The GPS says I’ve arrived, even though I’m in a small gravel parking area from which only trees and what looks like an equestrian trail are visible. The trees behind and to the side are deciduous, and ahead, the path disappears in deep pine shade. The breeze shifts, bringing clumps of white pine needles on my windshield. If his message hadn’t described this, I would most certainly think it was the wrong place.

Turning off the car, I step into the bright afternoon light. The pines cool and scent the air, and the trail through them is dry now but overstrewn with pine shavings and sawdust in the low spots. Eventually I reach a clearing, beyond which is a well-maintained farmhouse, a clapboard barn, and the promised shop. As instructed, I knock on the shop door, the kind that rolls on an overhead track. It sways gently in the track, absorbing some of the sound.

I wait and try again. I hear no footsteps, but the door rolls open from the inside, and, as my eyes adjust to the dimmer interior, a medium-tall man about my age with very kind eyes motions me in. “I’m Brian.” He confirms my name and appointment time. “We’re a small shop,” he says, smiling. “In fact, ‘we’ is just me.” He’s wearing jeans and a marled T-shirt that shows off the sort of nice arms more crafted in due course than at the gym.

We’re standing in an open workshop, and I see lathes and blocks of materials. A flannel shirt hangs off the corner of a workbench. There’s a shipping area, and a computer with a large monitor. “That’s where I’ll design your nozzle, using your measurements and the CAD recommendations. Depending on the specifications and, well, you, your anatomy and preferences, your piece will be made on one of these four lathes.”

I nod, noting his wavy brown hair, just a little gray over the ears. His eyes are warm hazel. He seems patient and assured, and looks right at me, gauging my response.

“This next part is, no other phrase for it, quite intimate. Some people come this far and just aren’t comfortable. They decline to proceed. And that would be okay for you, now or at any stage of this process. You wouldn’t need to worry. There would still be a cost, but pro-rated based on how far we’ve gotten. If you say stop, at any time, I will stop right then and await further instructions from you.”

I nod again. He seems earnest and gentle.

“If you’re comfortable, let’s go back for your pre-measurement procedures. We’ll start by reviewing all the medical information in your intake form, and only after that will I ask you to disrobe.”

Making steady eye contact, he asks, “Good to proceed?”

“Proceed,” I say, taking a deep breath to fortify myself against the unusual situation.

He escorts me to a smaller room with two comfortable chairs and a beautiful high twin bed. Above the wainscoting of the room is a rack of Shaker-style pegs that I understand will eventually hold my clothes. There’s an adjacent bathroom, rather large, with clean, cream-colored tile and both a pedestal and a farmhouse sink, which I recognize is for enema preparation. There’s a counter, and an autoclave for sterilizing instruments. The effect is both medically reassuring and homey.

I take a seat in one chair; he swoops a laptop off a shelf and settles into the other, carefully reading the information in my form and calling out items for confirmation. “So, you are a seasoned enema aficionado who enjoys very comfortable, warm-water enemas with just baking soda as an additive, not exceeding 2.25 liters. And you have a 30-year history of IBS-C that can give you episodic abdominal pain, sometimes quite severe. I’m sorry you’re dealing with that.”

I shrug. “Me, too.”

“You’ve had a recent colonoscopy that revealed diverticulosis of the sigmoid and descending colon, which would be very consistent with your decades of IBS-C, unfortunately, but no other visible bowel concerns.”

“Your rectal vault is likely to be on the smaller side, and it’s unlikely you’d enjoy a nozzle greater than 1” in most circumstances, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I say, rather amazed at how matter-of-fact and comfortable he can make such a conversation.

“Any new medical information, or old medical information you did not put on the form?”

I shake my head. “That’s it.”

“And how is your lower bowel today? Any pain or constipation of which you’re aware?”

“No pain today,” I say easily. Constipation is trickier as I can have bowel movements daily and yet slowly back up to the point of discomfort. “I don’t think I’m especially constipated.”

“Okay, we’ll see what’s happening as we go. No fevers or infections of which you’re aware?”

“No, I feel just fine.”

He explains that the next steps will be to take two enemas to clear the rectum and the sigmoid colon completely, and that these can be on the smaller side, if I prefer.

“Do you mind if we go for two quarts each time? I don’t expel well with smaller volumes.”

He assures me this is okay, and asks if I’d like to self-administer or have him give.

“Can you please administer?”

“Of course,” he answers. “Knowing the other steps are a digital exam, testing nozzle shapes and diameters, and then an insertable device to measure the rectum and sigmoid, most people don’t insist on modesty to start.”

He chuckles but then looks a little stricken.

“Well, that sounded wrong. I will of course look out for as much modesty as possible. You’ll be kept warm and draped throughout the entire process. You will be on your own when expelling, but I’ll be right here on the other side of this door if you feel faint or need help.”

“Do you like abdominal massage as part of your enemas?” he asks. He seems to be watching my expressions carefully to ensure they match my words.

“Isn’t that the best part?”

He smiles. “I can do that. How about massage of your sacrum and lower back?”

“Yes, please. To both.

“Are you comfortable to proceed?”

“Yes. This sounds very nice.”

“Well, I aim to make it a good experience. But I do ask every client that we keep things professional, throughout the entire process. Are you okay with that?”

Yes, I was expecting that and am okay. But I didn’t realize Brian would be handsome enough that I’d envision something else.

“Okay, if you’re ready, I’m going to step out so you can undress. Take everything off; you can hang your clothes on this side of the room, but please leave the pegs on the other side free so I can hang your enemas. When you’re undressed, please get into the bed and under the covers. I’ll drape you as needed with this lightweight flannel blanket. We’ll start with a brief examination of your abdomen and then I’ll check and lubricate your rectum.”

I pull off my summer dress and slip and hang them on the pegs. Instinctively I hide my bra and panties under the dress, which makes me laugh a little in light of where we’re going next.

I see the bed is turned down to show a waterproof pad. I get in and center the pad under my hips, then pull the soft flannel top sheet and blanket over me.

I hear his knock. “Ready?”

I call him in. He shuts the outer door and steps to the side of the high bed. He hands me a smaller soft flannel blanket and asks me to use it to cover my breasts. I do, and he pulls the covers down to my hip bones.

He snaps on gloves.

“I’m just going to have a gentle feel of your belly for pain or problems.”

His touch is indeed gentle as he presses along my colon, watching my face. His hands are careful and warm. Today this feels absolutely fine.

“All set. Now please roll to your left side?”

I do and he readjusts the covers, placing a reassuring hand on my hip. “Okay, as you know, many things will be going up your bottom today. I will do my very best to keep you lubricated and comfortable at all times, so please tell me if you experience pain or issues. We’ll start with a brief examination of your rectum and then I will apply very thick lubricant to protect your sensitive tissues. It’s likely we’ll need to reapply as you go.”

“Okay, you’re going to feel some gentle pressure on your anus. I’d like you to relax. Good, good. Take a nice deep breath in?”

I inhale and feel his gloved finger enter me very easily.

“Feel okay?”

I tell him it’s okay. It is, in fact, better than okay; it feels good.

“I’m going to feel for any obstructions or problems and lubricate you as I do. You might feel a little pressure or pain; if it’s more than that, please say so immediately.”

His finger sweeps my rectum, spreading salve.

“Nothing to worry about here. You still doing okay?”

Yes, I’m okay. This also feels rather nice, but soon he withdraws his finger and removes a glove. “I’m going to prepare your first enema, and I’ll be right back.”

Moments later he is hanging a two-liter can from a Shaker peg. “I picked a nozzle on the very small side for these. No need to make you sore at this stage. It is one of my custom pieces, though.”

“I’ve made the water warmer, as you like. We’ll get this started, and then I can massage you.”

“Okay, bend your right knee again and take another deep breath?”

I feel him slide a small, smooth nozzle home and start the flow, which is fairly fast but very comfortable. Keeping one hand on the nozzle, he massages my left side with the other, expertly shifting water up and through my splenic flexure, then across my transverse colon.

He watches my face, slowing the water and pressing gently on my sacral nerves when a small cramp hits.

“Let’s roll you to the right?”

I agree, and soon he is guiding my hip.

As I roll, pain lances into my lower right quadrant.

“Your trouble spot?” he asks, reading body language I thought was very subtle.

I nod. “That can hurt a little, even on a good day.”

“May I?” he asks, indicating permission to touch my right side. Soon he’s working water past the hepatic flexure, down into my cecum, and the shadow of pain diminishes. He then loosens the tension in the small of my back, stopping to snap closed the clamp.

“Done already?”

“You took all of that. Let’s bring you back to your left?”

I feel him remove the small nozzle and help me turn over, now massaging up the ascending colon with a very firm stroke. “Feel that? You’ll need to expel soon. Let me help you sit up.”

He is right and turns his back for modesty while I excuse myself to the bathroom, where I feel the enema rush out in two easy expulsions. When he’s confirmed I’m okay, I lie back down on the bed.

“Rest for a bit, and then we’ll run the second through.”

The second is much like the first, only with no pain at all this time. His massage makes me wonder if he couldn’t just live in my bathroom, providing his services any time my intestines were uncooperative. When all the water has run in, he again manipulates my belly and back in a way that quickly produces an urge to evacuate, and the resulting release is satisfying and seemingly complete.

“Take a quick shower,” he calls through the closed door, “and then we’ll start determining your size and specs.”

When I return, I see he has a tray of calibrated plugs laid out on a shelf. Once again I get into the bed, drape my chest, and call him in.

“More salve,” he warns me, entering me gently with a gloved finger and quickly coating my rectum. “Also, I will lubricate every sizer we try.”

“You took the half-inch diameter nozzle easily, so let’s start with the .75. Please let me know immediately if insertion or retention causes you pain. Once we find the right diameter, we’ll try lengths for the flange that keeps the nozzle seated during use.”

I hear him place the sizers, tray and all, in a pan of warm water. He retrieves the first and coats it in warmed lubricant.

“Deep breath in?”

The 0.75 gives a little resistance but does not hurt.

“Let’s try 0.85, okay?” he says, withdrawing the first sizer.

I feel it dilate my sphincter but it is still comfortable. His hand stays reassuringly on my hip, and I cannot help but find this erotic.

“Here’s 0.95,” he says, pressing the warm, lubricated metal gently against my anus. “Please bear down just a little?”

It slides in with resistance but not pain and feels very secure.

“I think we’ve found Goldilocks,” he says, “but we won’t know until we push it a little. I’m sorry if this next proves a little too much of a good thing.”

Again I feel pressure against my anus, but he is working more slowly now and backs off twice before asking me to bear down. He knows immediately from my face.

“I’m sorry that hurt. We’re done testing for width.” He is careful to withdraw the 1” tester more slowly. I hear a clink as he sets that one down and feel more pressure against my anus. “Bear down gently?”

“That’s the 2” inner flange,” he says, studying my face. “Comfortable? We want you feeling a little dilation but not pressure at the tip.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“Let’s do 2.5” next,” he says, gliding it into my bottom. I feel moisture squelch between my labia, glad he probably cannot see my level of arousal.

“Any pressure?”

“No.”

We try 2.75, then 3”. With 3” I think I feel something bump into my rectal wall.

“How are you doing?” he asks. “Need a breather?” As heavenly as his attentive touch is, I am beginning to feel sore, and nod. “We’re almost done. All that’s left is to fit you for curvature and measure you. Would you like a cup of tea while we give you a break?”

Tea sounds perfect. I sit up in the bed, adjusting the light blanket to cover my breasts. Soon he is back with two mugs of Earl Gray, my favorite, which he seems to also take black.

“Ever do anything like this before?” he asks, smiling.

“Absolutely not,” I laugh, blowing on my tea. “This is surreal.”

“My first-time clients are usually surprised at the thorough evaluation, but I hope you’ll be happy with the result. I especially like helping people like you with chronic problems. The right nozzle can make it easier to care for your health.”

“I appreciate it,” I say, trying not to reflect on how I’d like him to give me each and every future enema. “Are you sure you haven’t missed your calling as an administrator, though? You’re excellent.”

He blushes, ever so slightly, and looks down into his tea. I wonder what he’d say if this weren’t his profession.

“Despite the medical degree, I’ve learned I’m an engineer at heart,” he says at last. “I like problems that can be solved once, if not on the first try, then eventually with patience.”

I nod, liking him more and more.

He changes the subject to next steps, showing me the tray of tester nozzles for curvature and then the insertable fitting machine, a seeming cross between an enema nozzle and a blood pressure cuff, with a USB port for downloading data.

“The probe will go inside you,” he gestures, “as high as the sigmoid colon. It uses a set of small balloons to inflate to a very comfortable pressure, and because of the way the balloons are reinforced and the sensors’ feedback to the inflation unit, we don’t need to worry about your diverticula. Overall the pressure will be less than that with a 2-liter enema.”

“But, and I do apologize; you’re small and we now know the probe body is wider than comfortable for your anatomy. When it’s time to pass the probe through your anus, I will dilate you with two fingers, like so, and insert it as quickly as I can. It shouldn’t hurt at all once seated.”

We finish our tea, and once again I’m on my left side. “Let’s see which bend or curvature is best. We’ll choose the longest nozzle that still feels comfortable, so I’m going to need you to be a trouper and try the full range. When you’re ready….”

I feel his steadying touch on my hip as he inserts the first. He walks to the other side of the bed to face me. “How does that feel?”

“I can tell it’s fairly deep inside me, but it’s very comfortable.”

We repeat the process six more times; some are comfortable, others are stiff or create an unshakable foreign-body sensation. Each time Brian waits patiently for my feedback.

Once a winner is declared, Brian attaches it to an enema bulb. “I want to ensure that water can flow with this length of nozzle. Let’s have you in right lateral for this test. We only need one squirt to know if this works, and if so, you can expel immediately.”

It does work, and I feel warm water enter me, but deeply. Brian excuses himself from the room, and I arise and expel.

I return to the bed, hear him knock, and beckon him in. “Ready to be measured?” he asks. I nod. “And you’re already in left lateral, good. You’re going to feel me insert a thin tube and inject a lot of lubricant, but it’s warmed. Okay, here we go.”

I feel the tube and the promised rush of warmed lube. “And some more,” he says.

“Right, now we’ll work as quickly as possible to seat the probe. You’ll feel one finger, then two, and then the probe. Please take some nice, deep breaths for me.”

I feel his first finger, wince at the second, and then catch my breath as the probe goes in.

“All done. You can relax now.” Brian removes a glove. “I’m going to use my phone to send a measurement request to the probe. As soon as I do that, the balloons will inflate and the sensors will record data that I can download later.”

I hear the same vroom as for a blood pressure monitor, but shorter, and suddenly I feel a sense of fullness in my rectum and lower bowel. Before I can worry if it’s going to translate to urgency, there’s a whoosh and I’m comfortable again.

“We have a reading,” Brian says, checking his phone. “Let’s remove the probe, give you a few bulbs to clear all the lubricant, and then you can clean up and dress and meet me in the shop.”

“Ready?”

The probe hurts coming out, too, and I’m glad for his steadying hand.

Next is a little warm water from the bulb, and Brian leaves me in privacy. I expel, wipe my tender tissue with a wet wipe, take a quick shower, and dress.

Brian is at the computer, plugging the measurement unit in and downloading the data.

“Feeling okay? Some clients are a little shaky at this point.”

“A little tired,” I admit.

He hands me a Gatorade, and we discuss the details and timings of next steps.

“Once your nozzle comes off the lathe and is sanded, I’ll send you a picture and a video for your approval. If you approve, I’ll ship it.”

Here he makes brief, inscrutable eye contact, with the tiniest bit of a smile. “Or, if you prefer, you can come back to test it.”

The drive is nearly four hours. Brian’s website, form, and, today, person have all emphasized the strictly professional nature of the measuring and fitting process.

“I’ll come back,” I hear myself say.