Bridge Club Enemas

In the 50's my mother used to host a bridge club on a regular rotating basis. It seemed that invariably the subject of enemas and other "female" topics would come up. Especially the infamous 3-H (high, hot, and helluva lot) soapsuds enema that was routinely given prior to childbirth. Almost all of these women were still of childbearing years and they always spoke of these enemas with a combined tone of disbelief, dread, and admiration; with a special tone of awe for the sheer volume of these enemas. This topic then many times moved on to their own personal bowel habits and how they managed their children's bowel movements and of course this stayed on the enema theme. By this time in my young life I was already in love with the enema and my ears would perk up at the mention of the word "enema" and I would hang close to the card table to see what else I could hear on the subject, i.e. what woman took an enema last, what kids got enemas and when, etc.

My mother was fairly bowel obsessed anyway and took enemas on a regular, almost daily, basis. But it seemed to me that just the talk of enemas around the bridge table always put her in a special mood to give me an enema. After a while I would know when to anticipate an impending enema from listening to the conversation that evening. If the topic of enemas came up I knew it was fairly certain that by the time I went to sleep that evening I would have spent a considerable amount of time bent over the edge of the bathtub getting one of my mother's ridiculously huge, hot soapsuds enemas.

When all the ladies were getting ready to go home, I believe it was about seven of them, I would go back to my room, start to play, and await the command that I felt certain would be coming shortly. Ordinarily I would spend the evening, during the time the women were there, playing near the bridge tables so I could be within easy earshot of what was being said and it was always amazing how these ladies would simply converse as though I wasn't present. I learned a lot that way.

Anyway, shortly after they left I would hear water running in the bathroom which always confirmed my expectations. A few moments later my mother would open my bedroom door and say, "Sweetie, I don't think your bowels have been doing very good lately and I am going to give you a good hot soapy enema before we go to bed, okay?" And even though I was secretly excited by this announcement (When younger I lived in phobic fear someone would find out about my love of the enema) I would always feign protest and say something to the affect of, "Do I have to?" and she would reply, "Yes, we have to."

We would then go into the bathroom that she always had warm and comfortable and I would take off my pajamas and sit naked on the toilet seat lid and watch her finish up the enema preparations by making the water a little more soapy and little hotter and then taking a plastic pitcher and filling the big red rubber enema bag to capacity until I could see soapsuds running down the side of the bag. She would then hang the bag on the shower rod and when I saw her hanging the bag I knew that was my cue to assume my position and I would get up and bend over the edge of the bathtub with my bottom stuck well up into the air. She would then take a jar of Vaseline and dip her finger into it and get a dob on her finger and lubricate around my anus and then insert her finger up into my rectum to lubricate the inside as well. Then she would release the clamp and let the air out of the tube and then gently insert the large black douche nozzle slowly up into my rectum. (As an aside, it is worth mentioning that I almost always received enemas with a douche nozzle rather than the regular enema pipe. I only recall one enema ever being given to me with the regular enema pipe and it was from an aunt that everyone thought was weird anyway) I always loved it when the water would start to fill me, but always became more apprehensive as my belly started to fill and cramps started to set in. Since my mother always used a large amount of water it always took a considerable amount of time to complete these enemas; and make no mistake about it, they were completed! My mother never caused me any excruciating pain but she insisted I take the entire bag, and by the time she was finished I would many times be pleading, "No more enema mommy, no more enema mommy, please I'm full." She would stop the flow and instruct me to take some deep breaths and then I would settle down and the cramps would subside and again I would hear the click of the clamp being opened again and feel the water again begin to run into me. When the bag would empty it would make a slight sucking sound which sounded a lot like a "kiss" sound and that is what I was taught to call it, and when I was getting so full and a bit desperate I would have my ears highly tuned to listen for the "kiss" which would indicate my enema was over and I had taken the entire amount. Once it was all in me my mother would say something like, "Its all in you Sweetie and you did a good job of taking your enema and I am proud of you." I was never required to do any hold time, as others report, but she simply kept me bent over the tub for a few minutes rubbing my back and asking me if I was okay. Then she would ask me if I were ready to head for the toilet and I would say yes and then she would remove the nozzle and I would dash for the toilet. If I leaked a little bit she was never upset and the relief of landing on the toilet and releasing the enema water was indescribable. After I was finished she would draw a hot bath for me and let me soak in the tub for a while and then bring me clean pajamas and take me by the hand to my bed where I would fall asleep almost instantly and sleep soundly through the night.