Lubed

I was in the waiting room. I was nervous.

A woman in a white uniform came out of a doorway. She made eye contact with me and smiled warmly.

“We’re ready for you, Mr. E.”

I followed her down a dark hallway with a series of closed doors. At the very end of the hallway was a brightly lit room. We entered the room and the woman motioned to an examining table covered with white paper.

“Lie flat on your stomach and try to relax.”

I heard footsteps as three large men entered the room. Two hands pressed tightly down on my ankles. A man on each side of my head clamped my arms down. One of the men had a beard and I could feel his whiskers tickle through my t-shirt. I could feel his warm breath.

“We have to take off his pants.”

I felt rough, calloused hands pull my sweatpants and underwear down to my knees. Cold air blew directly on me from above. I heard the snap of rubber gloves, felt a cold slippery liquid. One cold finger entered me, then two, then three. I tensed and the hand popped out.

“Try to relax,” the man with the beard and hot breath said.

The fingers entered me again. I felt some pain but tried to ignore it.

“He’s ready,” the woman said softly.

Then one of the men pressed the tip of a long tube into me and kept feeding it in, inch by inch, until it disappeared. There was a muffled beep and I sighed with great relief when the tube slid back out.

Everyone moved away and I was told to pull up my pants and stand, feeling sore but relieved.

The woman opened a door and bright lights shown through.

“All the way to the end, gate B-8. Enjoy your flight,” the woman said sweetly, discarding the gloves in the trash.