The Scrotal Sector

“Little Mickey”

by Jack Bristow

 

“What’s the trouble?” Doctor Leonardo asked me.

I peered over towards the young, fresh-faced nurse

but the doctor had told me not to mind her. “Mr Hard-

dawn,” he gently rebuked me. “Nurse Heidi is skilled

and proficient enough in her profession to handle any

medical anomalies that may arise.  Please. Take your

pants off.”

 

I looked over at nurse Heidi and she was staring

at me, smiling. Finally, I thought, What the hell? And

as I unbuckled the belt, my chino slacks went tumbling

to the floor.

 

Right then and there it was, or at least looked and

sounded like, Mickey Rooney. “Hey there!” He said

in a raspy, avuncular tone of voice to the doctor. Then

he had noticed nurse Heidi, and stood erect.

 

“Hey, you!” Now he was almost doubling, quadrupling

in size.

 

Nurse Heidi blushed.

 

“See what I have to contend with?” I told Doctor Leonardo.

“My sex-life is almost non-existent on account of this basek-

case.”

 

“Why’s that?” Doctor Leonardo asked.

 

I looked at Doctor Lenoardo, as though he were the biggest

dipshit on the face of the planet. “How many women do you

think would be attracted to you if you had Mickey Rooney

as the head of your penis?”

 

“Hey you!” Mickey reprimanded me hostiley. “Show

some respect! I’m an international, big-screen sensation!”

And then he winked his one-eye at nurse Heidi.

 

“Alright!” Dr. Leonardo was growing impatient with

the both of us. “This is quite strange, but I think I might

know how to help you,” he whispered lowly in my ear,

lest my cantankerous-but-lively little friend hear him.

“Your penis is somehow convinced that he is Mickey

Rooney. What I have to do is convince him that he

isn’t. That he is just a normal, nineteen-year-old, un-

circumcised penis.”

 

“And just how,” I whispered back into Doctor Leonardo’s

hairy, wax-filled ear, “do we go about doing that?”

 

Doctor Leonardo grabbed the small pocket watch

from out of his white, doctor’s jacket pocket and

dangled it in front of my penis slowly, tantalizingly.

“Now,” he said, looking downward, not at me, but

at Mickey. The doctor was speaking in a very low,

serene voice. “Repeat after me.”

 

“After me,” my penis, obviously in some sort of

trance, had said.

 

I am not the ninety-two-year-old academy-award

winning actor Mickey Rooney but a healthy, nineteen-

year-old penis.” A pause. And then the doctor continued.

“I am long, phallic and hard. I am very comfortable in

my own skin – that is to say, I will never again feel the

need to pretend I am something/somebody I am not.

That is to say,” the doctor knelt down toward my penis

and shouted directly into it: “I am not now, nor will I

ever be, nor have I ever been, Mickey Rooney!”

 

No response from Mickey. I was so happy – about to

shake the doctor’s hand. But he continued with the

hypnotherapy, waving the little gold-rimmed pocket

watch slowly and methodically in front of my genitilia.

 

“Now, just to prove to your owner that you

are sincere I am about to have you, only briefly,

act out as though you were a normal, farmhouse

rooster.” The Doctor moved the pocket watch

away from my member, and then he counted:

“one, two, three!”

 

Suddenly, my member had come to life! Strutting,

bawking, and walking around.

 

I sighed a sigh of relief.

 

No longer did my little friend believe he was Mickey

Rooney.

 

He was just an ordinary cock.

 

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