It was nobody's fault, the hot summer lightning didn't actually hit the pole, but the ground effect blew a line fuze two miles away, causing the freezer to shut down for fourteen and one half hours. In their own time Maine Central Power Cooperative isolated the short and duly fixed it. The automatic alarm on the industrial refrigeration unit had never been serviced, and failed the one time it was critically needed.

Nasty bacteria, carried on the hands of the meat cutter, who neglected to wash his hands - after, were firmly entrenched in the ground the beef before it was frozen. Cold and dormant they remained innocuous, but once given life-restoring heat they reproduced like late night talk shows. With roughly the same potential effects upon unwary humans. As they returned to their frozen state, there were many more then before, and they waited...

"Two burgers, rare, coffee. please."

The poisonous trigger was pulled.

"I'd like the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, lima beans, and fresh brewed iced tea." Said the voice behind those sunglasses at he next table. Another round fired in the bacterial war.

Done. $3.84 later I was in the truck. Seventeen minutes later I was in cabin three at the Toot & C'Mon Inn. Norlands, Maine. It was the only place to stay in town.

Three hours and seven hundred eight thousand, nine hundred and forty-one Staphylococcus later I was ill. No, not ill, sick. Death wish, sick. Emergency room sick.

Norlands, Maine didn't have an emergency room, an ambulance, or a full time doctor. It had a Nurse practicioner. A converted Victorian house, all gingerbread, made for an ornate clinic. Not nearly enough for the twelve cases of acute gastroenteritis it was asked to handle on that hot July night.

All those that broke bread at that last supper in the same diner were struck. Some, toughened by local water and century-old septic systems, were mildly poisoned. Others, the residents of the solitary inn, were in the throes of the grippe.

"Epsom salts, and bed rest will see these pilgrims through this crisis." The world-wise nurse said for the benefit of the Innkeeper and his family. They had hauled three of us to the clinic, depositing us on couches with small trash cans poised between our legs to catch the toxin-laced burgers and mystery ingredients that were reappearing in frequent streams.

Six other pilgrims had been dosed and released to sleep and retch in the comfort of home and hearth. We three others would occupy what beds were available in the rambling house. One of the "foreigners," the oldest and sickest, was hauled away upstairs to a bed by the Nurse and a helper drafted from the village.

As she was leaving, the nurse barked to the walls, and to nobody else in particular, "You! in there, exam table. You, (pointing at me) in there, gurney. Wait! Keep those cans with you."

Through half closed eyes I saw her again, the sunglasses, meatloaf and lima beans. She plopped down on the exam table, dragging the sheet over her perspiration soaked summer dress. I crashed on the gurney; nothing else beyond my aching guts really mattered.

Days later, it seemed, I came back to life to see a rattan screen had been set up to block my view of the room, or the room's view of me. I sensed a presence before I felt it unbuckle and remove my jeans. "Young man, you're sick, and you're going to stay sick, unless you do what you're told, when you're told to do it. Am I understood?" She was certainly understood. Clearly. Loud and clear, over and out, understood. The noise of running water caught me in mid-agreement. I looked.

She was nineteen, twenty, maybe. Reubenesque. In New York she'd be chubby, here she just was...natural. She was sporting the largest enema bag on the East Coast, water running down the rubber sides in tiny rivulets from the overflow. "Which one now Momma?" she whispered sotto voce, obviously tired from her labors. "We'll do him first, then the pretty lady." She said while removing my shorts.

All I could think of was whether I had holes in my underwear - proving every warning my mother ever issued. With no more fanfare I was rolled up onto my side, my bottom exposed, and my butt swiped by a fingerful of some cold, wet jelly.

Her eyes. That's what caught my eye. They weren't wide, they were saucers. In a full length mirror - Cheval Glass - I believe - which reflected all that was going on my side of the screen. The other two were oblivious of my audience, but I knew. And she knew. And she knew I knew. The nurse and the daughter were all just performing their parts of a clinical procedure, but she was a voyeur. The witness to my humbling experience.

God, it was.........frighteningly exciting. The invasion of my backside was nothing compared to this invasion of my privacy.

Her eyes told it all. And her lips. As the bag was hung over my hips her eyes followed the red rubber trail, the tip of her tongue wetting her top lip. As my own cheeks were parted by the nurse, you could see her breathing become shallow, not daring to make a noise to disturb the scene. When the nozzle was slowly slipped into my nether parts I could see her hand moving under the sheet, down, down, down.

"Now, hold your breath for a minute." Said the nurse. "Who was that meant for?" I thought. A 'CLICK' broke my total concentration. Yeeeeooww. I surely had been invaded by a '57 Chevy. Or so it seemed. A flood of biblical proportions followed.

"Now you take this all in and you hold it for a few minutes and we'll have you well." Pronounced the nurse, holding the offending nozzle in its mooring.

My eyes were pulled back to the glass.... Slow movements under the sheet, like rubbing a sore spot. Slow, deliberate. It was the movement of a cat stalking. Eyes watching me, watching her, watching the bag disgorge its contents into my wiggling behind.

Her breath coming in waves, in, in, in, out in a rush.

Rush! My own situation was becoming critical. Full to bursting. I had to go. NOW. "Uh, Maam, I gotta go." Ignored, deliberate, I figured. "REALLY, I GOTTA GO."

My pleading only seemed to heighten the excitement in her eyes. The bag, now deflated, hung limply on the pole.

"PULEEEZE!"

"You're such a baby. Alright, here's the pan." The nurse said, fetching an enamel pan from the freezer. (That's where they're all kept.)

"I'm removing the nozzle. Wait until I'm through" Hours passed. Months perhaps. Possibly even lifetimes passed. Then, with a rush, I was FREE! More so, I was exploding, all too aware of my spectator.

I sensed, more than heard, her climax. She stiffened and ceased breathing. As if struck by a bullet. Her back, alive in a series of tremors and shakes. My relief was her release. Her eyes finally closed.

An ocean later I heard the water running again, making that peculiar sound where none is going into the sink. "God," I thought, "was I in for another bag full?"

"Miss, you're going to have to slide over this way. Here, slip that dress up and over your head. Gracious, you're all sweat!"

My view, unimpeded, was of lovely legs, connected to a beautiful, round white ass; a graceful spine bisected by a hint of a white brassiere strap. Dark hair, matted with sweat, hung onto the white paper of the exam table.

The daughter entered carrying the revived red rubber bag and hung it from an IV stand next to the table. The nurse was next, bearing a covered tray with accoutrements on it. "Miss, we're gonna treat you for gastroenteritis. It's a bit uncomfortable, but its all for the best. You understand about the enema?"

She nodded, glancing over her shoulder at the glass, at me, watching her.

They set to work on her. I could see the efficiency in their method. Mother would spread the cheeks and lubricate the patient, while daughter lubed the nozzle. I began to grow hard, remembering my own experience. By the time the nozzle was in, I was hard as diamond, fueled by my own relief. The gasp as the nozzle slipped inside matched my own feelings as my hand started a slow stroking on my erect self under the sheet.

Our eyes met, She knew.

I watched the bag jiggle as the clamp was released and her backside wrestled with the assault of the water, toes curling, breath coming fast. I was close as well, growing harder, anxious. The nurse gripping the bag, squeezing. Now asking the daughter to hold it higher. The bag was now deflating fast. Almost, Almost, just a bit more....

Look at her eyes. That "PLEASE HELP ME" look. Does she know how close? She knows. Through it all she managed a wink.

AHHgggggggggghhhhh. God, I came. Wet, warm, lots. I look at her, Water gone.

Me too. I was deflating fast. Wondering what I can do to hide the signs. Grab the underwear on the table and use them. Oh well.

I hear an explosion of water next door and realize that she is also done. Then, I sleep. Exhausted.

Days later, perhaps only hours later I dressed, more privately than I was undressed. I paid cash and was discharged. On the way out the door, I crashed into my unlikely roommate. Embarrassed, we both avoided looking. Like two trains, on parallel tracks, we headed for the same destination - The Toot and C'mon Inn. She, the courageous one, finally broke the deafening silence.... "I, uh, am uh, Wendy. We seem to have shared a, well, similar experience in there."

In a nervous voice I reply, "Peter. It's been awhile since that was done to me." "Wanna try again?", said Wendy, her voice huskier now, "there's a drug store on the way." "Which one Momma?" I asked, in my best imitation of the daughter. "Let's do the pretty lady first," she said... and we did.