"Hello, Joey. My name is Doctor Westcott. Please come on in and have a seat over here."
I feel a little self-conscious. I've had my fielding and batting tryout for the minor league team—and I didn't know it would just be me, with Coach Rosner putting me through my paces—and I've showered and come and sat in this corridor with just a towel around me, waiting for the next step—a physical exam, Coach Rosner told me. I would have thought I'd just be one of lots of guys trying out. But it's only me here at the stadium today. I hope I did well in the tryout. Coach Rosner seemed pleased, but he didn't say anything.
"You know, Joey, that you aren't sent for the physical unless you're still in the running." Doctor Westcott is standing on the other side of the examination table and looking at me with a fatherly, benign expression.
"No, I didn't know that. I guess that's a good sign." Indeed, it comforts and calms me for him to seem to be so concerned about my chances. He looks about what I'd expect for a doctor. Not too old, but, still, with some gray hair. He looks like one of those doctors in the soap operas on TV. Confident, in command. A kindly manner, obviously trying to make me feel comfortable. That's real hard, though, with just this towel around my waist.
"Yes. The coach told me he was impressed with you even before the tryout. All-State last two years and a .321 batting average, 128 RBI last season—a real slugger, aren't you? But a big strapping guy like you, it makes sense. State championship team, and from the newspaper articles he reviewed, you carried that team on your back. Not many young men get a tryout even for the minor leagues coming right out of high school."
"We did good this year. It was a good team." I can't think of much of anything to say. I pretty much did carry the team to the championships. That's about all I've known for most of my life. Baseball has been my life. It's what I want for my life.
I'm feeling pretty comfortable now. I find myself relaxing. Maybe too much. I've let my legs spread and my towel almost comes loose.
The doctor beams me an understanding, friendly smile.
"Well, you know that baseball is a pretty rough sport, don't you? It doesn't look like it, but I'm sure you know that it pushes a man to his endurance limit. You know that, right?"
"Uh, right?" If you say so, I think. I hadn't really thought of it that much. It's just what I've always done. And I've felt real good after I'd been on the field.
"That means this physical exam is crucial. And also that it will be much more stringent and invasive than any you've had before. We have to know that you are in tip top condition—and that you have endurance. You understand that, don't you?"
"Umm, yeah, I guess." I wonder what invasive means. I'll have to remember to look that up.
"Some of the tests can be a little painful—and you'll feel it for a few days in places you've probably never felt pain before. So, if you really want to go through with this—really want a shot at the minor leagues, maybe followed by the major leagues—you'll have to agree to an anesthetic that will put you a bit under and give you some weird thoughts maybe while you're under, and you'll certainly have some memory loss—just localized, temporary memory loss; not any memories you walked in here with. But I have to do a thorough prostate and urethra exam and such. And it would be best if you were a little dopey for that. Not just because of the pain, but, as I said, it can be invasive, and I'll need you to be relaxed. It will give you more pain if you're not relaxed."
"Anesthetic? Invasive exams?"
"Yes, quite harmless in the end; a little wooziness now, and a little pain later today, and maybe tomorrow. We use Ketamine. It's great for the kind of exams we have to do, but I'll have to tell you that it's got some hallucinogenic properties for some people. Not many, of course, and a big strapping young man like you—I'll bet you won't feel the effects at all. But you'll have to sign this waiver, of course. And it really has to be done if you want to be cleared to play baseball here."
"Waiver? Hallucinogenics?"
"Yes, I'm sure you won't be in the minority that feels that, but some guys say it would be great if they did—a legal high and seeing what all of that might be like and it's for a safe and legal purpose. You don't do drugs do you, Joey?"
"Uhh, no, of course not." A little high. Yeah, I could go for that.
"That's good to hear. No reason for us even to start, if you do drugs. And you graduated high school last month, right?"
"Yes."
"So you would be . . ."
"Eighteen. Eighteen last March."
"Ah, good. Not many get this far at that age. You're one of the special ones."
I feel myself beaming with pride and accomplishment at that and I manage just to catch myself before I relax to the point again of losing my towel.
"Now, let me see. I can do some of the testing while you think about the more rigorous tests and the Ketamine."
He stands in front of me and puts his hands on either side of my head and feels around like he's looking for bumps or something. He's wearing a white lab coat type of thing, but he must have shorts on underneath because his calves are bare. I didn't notice that while he was standing behind the examination table.
"Seems OK. You've never been beaned by a baseball, have you?"
"No. Came close a couple of times. But that happens in baseball."
He's listening to my chest with that stethoscope of his, and then his hands are back on my head.
"Open your mouth for me, please. I have to feel for lumps. We're finding a lot of cancer starting in the lining of the mouth. You don't chew tobacco, or anything, do you? That's traditional in baseball, I know. But we don't want any of that anymore. That's an early trip to cancer."
I'm gagging, as his thumb is working back toward my throat. I cough, and try to tell him I don't chew tobacco, but I don't know if I've managed to convey that, with his thumb in my mouth and all.
"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" He's pulled his thumb out of my mouth.
"Yeah. Yeah, a little bit."
"Well, that's what I mean about the invasiveness and painfulness of some of these tests we need to do. Guess if you want to go on, you'll need to sign this waiver and we'll need to use the Ketamine.
So I sign. And I sit there and watch him prepare the syringe and pump the drug in it, and then I wince as he sticks the needle in my arm. I start to feel a bit numb and woozy almost immediately. A little high, he said. That might be nice.
He stands there in front of me for several minutes, watching me intently. "How do you feel?"
I feel drowsy and he's looking a little hazy to me—like he's in a fog bank. Everything's looking a little hazy. And there's a buzzing in my ears. But I'm happy. I have no idea why I'm happy, but I am. And I feel like I'm floating. And I'm not real sure I can feel my fingers. I think I'm drumming them on the edge of the chair seat, but who knows. And who cares? Wheeee.
"Tell me, Joey, what did I just ask you?"
I look up at him, trying to see his face. It's sort of blurry, though, and stretched a bit from side to side.
"Uh, what?"
"I said what did I just ask you?"
"Uh, don't know." Don't really care either. I'm feeling really good. Floating above the chair. So, this is what a little high feels like.
"I asked you how you felt."
I look up at him and grin. It seems like I'm giving him an answer, but who knows? And who cares? It's just possible that I said, "A little high."
He pinches me on the inner thigh and I'm still aware enough to yelp a bit and come back into focus, if only for a moment.
"So, what did I ask you just now?—when I asked you how you felt."
"You asked me how I felt?"
"And you answered what?"
"Answered what about what?"
"Very good, Joey. I'll tell you how this Ketamine works in the dose I gave you. It's quite safe for us to talk openly about this now—well, for me to talk. I'll tell you, and you'll understand. But only for the moment. A few moments later, you won't remember it at all. You'll remember bits and pieces, but not as memory, more as some sort of hallucination—a nice hallucination; something you enjoyed. And when I ask you a question, you'll only be able to answer truthfully. That's a nice side effect, I think. I told you before you went under that this could cause hallucinations. And when you wake, whatever you remember will be a hallucination. And slowly you'll forget it all—except for the parts before I gave you the Ketamine and then after it wears off. Isn't that nice?"
"Uh, yes, nice. Beautiful. Those drapes are beautiful. Beautiful paint on the wall. Love it."
"Tell me, Joey. Have you ever had sex?"
"Uh, well."
"I don't mean masturbation or with a girl. You ever have sex with a man?"
"Ummm, noooo." I don't think that time with Tom behind the dugout counts. Would it? I'll think about that sometime. Maybe.
"Very nice. It can be beautiful, you know. I'm going to fuck you now, Joey. You're going to suck me and then I'm going to fuck you."
I'm busy looking at the drapes. They are in all those loud colors and they are blobbing and starting to drift around the room, up near the ceiling, amoeba style.
"What did I just tell you, Joey?"
"I like the red and purple blobs. Not too wild about the orange," I say.
Doctor Westcott is unbuttoning his lab coat and pulling it open. And he has nothing on underneath it. Hairy chest. All the way down from chest to ankles. Well, some on the tops of his feet too. And he's hard. God, haven't seen that since the showers during that All-State game, where Coach came and pulled Sam out of the showers. Both Sam and Coach were hard like that. Don't know where they went that day. In the mirror, of course, when I was jacking off. I've seen myself hard there. Bigger than Sam. Or Coach for that matter. Boy, he's got a good one, this doctor has.
Thought we'd already done the thumb-in-mouth test. But so big; don't remember the thumb being this big before. And my nose tickles. Hair in my nose. He's got both hands on the back of my head now, moving my head forward and back. Wonder how the thumb . . .? Oh, gag, gag, gag. Nice sound he's making. Hey, doc, I can moan too. Listen to me moan. But gagging too. So big. Not the same thumb, I don't think.
Uh, what was that that just . . .? Oh, OK, standing up now. Thanks for the help. Yeah, I know the part about sitting on the end of the examination table. Aren't those stirrups for women? Well, OK, if you want me to.
Uh, yes, Doc, I see you. That tickles, Doc. But now it feels good. Never done that with my nipples. Must remember to . . . to what?
