The next week was more “normal”, if one could consider it normal for a Catholic young woman from a conservative family to live a “closeted” (I of course did not know that word at the time) lesbian life with an older woman. I mean, we were just kissing, and having “normal lesbian sex” without recourse to the confusing pleasures of spanking and shame. There was however an incident after that.

As I was coming back home earlier than expected in the afternoon (a professor was missing), I wanted to greet Ulrike, and thus walked around the ground floor calling out “Frau Bayer?”. Now, you may wonder why I would address her in such a formal way. Recall that we had to keep appearances of an ordinary landlady and lodger; Ulrike had, very wisely, established that any familiarity would have to happen only after we had established we were truly alone in the house, with the door locked, to avoid possible lapses of discretion in front of visitors. Ulrike was a popular woman in the neighbourhood and it was not uncommon for her to have some other lady or couple from around visiting.

And, indeed, that afternoon, Ulrike had a visitor, in the person of young Theresia Schmidt, the teenage daughter of our neighbours. Theresia liked Ulrike and would sometimes pay a visit for a game of checkers. Finding her in the house was therefore not unexpected; but I definitely did not expect the scene I saw. Theresia Schmidt was kneeling on the bathroom floor bare bottom up, and Ulrike was giving her an enema. I gasped. Theresia, hearing me, turned her head, uttered a cry and jerked. Ulrike reacted “No! Theresia don’t move, please, you’ve spilled water on the floor! Maria, please move out!”. I was actually so surprised, even mesmerized, by the sight, that it indeed took me Ulrike’s “please move out” order to get me to react and move out.

I hesitated between climbing to my bedroom and staying on the ground floor, and opted for the latter, so as to eavesdrop on the proceedings. I know, this was uncouth… But, see, I was in the grip of very confusing feelings. I had seen that girl bare bottom up, nozzle in the anus, her cunt exposed, in the very same posture that I had received that enema from Ulrike that had started our relationship. To me, enemas were associated to sexuality… and even to love and romance, if that makes sense. I guess I was feeling like an ordinary woman when she sees her boyfriend or husband behaving “too familiarly” with another woman. I tried reading, but it was more as a pretense, for I could not concentrated on what I was reading. I heard distant noises of diarrheic defecation (yes, I know that carefully listening to that is way uncouth), two toilet flushes, then Ulrike calling Theresia back. I knew for what, for the kitchen smelled of chamomile and I had seen her grabbing something in there. Theresia got her second enema, I suppose in pretty much the same way that I had gotten my second enema the day Ulrike introduced that treatment to me (or, should I say, into me). I then opted to climb to my bedroom, which would avoid an awkward moment when they would come back.

Theresia did not depart at once. I later learned that Ulrike had given her a little collation to soothe her emotions and her stomach (characteristically of Ulrike’s practicality, that collation consisted of dried prunes, which would ensure Theresia’s bowels would continue moving). I was still caught in a mess of conflicting thoughts.

My attitude must have seemed strange to Ulrike, for she asked me what was wrong over dinner. It was difficult for me to express myself.

“Is it because you saw me giving an enema to Theresia?”, she asked. I could not avert answering such a direct question.

— Yes (eyes not meeting hers).

— And why?

— Well er I thought I was the only one I mean…”

There was some silence, and Ulrike then calmly said.

“Maria, I love you, you are my only lover. But I’ve been giving enemas once in a while to Theresia for a number of years. She got some from Hilde, and then she found it less embarrassing if it was me rather than her mother. Are you jealous of a 14 year-old with constipation issues?”

What could I say? I felt ridiculous. A popular song from that era was Jealous guy, by John Lennon, and I had just been behaving like a jealous girl. I just looked at the floor.

“When we’re done with the dishes, I’ll give you an enema.”

Ulrike prepared some chamomile. When I walked into the bathroom, I was however surprised to see her preparing soapy water as well.

“But Ulrike, I’m not constipated.

— Maybe. But you have some bad feelings that must be purged.”

I thus endured a soapy enema. And, indeed, as I expelled it on the toilet, I felt like I was not only expelling water, soap, gas and waste, but also my hard feelings. It was cathartic in more than one way.

I then kneeled for my chamomile. This time, however, Ulrike began toying with my vulva as I was retaining the solutions.

“So you think I would do that with young Theresia, hey?

— Ulrike, please don’t mention that. I feel ridiculous.”

I felt her finger enter my vagina, then withdraw. I think she sucked it. I blushed at the thought of my moisture. Ulrike’s fingers then became very insistent. I climaxed with my bowels full of chamomile tea.

The whole experience had taken quite a toll on me. After expelling the enema (and peeing the excess water that it had added to my system), I felt a strong urge for sleeping. Ulrike bade me goodnight. She later told me that she had not wanted to bother me with sollicitations, but she had masturbated thinking about my buttocks shaking as she was playing with my clitoris, smelling the faint smell on my vagina on her fingers.