My husband had gone to the west coast late last week for a trade show and was not due back until Tuesday night. Upstate New York was unbelievably hot, even for the lake. I put on my new two piece swimsuit and sat out on the dock, but couldn’t take the sun and the heat for that long so I moved to the deck, which is in the shade.
It was so warm that I sat there sweating. So I moved inside to the air conditioning, a much more pleasant environment, but now I was bored. What to do? My mind wandered and the thought of a decent soapy enema sounded appealing so I retired to the bathroom, took the hose and nozzle out of the enema can and ran the water to get warm. After filling the can and swishing the bar of Ivory for a minute or so, I slipped off my swimsuit bottoms, put a couple of towels down on the floor, lubed myself, and inserted the nozzle. As many times as I’ve given myself an enema, I always enjoy the next one. This was no exception.
For those who have read my earlier posts know I like a slow, comfortable filling. This enema was perfect: just the right temperature and the clamp was notched back to little more than a trickle. I let my mind wander to all those enemas of days past and how each and every one of them did what they were supposed to do. Several minutes later I sensed that the can was empty—you can’t tell like you can with a bag—so I removed the nozzle and moved to the toilet. I held the enema for a good five minutes before it started to seep out eventually becoming an impressive stream.
Then just as I was finished, there came a knock on the door. It startled me and then I heard my husband’s voice, “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” I responded just as he entered the bathroom.
“Oh, I think I know what you just did.”
“Yeah, it had been too long. And it was a good one.”
“This trip has worn on me and I think I could use one, too. You wouldn’t mind? Would you?”
Now, my husband has known about my enema can, but has never been on the receiving end of it, so I was surprised. “No problem. Go get out of those clothes and by the time your back I’ll have this ready.”
As I set out making him his enema, I was getting more excited by the moment. Sure, I’d given him enemas in the past, but it has been a while—a long, long while. I had just hung the can from the nail on the wall when he returned to the bathroom. I put a towel over the closed lid of the toilet and told him to lean over it with his but up. Then he got lubed, the nozzle inserted and was soon on his way to cleanout land.
“Chris, I think that’s all I can take,” he said.
“Nonsense, you can take more than that. Take some deep breaths,” I told him pinching the hose closed. A few moments passed and he seemed OK so I released the hose and let the rest of the enema flow. He took the rest without incident and I removed the hose and let him expel as I cleaned up the can and nozzle. In the early years I’d let him expel in private, but after 30 years of marriage there are no more secrets. To say that he needed that enema is probably an understatement.
In the midst of all this activity I should admit that I never put the bottoms of my swimsuit back on so I had been busying myself wearing just the bra. But like I said we’ve been married for 30 years. Nevertheless exposing myself to him got him really visibly excited and after he was finished expelling the enema, he said, “I’ve been away for a few days and just watching your hot naked body has me to thinking.”
“Oh, thinking about what?” I innocently asked.
“How I’d just love to take you to bed for a little afternoon tumble. Or maybe two!”
“Sounds good to me,” I said and shortly thereafter two people who were naked from the waist down made their way to the bedroom where they spent a couple of hours engaged in what married people really love doing.