Friday night, my third trip to the farm, involved packing, planning, and great anticipation. This time Brian invited me to use the private entrance, a long, narrow, private gravel-and-dirt road that passed through a young forest, a pine stand, and then was flanked by open fields and stone walls before its approach to the barns and farmhouse.

Parking on the grass next to Brian’s truck as instructed, I saw him come out to meet me. Soon I was enveloped in what seemed the perfect hug, in which I grazed his beautiful arms before being taken up in them. He smelled clean, of some unfamiliar but delicious soap, a faint whiff of spice, almost unplaceable at first but which, after spending longer in his grasp, resolved for me as the aroma of sun-warmed carnations.

“You smell delicious,” I told him.

“You are delicious,” he said, and then we didn’t even make it to dinner before falling into his bed.

Saturday morning we collected eggs together from his chicken coop as I struggled to learn the names and distinguishing features of six near-identical Red Star hens. One followed me and cocked her head.

“That’s Estrella. She likes to be petted.”

I obliged and soon Estrella tipped her head sideways, her skyward eye squeezing closed in pleasure. Before we left the coop, Brian threw in handfuls of orange-and-red marigold heads, which the hens joyfully descended upon.

Brian and I cooked well together; he prepared breakfast potatoes well timed to serve with my simple French herbed omelettes that were better than any prior ones thanks to the quality and freshness of the eggs. As we sat, sated, he lined out the activities of the day, a hike, a swim in a nearby pond. I nodded; this all sounded idyllic to me.

“And then, later, if you wanted, we could test your new nozzle with the fun enema I originally wanted to give you.”

I tried to take this in stride despite feeling an involuntary throb between my legs. His professional and medical enemas had been masterful. What would a “fun” enema from him be like? My brain very nearly dissolved at the thought. I nodded, telling him I’d be nuts to refuse that offer.

Later, as I felt pleasantly tired from our day on foot and in the sun, he beckoned for me to sit on the edge of the bed and removed my clothing, piece by piece. His touch on my shoulders, waist, and thighs felt like a dancer’s, the right amount of guiding pressure. This man knew how to turn me into a puddle.

“If you lie down, I’ll massage you.”

I lay on my stomach, diagonally across the large bed, and heard him warming oil between his palms. I smelled a hint of lavender as he began applying long strokes up my thighs, down my back from my shoulders to the small of my back. I sighed in relaxation and pleasure.

I felt him reach between my legs and underneath me, firmly applying oil to my belly over my uterus. With his other hand, I felt him stroke lubricant over my labia and shuddered, embracing the intensity of the sensations.

“Would you be ready for that enema?”

I nodded, smiling. He pulled the sheet over me and disappeared into the bathroom, where I could hear him running water and stirring in baking soda. He returned with a full two-liter can with my custom nozzle attached to the hose.

“Sims’ please?” he asked, touching my right shoulder to help me into position. I felt his lubricated finger press gently against my anus and then slip deliciously inside me. Unlike his prior professional or clinical enemas, he left his finger in my bottom for some time, then gently withdrew it to the first knuckle and re-entered me. A wave of ecstasy traveled from my toes to my vulva.

“How does that feel?” he asked. I could hear the smile in his voice.

“So very good,” I sighed.

“Good,” he whispered, angling his finger out and sliding in my perfectly proportioned custom nozzle, which he must have taken the time to warm first. It felt substantial but not painful.

“How’s this?” He gave it the smallest twist and my thighs and stomach contracted as my rectum tightened around the perfectly balanced nozzle.

“Oh my heavens, Brian. You are otherworldly.”

“And you are beautiful,” he said, slipping his left index finger deep into my very wet vagina. I moaned and heard him unclick the clamp on the enema tubing. Warm water rushed in as Brian gently probed my vagina, and I closed my eyes to experience the gorgeous sensations more deeply.

Without pausing the water, he massaged my belly, bringing water into my right side painlessly, with firm strokes.

“I love your touch,” I said, feeling him slide his finger ever more deeply in my waiting vagina as his other hand caressed my abdomen. His well-made nozzle stayed seated in my bottom without threatening to slide out as warm water gently distended my belly. As I began to feel very full, he began stroking my clitoris and I couldn’t help but moan.

“I love touching you,” he said, pressing my full belly and fingering my wetness. “And I love watching you enjoy yourself like this.”

He stroked faster and more firmly and soon my entire uterus thrummed in a rocketing orgasm that made me clench tightly around the well-made nozzle and cry out.

“Walk you to the bathroom?” he asked, standing with me and keeping the nozzle in place until I was on my own to expel.

A lot of the enema exited quickly, and then, without a single cramp, the rest came out. I recognized the small pebbles and mud that signaled my cecum had cleared. I felt glowing and relaxed as I returned to bed.

“How’s that belly of yours?” he asked, lightly passing a hand over my right side.

“It feels absolutely great. As does the rest of me.”

I felt Brian’s hair tickle between my legs as he began to lick me.

“May I enter you?”

I told him I was aching to feel him inside me, and he slid in with a slow, gentle stroke, finishing deep inside. I felt his hips rock as he entered me again and again, kissing my lips and neck. His pulse quickened and I pressed my palm on the small of his back; his orgasm made me have another, deeper one, and then we both rolled sideways and lay panting.

“That was the best enema, and the best orgasms, I’ve ever had” I said, happy and stunned.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I’d happily do that any time. All you need to do is ask.” I pulled him close and, amid the music of cicadas and the low clucking of chickens, we drifted to sleep.