by Christine and Richard T.

As we continue to write stories, our recent attempts appear to be a chronicling my personal life, at least as far as one particular health habit is concerned. If this is the first of our stories that you've read, we'd suggest referring to ‘Last From Mom' and ‘I Just Can't Believe It' to perhaps add some additional context.

Like so many other baby boomers, I grew up in a home where an enema and two aspirin were the favorite remedies of the day. In the story ‘Last From Mom' I told of getting one as a teenager and thinking that I was going to die of embarrassment. Then in ‘I Just Can't Believe It' I tell of being away at college and making the decision that I needed to give myself an enema. But life goes on and about two years out of college Richard and I got married. Times change and people change, but some of the things we learned along the way seem to stay in place

It was the fall of 1982. Richard and I had been married in June and while we were still technically newlyweds, we were also getting into a routine. We both had good jobs doing the things career-wise that weren't dreamt about during college. Financially, we were doing fine and were hoping to soon start a family. I'd even stopped taking the pill, ironic that it may seem, a month before we got married.

When I was in college I belonged to a sorority. While I seldom complained much about anything, I did suffer from PMS that accompanied the usual monthly bloating, moodiness and mild constipation. For a while I would take Correctal© for this problem, but one month when I had used the last tablet I'd asked one of my sorority sisters if I could borrow one from her. She asked why I was doing that instead of just taking a small enema and getting it over with. I was stunned thinking that she was an enema user. I was even more stunned when she told me that several of the other sisters were too.

Needless to say, I became an occasional enema user. My amber latex folding syringe was put to that occasional good use. Although I still use it today, I do so only for douching. But I need to get back to my story about being a newlywed.

After a couple of months of being off the pill, my cycle was nowhere near as regular as it had been when I was on it. One of the ways that I could tell that my period was coming was by how I felt. All the usual female complaints: tenderness in my breasts, moodiness, cravings for chocolate, and bloating, you know those times when your bras feel like a size too small and you can't quite as easily zip your jeans?

Within the past three months a pre-period enema had become the norm. By this time I'd given myself enough of them that it wasn't any big deal. They always worked and I was feeling better in no time at all. I'd even gotten to the point where I enjoyed them provided I wasn't rushed like in the mornings and had to get dressed and off to work.

The amber latex syringe was getting a work out, but the thing that always bothered me was having to meticulously clean it afterwards so that I could douche with it several days later when my period ended. It was a bother and I'd made a mental note that I needed to buy another syringe, but since it wasn't a high priority I had just kept doing what I had.

Then one Sunday my husband, Richard, and I were reading the paper after breakfast. This wasn't the New York Times because it had a very thin magazine section, colored comics, no book review, and lots of ad inserts. Even though we were doing fine, I was brought up in a home where you always perused the ads in hopes that you'd find some that would save a few dollars. Sure enough, this Sunday's Walgreen's insert had an ad for combination syringes and fountain syringes at $2.00 off provided you had the coupon. I quickly ripped it out of the paper along with a few others that looked like bargains.

‘What are you doing, Chris?' asked my husband hearing my flurry of paper tearing.

‘Oh, I just found some coupons that we could use. That's all,' I explained.

‘Anything good?'

‘No, just the usual kinds of stuff. Make-up, shampoo. You know, stuff like that,' I replied knowing that wasn't being totally honest with him and felt bad about it. But while Richard knew that I took an occasional enema, it is one topic that he would not engage in. He claimed that he never had them growing up and that it just sounded disgusting.

I put the coupons in my purse with the hopes that I wouldn't forget them. What happened too often is that I would clean out my purse every now and then and always find coupons that had expired months earlier. It almost happened again, but didn't.

On Thursday night on my way home from work I had to stop for gas. After filling the tank I walked to the cashier and went to get out my credit card. Sure enough there in the bottom of my purse were the coupons with the one for the syringe right on top. I paid for the gas and drove a few blocks to the Walgreen's intent on making a most important purchase.

At 5:40 in the afternoon the Walgreen's was pretty busy. When I went to the feminine hygiene aisle, there were several other women there all of who were dressed like me in business attire otherwise known as grey suits, white blouses and mid-height heels. While most of them were looking for their favorite brand of feminine protection, I looked for the sale on syringes. Actually, the store had a decent selection of combination, fountain, bulb and folding syringes. But like I said, we are all products of our upbringing and I wanted a red combination syringe just like my mother had had for years. They had two qualities, but knowing that wed have this for years to come, I got the better one. The box was marked $5.49, but with my coupon I would only pay $3.49. No one blinked an eyelash when I took a box from the shelf, nor did they give a second look when I stood in line at the checkout. Women can buy these things any time they want, but for some reason it's a different story with guys.

When I got to the car, I could feel a sense of excitement come over me. To a certain degree it must have been anticipation. When I pulled out of the parking lot I all of a sudden felt like I was in a rush to get home. And when I got home I was going to retreat to the master bathroom and give myself a nice warm, soapy enema with my new red combination enema bag.

I pulled into my parking space and went into our apartment. After taking off my coat I took the package containing the new purchase and headed for our bedroom. The anticipation was building as I slipped out of my skirt and pantyhose. Just then I heard the front door close and with it the realization that Richard had just gotten home meaning that instead of giving myself an enema, he and I would have get something together for our dinner. He poked his head into the bedroom just as I was putting on a pair of jeans. ‘Hi, Hon,' he said coming over to kiss me.

We went to the kitchen, got some items from the fridge and put dinner together. Afterwards, he changed and settled in front of the TV while I went back to the master bedroom. It was finally enema time.

I retreated to the bathroom and ran the water at the sink waiting for it to get warm. As that was happening, I opened the flat box containing the syringe and much to my surprise saw that the syringe was very much like the one my mom had even to the black nozzles and red hose. Not only was I surprised, but even delighted at the throwback to my childhood.

The water had warmed so I closed the stopper in the sink and floated a bar of Ivory. Then using a drinking glass I scooped the warm, soapy water into the syringe filling it a little past half way. Then I screwed in the stopper and attached the rectal nozzle to the other end of the hose. I was just about ready. Picking up the bag, I released the clamp and let some water flow into the sink to clear the air from the hose trembling somewhat as I did so.

I hung the bag from the towel bar, spread some towels over the rug on the bathroom floor and took off my jeans. Putting my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, I slid them down and off. After rummaging around under the sink I found the tube of KY, I applied some to my index finger and lubed my bottom. I was visibly shaking with anticipation by the time I laid down on the towels. Grabbing the lose end of the hose, I inserted it. Not wanting to wait any longer, I took a deep breath as Mom would have coached me to do and opened the metal clamp.

Don't ask me why this enema all of a sudden was so special because I've regularly given myself enemas with my other syringe. But this was special and I loved every minute of that warm feeling flooding my insides. A few minutes after I'd emptied the bag, I removed the nozzle and relocated to the toilet where the enema did everything that I knew it would. As Mom had so conditioned me to believing, ‘A nice warm, soapy enema is perfect for cleaning you out.' And this one did, too.

Afterwards, I cleaned up the bag and hung it over the faucets to the bathtub to dry just like Mom used to do. I took off my blouse and bra and put on a somewhat sheer, long cotton nightgown. When I went out to the living room and sat down to join Richard watching TV, he looked over and asked, ‘What have you been doing?'

‘Oh, just cleaning some things up,' I replied with an impish smile on my face and a great feeling of satisfaction.

Richard didn't seem to notice my smile, but I know he couldn't have helped but note the nightgown and the fact that I had absolutely nothing on underneath it. I sat down and snuggled up with him and after some nibbling on his ear it wasn't long for me to interest in some activities other than TV. Soon we were in the bedroom doing what so many married couples, but especially newlyweds, loved to do.

But it wasn't until morning when we both had to get up and get ready for work that Richard discovered the now dry enema bag hanging in the bathtub. He didn't say anything, but he had to not only have found it, but move it out of the way so that he could shower. When I went in to shower, it was lying on the vanity with its hose coiled neatly on top.

In a way I was a little disappointed that we didn't at least talk about it, especially since I so enjoyed using it. But by that point in our marriage he still wouldn't talk about enemas.

Be that as it may, I was still so pleased that I'd been able to find a combination syringe ‘just like Moms.'