I believe I was given my first enema when I was about 2 years old. I don’t have any vivid memories just a couple of mental photographs of the experience. One of my mother and grandmother seeming busy doing something and the other towels laid out on the dining room table. I have a total mental block of actually being given the enema. A Freud thing? Forgetting something traumatic?
So why would I believe I was given an enema? I never received another growing up. When I decided to give myself an enema I was about 12. (See earlier blog post as to what brought that about) The family was gone for the day and I had the house to myself. Several days earlier I had decided that I was going to try an enema. The anticipation built, I thought repeatedly about my mother’s friend who spoke of giving her daughters enemas.
I took the infant enema syringe from the drawer in cabinet in bathroom. I ran water, adjusting temperature to what I thought would be appropriate. I put the plug in the drain and allowed the sink to fill. By this time I felt a combination of feelings from nervousness, anticipation and excitement. I removed my pants and underwear becoming completely erect. I applied hand lotion to the nozzle and to my bottom.
I filled the bulb and carefully inserted the nozzle. I squeezed. The warm water rushed in and memory cells seemed to be flashing. The message? You have felt this very feeling before. I refilled the bulb and squeezed in my bottom. Again the recognition of the feeling that came 10 years previously. To me it confirmed my belief.
I recall getting a full feeling and strong urge to go. I released experiencing again the feeling.
That was to become a regular habit for several years. Always with the enema bulb with the exception of one time. My mother had a Jones irrigation can tucked away. Out of curiosity I snuck it out and enjoyed an enema. A new experience being able to lie back and allow the enema flow without interruption. Being nervous about somehow my mother finding out I never used it again.
Later, after high school, I had permission to use my grandmother’s private space when she was elsewhere. She kept an enema bag in her bathroom. The ballooon type. My enemas continued.