Confessions of a School Nurse. Michael Alexander

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       A Taste

      Marcus made sure no one was sitting near the door before closing it.

      ‘It’s really personal,’ he whispered to me over his shoulder.

      ‘It has to be a guy,’ he’d insisted when he arrived at the bustling nurses’ office. Most requests of this nature are girls asking to see a female nurse; though this was only my first week in the role, Marcus was the first student to ask to see a man, so my mind went into overdrive imagining the ways in which I could impart my knowledge in a reassuring, helpful manner to a young man in obvious need.

      As Marcus turned from the door to face me, his hands delved into the front of his pants. He wasn’t in uniform; he wore loose track pants instead. I got the feeling than an inspection of that area was on the horizon. He refused a seat, so I asked him what the problem was.

      ‘You won’t tell anyone?’ he answered.

      ‘Of course I won’t tell anyone, just explain what’s wrong.’

      ‘They’re sore. My nuts are sore. And the left one seems bigger.’

       Ah!

      I could either take a look at Marcus now, or wait for him to be seen at the local doctor’s office. I chose the latter. There was no need for the poor lad to be exposing himself more than necessary. It’s not that Dr Fritz wouldn’t have trusted my judgment, but there’s more to feeling someone’s nuts than the average guy thinks. Is there a lump? Does it move freely? Is it attached to the testicle? Is the spermatic cord twisted? It would be up to Dr Fritz to decide what to do – whether it would require an urgent scan today or was something that could wait – so he would need to examine the lad properly. And besides, this environment wasn’t ideal for an intimate examination; the south wall of my office was made of glass, a window that looked out upon the mountains and a large terrace … a window with no curtain.

      But Marcus was too quick for me.

      ‘You have to see them,’ he declared, whipping his pants down. Looking up, he gave a short scream.

      No students were on the terrace, but Mrs Driscoll, the headmaster’s wife, was there with what looked like a prospective family … admiring the view.

      Despite the incident, the prospective girl did enroll. Rumour has it she insisted.

      Now don’t worry, I’ll get back to Marcus’s nuts in a minute, but before I do, let me tell you how I came to be here on this snowy mountain.