American Thighs by Jill Conner Browne Read Free Book Online Page B

I have not found any physician willing to administer it so I just take a fistful of Xanax before I go and try to think about watermelon until it’s over. For those of you who haven’t read my earlier works, “thinking about watermelon” was my daddy’s recommendation for surviving any Unpleasantness, social, spiritual, physical or medical—ridiculous but surprisingly effective.)
    So anyway, Jud mans up and bares all and Lady Doctor she looks and she looks and SHE LOOKS, and by and by, she comes to his Down There parts and, lo and behold, she does one of those pause and “hmmm” things, right in the area of his Manhood—which he fondly refers to as his “ManWood,” although if it had been entertaining any thoughts of becoming treelike under the circumstances, those were banished at the sound of that little “hmmm,” as we might well imagine. It seems there was a Mole and it was, like, RIGHT THERE and it was the one time in its entire life that being the center of attention was somewhat less than appealing to his Manly Part.
    â€œHas this always been here?” she asked, meaning, of course, the Mole, but all the Regular Stuff was just RIGHT THERE. “I don’t know, I never noticed it before,” he replied, also meaningthe Mole. “I recommend we remove it,” she said, meaning, once more, thankfully, the Mole. And he was told to return the following Monday for…THE PROCEDURE.
    The fact that he DID return is a true and total testament to his über-manliness and I am so proud of him. A lesser man would have just left there and lied—until the mole and everything else just wiveled up and fell off. But, it must be said, he was not without trepidation. It must also be said that while one might THINK that he was nervous and concerned that the offending speck could turn out to be cancerous, but no—he was afraid he would get a hard-on during The Procedure.
    That’s all he could think about—what if I get a big boner right in the middle of The Procedure? And wouldn’t you know it? Out of ALL the waiting rooms in ALL the world, HE has to be in the ONE that is NOT filled with forty-five-year-old Ladies’ Home Journal s. No, indeed, everywhere he looked, there was nothing but Cosmo s and Glamour s and other girl-porn mags—and the cover of each and every one of them offered such informative articles as 50 fantastic positions to try in bed and elsewhere! and men’s new sexual needs! and your orgasm guaranteed! and 7 bad-girl bedroom moves you must master! and put the porn on! He’s trying valiantly to avoid seeing those headlines and the nearly naked females displayed on every page—he’s focused ALL his attention on a brochure with nothing but drawings and photographsof people with frown lines and wrinkles, entitled, Why You Need Botox. This is helping him to remain both calm and limp until they finally call him into The Room, and what he sees there, while not particularly calming, does succeed in producing a heretofore unrivaled condition of Limp.
    The Syringe. He walked over to it and addressed it, “Oh, my God.” And although he now admits that it was a very tiny needle, at that moment it did take on railroad-spike proportions to him. As the nurse left the room, with instructions to undress and drape himself with the little paper blankie, she assured him that it would, in fact, All Be Over Soon.
    After a discreet interval, the nurse reentered the room, made straight for The Syringe, and approached him with it. It was then discovered that Jud had failed to remove his underwear—which you would THINK could have been accomplished without specific instructions, given the location of the Mole and all. But anyway, after more undressing and redraping, the nurse once again stood over him with the sharp object and she asked him to please, ahhh, hold, ahhh, move, ahhh—I’m sure all the hemming and hawing