddenly exposed. I used my hand and forearm to return some modesty to the situation. I took my left hand and wrapped it around my brown testicles. I pulled my dick up and covered it with my left forearm in a manner that blocked the view of it from the perspective of the orderly. My man parts were thus less in-his-face.
I had been nude in front of other guys many, many times in the showers after gym in high school and in college where I went swimming laps all the time. I had visited YMCAs often and sat sans clothing in the sauna and steam room with other guys. But I had never been in quite this situation, where all the routine, sports context for nakedness was gone. Somehow I sensed that the orderly was a little uncomfortable, too, despite his attempt to appear professional. He should be used to seeing all kinds of bodies without clothes, so maybe it was something else this time. Maybe he had never had to touch, so intimately, another young man. Maybe it was going to be odd for him to work with my dick so close while I watched. I grabbed my nuts more tightly.
He wiped my leg down and put some sort of powder on me, then he began shaving my ankle. Silence was not the way to go, so in an effort to keep us both distracted from the shaving, I started talking about college, sports, movies and other interests. Anything. He joined in, sort of for the same reason. In the meantime, I became acutely aware of the stroking of the razor on my skin as it took off the hair. More stroking. Endless gentle stroking. I was the opposite of desensitized. It was definitely not supposed to be sensual.
He was trying to be thorough and he was taking what felt like a long time. As he neared my knee, something absolutely terrifying started to occur. It was the last thing I would have imagined and something I would never have wanted. It struck fear in my heart. Oh, no…my dick was…lengthening. My dick was growing. I couldn’t believe it. I tried to fight it. No luck.
He didn’t see it right away. We kept talking and I kept using my forearm to hide my thickening, elongating shaft. But I was at an age when a slight breeze could give me a hard on. Anytime it got started, my boner would always get happy and carefree, gleefully waving its upright, steely attitude to anyone who happened to be nearby. It loved being stubborn and totally out there. I was mortified. But it had no shame whatsoever.
This had turned into something else entirely. I sat hiding my now excited, brittle dick from a guy who was, with every stroke, coming closer to that very dick. I was desperate. My dick was reacting to what it interpreted as a caress. We were almost a half hour into the shaving and the orderly was not yet finished. Thank God my forearm was bigger than my dick and still hiding most of it from the orderly’s point of view.
Then my dick decided, on its own, to escalate the nightmare to a new, more intense level. I glanced down at the mouth in the center of my engorged dick head and saw something astonishing. I was leaking pre-cum!
This could happen if I was steadily hard for, say, more than ten minutes. The tip of my dick would leak that clear-ish fluid with its own special consistency that meant things were reaching higher heights. My dick had totally misread everything. The damn thing was telling me that it thought we would be doing more. A lot more. And it was fully prepared. It was even suggesting its own forbidden outcome. My dick had lost its damn mind. It was acting truly stupid.
The razor kept getting closer. I had to adjust my forearm and move my dick to the right side so that the orderly and his razor could approach my left side zone of no return. The orderly began to remove some of my actual, jet black pubic hairs on my left side. He was now miles away from my left knee which wasn’t even connected to my body anymore. It was just him, me, and my dick blocked by my forearm, powered by ridiculously mischievous balls gripped in my hand. But the orderly just had to go there. Enough into my dick hair that I had to adjust further. Then he saw it.
Not all of my stone-like shaft, thanks to my forearm. But enough. Including the extra evidence: the natural lubricant that had strung itself almost plentifully from the mouth of my dick to a spot were it had been pooling on my left side. The pre-cum was connected to a dick head that was also not where it was supposed to be, not on a shaft that was properly hanging down but instead pointing rigidly up.
For a split second, the orderly froze, his hand hovering right next to the dick my left forearm was still partially covering. But it was futile. He suddenly knew that I had a seriously hard hard on. I was petrified but I had enough wits to continue rattling off unrelated topics, with the words coming out of my mouth as though nothing strange was going on. I had lost control of my dick but I had not lost the ability to keep up an onslaught of verbal diversions. He went along with it and at least tried to continue responding as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
Still, the orderly’s face struggled to remain without visible reaction. We both were aware of the elephant trunk in the room. I knew he was thrown by what he saw. Not long after, he reached a point where he could finally stop shaving me. My pubic hair was now lopsided, with the left side partially denuded and the right side untouched. I was relieved; if he had tried to shave my balls, it would have been over for both of us.
He removed his surgical mask and began to pack up his gear. Our dwindling conversation pretended nothing else had happened. My fingers, palm and forearm were still glued to as much of my dick and balls as they could obscure but too much had already been revealed. Then he said goodbye and left. Neither one of us ever acknowledged the blunt erection between my legs.
The next day, I had my operation. Afterward, I wore a full length cast for a few weeks until it was removed. My leg had shrunken underneath the cast but quickly regained its normal size and usefulness. I returned to running, bicycle riding and swimming.
However, I never forgot the shaving of my leg and the lunacy of my physical reaction. I know, I know, the orderly was another guy, but my dick couldn’t have cared less that day. I was young and it really took nothing at all to produce a concrete state of affairs below my waist.
He was young, too, and he had to know how easy one’s dick could stand up at the wrong times. But I realized that the white orderly would have a story to tell as well, about that time when he was shaving this young black dude’s leg and the dude got an enormous boner. It has an obvious humor. My wicked dick just laughed all the way through it.
Copyright © 2017 Marc P. Anderson. All rights reserved.
Marc P. Anderson has had a dual career in publishing and as a freelance photojournalist. For additional information, contact Marc via Twitter.