This third email is here because I just came across it not because if necessarily follows in chronological order the first two from Scotty.

The first time I was part of my mother-in-law, Lucy, having an enema happened one afternoon when I was visiting. Lucy had a nice outdoor pool. We'd seen each other at church and she suggested I come over for hamburgers and a swim. She'd provide the burgers, I'd BBQ.

Lying on pool side loungers after lunch she said to me, "I don't suppose you feel like you need an enema?" I laughed and said I had to admit it hadn't crossed my mind. She said, "I feel like I should have one." Then after a pause, "Would you be willing to help me?" Surprised I said, "Sure. If that's what you want." She said, "It's what I need and it's always nicer, better, with help."

With that she stood up, looked at me and said, "Shall we?"

"Now?" I asked somewhat stupidly.

"No time like the present," she said, "I know I'll feel better so I'd rather have an enema now than later."

I followed her into the house, upstairs and into her bedroom. She walked right into her bathroom and said, "You should watch me fix it so you can learn what to do."

I was totally alert and alive in the moment standing at the door watching her, in her black bathing suit, open a vanity drawer, bring out a red rubber bag and hose which had a black nozzle on the end. She reached back in the drawer and pulled out a larger black nozzle. It was an inch or so longer, perhaps three times as wide as the one I'd experienced and had a bit of a bulbous end. "I like this larger one," she said as she removed the other nozzle and fit the bigger one onto the end of the hose. "If you're a good boy someday I may use it with you."

Next she took a large glass measuring cup from the drawer along with a bar of white soap. She ran water in the sink and when warm filled the measuring cup to what must have been three cups and dropped in the bar of soap. "This is Ivory," she said as she swished the bar around in the water. "I have some goat milk special enema soap I use sometimes but the Ivory has more kick to it so I usually use it. The first enema you had was a goat milk soap one. The others have been Ivory."

She let the measuring cup sit on the counter, turning milky white with the soap, and ran the sink again testing the temperature with her fingers, "The body is almost 100 degrees which is pretty warm. I don't want the enema to be hot but it should be warm enough not to be unpleasant." Having found the right temperature she told me to come over and feel the water gushing from the tap with my fingers.

"Now we close the clamp .... click ... there it's closed and now water in the bag," she said holding the open top of the bag under the faucet. She didn't put much water in before she laid the bag upright in the sink, reached for the measuring cup and with her right hand took the bar of soap and gave it a vigorous swishing around. Then holding the top of her bag with her left hand she used her right to pour the soapy water into the bag. The sink had been running. She checked the water temperature and put the bag back under the faucet to fill. As the bag filled there was no doubt about the soap as bubbles appeared at the top of the bag and ran down the side as she turned the water off.

"Alright, if you'd hold the bag now," she said and handed me the bag. She kept the nozzle in her left hand pointed it into the sink and told me to open the clamp just for a second and then shut it again. I did. There was a little squirt out of the nozzle, and she said, "perfect. That gets any air out of the syringe. Opening the drawer again she took out a large jar of Vaseline. Using her thumb she popped the top open, set the jar and the nozzle down and with one fluid motion took her bathing suit shoulder straps and peeled her swim suit down to her ankles, stepped out of it, and hug her suit over the towel rack.

Striking a quick pose with her hand on her hip she said, "Not quite the body of Lynn, I know, but hope you're not too disappointed." I sure wasn't but before I could comment she was all business again with the nozzle in her left hand and using the index finger of her right to smear Vaseline all over the nozzle she said, "I remember when I was young seeing the nozzle in mom's hand, ready to penetrate my bottom with an enema how heart stopping it was to see. It still feels a bit that way knowing what it's going to do to me, make me do."

At this point she was pretty much facing me. She reached around back with her right arm, gave a little squat, and it was obvious from her facial expression and the little gasp she made that she'd slid her lubricated finger a little into her bottom.

Then she transferred the glistening nozzle to her right hand, reached back again and it was clear she was inserting the nozzle! Once in place she turned away from me, bent forward with her elbows on the vanity top and I was treated to this truly awesome sight of her naked back and her bottom with the red hose dangling down and then back up to the underside of the bag I was holding.

"Enema time," she said. "If you'd open the clamp for me ...."

"Alright," I said reaching up to the clamp and snapping it open.

"That's good. Oh I can feel it now. Hold the bag a little higher. Oh my god." Then in a softer voice, "enema ... enema ... take your enema ... you know you need it. Take it. Take it. That's good. Let it flow. Enema ... enema ... oh ... enema."

After a few minutes during which she moaned some and talked to herself about getting an enema, she asked,"Is the bag about half empty?"

"Yes, I'd say so." "Good, now clip off the hose." Click.

"That's good. I'm going to get down now," she said and with the nozzle apparently sufficiently implanted in her bottom she got down on the floor, lay on her left side, curled up into a fetal sort of position and said, "It would probably be best if you sat on the edge of the tub."

I did that and she said, "time to start again. Hold the bag so the bottom of it is about one foot or so above the nozzle and open the clamp."

Click, "That's good, I'll take the last half of the enema slowly. Hopefully that will keep me from cramping and give the enema lots of time to do what it has to do."

She lay there in silence for a bit, I held the bag and then she said, "Thank you for helping. It's so nice to have someone do this." I wasn't quite sure what I was doing except having the voyeur time of my life, but I said, "You're welcome. Glad to help."

A little while later she said, "I'm feeling soooo full. Is the bag nearly empty?" "Getting there," I said, "do you want to stop?" She said, "Can't. I need to take it all. It's the last few ounces that are the ones that really make the enema work. It's like holding a suppository long enough, even though it's burning and you want rid of it, to let it do what it has to do."

Then, changing the subject some, she said, "Have you ever had a suppository?" "Yes, mom used to give them to me sometimes," I said. "So, how did she give them to you? Over her lap?" "Sometimes," I said. "Did she spank you? Is that how she'd spank you? Over her lap?" I said, "Sometimes."

"Well, that's how I was spanked and how Lynn got lots of her spankings too," she said.

Then, another subject change, "How am I doing. Bag empty?"

"Not much more. An ounce or two."

"Good. Here's what I want you to do. Hold the bag up as high as you can, let the rest drain into me and when the bag is flat, clamp the hose and gently slide the nozzle out of my bottom. Okay?"

I said, "Hold on then and lifted the bag. She gasped, "Oh My God."

Quickly it went flat and Click I clamped the hose. Reaching down I grasped the hose, just behind the nozzle and gently started a pull to remove it. It slid out and she said, "you can just put everything up in the sink. I need to hold the enema now for five minutes or so. I hope you'll stay and talk. Distract me. Make it easier to hold the enema."