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At least that's what those doctors said. From Barcelona to Athens, it was the same story. In order to keep the clinics up to Europe's immense sanitation standards, no foreign objects could touch the exam table.

The doctors would put a firm hand on the young men's knees and tell them that's just how they do things over here. Well, it wasn't the knee, was it? Upper thigh is more accurate. No matter. These boys were in desperate need of medical attention and in no position to argue. When in Rome, right?

A modern medical marvel that had yet to cross the Atlantic was the importance of the glute muscles to overall health. Researchers at Oxford and the Sorbonne, so the doctors said, found that testing for symptoms via the largest muscle group on the body could reveal a whole host of other problems affecting the muscular and nervous systems.

The patients had some questions, and more than a little embarrassment, when they were asked to roll over onto their stomachs or, god forbid, bend over.

The comments from the doctors certainly didn't help.

"I see someone's taken advantage of our nude beaches; there's nary a tan line on you."

"Hiking Cinque Terre really makes the glutes pop, I'm sure your rear end's been burning for days."

"I can tell you've climbed the Spanish steps more than a few times."

The boys cringed as the skin that had only ever felt the warm embrace of cotton y-fronts or the fleeting sting of a coach's calloused hand was massaged vigorously by the doctor.

No matter what brought them in to the doctor, it was almost certain their backsides would be thoroughly examined. You wouldn't believe how many medications could be administered via dorsogluteal intramuscular injection or even suppository.

Some men even had Polaroid photos taken of their rear ends couriered to labs for further investigation. Their test results never did come back before the trips were over. Oh, how they hoped the photographs were ferried in sealed envelopes. God forbid someone other than a medical professional lay eyes upon such a compromising image.

When they returned to campus each fall, they regaled the underclassmen with the highs of their trips. With their closer friends, they'd share good gossip too. Not just tales of the coeds they had brief trysts with, but also juicy details about the gents they had been traveling with.

To return to campus unscathed by illness or injury, armed with souvenirs and stories of a pal's embarrassing doctor's visit, was a high like none other.

As much as everyone wanted to hear about historic landmarks and heavenly ladies, the best stories provided a bit of schadenfreude.

That's all a guy could really ask for, right? To know that the presumptive valedictorian had an embarrassing run-in with a doctor in Capri or the star Quarterback had his rear end fondled in Firenze was just too delicious.

One was hard pressed to find a guy who heard one of these tales who didn't clench his cheeks instinctively at the first mention of the poking and prodding. Of course, he'd relax eventually, smirking, smugly satisfied that it was some other sad sack and not him.

Even the guys who had suffered the embarrassment themselves could appreciate the scintillating details of their medical ordeal. That's why they dined out on the stories too. Placing their travel companions in the role of patient and themselves as the concerned, if not slightly amused, confidant.

Within weeks of the fall semester beginning, every freshly returned young man could feel the eyes of fellow students boring holes into the backs of their pressed khakis. Picturing in their minds the real or fabricated examination of each man's shapely bottom.