Lets All Clap
Let me set the scene. It's 1998 late summer in the metropolis, the Lancer is a relatively young 32 working in London doing something with computers. It's a sweltering hot day and the Lancer is walking down Lambeth Palace Road heading for St Thomas's Hospital. On arrival the Lancer peruses the list of departments until he finds what he is looking for, after which he trots upstairs finds the dept, speaks to the receptionist provides some details, and is directed to a waiting room. In the waiting room he finds a lot of other mainly gentlemen nearly all with bowed heads looking rather uncomfortable and shifty. The room it's self is pretty standard fare for pre-millennial English NHS facilities, dingy with plaster walls painted a strange hue of what can only be described as boil coloured orange, and peeling in places. The folk in the room represented every skin colour, race and creed, they are mainly young, but some are surprisingly old, 'dirty old bastards' thinks the Lancer unreasonably. With nothing to do now but wait his turn the Lancer looks around for a magazine, this is the era before smart phones remember, but quickly gives up as he thinks about the folk who would have read them before him, god know what they had. In an attempt to break the ice the lad next to the Lancer proffers him a stick of gum, the Lancer is about to take it but thinks better of it and pulls his hand back, 'er no you're alright lad'.
After a while the Lancer's name is called and he is ushered into a small hot consulting room, sitting behind the desk is a rather pretty lady doctor, beautifully turned out, blonde mid length hair and glasses. She asks him to 'seet down pleaze', it's then the Lancer twigs that she's not from round these parts, 'thanks' he says nervously and sits down. The doctor introduces herself as doctor Champs Elysees or something French that the Lancer can't remember. Oh the irony of having a French lady as a clap doctor, as pre swinging 60's Britain anything to do with the unmentionable thing that married men and women do (once to have a kid) was always related to France as we all know they are sex maniacs. French letters, French kissing, err that's all I can think of but you get the idea. The fact that doctor Elysees was beautiful and very cool and at ease made it all the more uncomfortable for the Lancer, obviously non of this was the doctors fault, it was all the Lancers hang ups. 'You French then' the Lancer offers rather weakly, desperately trying to make himself feel at ease. 'Yes I am from Paris' doctor Elysees informs the Lancer. 'Oh that's nice' the Lancer flashers back feebly. Dr Elysees is reading through his notes following the lines with the non writing end of an expensive looking black lacquer and gold pen. She flicks down the lines swiftly and when she has finished, she briskly looks up and tells the Lancer to 'drop ze jeans and underzervare pleaze', the Lancer is a bit startled but complies. Dr Elysees then scoots round the side of her desk still sitting in her wheeled office chair and gently takes hold of the Lancers dick with her black latex gloved hands, and starts looking at the red raw tip with it's obvious dried puss. 'Oh zat iz very nasty' she says, but the Lancer isn't really listening he is a millions miles away trying not to let himself down by getting aroused, he is thinking of everything but what is happening, the hairy lip of an aged relative when she tries to kiss you, the OEM specks of a 1982 Suzuki RM 125, what to make for tea. Then all of a sudden Voltaire springs to mind, he has just finished Candide, old Voltaire was French he thinks, but only he didn't think it he muttered it under his breath. 'Vot iz zat' says Dr Elysees, 'oh sorry I was saying Voltaire was French'. Dr Elysees is over joyed, 'oh vow you ave read ze Votaire' Dr Elysees says as she absentmindedly fondles the Lancers cock and balls. 'Er yes doctor I have just finished Candide, all is for the best in the best of possible worlds' enthuses the Lancer now getting into the spirit of things. It is then that situation return to him, 'err can I pull me kecks back up now doctor' asks the Lancer, 'oh yes of course' the doctor replies. Doctor Elysees is all business again, 'eet iz nothing, I vill give you the antibiotics it vill get better, you should tell any recent partners to seek medical attention too, sank you meester Lancer, take ziss to the pharmacy on your way out'. The Lancer did what he was told and it did get better quickly, he never really found out where it came from, and that was that, the day he had a conversation with a pretty well groomed 40 something French doctor, while she fondled his dick and balls, such is the life of a Jolly Lancer.
After a while the Lancer's name is called and he is ushered into a small hot consulting room, sitting behind the desk is a rather pretty lady doctor, beautifully turned out, blonde mid length hair and glasses. She asks him to 'seet down pleaze', it's then the Lancer twigs that she's not from round these parts, 'thanks' he says nervously and sits down. The doctor introduces herself as doctor Champs Elysees or something French that the Lancer can't remember. Oh the irony of having a French lady as a clap doctor, as pre swinging 60's Britain anything to do with the unmentionable thing that married men and women do (once to have a kid) was always related to France as we all know they are sex maniacs. French letters, French kissing, err that's all I can think of but you get the idea. The fact that doctor Elysees was beautiful and very cool and at ease made it all the more uncomfortable for the Lancer, obviously non of this was the doctors fault, it was all the Lancers hang ups. 'You French then' the Lancer offers rather weakly, desperately trying to make himself feel at ease. 'Yes I am from Paris' doctor Elysees informs the Lancer. 'Oh that's nice' the Lancer flashers back feebly. Dr Elysees is reading through his notes following the lines with the non writing end of an expensive looking black lacquer and gold pen. She flicks down the lines swiftly and when she has finished, she briskly looks up and tells the Lancer to 'drop ze jeans and underzervare pleaze', the Lancer is a bit startled but complies. Dr Elysees then scoots round the side of her desk still sitting in her wheeled office chair and gently takes hold of the Lancers dick with her black latex gloved hands, and starts looking at the red raw tip with it's obvious dried puss. 'Oh zat iz very nasty' she says, but the Lancer isn't really listening he is a millions miles away trying not to let himself down by getting aroused, he is thinking of everything but what is happening, the hairy lip of an aged relative when she tries to kiss you, the OEM specks of a 1982 Suzuki RM 125, what to make for tea. Then all of a sudden Voltaire springs to mind, he has just finished Candide, old Voltaire was French he thinks, but only he didn't think it he muttered it under his breath. 'Vot iz zat' says Dr Elysees, 'oh sorry I was saying Voltaire was French'. Dr Elysees is over joyed, 'oh vow you ave read ze Votaire' Dr Elysees says as she absentmindedly fondles the Lancers cock and balls. 'Er yes doctor I have just finished Candide, all is for the best in the best of possible worlds' enthuses the Lancer now getting into the spirit of things. It is then that situation return to him, 'err can I pull me kecks back up now doctor' asks the Lancer, 'oh yes of course' the doctor replies. Doctor Elysees is all business again, 'eet iz nothing, I vill give you the antibiotics it vill get better, you should tell any recent partners to seek medical attention too, sank you meester Lancer, take ziss to the pharmacy on your way out'. The Lancer did what he was told and it did get better quickly, he never really found out where it came from, and that was that, the day he had a conversation with a pretty well groomed 40 something French doctor, while she fondled his dick and balls, such is the life of a Jolly Lancer.
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