Well it’s been a long time coming I guess. I think the last time I had someone poking and prodding around my junk was back when I lived in Glasgow. So that’s about four years ago then. Since that time I’ve…erm…visited a lot of places. I figure you shouldn’t mess around with stuff like this, so I think of a way to inconspicuously ask a hostel staff member how one goes about getting a “check up” in these parts. He’s pointed me in the direction of a private clinic, which just so happens to be in the Twist tower, a famous new build in Sarajevo, and at 173 metres, it’s the tallest structure in Eastern Europe. It’s also number eleven on Trip Advisor attractions for the city. It’s a win-win situation. Healthy tourism.
I’ve booked an appointment the week previous, as it seems there is only one day when the special dude comes in to examine your bits. I’m sitting in this very plush, polished waiting area with shiny floors and clinical decor. Frosted glass doors surround with glimpses of medical equipment beyond. I can only assume this is the Bosnian equivalent of BUPA. The NHS it ain’t, and I’ve a feeling this might seriously dent the wallet. Still, you don’t scrimp when it comes to your health do you? I certainly don’t when I’m spending hundreds on fags and booze.
“Please don’t be hot, please don’t be hot, please don’t be hot”. I’ve been whispering the words ever since I entered the rocket-propelled elevator. The last thing you want when your legs are up on stirrups is a stunningly good-looking nurse poking at your embarrassingly flaccid penis. “I’m a grower honestly!” Needless to say I’m the only guy in the place. Sat in a near foetal position I’m surrounded by gorgeous women, presumably all waiting to get violated too. Indeed one by one they enter and exit this particular door of doom, whereupon the gynecologist that emerges kisses them all on their cheeks. Jesus. So that’s how they do things here? I hope he doesn’t kiss me on my cheeks after fondling in my urethra.
“Mr Stuart” A loud voice exclaims for all to hear. I weakly respond a quiet ‘yes’, in the hope that they will follow suit. “What are you here for?” She continues in the same vein and I can feel my face burning as curious smoking women turn their attention to me.
“Ahem…a…(cough)…sexual health check?” I question my own conviction with a raised, whispered answer. I’m tempted to run out.
“What?” She leans in, apparently unable to hear. You’ve got to be joking me.
“A sexual health check” I mumble a little louder. The cat is well and truly out of the bag. I feel dirty. Sexy eyes burn into the side of my head.
“Yes ok!” She cheerfully bustles for all and sundry to hear. “Well I’ll take you through for your HIV and Hepatitis blood work, but I won’t be able to do the swab.” She makes a little jabbing movement with her hand while indicating my nether regions. I flinch. “You’ll need to wait for the doctor for that.” She bustles off, taking with her any dignity I had left. I’m left to sit in silence with the hot women. I pick up a clinic leaflet and pretend to read, which is utterly pointless because I can’t understand a word. I’ve gone brighter than a beetroot.
Another goddess in scrubs takes me away to stick a needle in my arm. I’ve never been one for this. I sit in the chair already wincing at the prospect, trying to regain an ounce of masculinity. “I don’t like these things” I nervously smile, somehow hoping she will fall for my sensitivity in freely offering my weakness and vulnerability. She jabs me up regardless. It’s not that bad. I’ve had experiences back home that have left my arm looking like that of a smack addict. I’m returned to wait for the real kicker in a matter of minutes.
Now I’ve had a couple of these in my time, but nothing, let me tell you, nothing can prepare you for it. Much like bestiality, sweetcorn on pizza and One Direction, it’s against the very laws of nature. Yet another fine female example asks me to remove my underwear. It’s not the in the circumstances I would prefer. Up on the chair I go, legs akimbo, holding on for dear life like a white knuckle fair ground ride. The doc limbers up, then in he goes, jabbing a large cotton wool bud down the end of the old chap. He appears to take a great delight in his chosen sadistic career. It certainly isn’t the in-out I’d come to expect. He really gets in there.
“I’m professional!” He beams. “Much experience!” He continues to swizzle around like a Dib-Dab. Eventually it’s all over. I feel like I’ve given birth from my Eye of Sauron.
I’m a shadow of my former self as I make my way downstairs to flee the crime scene. At least that’s it over with. I shouldn’t be so tardy in future. A few moments of discomfort is worth its weight in peace-of-mind gold. Now I’ve just got to wait five days to see if I’m riddled.