You Don’t Smile Until We Get High
As a practice patient for doctor’s assistants, I humiliate myself for the chance to see you again
This one is pulling my pubes. It hurts, like she’s stabbing my crotch with tiny needles, but I try not to let it show. This room is too bright but I stare straight up into the light on the ceiling anyway. Now she’s tearing at my pubic hair like she’s ripping out errant threads from an old sweater. I shut my eyes tight and let her poke around.
I’ve gotten good at telling which ones will make it and which ones won’t. This one won’t. She’s afraid of my dick. I could tell she was afraid of it when she walked into the room, before she even saw it, cheeks red as poinsettias and the rest of her face flushed deathly white. Already sweating and nervous. They’re supposed to greet me when they walk in, like the doctor’s assistants they’re training to become. But she breezed past me, head down, and went straight for the rubber gloves. Didn’t introduce herself like they’re supposed to. Couldn’t look me in the eye. I don’t think she’ll make it. You can’t be a good physician’s assistant and be afraid of dick. I just don’t see it happening. Also, she’s pulling my pubes. Hers are some of the few white women’s hands my dick has ever seen. Some of the few women’s hands as a matter of fact; I figured out early on that it…
