The following incident is primarily sexual in nature but the story’s most important underlying factor is really about enemas. My ex-wife and myself were at that time living in a lovely suburban area (I’ll leave the specific location untold). We were on friendly terms with our neighbors, the Baylors. We were, in fact, more than friendly – perhaps intimate is a better description. We had many common interests – sports, background and upbringing, and similar but not the same professions. Both of us men were in the computer field and both wives had university training. An important, perhaps crucial difference, between the two families was that Bob was mostly ‘on the road’ during the weekdays but he usually spent 3-day weekends at home. He was in charge of a couple of large client accounts, taking care of all their computer needs. So he was constantly on the go. The often-empty bed syndrome was of certain frustration to Alena, his wife.

Our weekends were often spent together – cookouts when the weather was friendly and Bob and I spent competitive time on the racquetball court. During the week Alena often got together with us for dinner or shopped alone with Diane.

At this point, I’ll talk a bit about my relationship with Diane. After two years of supposed wedded bliss, but not really so, we seemed to be sharpening our differences and began to realize that our marriage was not going to be a permanent one. ‘Twas neither of our fault or rather both of our faults. Even from the beginning, Diane and I went our own professional ways. Nightly stayovers in another city’s hotel by us was not uncommon. Both our jobs sometimes demanded it. Even our finances were not as ‘joint-accounted’ as most normal marrieds have. The hot sex of the first year had turned somewhat humdrum in our second year of marriage. I guess true love is a developing story and ours remained static and then took a downturn.

One thing I’m somewhat proud of is that I continued faithful to Diane till our break up. But I’m not quite so sure of Diane. I’m not generally nosy but since I am enema-oriented I did notice that Diane took her fold-up douche bag when she went on an over-nighter. Although this is not a proof positive clue that she was having an affair, the question certainly remains, ‘Why the douche when you’re not with your husband?’ None of us are sinless and although there’s suspicion, it remains only that in my mind. Just to complete the story with Diane, our divorce was amicable. Our assets were rather easily divided and I bought Diane’s half of our home. In fact Diane really was just not a suburbanite. Perhaps this too was part of the reason for our breakup. As soon as we split, she moved back to New York City.

The relationship that I had with Alena had been close. We talked easily together even about sexual matters but marriage bonds for both of us kept the lid on. However, some intimacies did emerge. Once talking alone with Alena, I ‘casually’ mentioned that I needed and enema. I, of course, was probing to see her reaction and she in turn caught the ball and tossed it back without a flutter. “I also take an enema on occasion, mostly for relaxation.”

Wow! Not only did Alena indicate that she took enemas but she took them not for therapeutic purposes but for psychological reasons. And over a period of time we discussed the various techniques, apparatus and feelings engendered by enema taking. Alena had graduated nursing school and although she had never earned a living in her field she had had much on the job training during her practicum years. In fact during that time she had become ‘hooked’ on enemas. Her teacher at the university was very pro-enema as a general method to relieve constipation. Who knows? The professor herself might have taken enemas for personal pleasure. And Alena herself had volunteered (with some urging from her teacher) to have an enema demonstrated on herself in the hospital classroom.

Alena told me that she had no trauma from the demo but had a rather pleasant experience. She told me that she had seen the efficacy of the enema when treating patients. And an occasional hard stool had caused her to buy her first enema set. She remembers it as an all white rubber open bag with even the hose being of white striated rubber. Although Alena had at her disposal all types of colon tubes, she personally preferred the black ebonite douche pipe. In talking to her about her preference, it might have been the stark contrast of white and black that caused the eye to psychologize her preferred choice.

Private discussions between us continued over a period of time. To me these were wonderful moments of deep felt expressions of intimacy that we exchanged. Enema people do not usually have many opportunities to talk about enemas in really meaningful talk. To non-enema people, enemas are just procedures that are generally distasteful and to talk about them in a non-clinical manner are put-offs for them. Not so for Alena and myself. The talk was most pleasurable. Once for a half and hour, Alena discussed with me the proper temperature for an enema solution. She said that although in nursing school a fixed temperature was given in the textbook, no nurse worth her salt would ever use a thermometer for proper temp. It was all hand and wrist feelings as the water in the sink was adjusted i.e. a little more warm or a bit more cold.

One thing Alena did say which I wholeheartedly agree with is that if you think the water temp is too warm, it is. Cool it down. If the water is hot, the bowel will physiologically reject it immediately. The solution just shoots out of the anus. But if it is too warm though not really hot the body might accept it but then the warmth circulates throughout the body and can cause dizziness and actual fainting. Alena told me she had had personal experience with a couple of patients fainting on the toilet seat. Therefore it is strongly advised to cut down on the heat of the water if there is any sense it might be too warm. Another time we talked about the advantages of K-Y over vaseline. We came to the conclusion that the K-Y lubricant although slipperier than vaseline at the outset tends to dry faster since is it water soluble especially when a warm enema solution is being injected and can irritate the anal opening. And so ‘good old vaseline’, at least to our mind, is the lubricant of choice.

At this point of the game, I was free and clear. I had no wife; yet Alena was married – in fact very married. She told me she had become pregnant. The news was a shock to me for I had thought that her marriage was also not an inspired one. I was surprised because our intimacies although not physical were moving in a positive direction. Alena’s explanation of the pregnancy was unclear perhaps to her as well as to myself. It might have been an accident. Even the best of birth control methods have a small percentage of misses. But I think that Alena longed for a child whoever the father was. I would have thought that divorce without children was easier on both parties but who can fathom the ways of women. (Ladies please excuse the puzzlement. It is not a derogatory statement. It is a statement of fact. Who can fathom the ways of women?) Additionally, Alena told me that her Ob/Gyn had told her to lay off enemas. She must have told him that she took enemas on a regular basis.

I was really quite shaken up with the turn of events. I had held off pushing for sexual intimacy with Alena. My personal moral code had not allowed me to make love to a married woman. Marriage to me is a sacrament. But I was hoping at least for an exchange of enemas, some physical connection between us. Now I know full well that I am rationalizing my ethic but temptation had caused me to say OK to a mutual enema. Enemas are not really sex. (Ha-ha). And I felt we were moving in that direction.

And then the bomb fell. Bingo – no more. She’s pregnant. Nothing to talk about. The end! I was truly frustrated. And then the heavens opened up. We find that we’re at a dead-end and then the rainbow arcs across the chasm and the golden road beckons. (That’s really not like me, to be poetical. But that’s what happened. A dream. Then a dream frustrated. And then - then the dream comes to fruition.)

The doorbell rang. I answered and Alena, in her negligee and filmy bathrobe stood at the front door with a full enema bag with the tubing draped casually over her left arm. My sight became red as I felt myself slipping into a faint and then I quickly refocused. It was not a dream. I quickly opened the door to allow Alena to enter. I realized that she in a perverse way had walked over to my house in sexy underwear and a full enema bag. Although our suburban area is relative quiet especially in the early PM, it was a chance taken, a serious chance. But Alena was not seen and what could have resulted in real consequences did not. Alena is very bright yet some quirk of her mind had caused a dangerous chance to be taken. What if …… and somebody had told her husband. What if?

As I look back, I think Alena did not know what to do. Should she continue her dalliance with me that would probably lead to a complete break with her present spouse or should she reject me completely. I cannot say it was true love between us but we were moving in that direction. And so Alena, not knowing what the next step should be – not able to make that momentous decision – let fate make the decision for her. And she tempted fate by walking across our front lawns in a semi-naked state carrying a full enema bag.

“You said you wanted an enema. I’m here to give you one.”

I stumbled back.

Alena continued. “Upstairs now and strip!” We had discussed the most appropriate setting for a sex-enema and we both agreed that the bedroom was the more ‘propre l’amour’ for an enema. And we hurried up the stairs. I could see that the enema bag was heavily laden and showed her my enema hook on the bedroom wall.

After hanging the bag I noted carefully the 3-litre bag and that the bag itself was rather pear shaped and more elongated than the standard syringe. I asked where she got such a wondrous bag and she told in a specialty shop in Paris. I stripped to the skin and assumed a knee-chest position. The jar of vaseline lay on the nightstand and she inserted the black nozzle and inserted it efficiently in my rectum. I had hoped for a finger insertion but Alena’s nails were ½ inchers and certainly not conducive for anointing. The enema was pleasurable but not particularly sexual and I did not even get an erection during the procedure but I did take the whole 3 litres even though my usual capacity is 2 quarts. So even though there was a lack of sex (Alena didn’t even stimulate my penis), I thoroughly enjoyed the enema.

After I finished in the bathroom, I entered my bedroom to find Alena naked, sexy and with a little belly showing. She said, “Even though I can’t take an enema, my doctor said nothing about sex and I want you to fuck me hard, as hard as you can.” And Alena kneeled on the carpet floor, took my balls in her right hand and started to suck my cock. I had gotten over the shock of Alena’s dramatic entry while I was sitting on the toilet and sex had already started to show its power on my penis. I guess just about one suck and I was as erect as I had ever been. Alena quickly lay on her back in my bed and pulled me on top of her.

“I want it hard,” she yelled and she pulled me into herself. I entered her rather tentatively. I was fearful of perhaps aborting the baby but Alena grabbed my two buttock cheeks and digging into them with all her might yanked me into her again and again.

“Harder !” she screamed and kept on yanking at my cheeks. I entered into the fray and banged her time and again as she lifted her legs to allow deeper penetration. I came absolutely spent and just fell off of her.

As I lay there catching my breath I suddenly realized the terrible pain I had in my buttocks and rolling over saw my blood on the sheet. Alena’s nails had penetrated my left cheek well through the skin and I was bleeding profusely. Alena jumped up and ran for water and bandages. She kissed my buns. She cried out that she was sorry. I forgave immediately but was worried that I might have to have stitches. How do you explain a fingernail tear on your behind?

Luckily, stitches were not necessary nor did Alena abort. I just want to finish by saying that the story is not finished and our relationship is still a strange push-me pull-you and although I’m not sure where I stand, our shared time continues.

One thing though. Alena has filed down some of her fingernails, the important ones, that is.