How I got to the point of loving enemas is probably a little of everything. When my folks moved from that rural Colorado to a larger city, enemas from my mom pretty much stopped and could have been because she had to go to work, too, and by that time I was in school. Also the “girl next door” was no longer there and that avenue never panned out again. I was on my way to puberty on down the line and the pimples and hard-ons were just a little while in the future when I began exploring the wonderful world of anal stimulation. I was also becoming fascinated with women’s butts and those little sessions with the older neighbor girl linked enemas and women’s butts together for me for all time.
My mom also became friends with a woman whose butt was mighty fine and she seemed to be wise to me looking in the catalog, Sears, I think, at the women models and also at the enema equipment. I was probably pretty obvious and she was pretty observant. I began putting things in my butt like pencils or the shafts of tinker toys, anything really that I could put in there. It’s only blind luck that I didn’t, “rip me a new one,” and cause some serious damage.
Like I said, my mom got a job and my dad had a job that kept him away for weeks on end. I became what was known as a “latch key” kid. There was only my sister at home when we got home from school.
I was snooping around and found the old bulb enema syringe that was used on me tucked away in the back of a cabinet or towel closet in the bathroom. That got me to thinking. I was really into putting things in my butt by this time and that bulb enema was very tempting. I just didn’t have the courage to give it a try and it did hold some bad memories. That changed one day when I was pretty sick and my abdomen was pretty sore. Mom packed me up and we went to the doctor who took my temperature, orally, (it was odd, but I always liked having my temperature taken rectally - I just thought of that), and he pressed here and there around my abdomen and it hurt. I sometimes think my mom was not real sure when I was just trying to stay home from school and when I was really sick. Yes, I did play hooky at times.
I was getting my clothes back on when I heard the doctor tell my mom that I had a cold and that I was constipated. He said she needed to give me a pint of an enema and that I just needed to get some rest after that. That time the news that I was going to be getting an enema was pretty good. I think I was in third grade and I had missed school because I was sick. I was actually looking forward to getting an enema from my mom for once. Even at that age, I think I was around nine, I felt a little surprised that I was looking forward to an enema. That would be the first enema since we moved from that place in Colorado. So, I was sick after all!
Mom stopped off at a drug store on our way back home, at least that is how I remembered it, and came back to the car a little later with a sack. I assumed it had an enema bag in it. Mom had a douche bag which was amber and had a black douche pipe on it. I was used to seeing it out quite a bit and the smell of vinegar and the rubber.
It seemed like it was a long way back to the house and I was having mixed emotions about my upcoming enema. I wasn’t feeling good to begin with and I wasn’t going to be putting up a fight when it was time for my enema. Finally we got back home and she told me to lay on the couch and rest while she went into the bathroom, getting things ready for my enema, no doubt. I couldn’t really hear anything going on and just started to doze when she came to get me.
I followed her into the bathroom and saw the towels on the floor near the stool and the sink and I remember thinking, “This is where I’m going to get my enema.” Matter of fact and not dreading it. I wasn’t feeling well. Mom told me to take my pants off and lay down on my side and so I did. I was able to look up at her as she was running the water to heat it up and checking the temperature with her hand and wrist. She had a bar of soap that she held under the faucet and it was starting to melt pretty good and she then held the amber bag under the faucet and the soap bar there too and put some water in the bag. It was probably a two quart bag but she only filled it a little over half way. Then she hung the bag on the towel rack near the sink and toilet and got the black enema nozzle from the counter and screwed it on the end of the hose.
It was nearly time and I was watching intently. I remember her using the wet soap bar to lube up the tip of the bulb enema and she did the same with the enema nozzle on the end of the tube. That was done and now it was time. She was a lot more gentle or patient than the other times and maybe she was thinking I was going to throw a fit. No. The bag was still hanging on the towel bar and I scooted over like she said and lay still as she bent down and parted my butt cheeks and I even made it easier for her. I remember this so vividly and I felt THE most wonderful sensation I had ever felt when she put the enema nozzle into me. If I could have got an erection then I would have. I loved that feeling of it being slid into me more than anything! It was different when someone else was putting something in my butt and I loved it!
Mom was down on one knee mostly behind me putting the enema nozzle in me and then reaching up to take the bag off of the towel rack with the other. Then she sat down on the floor behind me and I could see her holding the bag a little over her head and the trail of the enema tube going down and ending up in me. She held the enema nozzle in place for a little bit and told me to relax and get used to it and not try to push it out. That might have been instinctive on my part because I was liking that in me. Her hand was pretty warm and she had the enema tube, I believe, between her middle two fingers and her palm was on my buttocks keeping it in me. Life couldn’t get any better right about then I didn’t think.
I lay there for a little bit and really loving it and then mom must have felt me get used to the nozzle in my butt and she asked me if I was ready. Yes. It was a metal clamp that was either all the way open or all of the way shut. She took her hand off of my butt slowly and probably making sure it would stay in and then I heard the clamp click open and, “Oh WOW!” I was very aware of the exact moment when the warm water began shooting into me because I could really feel it as the stream started. Mom’s hand went back on my butt and she would ask me if it was hurting and if I needed it to slow down. It was feeling good. Real good. But I did start to feel some cramping and told her so and she must have pinched the hose closed with her fingers because the pressure stopped building and I got used to it. She must have been watching me and my reaction and seemed to know when to ask me if I was ready for some more. I had to stop two or three more times and I was really feeling full, not in pain, but just really very full.
I heard the clamp shut and she said I had taken all of the water. I was very full and probably couldn’t have taken any more and I looked back and she had lowered the bag and saw that was flat. She asked me if I could hold it for awhile and wanted to know if I wanted to keep it in or take it out. I nodded my head and told her I wanted to keep it in. She said for me to hold it as long as I could and that it would be better. I wasn’t having any problem holding it but finally it was time.
I didn’t want her to take the enema nozzle out of me but I did have to go. It was a big relief and she left me alone to let it all come out. I sat there doing my business as she cleaned up the enema nozzle and hung the bag and hose over the towel rack to let it dry. This was my first bag enema. The last one from my mom.
Nine years old and I was officially hooked on enemas. Not just putting things in my butt, I kept that up and still do from time to time.
That is how it became something I enjoy. From hating enemas to loving them. Thinking I was all alone in liking them to the extent that I do now.