Finally satisfied that I was done, I pulled my pajamas back on, and left the bathroom, heading for my room. I passed Marty's open door, noting that she was sitting by the window, looking out at the summer day outside. Hearing me, she turned and waved me in. She patted her bed and said: "Sit down, Kyle. Let's talk." I hesitated. "Um... can I get dressed first?" "If it makes you feel more comfortable. Your pajamas don't bother me." I decided 'what the heck' and sat on Marty's bed. "So...." she began, "Do you feel better now?" I couldn't look her in the eye. "I guess so...yes I do." "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

I shrugged. "S'okay." I said. "You know, there's no sense in putting up with the pain of a clogged colon when it can be cleared as easy as we did it a while ago. Is there? "I guess not." I said, still looking down. "You know, I take enemas every week, just to prevent the clogging." Marty said. "You do?" I looked her in the face. She smiled briefly “Yup!" then she added: "There's a school of thought that says keeping your insides clean is just as important as taking a daily bath. I'm a firm believer in those thoughts, and I wash myself out every Friday without fail." "Really..." I commented, making it more a statement than a question. "And with a little practice, most of the discomfort can be avoided." said Marty. "I actually make myself feel good when I do it. Get rid of all my tension." "Wow!" I said, once again avoiding her eyes. "This is just a suggestion: You should try it, and see that it does improve your general health."

"Um...I..." I hesitated. "Really, there's nothing to it!" "I'll tell you what:" she said. "Just to show you, why don't you give me one?" "Me?...You?..." She nodded,smiling, a twinkle in her eye. "Uh...I.... Uh..." She interrupted my mumbling. "Why don't you just think about it? Friday is a couple of days away."

"I...Uh...Okay." Marty had sown a seed in my mind that grew to titanic proportions. I couldn't help but think about it during the waking hours, then I had dreams about it at night. The next morning I woke up with stickiness in my pajamas. I had experienced my first wet dream. On the day of that first enema, I drove Marty to the bicycle shop we had discussed, and after trying a couple of nice bikes, she bought a new Italian mountain bike. I envied her, but said nothing. I was thinking of Friday. We spent the rest of that day riding around on our bikes, so that Marty could learn her way around town. We passed the public library at one point, and Marty mentioned that she would visit there the next day, to do a bit of research. The next day came, and after breakfast, Marty suggested us going to the library. "Uh, there are a couple of things I need to do around the house," I said, "Why don't you go on ahead? That way, I won't be underfoot." "You sure?" she asked. "Yeah," I said, "Don't worry about me." She didn't question me further, but grabbed her biking helmet and rode off on her new vehicle. I went up to the bathroom where there now hung two enema bags. I stared at them, remembering my experience on the previous day, and remembering Marty's suggestion that I should take up enemas as a regular cleanliness routine. Then my thoughts swirled into fantasy, as I saw myself doing to Marty what she had done to me. I had decided to stay home and try giving myself an enema. It couldn't be that difficult; after all, Marty said she gave them to herself all the time. I took hold of the newer bag and smelled the still fresh aroma of the rubber. I ran the tub water until I was satisfied with the temperature, then proceeded to fill the bag to what I recalled as the same level as the bag had been filled the day before. I hung it off the shower curtain rod, then I took off my clothes.

An idea struck me: Would it work with me standing up? I decided to try. Then I thought of something else. I turned the shower on and stood there, soaking in the spray. I had already broken out the Vaseline, so I coated the nozzle with the goop, and, just as easy as pie, I succeeded in slipping it up my butt. That strange yet pleasant feeling overcame me, and my penis began to engorge. I clicked the gadget that held the water, and soon I was feeling invasion of fluid into my gut. My penis was fully hard, and I began playing with myself. I soaped up my hand and began 'washing' my shaft, as I felt myself gradually getting fuller and fuller. I got a cramp, so I stopped the flow and panted a bit, the way Marty had shown me. I didn't, however, stop the stroking of my penis. The cramp went away, and I re-started the flow. Soon I was awash in a sea of sexual urgency the like of which I had never before experienced. I shot my wad with a force and volume that exceeded that of all my previous masturbation sessions. I watched my spunk go down the tub drain then looked up at the enema bag. It was fully collapsed. I turned off the shower, pulled the nozzle out, and hurried to the toilet, where I released the enema water. There wasn't as much solid matter that time, but then, I hadn't been constipated either.

As I sat there, I felt spent and relaxed. Soon I was done. I toweled myself dry, and then used the towel to wipe up the water I had dripped all over the floor and the commode. I hung up the enema bag where it had been a few minutes before. "How am I going to explain my wet hair?" I thought to myself. The idea came to me. I put a pair of shorts on, and some flip-flop rubber sandals. I drove my dad's car out from the garage on to the lawn, and proceeded to wash it....