I was never good enough to be recruited by any major universities but was determined to play Division 1 football. Of course, my only option was to give it a go as a walk-on. The first week of practice was more of a tryout to see if you could handle the physical requirements. There were lots of tests like the 225lb bench for reps, the vertical jump, the 40-yard dash; all the usual stuff. No big deal. The 8 or so walk-on players were kept separate from the team during the first week of practice. At the end of that week, we were called together and given instructions for the next week, including a fitting for our uniform equipment and a requirement for a full physical. We were given a number to call to schedule our physical at the university hospital and told to let them know we were calling for a team physical for the football program.
After checking in, and waiting only a few minutes, I was escorted back to an exam room by a fairly young nurse. It is a university medical center after all. She took the usual vital signs and asked the usual pre-exam questions. She told me to take off my shirt, shoes and socks, but that I could leave on my shorts. She excused herself, letting me know the doctor would be in shortly.
“Come in,” I answered to the knock on the door.
In walked a youngish-looking woman, maybe late twenties who I assumed was another nurse. She introduced herself as Doctor Smith (I know, lousy made-up name to protect the “innocent”) and explained that she was a resident at the university hospital and would be completing my physical.
She was an awkward kind of pretty. There was something there and I imagined in the right outfit and some makeup she would be quite attractive. She looked like I imagined a lot of residents would, a bit on the tired side. It was hard to tell about her body. She looked fit, but wearing loose scrubs made the assessment more difficult. However, her face had no extra layers and was smooth in a firm way. And her lab coat did nothing to hide the fact that she had a set of firm breasts. She got my attention.
“So, you’re a football player?” she asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“What’s your favorite position?” She asked.
Quickly catching herself, or noticing the smirk on my face, she said “I mean what position do you play?”
“Inside linebacker,” I said.
She looked at me and said, “Well, you are certainly built for it. Let’s make sure you are healthy, and I will clear you to play.”
She went through the normal stuff. Listening to my heart and lungs, looking in my throat, eyes, and ears. Checked my reflexes. Had me lie down and pushed around my midsection. She also had me do some stuff that I assumed was neurological, like stand on one foot, close my eyes and touch my nose. Again, nothing too unusual.
“OK, everything looks good. You can get dressed while I finish up the chart.” She said as she took off her exam gloves and sat in one of the chairs.
I put my shirt on, leaned over to pull my socks and shoes on and sat down on the exam table, watching her scribble on the chart. She signed the bottom of the last page and seemed to be finished. She flipped back through the pages for a second or two, and after a slight hesitation, she put the chart on the desk.
She looked at me and said, “You know, I should probably check for a hernia.”
Having played sports my whole life, this wasn’t new, and I didn’t think too much of it. From my experience, most of the time this had been done while I lay on the exam table or stood while the doctor reached in my underwear to do the usual cough test. Wearing shorts, I figured it would be quick and started to lay back on the table.
“Oh, you can just stand here in front of me,” she said.
“Ok,” I said, slipping off the table and moving to stand in front of her, still oblivious to anything out of the ordinary.
“Can you drop your shorts for me,” she asked.
I undid my belt, unbuttoned, and unzipped my shorts, and lowered them to the floor at my ankles. Panic hit me as I realized I was starting to get hard. Hoping not to embarrass myself I started thinking of anything I could to stop the flow of blood to my groin.
“I am going to need to lower these too,” she said, as she slipped a finger into each side of the waistband of my boxers and slowly lowered them to my ankles as well.
I thought to myself, “Oh shit this is going to get embarrassing if she isn’t quick with this.” I looked at the ceiling, hoping it would be over before I sprung a full hard-on, and waited for the usual push and request for a cough.
Time stopped. I felt her fingertips on my balls, moving slowly from the front toward the back. I felt a tingling all over my body as her fingertips reached the base of my balls. Next, I felt her four fingernails moving forward along my sack and toward the base of my shaft.
I finally looked down and met her eyes looking at mine. My cock was rapidly filling with blood as I watched her wrap her fingers around me, thumb on the bottom and slide her hand slowly toward the head. I couldn’t, or chose not to, move. My heart was pounding.
She stroked my cock slowly, up and down the full length, and used her fingernails on my balls with each downstroke. It was only seconds longer until I had a full-on hard-on staring her in the face. She hadn’t said a word since lowering my boxers. She looked up at me and reached both hands around to my ass and pulled me gently toward her. She leaned slowly forward, opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around the head of my cock. I felt her tongue slide gently on the underside of my head and felt my knees begin to weaken.
She let me slip from her mouth and lifted my cock with her left hand, lowering her head she licked from my balls, up my shaft to the tip. She paused, looked up at me, and again opened her mouth. Taking my head into her lips, this time she sucked me in, taking all of me deep into her mouth. I could feel the back of her throat, but she did not gag. She paused and inhaled through her nose. She gripped my ass with both hands, pulled her head back so only the tip of my cock remained in her mouth and then pulled my hips toward her as she took me in again. She repeated this motion over and over, quickening her pace with each inward thrust. After what could have been only seconds, I could feel myself getting close.
“I…am…going…to….cum,” I warned her through heavy breaths.
She did not stop. She only changed her rhythm. Pulling me deep into her throat…pause and hold as her tongue moved up and down….sliding out….pause and hold as her tongue circled around my head. Pulling me deep into her throat again…pause and hold….sliding out again..pause and hold.
“I….am…..going…to….cum,” I moaned and she pulled me deep into her throat, holding my ass tight and looked up at me as I exploded into her throat…one pump, she held me in….a second pump and she held me in…..I could feel her throat as she swallowed….a third pump and she held me in…. a fourth pump and she held me in. I felt another swallow. She felt me begin to relax and she held me in. Another swallow. She eased her pressure on my ass. She began to slide me slowly out of her mouth, taking my cock in her right hand, she held me there, just in front of her face, waiting. She saw a few more drops oozing out. She put my head in her lips and sucked hard, draining the last drops, and looked up at me again as she swallowed.
She leaned back and rubbed a finger along her lips, making sure they were clean.
She grinned at me and said, “You can pull your shorts up now, I think you are good to play.”
She stood up and leaned toward me with parting lips. She placed her mouth against mine and pushed her tongue in for one long, deep kiss. She stepped back, picked up the chart, and headed for the door.
Opening the door, she looked back and said “Good luck with your football. Maybe I will come see a game sometime."
I never saw her again.
