The bathroom was gigantic; at least by childhood standards.
The walls were covered with a dark blue wallpaper that featured a pattern, interesting at first, but boring upon close inspection, of bubbles, fish and marine-like plants.
The tub and lav were pink marble, as was the tiled floor. There was a separate shower stall adjacent to the commode (its pink color mostly hidden by the blue cotton terry cloth covers.)
It was a wondrous commode, with its oval shaped bowl and low profile tank. So different and elegant from the standard fixture he was used to--the tiny apartment bathroom toilet with its violent flush valve and stark white, cold porcelain.
The shower stall fascinated him, so much so that he was permitted to shower with his much older cousin just to satisfy his persistent curiosity.
The enema bag hung from a hook on the inside of the linen closet door. It was pink also, with a relief image of a flamingo on one side. The hose was red and hung down from the bottom of the bag and back over the hook and into the top of the bag. The clamp was positioned at the bottom of the loop. There weren't any nozzles to be seen.
The second evening of his stay his aunt called him up to the bathroom. He figured it was time for his bath. He was half right. It was bath time, but first he would have to suffer through an enema.
His aunt was hanging up the enema bag when he walked into the bathroom. From his vantage point, he couldn't tell how much water the wet and soapy enema bag held. His aunt had used a coat hanger to hang the full seeming bag from the top of the shower stall. The end of the hose was stuck inside the open top of the enema.
"Do I have to have one?" he asked.
"Have you had a BM today?" his aunt asked.
"No," he meekly admitted.
"Then you have to have one, don't you." she stated.
He said nothing, just began to undress. He took his time, but didn't dawdle. He dreaded the coming enema but he did not want to make his aunt mad at him. She was his favorite aunt and he wanted her to like him.
Goose bumps covered his eleven year old body as he waited for her to get ready for him. He alternated staring at the commode and at the waiting enema. He could not meet his aunt's eyes.
His aunt took a clean towel from the closet and went to the commode. He meekly followed her. Before she sat, she removed the end of the hose from the enema bag, aimed the rectal nozzle at the sink and opened the clamp. After a few gurgles, a steady stream of milky liquid shot out of the tip. She snapped the clamp shut and picked up the Vaseline jar. A quick twist of her wrist and the black nozzle came away thickly coated.
She sat on the commode and spread the towel over her lap, covering her dress. She still wore her jewelry, and it's metallic clanking and rattling seemed to echo loudly in the suddenly much smaller room.
"Over my lap with you," she commanded.
He obeyed as he knew he must. Her lap was large but he was long. His legs and head hung past the support her thighs offered. Blood rushed to his head so he sought support for his upper torso. All that was available was the sink. He grabbed on to it and hung on.
He knew he shouldn't tense up and he attempted to loosen his bowels when he felt his aunt's hand pry apart his butt cheeks.
"Ow!" he cried when the nozzle pushed into his clenched anus. "Just a minute!" he pleaded.
His aunt, correctly figuring it was more a delaying ploy than anything else, didn't hesitate. She pushed the rectal nozzle in until its flared end rested tight against her nephew's anus. The hand holding his cheeks apart pressed them together while the other let go of the nozzle to open the clamp.
The rush of hot water made the boy twitch and moan. "Oh, it hurts!"
She ignored his protests, as she had ignored the protests of her two boys when they were his age. She had years of experience with young boys and knew all their tricks and complaints. Her nephew would receive his enema of roughly one quart and that would be that.
He wasn't that bad, she noticed. He wasn't kicking the way her first did. She could control his squirming and twisting.
And squirming he was. The enema rushed in, unstoppable and without remorse. His belly, tense from his fighting the enema, convulsed with cramps and peristaltic action.
The steady pressure of his aunt's hand holding his ass-cheeks together caused the wide, round end of the rectal nozzle to dig into the sides of his butt. He cried out in pain and begged her to stop the enema.
"Pant like a puppy," she told him.
The flow continued, unabated. He tried to relax, but the pain would not allow him the rest he needed to compose himself. He stared at the fluted pedestal that supported the lavatory and desperately tried to overcome the agony being forced into his guts.
His mantra--"It wouldn't hurt if I'd relax." Played over and over in his mind.
Finally, the sound he'd been praying for, that of his aunt snapping closed the shut-off clamp. His guts still writhed in agony but there wouldn't be any more water.
"Aren't you going to take it out?" he asked a moment later.
"You have to hold it for it to work," she answered.
He had to retain the enema. "I can't. I really can't," he pleaded.
His aunt considered and relented. "Very well, but you have to promise me something."
"What?" He'd promise anything in order to be able to relieve himself.
"You don't fight your second enema."
Another enema? "I promise, but what do you mean?" Hoping she meant the next time he needed an enema from her.
"I'm going to give you another enema, a rinse enema, after this one." She let go of his butt and pulled the nozzle out of his clenched anus.
He staggered to his feet and as soon as his aunt was clear of the commode he flipped up the lid and dropped onto the seat. Immediately a great gush of soapy water and waste burst forth from his hole and he gasped in pain and relief.
Through tear-blurred eyes he watched his aunt clean and prepare another enema. Instead of putting in soap she added a quantity of salt, which she got from a small bottle in the linen closet, to the water. This time she hung the enema bag from the towel rack on the shower stall door. She spread the towel over the bath math and knelt down.
"Let's go," she told him. "On your hands and knees."
Puzzled, he obeyed. He had never gotten an enema in that position.
His aunt spread his legs and pushed his shoulders down until his tiny ass was wide open and sticking high up. This time his aunt stuck her finger into the Vaseline rather than the nozzle.
He flinched at the unexpected coldness of her touch when her finger contacted his sore anus. He shivered and tried to clench his butt as his aunt rubbed the lubricant around his tight opening.
Once again the rectal nozzle was forced into his unwilling behind. He gasped in pain and tired to relax. The surge of water hit his rectum and he whimpered.
"This won't be so bad," his aunt told him. Her hand again held the nozzle in place, but this time the tips of her fingers rested on the under side of his tiny scrotum. This was distracting, but not enough to take his mind off the growing fullness and urge to go that was building much too quickly in his guts.
"It's cramping!" he cried. "Take it out please." In response, his aunt used her other hand to gently rub circles around his distending belly.
"Just a little more to go," she coaxed. "You are being so good for me."
He brightened at the compliment. "I'm trying," he panted. "But it cramps a awful lot."
His aunt's massaging did make it feel better, he had to admit. A partial smile crossed his lips, especially when her hand brushed over his tiny pecker. He had a boner, a strong one. He panted faster and tried to be good for his aunt.
"There," his aunt announced. "All finished."
She gently pulled the nozzle out of her nephew's butt.
He immediately climbed to his feet and doubled over with cramps. His aunt didn't stop him when he headed for the toilet.
Gushes of mostly water spewed forth into the bowl. Grinning, he repeated, "It feels so good," as the second enema departed his body.
"The next time," his aunt said, "It will feel ever better."