By Christine Trexler

About 15 years ago after I'd worked for a large bank for a couple years I returned to a university to pursue my MBA. It was an exciting time and I was very pleased that the prestigious business school accepted me into their program. I was still single and thought that returning to a campus would perhaps rekindle my social life.

During my first semester I had a pretty intense schedule and had registered for managerial economics, operations management, organizational behavior, computer applications and statistics. To say that I was working more and enjoying it less would be an understatement, but most courses were going just fine. Well, almost fine except for statistics. After just six weeks I found that I was spending nearly half of my study time on statistics, but still only barely getting by with a "D". If there was anything positive about the statistics class it had to be the young engineering doctoral student, Richard. Not only was he smart and attractive, but I couldn't help but notice him frequently checking me out. While I liked the attention, the course work was such a burden on my time that I had no time for any kind of social life.

To make matters worse, I was getting so worked up over this course that I was getting physically illóso much so that I went to University Health Services. "You're stressing yourself out. You'll just have to relax more," the doctor told me. "Here's a prescription for a mild sedative. It's not habit forming, but it will make you more comfortable. As for the stomach pains, just take a glass of Metamucil each night before bed and you'll soon be feeling a lot better. If things don't improve in a week I want you to come back."

At the same time, the professor set me up with a student for tutoring. As it turned out that student was Richard who turned out to be a wiz at math. The study sessions seemed to be working somewhat and I had managed to get a "C" on the next exam. But a "C" meant that I would have to continue to work very hard to try to pull up the grade to a solid "B"ónot an easy task. The sedative was working, but I was still getting stomach pains so I went back to Health Services. This time I saw one of the nurses instead of the doctor.

"Michelle, I think the pains in your stomach are from simple constipation. Are you having any trouble with your bowel movements?"

"Well," I started feeling my face flush, "I guess so and I think it's just because I'm still extremely tense about being back in grad school. I've been drinking the Metamucil but it doesn't seem to help all that much."

"We see a lot of that here. I think what you need is something a little stronger. How long has it been since you have had an enema?"

"Oh no! I had those as a child, but it's been years," I said wrinkling up my nose and adding a sense of disgust to my voice.

"It would probably be the best thing for you," she counseled. "They are usually very effective and also will provide immediate relief. We could give you one here this afternoon and it would be over and done with. You'd be home an hour from now."

"I don't think we need to do that," I said sounding like I was trying to talk Mom out of one when I was a lot younger.

"Well, tell you what. Why don't you just do one by yourself at home. I know it will give you the relief you need. The other option is that you can come back here and we'll give you one." The nurse handed me a slip of paper on which she had written "Fleet enema."

I was glad to hear that the nurse gave me a choice because I would have died of embarrassment at Health Services. Determined to be mature about this, I stopped by the supermarket on the way home and walked through the pharmacy department. I picked up a package of the recommended Fleet enema, but decided that such a little bottle wasn't going to be able to help with what I thought was a more significant problem. Although just a bit nervous I finally selected a box marked "Combination Syringe" and put it in my basket, but just so others would think that I was buying this for personal hygiene I also took a bottle of Zonite liquid douche.

After checking out, I exited the store and headed for the car. I had hoped that no one would see me, but soon I heard my name being called from across the parking lot. When I looked up my heart jumped because it was Richard and he was heading my way. "Of all the rotten luck," I thought to myself as he came over to chat. I tried to be friendly and after a few minutes of small talk he headed into the store and I got in my car and headed home.

After putting the groceries away I took the box with the new combination syringe to the bathroom. After looking at it for a couple of minutes I tried to remember how Mom used to prepare an enema for me, but to no avail. I decided that hopefully another glass of Metamucil tonight might solve my problem and I wouldn't need an enema after all. By mid morning the next day I resolved myself to the fact that the Metamucil wasn't going to work again. The rest of the day went as planned. After my early afternoon class I went home to change before going to the fitness center to work out.

When I finally got home it was only minutes before Richard arrived to tutor me. Answering his knock at the door, I couldn't help but notice how well built he really was in jeans and a tee shirt. It wasn't really a muscle shirt, but it fit him that way with the banded sleeves hugging his biceps and his firm chest suggesting six pack abs. "How can such a cute guy also be such a nerd?" I asked myself letting him into the apartment.

I confessed that my poor performance in statistics was making me physically ill, but he then surprised me with uncharacteristic sensitivity by asking if it was headaches or nausea. I told him some of each and then for some reason got even more clinical

"Well, some of each," I replied, but then explained perhaps with a bit of a stutter, "but I'm also getting constipated." I couldn't believe I said it, but I did.

"What are you doing about it?" he inquired.

"I've already been to Health Services twice," I said. "The first time they gave me something to calm me down and recommended that I take Metamucil, but it hasn't worked." Then I don't know why I volunteered the information, but I said, "Then they wanted to give me an enema but I managed to talk them out of it."

"They probably had the right idea. An enema would have helped you a lot," he offered.

I thought I could take care of this myself. So I bought myself an enema bag, but haven't gotten up the courage to try it yet. Besides I'm not exactly sure how."

"I could probably help you with that if you want," Richard suggested. "I think I remember enough from when I got them growing up."

First I was shocked that he had admitted getting enemas. Then I became even more shocked at the idea, but the more I thought about getting undressed and letting this terrific looking guy help me in a most personal way, the more excited I got. Not only that, but he wouldn't take "no" for an answer. After handing him the box with the syringe I had purchased, he directed me to put some towels on my bed as he went into my bathroom and began to prepare an enema for me. "Michelle, you have to be nuts!" I thought to myself.

When he finally came into my bedroom, he was holding the bulging syringe. Although it had been years since my mother had given me an enema, I did remember seeing how her bag bulged, tooóbut no where near as much as this one did.

"You're going to have to take off the shorts and tights if I'm going to give you this," he instructed. I blushed, but did as I was told even though I kept my back to him all the while. Then I finally did the most embarrassing thing of my life, I took down my bikinis and laid on the bed making sure that I kept my back towards Richard all the while.

"Now this is going to be a little cold," he said. Nevertheless, I flinched when his cold, Vaseline covered finger invaded my rosebud.

"Sorry," I said. "You just caught me by surprise. That's all." In fact Richard caught me by surprise because it didn't feel bad at all. Even worse I found that I was enjoying it somewhat despite the circumstances.

"I'm just lubing you up a little before I insert the enema nozzle," he explained as he slowly removed his finger. The next thing I knew the nozzle for the enema was inserted and he asked if I was "OK."

"I'm doing fine," I said and the next thing I knew was that there was a quiet click and I could feel a sense of warmth as the soapy water started to fill me. Again, I was surprised because it, too, was much more pleasant than what I recalled from my childhood.

"Take some nice deep breaths," he counseled and gently rubbed my back. Just Richard's touch seemed so comforting and I was really starting to relax being in his care. His strong arms were massaging all the tension from my muscles and while I could feel myself starting to get excited, I fought the feeling. While I had had enemas when I was younger, none had ever been like this.

"This isn't so bad after all," I heard myself say not exactly sure where those words had come from.

"You've done really well. Can you believe that you've taken the whole bag?!" Richard said closing the clamp and removing the nozzle. "You might want to head for the bathroom in a couple of minutes."

I didn't need any encouragement, got up off the bed and made my way across the hall. What was even more amazing was that I still did this while keeping my back towards Richard. But when I got to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet my body was really very happy to expel the enema. At first it was just about a cup of warm water, but soon I could feel myself passing large pieces of waste that made incredible splashes when they reached the water. Oh, but the whole thing was just sooooo embarrassing. Afterwards came smaller pieces of solid matter and at this point I knew that the enema was cleaning me out like I had hoped it would. While all this was happening my mind went back to my lying on the bed and the gentle manner and sensual touch that I received from Richard. That might have been the most embarrassing part of all because here I was expelling an enema while at the same time starting to get very excited about how I had received it. That's when I came to the conclusion that I probably neededóno I really wantedóhim to give me another one.

After concluding that I was finished I cleaned myself up and returned to the bedroom. Richard was sitting on the edge of my bed, patiently waiting for me to return. "Feel any better?" he asked.

"Oh, lots! But just to be sure that I've been cleaned out well enough, don't you think that you better give me another one. If you don't mind, that is." I could tell by the look on his face that I had surprised him, but also that he was pleased with the prospect as he went to the bathroom to get it ready.

I just couldn't get my mind off of him and only a few minutes later he returned with another bulging bag of warm water. I knew what I had to do, so I returned to the position on my left side. The process went pretty much like the first time except that I knew what was going to happen and actually was now very much looking forward to it.

The time passed quickly and soon the nozzle was again removed from my rosebud and I returned to the bathroom. It was no shock that still more flowed out of me. Not the large pieces like from the first enema, but what seemed like a muddy substance that I was nevertheless happy to get rid of. My mind drifted back to the pleasurable aspects of the enema and found that I was now so excited that I really wanted to go to bed with Richard. After cleaning myself up, I returned to the bedroom yet again. But my frame of mind had changed and was no longer felt compelled to be so modest. With nothing on but my tee shirt I went over, put my arms around Richard's neck and gave him a hug pressing my breasts into his chest.

"You can come over and give me an enema anytime you want," I said softly in his ear hoping that he would pick up on my feelings and he would satisfy me as I so much desired. Unfortunately, he was still a bit of a nerd and said that we needed to get to studying our statistics. A bit disappointed, I put my bikinis and shorts back on and the two of us went to the kitchen table where we had two hours of very focused studying.

A couple of days later we took the next statistics exam and as unbelievable as it seemed I got an A- while Richard got a B. He wasn't very happy about the outcome and I could see it in his face.

"After that tutoring the other night, I knew that I had a good grade in the bag," I told him trying to hold back the giggle. "Maybe you need to come over so I can now tutor you?"

"That's probably not a bad idea," he replied clearly thinking of only the topic of statistics. "By the looks of my exam results maybe tonight wouldn't be too soon."

"OK, I'll see you later. I know I can help you," I told him while thinking to myself and turning away so he wouldn't see my silly smirk, "It really is in the bag!"