Uncle Bartram's living room had dark beams in the ceiling, furniture characterized by many individual vertical segments of wood in symmetrical frames, and a baby grand piano just in front of some built-in bookshelves. One of the most memorable afternoons began after a modest lunch when Uncle played a series of melodic studies; he was good at uniting the themes from various composers and the sounds seemed well suited to his comfortable cottage and my ears. I would relax on a love seat opposite the piano and listen to the various harmonies with a sense of genuine pleasure. I didn't play and I admired his effortless dexterity that was evident in everything he did.

He left the piano and turned on a radio resident in one of the bookshelves; a distant station played classical selections with only occasional interruptions by an amateur staff. Its weather forecasts were read from the only newspaper within miles and were sometimes hilariously contradictory.

This afternoon, the skies had turned moody and August's haze hovered over the stream, the garden, the lawns. Uncle had told me at breakfast he was expecting another "cousin" from Camp Carthage and cautioned me I could choose whether to attend or not. My heart's forceful beating reinforced my curiosity since the lad he mentioned I had only seen from a distance in one of our regular visits to the camp where Uncle was nurse practitioner. Tristan, the lad in question, had short cropped red hair, was taller than either Uncle or I, and even from a distance, I felt wary of his presence. I associated his "look" with someone too flip or brash. In this I was wrong. Uncle's counsel from a recent evening that I should avoid forming premature and regimented opinions of others was very apt, very telling. For too long, I had leapt to conclusions that later needed to be revised.

The camp's station wagon soon announced its presence at the top of the driveway and Uncle and I exited the large screen door to the ample porch just in time to see Tristan swing from the passenger's seat with a wave to the driver. He paused only long enough to look up at us, negotiated the four or so steps, and said engagingly: "I'm Tris." The use of the diminutive was attractive and I found myself smiling in spite of myself. Uncle introduced us, and Tristan only said, about me: "I've heard about you." Its tone was suggestive and winning.

On a low table toward the back of the living room, Uncle served us an afternoon sweet and some iced tea laced with country cream. He had baked in the mid-morning and the effort was sumptuous: delicate and dimensional sugar cookies, glazed, and each topped with a walnut half. Their fragrance was of vanilla and almond and their taste rich and satisfying. Tristan talked of his enthusiasm for camp and my appraisal of his features seemed to change minute by minute as he described his pleasant weeks at Carthage.

Most assuredly, his close-cropped red hair was of serious interest: it looked so touchable. His skin was the colour of country milk but with an overlay of gold that could be seen in the planes of his cheeks as he turned in the afternoon light. I saw that his lashes were blond-red and as my eyes adjusted to my more relaxed state, I discovered that his skin was flavoured with a sprinkling of freckles that extended down his neck and were visible in the open area of his throat set off by a nicely white rolled collar of his tee-shirt. The white camp shorts revealed the slightly darkened skin of his legs beautifully curly with fairly dense red and blond hairs. He was lankly thin but still proportioned in a pleasing way. When I let myself think I might see him au naturel, my privates exerted a palpable vote of enthusiasm and my breathing deepened.

I was surprised to hear, as if it had been rendered in italics, the phrase "tongue of the dragon" in something Uncle had just said, but Tristan's enthusiasm was electric: he allowed as it was the reason for his visit and I immediately assumed he had been to the consulting room at the back of the cottage with some frequency. Uncle had been saying that few pupils of the "water arts" had experienced the tongue of the dragon, but that it was a rare treat for those so inclined. I never failed to be surprised at the depth of Uncle's experience or his specialized knowledge. Tristan then did what I have occasionally witnessed in other settings and concerning different enthusiasms: he spontaneously took both his polo and tee-shirt and raised them much in the manner of a hasty window opening exposing his estimable torso and in the flash that I saw them, two exquisitely pink nipples of lovely width and girth. In the next moment, it was as if the motion had not been made and he sat perfectly composed on the edge of his cushioned chair.

I believe Uncle took the action, however, as the clue to commence and our little trio made our way through the kitchen, through the master bedroom, to the heavy and paneled door that led to the consulting room. Once through the doorway, Uncle consulted a panel of switches that controlled a variety of lights and he brought the large leather examining couch to our left into fairly bright focus. I never failed to be excited at the array of equipment hanging from various poles, the shelves of many bottles, the medical sink, the enameled cans, and, of course, the ten or more enema bags of varying shapes and sizes that were visible near and around the examining couch.

Tristan then did something that endeared me to him; without so much as a word, he stood to the right of the couch and disrobed in what seemed like a ballet since he wordlessly and carefully folded each article, his polo, the tee-short, the camp shorts, and placed them on a table to the far right of the couch. He then turned to us wearing only sandals and a very low cut and filmy brief saying: "On the couch?"

Uncle nodded assent and once the initial adjustment was made of the panel that provided support for Tris' upper back and head, I found I could exhale since his body was, to put a fine point on it, magnificent. He was super lean and the twin muscles of his belly seemed to soar out of those briefs. I had never seen a navel that seemed fashioned like a flesh button with a perfectly rounded outer circle and what looked like a tiny 'x' for the centre. It was cunning and cute all at the same time.

Uncle was busy with some initial preparations involving large quantities of water in several enamel containers while Tristan and I exchanged glances that seemed both conspiratorial and friendly all at once. Uncle produced from a drawer a somber looking leather case which held, he explained, the Dresden dilator, something that Tris and I both examined as Uncle explained its workings. It was made of stainless steel, looking initially like a small doughnut but when examined carefully, its outer surface was actually curved in the manner of a bicycle rim absent its tyre. But the stunning part was by turning a barely visible knurled rim, the 'doughtnut' expanded permitting the inner hole to enlarge from its initial half-inch to almost three inches. At any point in the expansion, a slight counter twist to the knurled rim and the dilator locked into position. I was transfixed as was Tris. The fixture was carefully placed on the table on which Uncle often kept nozzles, tubing couplers, shut-offs, and random lengths of silicone tubing.

The one section of the lower half of the couch was removed, Tristan was repositioned slightly and his legs brought up and across the angled supports built into the couch. Uncle reached beneath his hips and slowly urged the briefs down and off handing them to me for "folding" which I lovingly did putting them with his other clothing while my eyes found his surprisingly long and lean penis unfolding its length against his firm lower belly and its ample bush of red- orange hair while I could see his reddish scrotum held two nicely hanging testicles. The glans of his pens was fully exposed and I could make out a darkish cicatrix that signaled an early circumcision.

A familiar large, seamless bulb was filled with warmish water with some sea salt in it, brought to his waiting anus that was as pink as his nipples, inserted with a twisting motion since its ample neck had been lubricated beforehand, and then squeezed with deliberation which Tristan greeted with an enthusiastic noise. The elongated and wide funnel was brought up from the floor for an expulsion that was followed almost immediately by a second large bulb of different colour whose contents were urged into Tristan's waiting gut. Another ample expulsion.

Uncle then chose a tear-shaped amber bag into which he poured at least two litres of warm water, tested with a clinical thermometer, mounted it on a steel pole, and chose a large bore black nozzle to attach to the waiting amber hose. With very careful motions, he slid the nozzle through the pink orifice until its ample head was lodged in place. Bartram then explained that this initial enema had to be especially efficient for the upcoming dragon's tongue to work. Tristan seemed to understand and nodded with enthusiasm as Uncle dropped two tablets into the open-throated bag; we could all hear the fizzing and as it began to subside, Uncle released the on-off clamp and I watched Tristan watch the bag's level begin to drop. The hose grew heavy in Uncle's hand as he handled it with his left hand while his right kept the nozzle in place.

A sweet sound, similar to a moan, issued from Tris' lips and with the light from the eastern windows favouring the couch and Tristan's belly, I thought I could actually see the progression of the solution into his colon: it was fascinating. The belly didn't merely swell, it distended in sections: first on the right, then pushing that flesh navel-button higher, all the while accompanied by Tris' sounds of approval. The large bore was permitting a high volume enema and within a minute, the amber bag was obviously empty.

Uncle's gentle massage of Tris' belly was along the path of the colon, pressing, urging, directing the fizzing solution up, across, and down. Tristan's penis stretched long and lean and the little lips of his peehole showed a clear tear; his scrotum had tightened and now showed a large peach shape.

Time for another expulsion and the wisdom of the built-in funnel was again apparent. Two or three ample gushes once the nozzle was removed revealed a reasonable clearness and Tris' pink anus winked and puckered as he worked to remove any remaining solution.

Then: from another drawer, another case, much like a tie case but a mite longer, and Uncle produced the "tongue of the dragon," which proved to be a custom colon tube, bright red, and when examined closely, found to made of very flexible rubber but with miniature raised 'pocks' on its nearly three-foot surface. The tube was then laid on Tristan's waiting abdomen in a simulation of its internal journey: a bright red snake that Uncle arranged in the contour of the lad's colon. I admit to be bug-eyed at the contrast of the red rubber with Tristan's naturally white-gold skin and the audacity the tube represented in its two major curves and the length of its intrusion. Tristan seemed equally fascinated.

Time for the Dresden dilator which had been twisted back to its original shape. I began to see the purpose of the outer, inward-curved rim which would engage with the sides of Tristan's anus and then the ability to actually dilate so that the inner circle could permit the introduction of the colon tube and, if needed, be left wide enough to permit solution to flow out once anything was introduced through the tube.

Uncle applied an ample amount of yellow lubricant to Tris' anus. He then took what looked like a very large syringe body to which he fitted a soft rubber hose and explained it was a lubricant that would help with the placement of the colon tube. He inserted it into Tris' anus and slowly pushed on the plunger transferring the entire slushy contents to his waiting gut.

The dilator was then positioned fairly easily in its small diameter state. The next trick was to turn the thin knurled ring to the right to begin the expansion. Uncle adjusted Tristan's legs to a more outboard position, brought a lab light into better proximity, and with practised hands slowly turned the ring with some force so that a two-inch center diameter was finally revealed. Tristan watched the maneuver in on the large canted mirrors that were always in place at the left and right sides of the lower couch. The dilator looked fierce and businesslike in Tristan's anus, forming, as it were, a new metal anus.

Then, the exploration began. Uncle explained that Tris would have to cooperate with the instructions he was about to receive. He nodded affirmatively. The red colon tube was remarkable supple but Uncle said he had had splendid results with its unusual surface because of its ability to snake around the two major bends of the colon. The first seven inches disappeared like an act of magic; Uncle used a practised twist and another seven inches virtually vanished.

Uncle's tone became firm: "Raise your right hip," which Tris did by clenching his buttock and with Uncle applying a left-right twisting motion, the tube continued its internal journey, inch by inch until it was apparent that only the next turn needed to be executed. "Left hip," and Tris tightened his left bum muscle. "Lean forward slightly," and Tristan did so while Uncle continued the right-left motions when Tris exclaimed: "I can feel it!"

Uncle said in a low tone: "Raise, then lower the left hip, and repeat." And in the rhythmic motion, I could see more and more of the tube disappearing through the dilator until finally only three inches of what had been an enormous length protruded: a vestigial tail. I could see some minor perspiration on Uncle's tanned forehead.

It was time for the tongue of the dragon. A clear glass contained was hung on a pole and Uncle had prepared twenty-four ounces of well-temperature water. Uncle looked at me with: "Tristan likes his pain neat." My mouth was watering in sympathy with the sensations I knew Tris was about to enjoy.

The cold well water was introduced into the clear glass container, flowed into the semi-clear tubing which connected with a coupler to the protruding colon tube. Uncle explained in a low voice that it would warm somewhat as it worked its way through the length of the tube but that its effect would be immediate once it began spilling itself into the ascending colon. And it was: Tristan's face contorted and he cried out: "Contact!" The cramps must have been all powerful and Uncle continued until the cold water had coursed in.

It took about a minute but the solution soon appeared dribbling through the dilator and caught by the ever practical funnel. Tris turned his neck left and right but the intensity of his delight was seen best in his penis: absolutely rigid and parallel to his belly, its glans now heavy with a clear viscous fluid puddling on his upper belly.

Uncle had prepared a two quart solution that looked foamy and intense; it was poured into a Klystra silicone bag, my favourite, but this time the dilator was adjusted so that it was tightly fitted around the emerging colon tube. The Klystra was attached to the colon tube with a coupler and the ratcheting valve was opened. Tristan soon began moaning almost continuously as the solution gushed into and up the colon tube and then out and around the tube lodged in his gut. While some few drops emerged from the area of the dilator, it was obvious that all two quarts were being retained to excellent effect.

When next I looked at Tris, he was tweaking his lovely nipples, his eyes with their lacy lashes closed in what seemed a personal ecstacy. Once the solution had run its course, Uncle detached the Klystra tubing and began withdrawing the colon tube through the clamped down dilator: inch by shining inch it emerged from Tristan's intestines leaving its watery cargo behind. At last it emerged fully: a wriggling and wet snake that had had an upstream adventure.

In order to make the expulsion more productive, Uncle twisted the dilator to its minimum position and urged it out of Tris' anus; the soapy fluid twisted into the funnel and away: gush after gush while Tristan twisted in obvious personal pleasure.

Once his anus closed to its pink corrugations, Tristan asked Uncle: "May I pleasure your nephew?" One look at me only elicited more enthusiasm on my part. I didn't know what Tris had in mind, but my entire body had felt simulated sensations to his grand adventure.

My clothes disappeared and in a heap; Tris soon make it clear that he wanted me in a dog- like position at the head of the couch while he knelt at my nates with his penis waggling. I wondered if I was prepared for this since it was the material of my more outrageous dreams, but Uncle provided some lubricant to my waiting anus and I soon felt Tris making his steady way into my innards. His hands found my hips and he soon brought himself flush with my buttocks and began a to-and-fro motion that thrilled certain muscles in my own gut.

Uncle was providing both help and witness as he reached beneath Tris and found both my and his scrotum to squeeze and encourage. Tristan, however, was bent on fashioning a doughnut of a different kind and he began fully withdrawing from my rectum and anus with a popping sound followed by a plunging back into the depths with a renewed vigor. By scanning the mirror that reflected the larger mirrors at the table's end, I could see my anus closing like a camera's shutter when he withdrew and then being forced open as he directed that long and glistening penis fully into me. It became rhythmic and paced bringing me [and Tris] waves of deep pleasure.

But the next surprise was finding myself emitting squirt after spermatic squirt without so much as touching my penis! And as I did so, I was clamping down on Tristan's penis with my rectal sheath which then brought about Tris' copious emissions into my churning gut. At some point, Uncle was milking me while having a finger lodged in Tris' well worked anus.

We disengaged and lay side by side while I finally got to work my hands through and through and around and around his lovely brushy hair while we kissed lightly. I had to admit that the "tongue of the dragon" had been a wonderful lesson in pleasure of a new and extraordinary kind. I wondered when my turn would occur for the bright red tube of ecstasy.