My heart sinks as I peek into my waiting room and find dad sitting there expectantly. "Oh no. I thought I still had a few months until..."

"January 1st? My annual physical," dad says. "You don't think I put you through medical school out of the good of my heart did you? There's got to be a few perks to having a doctor for a son."

He pushes into my clinic, hops up onto the examination table, and begins unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the pallid, hairy expanse of his middle-aged spread.

"Please let me find you a nurse. They're very qualified and they'd be more than happy to check you over."

"Nonsense. You're a doctor, don't be so squeamish. Besides, it's nothing you haven't seen been before."

"That doesn't help."

It just means I know exactly what is coming - the same as last year and the year before, only incrementally saggier each time. With a weary heart, I snap on the latex gloves and begin to poke at him. After undergoing this annual ritual so many times, he's rather an expert himself, getting indignant if it doesn't take the full hour, involve a full blood workup, the works, and offering tips such as "don't forget to palpate!" which make my skin crawl.

"After what medical school cost, I deserve to get my money's worth," he reminds me.

As expected, he's in reasonably fitness for a man his age. Just the usual, carrying too much weight. After an hour, I strip the gloves.

"You're fine. Your cholesterol is a little high," I lie. "I'd like to prescribe a statin. One pill a day, and we'll see how things look next year."

I go into the back, unlock the pharmacy drug cabinet, and heave down the extra large tub of estrogen, enough to feminize a bull elephant.

"On second thoughts, make it four pills a day," I say, passing him the tub.

January 1st. A pretty young thing is sitting in my waiting room as I lean my head around my clinic door. She wears an ill-fitting shirt that could be from a thrift store draped over her delicate torso like a circus tent. A pair of baggy sweatpants stretch over growing hips.

But the masculine clothing can't disguise her beauty. She is radiant, her soft skin having the type of glow one might expect to see in a pregnant woman. A healthy hormonal glow.

"Dad," I smile. "Ready for your physical?"

"Um..." His hands fidget nervously in his lap. "Are there any-?"

"Afraid all the nurses are busy."

He lowers his head and tiptoes quietly into the clinic, his rear wiggling plumply as he walks towards the examination table. He looks half his age. The equivalent of a dozen chemical-induced puberties all at once will do that.

This year he requires prompting to remove the shirt, reluctantly unbuttoning it. His pert little breasts are growing in nicely, his hormone engorged nipples very puffy and pink.

"I noticed the swelling a while ago," he says quietly. "I should have told you sooner but..."

"Nothing I haven't seen before. Tender at all?" I ask casually, palpating his feminine mounds. I hadn't bothered with the gloves. His face flushes pink.

"N-no," he lies. "Your m-mother says it could be a hormone imbalance?"

I affect my most soothing bedside manner. "This kind of thing isn't uncommon for a man your age. It's just something to keep an eye on. I'd like to double your statins and we'll see where you are next year, okay?"

"Thank you, doctor," he says meekly, hopping down and reaching for his shirt.

I lightly grab his arm. "But we're not done with the rest of the physical yet." I look down at the sweatpants stretched over his peachy ass. "Why don't we start with your prostate exam?"