Back in the 60's I had the very best job a young, former military aviator, could have; it was selling airplane parts in Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana & Alaska. Instead of a company car I was given a Beechcraft Debonair. First produced in 1960, the Debonair was a 'V-tailed Bonanza' only with a conventional tail. She was 4-place, low wing, and retractable landing gear. She cruised at 168 mph and burned 12 gph. She could make San Francisco non-stop from Seattle....and a did a few times. Interesting stuff, I'm sure, butt back to my story.

It was during a Montana trip, I had completed my sales calls in Billings and decided to go on ahead to Bozeman, pre-positioning for tomorrow's sales calls. It was winter and the light falls early...I think I was airborne probably around 6 o'clock...maybe earlier. Anyway about 10 minutes into the 77 mi flight,I ran into a pretty heavy snow storm...and looking around spotted a small landing strip with some open-sided "T" hangars. I decided to land. During my approach I happened to notice a Motel close to the airport and congratulated my self on my good fortune.

After landing and tying-down the Debi, I made my way over to the motel. As I was checking in the rather attractive, middle-aged, lady commented that I looked rather beat-up.

I replied that I was a bit blown about with the thickening snow storm kicking up. and tying down the airplane was a chore, but that was a small part of my problem. Was there a drug store within walking distance. She said that it closed at 6:00 and wasn't really within walking distance anyway....and went on to ask what the problem was.

I was in a quandry...at age 32-33 I was still a bit intimidated about discussing personal medical issues, and while this attractive matron wasn't exactly "Mary Worth" (from the comic strip; Mom, applepie, etc.) I took a chance. "I'm heavily constipated."

"Have you tried anything?" She asked. I replied that flying a small airplane one doesn't take a chance on laxitives and there's no potty on board....

She nodded in understanding and picked up the phone and made a call. I could hear her side of the conversation, of course, to hear her say something like "Honey, I need you to bring me my bag....the douche bag. Oh, and in the back of the drawer, the Vaseline and the small, black nozzle. --right...thanks"

She said, "Its alright we live almost next door."

She showed me to my room...close to the up-front lobby and then left, returning shortly with a brown paper bag.

I'm not expecting any check-ins with this storm blowing and not manyin the house....butt you're going to have to remove your pants and undies" She said while putting the now-enema bag together and filling, using one of the small Palmolive mini-soap bars to raise some suds. She didn't give me time to get, or be, embarrased. She hung the bag on a towel rack...spread a couple of bath towels on the floor and motioned me down.

"Im sure that you know what position to assume...head down, butt up young man."

It was Mom telling me to assume the position. She didn't tell me to take the whole bag, but she didn't have to.... I wouldn't dare ask her to stop. And she didn't. She then told me to hold it as long as I could and she'd be right back. I was just finishing expelling when she returned.

"How did it go...but I think we should do another. Are you up for it." I nodded my acceptance.

Now reader, bear in mind this was the 60's. As I've reported before with you I had a child-hood birth defect called a 'Mega-colon' resulting in many enemas growing up and also on into my current life. I hadn't admitted to myself that I also derived pleasure from an enema...it was just something that I had to do from time to time. I don't know HOW I got through my military years...only real enemas when home in Seattle on leave....Oh, there one Sick call, butt that's another story.

My wonderful 'nurse' proceded to give me another enema, switching nozzles to the douche nozzle, commenting that this would go a bit higher. She said that she would be holding the bag higher and to let her know if the pressure became too uncomfortable. And then proceded to do what she said she was going to do. I could hardly contain my pleasure....but managing to hide "it" under my dress shirt that was still on. --modesty maintained.

She appeared satisfied with the results and said to let her know if I need anything. I thanked her and restrained any specific answer.

I will never forget my MONTANA ENEMA....like it was yesterday and I wish that it were.

the boxcar