As I lay on the exam table, nervously contemplating my immediate future, my thoughts turn to the nurse. She is fairly tall, about 5’ 5” or so. She is in her mid-thirties or not much more and her youthful glow is still about her. Her young face is shrouded by long dark brown hair that complements her soft brown eyes. Her green scrubs barely conceal an attractively curvy and voluptuous body, the kind appreciated by a middle aged gentleman such as myself; she has a beauty that is of a woman who has given a man their family and that man finds her even more attractive as they navigate the next chapter of their lives. The nametag on her scrub top says, “A. Ramirez, RN” and I think of how lucky Mr. Ramirez must be.

As I lie there with the churning of my stomach making its way deeper in me, a small knock comes at the door and the nurse walks in again, carrying a small tray. She places it at her station, announcing that I am about to begin my next round of intestinal cleansing which consists of a high dose of stool softener. “This goes in your rear end, I will need you on your belly, turn over please”.

I oblige my caregiver, rolling over and while she is getting my medication unpacked from its foil wrappings, I try to preserve my dignity by pulling the back of my gown closed but a small patch of my underwear peeks through, in particular my buttcrack, which is about to be invaded again. I can feel the gown open up as her fingers gently curl my waistband down, pulling my underwear to my thighs. She warns me, “You will feel something cold and then some pressure”, as I catch a glimpse of the cigar sized suppository from the corner of my eye.

It disappears from my view and I feel the cold medicine pressed to my rear end. She begins to exert the previously promised pressure as I feel myself being stretched to accommodate the cold suppository being inserted in me. I say, “Ow, Nurse, it hurts!” as I react to the stretching and cold I am feeling back there. Unexpectedly, I feel her hand gently stroke my hair as she says, “It’s ok, you’re doing fine. Almost in. You can call me Angie” . I replied, “Thank you Angie” as the cold object passes inside me and the discomfort subsides. Now I can’t tell if the laxative is working or if the butterflies are from what just happened. I feel my underwear go back up and as I attempt to rollback over, I feel Angie lightly touch my rear.” Please stay in this position as the medicine does its job. If you lie on your back, some of the oil may leak out”. Probably not a bad idea I thought as I noticed some minor arousal caused by what just transpired. When I asked how this dose will affect me, Angie assured me it will all be ok, I should not have any great discomfort or worry about accidents and I should relax until she gets back with the next dose.

I wait another 15-20 minutes goes by and Angie knocks on the door again. She slips in, this time carrying a syringe. “Not another needle!” as she approaches my tableside tray and puts the syringe down. She can detect the slight protest in my voice and replies by saying, ”Calm down Richard, This is not an injection, it’s an osmotic laxative that goes inside you.” She reaches in a drawer and pulls out a tube that she presses on the end of the syringe. She turns toward me and pulls down my underwear again. I feel the tube slip inside me as Angela says, “Not as bad as the last dose, right?”. I agree with her and can feel the laxative as it is flows inside me. It starts to feel warm and irritating but not totally uncomfortable.

I feel the tube swiftly exit my rear end, followed by my underwear going back up. Angie reminds me to stay in position to let the laxative cocktail “do its work” and to ring her on the emergency button should things become unbearable. She told me just relax, take deep breaths if needed and she will return shortly. I can feel my whole insides start to rumble but surprisingly no great urge to go. Angie then quickly leaves the room.