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I am a metallurgist working in the zinc coated sheet steel industry in Australia. I was offered a secondment to a steel plant that was being set up in India. The company in India had purchased a licence to manufacture sheet steel with a new kind of coating that my company had developed. I was only two years out of university but I had made a lot of advances in quality control systems at my company and I was offered the secondment because of that. I was excited to accept the secondment.

I was twenty-five then. Although I am quite shy, I’d never had a problem meeting girls though I’d never been in a serious relationship. I lost my virginity with the sister of one of my university friends when I was nineteen and had just finished first year. Through university, I had sex probably about once every two months on average. They said I was good looking and to tell the truth, I thought so too. I came to know that the girls I had sex with mostly knew each other and they talked about me. It was always the girls that initiated sex with me.

However, in the more than two years after leaving university, I’d only had sex once. I just had more interesting things to do. I loved my job and I often stayed back well after my going home time even though I wasn’t being paid for it. My company had let me install lots of sensors and data-loggers and I stayed back watching the data come in and trying to find correlations with quality issues. I’d done a double degree in Materials Engineering (Metallurgy) and Mathematics (Statistics) and I admit that I am a bit of a geek.

The steel mill in India is located in a town called Lonavala in Maharashtra State. It is about a hundred kilometres to the East of Mumbai (Bombay) but much cooler because it is up in the mountain range called the Sahyadri or the Western Ghats. There is a lot of jungle around, a lot of ancient cave temples and many beautiful lookouts. There is often fog and mist as the warm moisture laden winds from the coast come up and hit the cooler mountain air. I was given a house in a nice quiet tree filled place away from the centre of the town, which is quite spread out anyway. It was only a short walk from one of the most famous lookouts.

There are lots of monkeys there. I loved to see them and watch the funny things they did for the first few weeks I was there but before long I realised that they are complete bastards. I had bought some expensive binoculars from home. I stupidly left them beside me on a seat near the lookout while I answered my phone. Before I could do anything, a monkey stole them, ran to the edge of the lookout and threw them off the cliff. They steal and destroy things out of spite, not because they are of any value to them. They are the most disgusting animal alive.

The language the people speak there is Marathi. I had tried to learn as much as I could before leaving Australia but I found that most of the men I was working with in the steel plant spoke English perfectly and were very well educated. Even the men who operated the plant were well educated and spoke English pretty well. I sometimes tried to speak Marathi to them which caused them to smile widely. They usually understood what I said but nevertheless replied in English.

One of the shift supervisors was a man everyone called Gaani though his name on the shift roster was Bhagyashi. I never asked the reason why. I only worked during the second two thirds of the day shift and some of the afternoon shift and I was mostly in the offices so I didn’t see him that often but whenever he did, he came to talk to me. Even in the car park he waved to me. He was a very handsome man and like most of the workers on the new number three coating line, was a fairly new recruit. He had a degree in mechanical engineering. Back in Australia the position of shift supervisor would have been filled by an experienced operator with no qualifications at all. I often found in the Lonavala steel plant that people were over-qualified for the job that they did relative to Australia.

I was popular with all the shift supervisors and operators. I don’t know why but the other Australian working there (my boss) hardly ever spoke to them and most of the Indian staff in the office seemed to think themselves to be above them. They all knew my name but there were just too many of them for me to remember all of theirs. It was made more difficult by the fact that like Gaani, their names in the shift roster were never the names they used socially. Often up in the town a man would call out to me “Markji! Markji!” and sometimes come over to talk to me. Many times I not only couldn’t remember their names but often as far as I knew I had never seen them before.

Anyway, after I’d been there for about two months, I got sick. I had been careful with what I ate and only drank bottled water and it wasn’t a gastro problem anyway. I had a fever, vomiting in the morning and felt very weak in my muscles. After a few days, I went to see the doctor in a clinic in the town. My company had an arrangement with them so mecidiyeköy escort I didn’t have to pay anything. The doctor said it was probably caused my the anti-malaria pills I was taking and told me to halve the dosage. As is normal for me, by the time I went to see the doctor I was feeling much better anyway. He took a lot of test tubes of blood and asked me to come back in a week when he would have the results. I came to know that since he was just sending the bill to my company, he ran every kind of test he could think of.

After a week I was feeling fine and I was thinking of not bothering to go back to see the doctor but he called me and asked me to come in saying he needed to talk to me about my results. That made me quite nervous of course and so I kept the appointment. He said all of my tests were normal except for one. That was that I had an extremely high PSA level for a twenty-five year old. He asked me if I had any history of prostate cancer in my family and I said as far as I knew I didn’t. PSA is prostate-specific antigen and a high level indicates prostate cancer. He said he would repeat the test and he took another tube of blood but then started to look uncomfortable. He asked me,

“I can give you a digital rectal prostate examination, or I can send you down to Mumbai for a scan if you prefer?”

He seemed to want me to take the second option but I was in the middle of something important at work and I had no time to go back to Mumbai for a scan.

“What’s that examination?” I asked.

“I would need to examine your prostate gland by inserting my finger into your anus. The prostate can be felt through the rectum wall and I would be able to tell if it is enlarged or if there are any irregularities.”

Needless to say, that was quite shocking but I told him that I couldn’t spare the time to go down to Mumbai. He told me that I could wait until the repeat blood test came back and do the examination then but I was scared as hell by then and so I asked him to get it over with.

I had to take my trousers and underwear off and then lay on the vinyl covered bed in his room on my side facing the wall. He then put a glove on his hand, put some lubricant on his finger and asked me to bend my top thigh forward so that he could access my anus. I was apprehensive and embarrassed of course but he told me to relax and take a deep breath. It wasn’t really uncomfortable when he pushed his finger in. It was cold and felt wet and some of the lubricant ran down by buttock.

However, after a few seconds something very weird and super-embarrassing happened. I felt my anus muscles go tight by themselves and squeeze on his finger and then sort of go loose and start to vibrate. Then I felt a sudden flood of heat throughout my body and then I had a massive orgasm. My cock was hard but I don’t remember it getting hard. My arse was tight around the doctors finger and he pulled it out but it didn’t stop. I must have pumped cum out in more than half a dozen bursts before it stopped. When I looked down it was dripping from the bottom of my upper thigh, there was a huge pool of it on the vinyl cover of the bed and there was even some on the wall.

I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me or the doctor.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Somehow I have ejaculated.”

The doctor didn’t say anything at first. He walked to a dispenser on the wall and pulled out a lot of paper towels and handed them to me.

“Mister Mark, your prostate feels quite normal. There are no irregularities or enlargement. Please clean up and get dressed.”

He said all of this without looking at me. He sat in the chair at his desk and wrote something in his notes. I put my underwear and trousers back on and then got some more paper towels from the dispenser and tried to clean up my cum that was on the wall and that had leaked down between the bed and the wall. He turned to see what I was doing but then quickly turned away again.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said with a note of anger in his voice. “I will call you about the test results. You may go now.”

“Thanks doctor,” was all I said before quickly making my exit with my shoes in my hand. I sat down in the waiting room and put them on before leaving. My driver had been waiting outside in the car so I got in and he took me back to the plant.

I worked pretty late that day trying to catch up on work that I had missed by going to the doctor until I realised my driver would still be waiting for me. I asked him to take me to a tourist hotel just down the road from my house. The restaurant of that hotel is where I usually ate my dinner. Actually after a few weeks in Lonavala I ate nearly all my meals in that restaurant because if I tried to take any food home, the monkeys would attack me. If I cooked anything they would start banging on the windows and jumping on the roof and if I tried to go out afterwards, they would all be crowded around the door. The hotel had double doors with heavy springs and guards outside with long canes that they used taksim escort to keep the monkeys away. Actually the monkeys had learned their lesson and never came close to the hotel entrance or driveway.

I had the weird idea that because I’d had an orgasm when the doctor shoved his finger up my arse that I might be gay, or at least bisexual. I had never felt any sexual attraction to men though when I thought about it, I wasn’t particularly interested in sex with women either. When I’d had sex with women, it had always been at their instigation. When I got home I opened my laptop and started doing some research. I’d heard of prostate cancer but I didn’t really know what the prostate was, where it was or what it did.

The answers I found on the internet were quite disturbing. Firstly that it would be highly unusual for a twenty-five year old to require a digital prostate exam. They are only recommended for men over forty and only with a family history of prostate cancer, though my doctor did say that I had an extremely high PSA.

Secondly, ejaculation during a prostate exam had been reported before but experts agree that it is an urban myth. There were no reliable accounts of it ever happening by doctors, only by patients who claimed on social media that it had happened to them. The consensus of expert opinion was that although some men do have orgasms and ejaculate due to stimulation of the prostate, usually during anal sex by another man, that it was extremely unlikely to happen because of the few seconds of prostate stimulation during a digital prostate exam and in the situation where the patient was not sexually aroused.


I slammed the lid of my laptop down and went to sleep. A few days later the doctor rang me and told me that my PSA was normal. I couldn’t ask him any questions about what had happened because I was in my office at work and there were a lot of other guys there. Also because he said goodbye and then immediately hung up before I even had a chance to say goodbye to him. Needless to say I didn’t ever go to see him again and luckily while I was in Lonavala I didn’t need to.

I could have put the whole incident out of my mind, and I did rarely think about it at work but at home at night I couldn’t. I started down a path that I could never have imagined back home in Australia.

The only reliable sources I found on the internet of men having prostate orgasms were either during gay anal sex or by using dildos or specially designed “prostate massagers”. Even then, actual videos of it happening were very rare. There were certainly videos of men ejaculating while being fucked by another man and not masturbating their cock but it usually wasn’t clear that they hadn’t been masturbating until a second before the video showed them cumming supposedly hards free. In any case, they were being fucked for a long time before they orgasmed, not the few seconds that had happened to me. I’d like to mention as well at this point that I wasn’t particularly turned on by the videos of men having anal sex.

The videos I found of men using dildos and prostate massagers were even less convincing. They seemed to put a lot of effort into it and took a lot of time to just get a few dribbles of highly liquid cum to run down their cocks. There was nothing like the bang bang bang bang bang spurting cum all over the place orgasm that I had had at the clinic.

I masturbated probably every second or third night and sometimes in the shower in the morning. Sometimes I thought about the girls I had had sex with when masturbating but mostly I didn’t have any fantasy at all. To tell the truth, I often masturbated looking at myself in the mirror. After that incident, I started fingering my anus while masturbating. I used vegetable oil as a lubricant and although I could never find my prostate, it did intensive the pleasure of my orgasm and I loved the way my arse muscles tightened around my finger as I came.

There was nothing around the house I could use as a dildo and no way of buying something in a place like Lonavala. I tried the neck of a glass soft drink bottle and the handle of a spoon but they didn’t do anything and nothing I did caused of a repeat of what had happened in the doctor’s room that day.

Inevitably, my thoughts turned to asking a gay man to fuck me. Writing this two years later, I still know that I’m not gay. Maybe I am bisexual but I suspect that actually I’m asexual, or “ace” as they call it but I’m not really into the labels. I certainly don’t consider myself part of any LGBTQI+ community. My interest then in getting a gay man to fuck me was purely our of curiosity triggered by what had happened during the prostate exam. Another thing I found on the internet was a video of “pegging”, a woman using a strap on dildo to fuck a man in his arse. To me that is the most stupid thing imaginable. Why not just get a gay man to do it if you want to be fucked?

As I said, I am pretty shy socially and I thought my chances of finding someone was pretty beşiktaş escort remote, however with Google to the rescue, I found that there is a gay dating app for iPhone called “Planet Romeo” which is quite popular in India. I downloaded it and put into my profile what I was looking for but I didn’t put my photo there. I was surprised to find heaps of guys on there from Lonavala. Nearly all of them had fake photos or no photos at all. Lonavala was pretty conservative and so that is understandable.

I chatted with a few guys but didn’t commit to anything. Most of the guys also wanted to be fucked which is indicated by calling themselves “bottoms”. Men who want to fuck guys are called “tops”. There was one guy who described himself as “versatile” which means he doesn’t mind if he fucks or gets fucked. We chatted off and on for a few days. He didn’t have a profile picture but neither did I though I was pretty open about myself. I said I was from Australia and I told him my age. He was from Lonavala and turned out to be a year younger than me, that is, twenty-four. I said I was working there for a year but I didn’t say where. I told him what I had studied at university and he told me what he had studied. I labelled myself as a “bi-curious bottom”. He asked to see my cock. Weirdly I did actually get an erection chatting to him and so I took a photo of my cock and sent it to him. He sent me a photo of his, also erect. I told him I had never had sex with a man before but I was curious about being fucked. He said that he had had sex with men many times and liked to fuck.

Eventually he asked me if I wanted to meet him. I said I was shy and that maybe we should meet somewhere like a cafe or a bar first. It was then that he dropped the bombshell.

“If you like, but it doesn’t matter because I think you already know me and I think I already know you. I will send my photo if you like.”

He sent his photo without me giving an answer but I didn’t immediately recognise him. Actually, I’m a little shamed to say that many Indian men looked alike to me. I still hadn’t responded since he had said that he thought he knew me. He sent another message,

“I’m Gaani.”

I’d only ever seen Gaani with his hard hat on, even in the car park. In the plant he also always wore ear muffs but looking back at the photo, I realised that it was him. I could feel my heart beating and I felt hot in the face. I remembered that I had told him that I wanted to be fucked and I felt suddenly embarrassed.

“Gaani! It is you. Sorry I didn’t recognise you without your hat!”

“It is you Markji?”


“This is my dream Markji. I’m horny for you since I first saw you but I didn’t know you are a gay.”

“I’m not gay really. I’m just curious.”

“Can I come to your house tomorrow night?”

I’d already told him that I lived in a house by myself. I felt like a tonne of logs had fallen on me. Sure, I was on Planet Romeo looking for gay sex but I didn’t imagine that I would meet someone I already knew and worked with. I couldn’t say no to him without hurting his feelings and ruining our work relationship.

“OK. That sounds good, but we can have some drinks and talk and maybe something will happen. Maybe not?”

“Yes Markji. Let’s become good friends. I have always liked you.”

“Gaani, I hope you won’t tell anyone about this?”

“It is a secret for both of us Markji. Don’t tell anyone at the factory about me.”

“I won’t”.

I told him where I was living and we agreed to meet at my house at eight thirty the following night. It is hard to explain why I felt so embarrassed.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” I yelled.

I tried to think of some way of backing out when we met. Gaani was my work colleague and I thought of him as a friend though we had never met outside of work. I couldn’t say I was friends with the people I worked with in the office. In Australia, the Materials Engineers, Mechanical Engineers and the Electrical Engineers all had a kind of professional rivalry that I never understood. The Electrical Engineers were the most obnoxious and thought they were superior and more knowledgeable than everyone else, just because their degree took an extra year. In India, it was a thousand times worse. If I ever asked a question they would always treat me like a moron and give half an answer. I was told once when I asked a question just to Google it. The reality is of course that university qualifications are not that important in the real world compared to what you learn on the job.

That is why whenever there had been some quality control problem, I preferred to go down to the line and ask the operators what they knew about it. Even in Australia, the line operators knew enough of the theoretical background to have a pretty good idea what had caused problems but mainly they knew because they had been involved in the solutions every time problems had happened before. I firmly believe experience is worth far more than qualifications. In India, the operators were just as intelligent and certainly in the case of Gaani, just as qualified as professional staff in the office. They just didn’t know the right people or have the right family background to get the higher paying jobs.

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