Then it was back to the states to find that my father was already the most hated colonel in the army. The whole post was buzzing with activity as he kicked ass in all directions. I went to college and discovered that I was so far behind in my knowledge of biology and chemistry that it was going to be a major miracle if I managed to survive the year without being expelled. But if I did, then it would be the army, and as I watched my father gradually moulding two battalions into an efficient regiment I decided once and for all that I would have no part of it. Life became one long struggle as I worked every waking hour and only at the end of the year, when I knew I was able to stay, did I relax.

I had written to Robbie several times during the year, but the letter I received was special. He told me that it was a year since I had invested the money and gave me amazing news - I was now worth two thousand dollars. IBM had started to gain value and I was in at the ground floor. He recommended that I hold. Yeah. That took a lot of working out.

My second year at college was easier, or maybe I had learned how to study hard. It was easier at home too - my father had stopped his rages as things came together the way he wanted. Everything was coming together and he was at the head of a crack regiment, just like he had always planned, but he was increasingly worried as the year progressed. He wanted his star more than anything in his entire life and the way things worked was that you got hints and visits from the right people during your final year as a regimental commander - but none of them were happening.

Then he got the bad news. His new assignment was an obvious dead-end job on some malaria-filled lump of excrement in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Then the promotions list arrived and he exploded.

"Joe Pacelli is going to get his star! Brigadier general designate for pity's sake. I never understood why he suddenly got his eagles, but this is ridiculous. That does it - I won't salute that incompetent bastard. I'm putting my papers in."

I fled to my room and put my head in my hands - because I knew. He hadn't known anything really - he may have heard a rumour - but he had tricked me into letting him know that he was right and that dad had fixed things for me. That was enough to derail any further advancement for dad - and Pacelli had his reward.

Dad was in deep despond when I returned. I managed to attract his attention.

"You're right dad - he should never be a general. After all, he did break every regulation in the book when he supplied ammunition to The Campbell on a regular basis. I guess he might even be court-martialled if anybody found out. He was mighty curious about you and me that time I stayed with him."

Two could play at that game after all. If my father was going to lose out because I had given the natives a little coffee from time to time, it was only fair that Pacelli should suffer. Two could tell tales, after all.

Pacelli never did get that star. My dad still had a lot of friends and, after the Inspector General suddenly investigated irregularities in the records of the Ayr armoury, Pacelli quietly resigned from the army. So did my father, except that his retirement was not in disgrace.

He headed south to buy a car dealership with his retirement grant. And I was free for the first time in my life. I was to stay at the college, but now I could live in a dorm. No parents, no MPs, just a free and easy life with kids of my own age...

College life didn't quite turn out like that, of course. The days of long hair, free love and mind-altering drugs were more than a decade in the future and college authorities saw themselves as moral guardians of the young as well as providers of education.

Dorm life seemed to be exactly like that of an enlisted man living in a barracks. We lived a life of rules and regulations in what was still a large family with a man in charge and a housemother to make sure that we washed behind our ears. From my point of view, the worst aspect was that I had to share a room with another boy for the first time in my life.

The entire place positively reeked of suppressed adolescent sexuality - the air was saturated with testosterone and there was a palpable tension everywhere. The lack of privacy was close to intolerable and we had to play the public role of the clean-cut American boy with healthy participation in sport and absolutely no sex drive. Even the sanitary facilities offered no place for the solitary vice with rows of shining porcelain commodes where I had to perform my biological function of elimination in the company of hirsute males who grunted and farted next to me.

My roommate, Steve Gordon, was fairly inoffensive, but a mere child of eighteen away from his mother for the first time in his life. I had been celibate for two whole years, but the rest of the dorm seemed to be virgins who drooled over fully dressed girls and bragged that they had reached first or second base but would not or could not identify their partner. The girls' dorm was a sort of nunnery, supervised by female mother superiors, a forbidden land where no male foot had trod.

I found myself being forced to adopt an almost parental role towards Steve who was really incapable of making any decision or taking any initiative. He was a skinny kid, almost embarrassingly underdeveloped, who looked closer to fourteen than eighteen and who seemed unable to perform the simplest tasks. I had to show him how to use the basement laundry, but I also had to find out his need for it by the increasing smell from his underwear.

Then he told me that he had a headache. I gave him a couple of aspirin but they gave him only temporary relief. He finally managed to get to sleep and I sighed with relief as I too settled down for the night. I woke up in the early hours to find the lights on and Steve unpacking one of his cases. I opened my mouth to curse him to eternal flames, but then he pulled an enema bag from amongst the items in the case.

I sat up and sighed.

"Steve. Just what the hell are you doing?"

He looked and sounded like he was about to burst into tears.

"It's my headache. It's killing me. When I get one at home, mommy just gives me an enema and the pain just goes away."

"Your mommy isn't here."

"I know that. She showed me how to do it for myself and she packed this thing so that I could."

He stood up and headed for the door.

"Steve? Where the hell are you going?"

"To the bathroom."

"Look - if you walk around this place carrying an enema bag and if anybody sees you in the bathroom with the pipe stuck up your ass, your life won't be worth living. Go get a pitcher full of hot water and take your enema in here."

He blushed but went and did as he was told. Then he improvised a hook by driving the point of a compass into a bookshelf and filled the bag up.

It is a common saying in the army that second lieutenants are so incompetent that they cannot find their ass even with two hands, but I had never imagined that anybody could really be that inept until I saw Steve trying to stick the enema pipe in his ass. He put one foot on a chair and then bent forward until his head was touching the back, then he jabbed around at random until I feared that he was about to create a second asshole for his enema. Finally he did manage to get it into place, reached for the clip and then groaned as the pipe fell out.

I just could not take any more. I got out of bed, picked up the nozzle and pointed to his bed.

"Steve - just lie down. I'll do it for you."

He didn't raise any objection and he was obviously very familiar with the procedure, because he lay down and folded his upper leg to his chest to expose his asshole in the centre of his scrawny butt. I looked at the pipe and saw that it was one of those cheap ones with straight sides - no wonder it had fallen out. Just like the baby pipe had done with me all those years ago.

I guess I was tired and I really didn't feel anything as I opened up his asshole and slid the pipe into it. His hand came round automatically and held it in position - confirming the fact that his mother used the same sort of equipment. It was like treating a little kid - or maybe a little brother - and I just went ahead with his enema, taking it nice and slow so that I didn't hurt him.

When it was finished, he stood up and reached for his PJ pants. I was surprised to see that he didn't have any trace of an erection - I suppose that I had assumed that all boys were like Robbie or me and that they got a hard-on just thinking about taking an enema. He padded out of the room and returned ten minutes later with a smile on his face.

"Gee, thanks Jason. I'm fine now."

Then he gave me a quick hug - the first time we had ever made contact - before he rolled into bed and left me with the task of cleaning the equipment. When I got back he was sleeping like a baby, looking even more absurdly youthful with his ruffled hair on the pillow. It was hard not to like Steve - he was just so young and vulnerable that I just wanted to protect him and help him.

By then, it had become obvious that any advance in my sex life was critically dependent on owning a car. Dad had bought a Ford dealership with an associated used car lot, but he was a thousand miles away and anyway he was going to ask a lot of awkward questions about where the money had come from. My college fees were paid out of a trust fund that he had set up and paid into over many years - he said that saved him a lot of tax. But the money was doled out by a lawyer, one semester at a time, and there was no way the miserable skinflint was going to give me an advance. I cabled The Campbell and asked him if he could cash in $200 of my investments and wire the money to my bank.

It only took two days and, armed with cash money, I managed to buy an elderly but sound pickup for the $200. It wasn't exactly a sports model, but the cabin was large and had a single bench seat that would be far more comfortable than the cramped conditions in the hot rods that were all the rage. It also came with an unexpected bonus - when I collected it the dealer handed me a set of metal hoops and a canvas cover for the back, explaining that he hadn't left them fitted on the lot in case someone stole them. I scrubbed the floor clean and then managed to find an almost new carpet that someone had thrown in the garbage. Now I had something that was almost as good as a camper! Steve was like a faithful dog - he scrubbed and cleaned and painted and then just about wagged his tail with pleasure when I thanked him.

I still had a lot to learn about girls though. It would have been much more effective if I had spent the money on candy because none of them would be seen dead in an old pickup. The real killer, though, was the dorm - no female got past the entrance hall and to sneak one up to your room meant instant expulsion from the college. I grumbled about it to Steve and said that what I really wanted was a small apartment, a place where there was no secret police, where I could take a shit in decent privacy and do my laundry in a room that was not festooned with rows of jockstraps hung up to dry. There was no chance of that - the trust fund would not hand over more than the cost of the dorm plus my allowance and there was no way that I was going to dip any further into my investment - with any luck that was going to be a real help when I finally graduated as a doctor and set up my own office.

A week after the first enema, Steve asked me if I would mind giving him another one.

"You see, I've always been liable to get constipated - my kid brother is just the same - and mom always gave us enemas as soon as there was any problem. I would be real grateful if you could help me out again."

To be honest, I didn't object. He was just a kid who should really have still been at home with his mom and taking his enemas like a good boy until he grew up some more. Hell - I liked him. He was just so totally dependent that he needed a substitute for his mother if he was going to survive..

"Sure Steve. No problem - I'll go fetch some warm water and we'll soon have you feeling just fine and dandy again."

When I came back and filled the bag, he just took his PJ pants off and curled up ready for his enema. There were no sexual overtones - it was just a big guy helping his little buddy with a problem. For the rest of the semester he took an enema every week, always at his own request and always without any agenda beyond his need for constipation relief.

Christmas loomed. I considered travelling to see my folks by train and bus, but then I decided that I was going to drive. I had come by the vehicle legally, I had valid documents and insurance and if dad didn't like it then that was his problem. I was twenty one years old and it was time I took charge of my own life.

When Steve heard that I intended to drive, he smiled in delight.

"That's great - you'll pass my home on the way. We can share the cost of the gas and you can stay overnight - it will save the cost of a hotel."

I hadn't been intending to stay in hotels anyway - I had bought blankets from charity shops and a small kerosene stove so that I could sleep in back of the pickup. On the other hand a warm bed for one night would be pleasant - and Steve would probably burst into tears if I said no.

My only other decision was whether or not to take my kilt. It would really piss dad off if I wore it, but there was bound to be some Scottish association holding a Hogmanay bash in the area and they would welcome anyone wearing tartan - I was certain of that. Dad would just have to put up with it. I tried it on surreptitiously and discovered that I had grown a lot and that it no longer fit properly. It was supposed to have tucks in it, but I was damned if I could see them so I asked the housemother if there was a local tailor who did alterations. She recommended a Chinese guy who had a small shop downtown and who she reckoned was the cheapest tailor in town.

I drove to the shop in the pickup and took both the kilt and the jacket, even though I had hopelessly outgrown the latter. The guy was small, amber coloured and had wrinkles on his wrinkles, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He examined the kilt and nodded.

"See - here - where the pleating starts. There is a reverse pleat that I can let out. Very clever. But the jacket - I can do nothing with that. Do you have another black jacket that fits? I can cut it to shape and transfer the decoration from this one."

I didn't have one, but I knew a charity shop that did. Five bucks for the jacket, ten bucks for the alterations and it looked like it had come direct from the Highlands!

We set out as soon as the semester ended and Steve became steadily more excited as we approached his home. He explained that his father was a clerk and that his mom worked in a store and that they really wanted to meet me. His home was a modest house and as we drew up his mother burst out and hugged him tight. Then she turned to me and just about curtsied.

"I'm really glad to meet you, Doctor Boyd. Steven has told us so much about you and it was a relief to know that there was someone to give him his treatment."

"Ma'am, I don't know what he told you, but I'm not a doctor, just a medical student."

She waved her hands dismissively.

"Just a detail. Young students know more than old doctors anyway. Come in, doctor, and warm yourself."

I started to correct her, then I decided that it really wasn't important. I was only staying overnight and she knew I wasn't a qualified physician, so why argue?

Steve's brother turned out to be a fourteen year old replica of him, equally skinny but more cheerful, grinning all over his face as he shook hands with "Doctor" Boyd. To my horror, he addressed me as "Sir" and became totally tongue-tied when I asked him to call me "Jason". His father, when he arrived home, did use my given name but was visibly pleased that I had asked him to do so. It was all reminiscent of the military, the deference accorded by lower ranks to the person and family of a senior officer like my father. I was installed in their guest room and then we sat down to supper.

Afterwards I sat and told them about my upbringing as a military brat and things gradually thawed out. The room was cluttered with family mementoes, pictures of the kids ranging from skinny infants in bathing suits to a serious Steve in graduation robe, clutching his diploma. There were fewer photographs of the parents, but I glanced at them while I was speaking. Mrs Gordon felt cold, so young Michael was sent for something to place over her legs - it turned out to be a tartan blanket whose design I recognised from my studies of a book I had bought. The Black Watch tartan overlaid with yellow squares.

"Gordon tartan! Good lord - I never connected the name with Scotland."

Mr Gordon looked at me, happy that I had recognised it wasn't just a generic rug.

"You know tartan, Steve?"

"Oh yes - I had some great times with the guys in the Black Watch when I was in Germany and your tartan is a derivative of theirs."

He smiled happily.

"And you have Scottish connections? I can trace this family back to the old country. We keep up the traditions and there's a local chapter of the Gordon Association here."

He produced another photograph, one where he was wearing the kilt. It was in black and white, of course, but the pattern of his companion's tartan was recognisable. I pointed to him.

"The piper?"

"Why yes. How did you know?"

"That's Royal Stewart tartan. The pipers of all Scottish regiments wear it. As a Boyd, I wear Stewart myself."

He smiled happily at me and I grinned back at him. We talked about Hogmanays we had known and I was truly sorry that I had to leave next morning. Mrs Gordon gave me a whole load of stuff to eat on my journey and even Michael had relaxed enough to shake hands as I left.

Two more days (and a freezing night in the back of the pickup) saw me approaching dad's new place. I got there about six and drove up to the dealership - boy, you could tell dad owned it, because every car outside was polished until it shone and parked with millimetric precision. Even the prices on the used cars were all lined up! Surprisingly, the place was shut - I saw a couple of people drive away looking annoyed.

I didn't know where my parents currently lived, so I drove around to the back - there was a light on upstairs and I hammered on the door until it was eventually opened by my father. It was a shock to see him in a civilian suit - he seemed smaller, just an ordinary middle-aged guy with thinning hair.

I followed him up a steep staircase into a small apartment.

"You live here?"

"We have to. I let the night watchman go - we save his wages by living here."

"Dad? What's wrong? I thought you said that this place made more than enough to service the loan and to pay you a decent living? Why is it closed now - people buy cars in the evening and at weekends."

"My son, the business expert. You have no idea how disorganised this place was when I arrived. Sales staff wandering in and out just as they pleased, sitting talking to people for hours and not making a sale instead of making sure the lot was a credit to them."

"Don't tell me, dad. You tore them new assholes and told them to shape up or ship out. And they quit."

"Dead right I did. I employed new staff - ones who took pride in their appearance - and we run a tight ship now."

"This isn't the army, dad, and you aren't the colonel any more. The door should be open right now and you should be pouring coffee and being nice to your customers."

"Don't tell me how to organise an operation, boy. Business is slow right now, but it will pick up in the new year. We've just had to tighten our belts. Not like my student son - with his pickup and his fancy clothes and his trust fund."

"DAD!"

He threw a letter down in front of me. I saw the English stamps on it and realised that it had come from The Campbell. I picked it up - it was his report from months back and it had obviously followed my father instead of me. I looked at the letter inside with growing amazement - I was now worth almost ten thousand bucks! IBM was going through the roof and he had evidently bought in to some company called Boeing which was also doing very well. My father looked at me with something approaching contempt.

"I don't believe you came by that money honestly, but the least you could do is pay for your own college education with it."

"Dad, you know my trust fund does that."

"And who paid for that? But you would let me live in this hovel rather than repay it to me."

"You want me to hand this money over?"

"It would be the decent thing to do. It's going to be real hard to meet the January loan payments."

"You must have a couple of hundred thousand dollars worth of used cars out there, dad. Sell ten of them and you won't have these problems."

"Nobody is buying."

"Hell, I wouldn't buy from this place! You're not even open the right times for your customers and I bet you don't do any deals on your prices."

"Damn right I don't. I don't want freeloading customers who think they can beat me down. Those cars are worth every cent of the posted prices."

"Not to the customers, they aren't. Can't you get your thick head round the fact that they are the ones that pay your loans and buy your food?"

"I've had enough of your insolence, boy. I want you to get that money transferred right now."

"No way. I wouldn't invest anything in this place."

I noticed another envelope with British stamps on it and I grabbed it and looked inside. It was a short note from The Campbell and it said that the bank required my signature before it would liquidate my investments.

"You tried to steal my money? You bastard!"

"I was just repaying myself for your trust fund."

Then I realised what was missing.

"Where's mom? Why isn't she here?"

"She's away. Visiting with your grandmother."

"At Christmas?"

Then it dawned on me.

"She's left you, hasn't she? You drove her out with your stupid army principles. The real world doesn't take orders, dad, and you don't rate salutes any more."

"Are you going to hand over that money or just freeload off me for the next couple of weeks?"

"Neither. I'm going too."

I got away from there as fast as I could. At one stage I started to feel guilty and I almost turned back to give dad the money, but then I realised that he wasn't going to unbend that stiff neck of his until he was forced to. My investments would be sucked down the same drain as his retirement money and everything else and he would still not be able to meet his payments. Maybe the bank would be able to kick some sense into his military ass.

It didn't solve my problem. I had nowhere to stay and I really didn't have enough ready cash to check into a hotel for four weeks. But I was free, white and twenty-one (you could say that in those days), I had my pickup and I could live in it.

It took only a day for me to discover that the Constitution did not apply to kids who slept in the backs of pickups - I was wakened by a redneck deputy and ordered to get the hell out of his county. I quickly learned that I needed to keep moving, to park up after it got dark and to leave early in the morning. I discovered that you only got to wait in a warm dry place for a bus after you bought your ticket and that as my clothes got dirty, even diners turned me away. I spent Christmas day shivering in the cab of the pickup - but at least I could make myself a hot meal on my trusty kerosene stove.

Finally, I decided to head back to college. They had to have a place in the dorm where I could stay - not everybody went home for Christmas. It was when I got close to Steve's house that my desire for a hot bath and clean underwear became totally overwhelming - my body was just one large itch. My embarrassment at being a freeloader fought with the lure of soap and hot water - and I turned towards the Gordon house.

Mrs Gordon came out when she heard me, a smile on her face that turned to an expression of horror.

"Good lord - what on earth has happened to you?"

"It's a long story. I've been sleeping in the pickup. Could I have a bath please."

I absently scratched my neck and she stepped back.

"You're crawling with fleas! Where have you been?"

"Just in the pickup."

She peered in the back and shuddered.

"That carpet - it's alive!"

Now I knew why an almost new carpet had been thrown out.

"Go round to the back porch, Jason."

I wasn't Doctor Boyd any more. Mrs Gordon produced a large pillowcase already reeking of Lysol.

"Put your things in here."

It was freezing cold, but she insisted that I took off every stitch of clothing and she did not relax until she had tied the neck of the bag tightly.

"I'll boil these - now let me have a look at you."

The fleas seemed to have followed my clothes, because she only found a couple and popped them with her fingernails. Before she invited me inside.

"The men are out shopping - come on, I'll run a bath for you."

It was sheer heaven to soak away the dirt, even if it did reveal that I was covered in the red blotches of flea bites. Mrs Gordon supervised the process, washed my hair and scrubbed my back, her deference quite gone. She left me to soak for a while, then returned to the bathroom and unhooked the enema bag from the back of the door.

"I'll just give you a quick cleaning for now. Come on - get out of that bath."

She just made me wrap a towel round myself and bend over the bath while she administered a brief but highly effective soap and water enema which triggered a momentous bowel movement which she inspected with motherly interest.

"Well - you really needed that, didn't you? But you've been drinking out of streams!"

"How do you know that?"

"You've got worms. I thought a doctor would know better."

My mind went back to the time when I'd had them as a child. The treatment in those days was to remove them mechanically with daily enemas of salt water, repeated until there was no further trace of infestation. That could take weeks - I could remember vividly how each night had involved a large enema, washing of my butt and then having to wear cotton mitts in bed to lessen the probability of re-infection. It had gotten just plain tedious and it seemed to have gone on for years. The prospect of a repeat did not fill me with seasonal joy.

Finally I dressed in borrowed clothes belonging to Mr Gordon, several sizes too big and tied together with string. That was how the guys found me when they returned, and Mrs Gordon embarrassed me by telling everyone that I had both fleas and worms. She sent Mr Gordon to put his coveralls on and to drag the carpet out of my pickup and burn it and then to spray everything with the new miracle DDT stuff. The only bright aspect was the fact that I had bought an expensive carrier for my regalia, made out of the brand new polythene plastic, guaranteed impervious to moth and damp, so it was spared. Mr Gordon was delighted to see it.

"Great - and you've arrived on New Year's Eve too. You must come to the Hogmanay bash."

But first there were enemas for the boys, to get rid of the residues of the Christmas food and to ensure that they faced the new year clean. They didn't react to her announcement - they just got up and headed for their shared room. Mrs Gordon beckoned to me.

"We can save some time if you give Steven his enema. He told me that you had helped him out at college so he won't mind if you do it again."

She filled two enema bags and handed one to me. The boys were naked when we went in to their room and Steve was quite happy with the arrangement. What struck me was the openness of the whole thing - my mother had always waited until dad was out of the way before she gave me an enema and once I was past infancy she had not mentioned it to any visiting mother even though we both knew that the bag would come out as soon as she had left. This was different - the two boys just accepted that enemas were a normal part of their lives and that their mother would administer them as and when needed. It was my first formulation of Rule 5 - the brain is the largest, if not the only, erogenous zone.

The two boys took their enemas without any protest and it was obvious that it was commonplace for one to receive his enema in front of the other because there was neither embarrassment nor curiosity. They departed for the bathroom, followed by Mrs Gordon, and I heard the squabbling as they had to take turns to use the toilet. I was about to leave for my own room when Mrs Gordon returned with a newly filled enema bag.

"Well, let's make a start on those worms, shall we?"

She proceeded to administer a large but totally unerotic enema. The boys, when they returned, did not even think the sight of my naked body with a rubber tube stuck up its ass was either unusual or worthy of comment - it was just something that mothers did, after all.

I had expected Mr Gordon to be in full regalia, but it came as a surprise to see both boys wearing the kilt. They chuckled at the sight of my tartan - I was going to be as conspicuous as a single poppy in a cornfield.

It didn't matter of course. Any Scot is welcome at a Hogmanay. Well - almost any.. A MacDonald wouldn't walk into a Campbell celebration, but that's understandable because those two clans have been feuding since 1297. There was food, there was drink and there was dancing. Scottish reels are relatively simple dances and normally involve either four (a foursome reel) or eight (eightsome), but you can double up the numbers if you want to. Someone announced a sixteensome reel. At first all went well - then someone forgot what came next. The result was glorious confusion, much merriment and a final collapse that left me clinging for support to the girl I had been turning with. It was far too intimate for those days and that occasion, so I apologised as I regained my balance and stepped away from her.

She was stunning, with the raven-black hair and pale complexion that you sometimes find on the west coast of Scotland, the look of a witch or an elf with a slim figure to match. She looked embarrassed. Although she was actually a month older than me, girls were kept as innocent creatures in those days. There were bobbysoxers, of course, and even cheerleaders (in skirts down to the knee), but the rule was to look but not to touch. Good girls didn't - and you could supply just about any verb you wanted after that phrase. Things were beginning to change, but only just, and most girls still went virgin to their marriage bed like some mediaeval village where you had to hang the bloodstained sheet out of the window after your wedding night. I finally managed to break the silence.

"Shall we get some punch?"

We headed for the junior punchbowl - the non-alcoholic one - and filled our glasses. I was totally tongue-tied in the presence of the divine creature, but I finally managed to hold out my hand.

"Jason Boyd."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Hannah Gordon."

Midnight caught up with us and we crossed hands and sang Auld Lang Syne, then Hannah wiped her brow.

"It's hot in here."

It wasn't an invitation to anything more than joining the crowd outside on the balcony, but it was a start. I discovered that her home was actually just ten miles from the college that I attended, and she was a junior at a neighbouring college. A girls college - which meant that you couldn't even get on campus if you were male.

We compared notes and I told her that I really wanted to move out of my dorm. She pulled a face.

"I would love to do the same but my parents wouldn't hear of it. My dorm is full of girls who only talk about boys, boys, boys. They don't seem to be able to think of anything else. I mean, there's a lot more to life than boys, isn't there?"

That didn't sound hopeful. I knew her type - girls who had been sheltered from infancy and who just had no idea at all what life was about. I was about to cut my losses and wander off when we were accosted by a guy full of the spirit of Hogmanay.

"Don't waste time talking! Give her a kiss, boy. You're standing under the mistletoe!"

He lurched off and I looked up - sure enough, there was a spray of white berries. I held out my arms to Hannah, she giggled and moved into them. I kissed her on the lips, but she kept her mouth firmly shut. So I tried something that drove Greta wild - I gently stroked Hannah's back from neck to butt. At first she just stood there, then I felt it taking effect, she began to relax and her breathing became deeper.

I tried another kiss, probing with my tongue until she parted her teeth, then delving deep into her mouth. She resisted at first, then she sort of melted into me. When we parted from the clinch, she was flushed and panting.

"What happened? I don't know what's going on."

I didn't answer. I just kissed her again and this time she took a more active part in the process. It was like someone had thrown a switch from "little girl" to "sexy woman" - suddenly she was realising what it was all about. It was getting late, so I chanced my arm and asked her if she would come for a meal with me the following evening - and, to my delight, she accepted.

I spent most of the next day frantically getting my de-loused clothing ready to wear. Mrs Gordon seemed to think that it was real cute that I had gotten a date - and it turned out that they were related to Hannah's folks - third cousins or something. Still, by the time evening was arriving, I had clean and freshly ironed things to wear and I had managed to get the local bank to cash a cheque for me. Mrs Gordon laid out my clothes in the guest room, then smiled happily.

"I think I had better give you your enema before you go out."

I was thinking of other things at the time and it must have shown, because she became firm.

"Now then, Jason, we want to get rid of those nasty worms, don't we? And it won't do you any harm to have a good cleanout after all that food and drink yesterday."

I surrendered to the inevitable and lay down on the bed when she returned with the enema bag. Mrs Gordon didn't insert the pipe as much as she just quickly tucked it into position - I found myself wondering just how many enemas she must have given over the years as the warm liquid began to insinuate itself into me.

"I'm pleased that you asked Hannah for a date. She's a pretty little thing and it's about time she found a nice boy or two to take her out."

Everything would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned Hannah in the middle of my enema. It conjured up a picture of her in my mind, a memory of her yielding softness in my arms and a reminder that I had been celibate for a long, long time. I grimaced as I became erect and I started to panic - my own mother had always accepted that it was a normal part of the process, but I knew that it never happened with the Gordon boys and I was afraid that she would be scandalized if she saw what had happened to me. I cut short the enema by yelling that I'd taken enough and then I rushed out, bent double, my hands blocking her view and hastened to the bathroom. I took a shower and this gave me plenty of time to get rid of the boner - and an excuse to wrap a towel around my waist.

Hannah was staying with her folks in a motel and I drove there in my pickup, spotless after its thorough cleaning inside and out. She might laugh at it, but it was all the transport that I had. I found the motel, parked up and knocked on the door of their room. It was opened by Mr Gordon - her father - a large, bluff guy who shook my hand as he ushered me in.

"The girl will be with you in a while - she and her mother are still applying paint and putty."

He gestured towards the bathroom and I nodded - I was familiar with the time that women could spend in that place. He walked over and slapped the door.

"Honey, Jason is here."

I heard a girlish scream from inside the room then her mother opened the door a crack and peered out.

"Why don't you take him for a coffee, honeybun? Hannah will catch up with you in the diner."

She closed the door firmly and I headed for the outside door, followed by Mr Gordon and the unmistakeable sound of a jet of enema water thundering into a toilet bowl. He laughed as we left.

"Women!"

"Sir?"

"Women - never happy unless they have an enema bag in the bathroom. Those two are always at it - I'm darned if I know why. My mother was just the same - one sneeze and I got half a gallon of soapsuds in my ass."

"Yeah. Tell me about it."

He snorted.

"You too, eh? I bet you were as glad to get away to college as I was. Women!"

It was strange - I'd never talked to an adult like that before. He snorted again.

"Glad she's finally decided that she's found a man she actually seems to like. I was starting to wonder if she was going to be left on the shelf."

"Sir, I think she's a very attractive girl."

"She likes you a lot, boy. I hope you don't think that gives you the right to take advantage of an innocent girl - she really is innocent, you know - but I get the feeling that you aren't."

Then it dawned on me that I was being vetted. He was testing me and if I failed the test there would be no date - at least not just the two of us. I felt annoyed, but then I realised that he was actually worried.

"Sir, I won't pretend that I'm as pure as the driven snow, but I don't take advantage of girls. Your daughter is a really nice girl and all I want is a simple date."

He slapped me on the back.

"Well said. I hear your father is in the army?"

"Was. He retired as a full colonel and now he's trying to run a Ford dealership. I guess he has a lot to learn about civilians though - he can't seem to understand that he doesn't rate a salute any more."

"Not doing so well, then?"

"Sir, I think he's going bust. He canned all the good salesman and he closes the place at 5pm every day. My mom has left him and he's living in the caretaker's apartment. He even tried to get me to cash in my investments and loan the money to him - and then he threw me out when I said no."

He gave me a shrewd look.

"Investments? You mean money in the bank?"

"No Sir. I had saved some cash in Germany and I was going to put it in the bank, but then The Gordon said I should buy into IBM and Boeing. I've got about ten thousand bucks now. I feel real bad about not giving it to my dad, but it wouldn't have done any good. I'm hoping it will be enough to set up my office when I become a doctor."

"The Gordon? The chieftain himself?"

"Yes Sir. I was at school with his son for a while and I got to know the family that way."

"You move in exalted circles, boy and you were right not to give him the money. Just where is this dealership? Maybe I'll pay him a call."

"He'll run you off!"

"Like hell. I finished my hitch as first sergeant - those chickens don't scare me at all."

I told him where the dealership was located, then I saw Hannah approaching. Mr Gordon nodded to me.

"Have a good time - we'll expect her back by midnight."

Hannah was wearing one of those full skirts with petticoats underneath that made them swirl enticingly, with a patent leather belt and a polka-dot blouse. She looked miserable and I wondered if she had rowed with her mother. It was when we got into the pickup that she burst into tears.

I drove off and found a quiet road before I put my arm around her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"So why the tears?"

She said nothing and I could feel the whole evening disintegrating. My first date for two years and it was going right down the pan. Well, if she wasn't going to say anything, it was up to me - we had to get this settled or we were both in for a totally miserable first and last date.

"Hannah, has this got something to do with the fact that you were taking an enema when I arrived?"

She wailed in despair.

"I told mommy you would know and she said that you wouldn't."

"Hey - it isn't the end of the world. Just an enema. Everybody gets those things."

"It's not the same when you know somebody is getting one. It's embarrassing."

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, I had one just before I came to pick you up. Okay?"

She sniffed and stopped crying as she looked at me in amazement.

"You did? Steve's mom gave you an enema?"

"You got it."

"But you're a man. Wasn't it really embarrassing for her to look ...."

She trailed off into a blush. I shook my head.

"Why should it be? She's seen boy's butts ever since Steve and Mike were babies - I guess she must be used to them by now."

She was silent for a while, then she looked at me again.

"Jason, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Like what I wear under my kilt?"

She snorted.

"Oh, I know you don't wear anything. Girls learn to keep their knees together when they sit down, but boys don't even think of that sort of thing."

It was my turn to blush and her turn to grin. Her eyes danced delightfully when she did that and I felt myself sliding down the slippery slope towards Cupid and his arrows.

"That wasn't the question. It's just that I've always wondered what boys do at college if they get constipated or sick. Do you go to the housemother?"

"Is that what girls do?"

"Some of them. Mostly we either do them ourselves or help each other out. Do boys do that?"

I shook my head.

"You have to be very special friends before you would let another guy give you an enema. We don't discuss them - I guess people just do their own when nobody is around."

"It's not very easy to do that. I sometimes wonder what I will do when I get married."

"Aw, don't worry. I'll do your enemas for you."

She stared at me in shock, then realised that it was a joke. Well - mostly a joke as far as I was concerned. Wasn't it?

She seemed to become much more cheerful - we had cleared the air and her embarrassment had gone. We ate in a reasonable restaurant that served Italian food and then parked up afterwards.

Things had sure changed with Hannah. She kissed me! We spent a long time kissing, at the end of which my balls were painful and my erection was begging for relief.

"Er... Hannah, I need to.. you know... I'll just go into the bushes - I won't be long."

I walked out of sight of the pickup and then jerked myself off with two or three strokes. As my erection subsided, I could piss and I emptied my bladder and enjoyed the relief. When I got back to the pickup, Hannah was squirming around on the seat.

"I need the bathroom as well."

"Can you wait until we get home?"

"NO! I have to go right now."

"So go."

"It's dark and I'm scared. Come with me. Please."

I followed her at a discreet distance as she headed for the bushes.

"Jason - it's real scary here. There could be a murderer in there."

"For pity's sake, Hannah, just do it before you wet your pants. I'll stay here and stand guard."

I expected her to at least go behind a bush, but she just hiked her skirt up and pushed down her serviceable 1950 panties, built for warmth and covering, not for fashion or style. She squatted and produced an apparently never-ending stream of pee before she finally hoisted the pants again.

"Come on - let's get back to the car."

I was slowly formulating Rule Six: Once a barrier is broken with a girl, it stays broken for ever. She grabbed me as soon as we were in the cab and started to kiss passionately. I responded, of course, and then slowly started to undo the buttons of her blouse. She stiffened, and then relaxed and let me undo all of them, revealing an equally serviceable 1950 bra apparently constructed of cotton covered steel. I didn't push things too far - I just stroked her breasts through the bra while she moaned and groaned like I was fucking her. It didn't do a lot for me, though.

At least I had a clear conscience when I dropped her back at the motel well before midnight. I just waved at her dad and drove off - I needed some solitude to relieve the newly created tension in my genitals.