A couple of years ago I was driving on Route 80 through northern Pennsylvania. Up ahead, I noticed a VW going off to the side of the road. I pulled up to offer aid. The young lady in distress had run out of gas. I suggested siphoning gas from my car to hers, since the service stations were off the road and few and far between. The only thing to do the trick was syringe tubing and I asked Debra if she had a douche bag. She was, as could be expected, rather taken aback but rummaged through her luggage.
I've liked enemas since childhood, and when I unfolded the travel syringe, I found an enema tip rather than the curved douche pipe. I also noticed that the tip and some of the tubing were smeared with Vaseline. For any enema buff this is a dead giveaway. I siphoned the gas into the VW. Have you ever seen a VW getting an enema?
I suggested to Debra that she go to the next gas station and that I'd follow to make sure she got there. The town was fairly large and I invited her to dinner. During the meal, I asked her about enemas and found that she was as fixated as I was. I suggested that we share a room for the evening. She refused but indicated we might discuss enemas at greater length in her room. At the dinner table she described an enema and held up an imaginary bag; looking through the imaginary hanging hole at the top of the bag, she winked at me. I invited her to town, where I bought her a new enema bag. I also bought a colon tube; Debra had never seen one. Almost all hospitals use them rather than the hard plastic tips because they are made of flexible rubber and are less likely to do internal harm. The colon tube is about a half-foot long and can be used for deep insertion.
In her motel room, Debra showed much anticipation when I attached the gizmos and filled the bag with warm water. But simply holding and admiring a filled enema bag is only a still life. Trying out the new toy was a mutual desire. Debra was most willing to undergo the anal douche, but on one condition, no sex. I'm still a virgin, she said. She assumed the knee-chest position and I inserted the Vaseline-coated colon tube to the hilt as the waters flowed in. Actually, sex could not have matched the pleasures Debra derived from that enema. She moaned and groaned and, I'm sure, climaxed to the music of the gurgle of the solution.
We exchanged only enemas that evening, but Debra did relieve my highly charged state through means other than vaginal. We never did see each other again. She left in the morning before I did, leaving only a lasting enema memory.