A brief word to the Scots: I am well aware that clan tartans are not as simply derived as I describe and that there are many variants and attributions. Nor is the clan chieftain described as "The Campbell", although this form of address is used in other clans. I just wanted a Scottish theme running through the story, so please do not take offence at the inaccuracies.

I was an army brat, one of many born on a military post and brought up to the sound of boots and the smell of powder in a variety of identical quarters whose actual location was variable and not very important - each was a self-contained community.

My dad had been a lieutenant for a long time before he went off to the war in Europe and left mom with me, an eleven year old who was just beginning to realise that his daddy might not ever come back again. It was a claustrophobic existence - the US army was, and still is, an intensely moral organisation and the women left behind had to conform to a rigid code of conduct which would not have been out of place in a convent. It applied to kids too - the children of officers were expected to set a good example to those of enlisted men and to avoid fraternisation.

That meant that a small, isolated group of mothers and children came into being. Mothers played bridge or sewed, kids rode their bikes and did their homework and we all went to church on Sunday. It was an unexciting existence and the only things that really stick in my mind are the enemas. Those were the days of the "Faultless Wearever" bag and the Davol Company whose products were both highly effective and tastefully decorated. Dark red rubber embossed with detailed scrollwork picked out in black and the manufacturer's name and crest proudly displayed on the side complete with a range of pipes suitable for all sizes and capacities.

There was no attempt to conceal their existence. They hung up in bathrooms with no more ceremony than you would apply to a toothbrush or a facecloth - usually on the back of the door where the rattle of the rubber pipe when you closed it was a familiar sound, sometimes over the bath or in the shower to allow them to drain after use. It was commonplace to hear parents mention the subject, as in "I think he needs an enema" or "I gave him an enema this morning and he's fine now".

Nor was there any privacy for little boys. One of my most vivid memories is being checked for worms - I must have only been four or five at the time. There was another boy there and his mommy and they must have been talking about the subject because suddenly the enema bag appeared and we both got enemas in the kitchen and had to poop in a potty to allow the result to be inspected. The other thing that sticks in my mind was the fact that he got a hard slap for playing with his winkie when he was sitting on the potty. It surprised me because I always did that when I got an enema and my mommy never seemed to mind, but I didn't do it that time because I was scared that his mommy might slap me too.

When I called on friends, it occasionally happened that they couldn't come out because they were going to get an enema and there was one, just one, occasion when I had to wait while Billy Dawson got his enema and I just went into the bathroom and talked to him while his mommy ran the water in. I do remember that it gave me a funny feeling to watch it happen to another little boy - I was six or seven at the time.

I don't ever remember mommy using anything except an enema bag, although I was aware that other children got their enemas from rubber balls with pipes sticking out of them. Most times, mommy would unscrew the pipe on the end of the tube and replace it with the "baby pipe", a short, thin, rounded black thing that slipped into my bottom without causing any pain or resistance. Strangely, I never wondered why the tube was usually fitted with the bigger pipe or even the enormous one. It didn't register in my child's brain that I wasn't the only person in our household of two who took enemas!

I was real proud when mommy eventually decided that I was old enough for the "big boy's pipe" - after the little one slipped out in the middle of an enema and triggered an evacuation of my bowels all over the bathroom floor. I was scared at first, but when she slipped it into position I discovered that it was specially shaped to hold in and that it was much more comfortable to be able to relax and to know that it wouldn't pop out.

As I got older, my enemas got more private and became something special. It wasn't sudden, just a normal progression from baby to boy, but it coincided with a change in my attitude to enemas. They became more than just routine and changed into something special.

I always knew when an enema was coming because mom started to give me hints well in advance - if I was going to get one at bedtime, she would always mention it earlier in the day. That gave me several hours to anticipate the event, hours of a strange mixture of apprehension and anticipation that grew as time passed until I was aching for it to happen. Mom always prepared the solution and filled the bag in front of me and the ritual of swirling soap around in a sink of warm water, the adjustment of temperature and finally the scooping of the opalescent liquid into the red rubber bag raised my anticipation to fever pitch.

When she finally hung it in position, I scrambled quickly out of my clothes and got into position. Mom had a stiff back as a result of a childhood accident, so she always placed a stool in front of a small table that stood in front of the window. It was made of some sort of glass that let light through but distorted images, but if you put your eye real close then you could find a spot that allowed you to see a distorted but recognisable vision of the world outside. Then, after she inserted the pipe and started to run the soapy water in, I could see people passing by and it gave me a strange stimulation to know that I could see them but they didn't know that on the other side of the glass there was a boy getting an enema from his mother.

Mom began to use greater volumes of liquid too. At first it just tickled, then it made me feel full, but the last bit really made me want to go to the toilet, but at the same time it felt nice. When she finally eased the pipe out of my butt hole I always had to hold my cheeks together and take little steps on the way to the toilet and the wonderful relief of expelling the mass of liquid.

It was about then that I stopped playing with myself while I got my enema. I still got stiff, but I no longer wanted to touch it when mom was there so I saved it up for bedtime when I could still kinda feel the pipe sticking in my bottom and enjoy fingering my stiffy.

Then there was Alice Weston. One thing about the military life is that you never get the chance to be ill, because somebody is always checking you over. As we boys got older, we went to the post hospital by ourselves and undressed in an atmosphere of giggling naughtiness before we lined up naked for our physicals - nudity outside the privacy of bathroom or bedroom was not permitted under normal circumstances. Captain Weston, Alice's mother, was a senior nurse and a proper officer, which gave Alice a particularly high status amongst the kids. The physicals weren't particularly thorough - the doctor looked us over briefly, listened to our chests and then came the really special part - he grabbed our diminutive balls and told us to cough. That was kinda special because normally only our moms had access to those parts of our bodies.

Except for Alice. She was old - ten or eleven - and she took her rank from her mother. When she found an empty house she would select three or four boys and announce that they needed a physical. Alice's physicals were wonderful. You had to take all of your clothes off, of course, and she ignored the preliminaries and got straight down to a detailed examination of our private parts. That meant she played with you until you got a stiffy and then played with it some more while her victim writhed in ecstasy. Then she did something that was not part of a normal physical - she examined our butt holes and finally announced that we had all been naughty boys and that we needed enemas. We didn't actually get them, but Alice had acquired a black enema tip from somewhere and she greased it and then we all had to have it inserted in turn and to experience the other pleasure when she worked it around in our juvenile butt holes.

Alice was the first person to really introduce me to anal pleasure, but the job was finished by her mother some years later when I was twelve, in one of the truly embarrassing episodes of my entire life. I had been for a routine physical that day and I was surprised when Captain Weston turned up at our quarters later that evening and talked to mom for a while in a low voice while they both glanced at me from time to time. Then mom stood up.

"Honey, Captain Weston has come round to give you a special sort of enema."

My suspicions had been growing that something was going to happen that I wasn't going to enjoy. I had been growing up too - the stories about making babies had been circulating and, although I had heard them before, this time they made an impact on me. I didn't mind getting an enema, but getting it from Captain Weston was a different matter. Enemas were a special time for just mom and me and I sure didn't want a strange woman, not even a nurse, joining in. My reply was surly.

"I don't want an enema. I don't need one."

"Honey, you do. Captain Weston says that you haven't been clearing everything out and you need a special enema to help you empty your bowels. Now I don't want you to show me up in front of the captain, so let us just get this done without any more sulking. Go to your room and wait for us there."

I had to go, of course. I waited in my room and I felt both embarrassed and apprehensive - what was a 'special enema'?

I found out when they came in. Captain Weston was carrying the enema bag and it was real full - more than mom usually gave me. She reached up and tied it to the light fitting - the ceiling was low enough to reach it - and then she ordered me out of my clothes and made me lie on my back so that she could poke my skinny belly and call mom's attention to a lump in it. I felt vulnerable and exposed, the first time in my life that I was really conscious of being naked.

"You see? He needs a high enema to move that mass out."

Then she opened her bag and I saw it. A length of red rubber tube, but a lighter colour and somehow a lot stiffer then the normal stuff. I understood immediately what she intended to do with it and I jumped up and tried to run out of the room, but mom grabbed me and held me there. I was scared out of my wits because I just knew that she intended to put all of that thing into my bottom and I really didn't want that. The tears started to come as I tried to get away.

"NO! I don't want that inside of me! Please don't make me have it."

Mom held me reassuringly - and lied to me.

"Don't worry, Jason. You only get a couple of inches of it. Not much more than the usual enema tip. Now be a brave boy and lie down on your side while Captain Weston does your enema."

"I don't want an enema."

"You'll be very sick if you don't have it. What do you think your daddy would say if he knew that you were scared of a little enema?"

That did it for me. I hadn't seen my dad for a whole year and I envisaged him as a hero, killing Germans by the dozen and taking prisoners by the hundred. No way would I ever let him down. Reluctantly, I faced whatever horror was in store.

In fact it wasn't bad. It was odd to lie down for an enema, but the pipe slid in without any trouble - in fact it felt pretty nice when the extra couple of inches went in. It took ages and ages to administer that enema, and the familiar feelings surged through my groin and produced the usual stiffy. That was a problem, but I was enjoying the enema far too much to worry about the future. Captain Weston adjusted the pipe a few times but that didn't worry me. I just lay and disregarded everything except the growing pressure inside of me and the extra-special feelings that I was experiencing.

Finally the water was shut off and that was when I realised mom had lied, because just about the entire length of the pipe was inside of my butt hole. It took forever to get it out and the process had me biting my lip to staunch the incredible sensations that the process was producing.

"All done. You can stand up now."

I had forgotten that I had a stiffy until I saw Captain Weston staring at it. It produced a new emotion within me - shame. I had never before thought that being naked and having an erection was something to be ashamed of or to feel guilty about, but quite suddenly those feelings overwhelmed me. Captain Weston made it all worse by smiling at me and turning to mom to say something. I just covered my erection with my hands, ran to the bathroom and locked the door before I released the liquid - in several instalments.

Finally mom tapped on the door.

"Jason, honey, are you all right?"

"GO AWAY!"

"Jason, Captain Weston has gone. It's just your mommy now. Why don't you come out and get dressed - there's ice cream in the fridge."

It took a while, but eventually it dawned on me that I couldn't stay in there forever, so I unlocked the door and allowed mom to hug me tight - that made me feel a lot better. She kept her promise about the ice cream too and I think we both decided that it was best not to mention what had happened.

For a while I didn't get any more enemas, then I got really, really constipated and even I knew there was no option. I had made it worse by not saying anything and by the time I finally told mom, I was way beyond the possibility of relief except by means of an enema.

Mom was brilliant!

"Are you sure you need an enema, Jason?"

I nodded ruefully.

"Yeah. I haven't been all week and I think everything has set inside me."

She sighed.

"Well, why don't we try it a different way, now that you're growing up? Go put your pyjamas on and I'll come to your room shortly."

I was puzzled, but I didn't have a problem with putting my pyjamas on. Mom came in after a while and sat down on the bed beside me.

"Honey, I won't do this unless you say yes, but I think it would be better if I used that long pipe for your enema. You're really backed up and it's going to be difficult to get everything out. What do you say?"

"I don't mind. I was just scared when I saw it, but it was okay."

"That's good."

She fetched in the bag complete with rube and hung it up. Then she turned down the quilt on top of the bed.

"I've been thinking about this, Jason, and I've got an idea how to do this without embarrassing you. Lie down on the bed."

I did so and then she covered me with the quilt.

"Now, just push your PJ pants down and lie on your side. That way I can get at your butt without you exposing anything else."

It was a good idea. I had been dreading mom seeing my boner - it had been promoted from a stiffy now that I was thirteen - but I had been prepared to endure it as the price for relief from my constipation. She really was the best mom in the world because she had thought up this new way of giving my enema where I only had to show my butt - and butts weren't real embarrassing, not like boners.

It was all real simple. I pushed my pants down and curled up, then she folded back just a part of the quilt so that she could give the enema. The long tube was nice too - it kinda squirmed around inside of me and added to the normal nice feelings as she slowly ran in the water. When she was finished, she pulled the quilt back into position so that I could cover myself up before I went to the bathroom. The only problem was that it didn't work.

Mom sighed when I told her.

"I thought we might have problems. We'll leave it an hour, then try again."

I watched the hands on the clock as they went slowly round towards the time for my second enema. I had never had two in succession before although I dimly remembered having one or two every day when I was small and confined to bed with measles. Finally the minute hand put an end to my suspense and we returned to my room.

I guess that the first enema had taken me halfway there. The second one grabbed me in a more intense way than any previous enema and I think that was the first time that I realised that they weren't special feelings - they were just the same sexual ones that I got when I jerked off with a small change in focus. I could not stop the effects - the sensations took me along with them and did not slow until I came. I somehow managed to remain silent and not to move around - it would have been terrible if my mother had known that I was having an orgasm!

Afterwards I jerked off as I recalled that enema and previous ones which had not turned me on sexually at the time. My memory is very good and I found that I could re-run various ones and enjoy them in a new way.

One thing about being in my teens was that I did not have an early curfew any more. A military post is a safe environment anyway and mom didn't mind if I stayed with friends and then walked home in the dark. The MPs usually offered me a ride if they passed, but mainly I refused and instead raced them with the spendthrift energy of youth, playing the role of an escaping soldier, calling them Nazi swine and yelling that they would never take me alive. I rapidly learned that I could not outrace a jeep, but I could sure outmanoeuvre it. I could race over the Colonel's yard, I could vault fences and I could choose narrow passageways where they could not follow and then hide until they gave up and drove away - another victory for GI Jason!

That's how I ended up one night crouching behind the low fence that bordered Alice's house. I knew the MPs would soon tire of looking for me and I grinned to myself as they drove away on their patrol. It was only then that I saw the light on in her bathroom. I saw a figure in white - obviously Captain Weston still wearing her uniform. Then a shimmer of pink with a brown topping of hair. That had to be Alice. Naked.

Time stood still and I stayed with my eyes fixed on the window, praying that it was going to be what I thought it was. Then I saw Captain Weston hang up something red with an oblong outline. Alice was sixteen by then and she was utterly gorgeous, every teenage boy's wet dream in her tight shorts that showed off her legs and butt. And now she was getting an enema from her mother!

To be honest, I saw much more in my imagination than with my eyes. I saw Captain Weston bend down and then straighten up after Alice's outline had ducked down below window level and it gave me a real kick just to know that she got her enemas kneeling down. My imagination ran riot as I pictured the pipe - was it a long one? Probably! It would be slinking its way up Alice's ass, wriggling deep inside her body, delivering its cargo of soapsuds into that delectable butt.

The, suddenly it was all over. Captain Weston bent down and the bag shook as she extracted the pipe, then a flash of pink indicated that Alice had leapt to the toilet - it flushed some minutes later and I crept away, still excited beyond imagining.

Mom spotted my state when I got home.

"Jason? You look like you've got a fever. Come here."

She felt my forehead.

"You're drenched in sweat and it feels like you're burning up. Maybe I should call the hospital or Captain Weston?"

"No, mom, I'm not too bad. Maybe I need an enema to cool me down?"

She nodded.

"All right - we'll try that and some Tylenol, but if they don't work then I am going to call the hospital. Go get your pyjamas on."

It was turning out really well. Mom fetched the enema bag into my room, but with just the ordinary nozzle fitted.

"This is a baking soda enema - nice and cool. It will bring your temperature down."

I guess I must have had one of those before, but I had forgotten about it. I did my wriggling under the quilt, then mom bared my butt and slid the nozzle into my asshole without any fuss. The cool liquid was a bit of a shock, but she ran it in real slow and I could feel it drawing the heat out of my body and calming me down.

One excitement was replaced by another as the first small pangs of discomfort grew within me and I clenched my ass to grip the nozzle more tightly. I always liked it best at this stage because the growing need to empty my bowels was always matched by a growing sexual tension inside of me. Finally I came, in a slow, sensuous pulsing that had me once more biting my lip and clenching my fists in my attempts to suppress the signs of what was happening.

Maybe it was the enema, maybe it was just that I had calmed down, but mom was satisfied that I was all right. At least that saved me from Captain Weston.

Elementary school was within the camp, but there were only a few kids of highschool age, so we had to walk down to the main gate and catch the school bus into town. It was a hot day and, to my delight, Alice was wearing her shorts. I suppose these seem rather tame by later standards with their wide legs cut straight across and their belted high waist, but they were infinitely alluring to the gaze of a fourteen year old boy of that time. The seat was flat, due to the close fitting panties underneath and it sagged just a little to emphasise the female butt shape. I was actually surprised that Alice was allowed to wear them - most girls were only permitted skirts that came below their knees but I reckoned that since her mother was an officer she could make her own rules.

I spent the day stealing glances at Alice. She had drifted out of my circle as she got older and I had mentally classified her as almost old, but that day I reckon I fell in love with her even if she was sixteen. Okay - so it was a teenage crush, but it felt like the real thing and I was in no position to examine my feelings dispassionately. I sat behind her on the way home, lusted after her hair and neck and almost collapsed with ecstasy at the sight of the back of her bra.

When we alighted, the kids of the enlisted men turned right towards their quarters while Alice and I, as the only two officer's brats, turned left and began the long walk towards officer country. Officers did not fraternise with enlisted men and that applied to their families too. We were all equal at school, but once inside the gate we automatically switched to the army way.

At least that gave me fifteen minutes with the love of my life. We had hardly seen each other for the previous two years when Alice was at highschool and I remained in the combined elementary and junior high on the post. Speech was difficult, but I eventually managed a monosyllable.

"Hot."

She stared at me as though I had grown four extra legs and a carapace.

"Of course it's hot. It's the summer. It always gets hot in the summer."

I tried again, sticking to the theme.

"I think those shorts are really nice. The other girls are jealous because your mother lets you wear them."

Hey - that had an effect! She turned to face me and smoothed down the front of the garment and then tugged at the legs to straighten them.

"You like them? They're jealous?"

Wow. I had scored an accidental bull's-eye and discovered rule number one - always try flattery first. Alice turned round and peered at me over her shoulder.

"You don't think they make my butt look big? I wondered if I should put them on this morning."

Rule two. All women think that their butts are too big and all respond to reassurance.

"Of course it isn't too big. It's just right. Not too fat and not too skinny."

I was really on the ball with that. She smiled happily and I waited for her next question - but it never came and we resumed our interrupted walk. Well, maybe if I asked her about what she wanted to be when she left school?

"Oh, I'll probably be a nurse like mom."

"Yeah - you would be good at that."

She halted again and I got another glare.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, when we were kids you always had to be the nurse, didn't you?"

I poised to run as her expression changed, then she started to laugh.

"You remember about that?"

"Heck, who could forget those physicals you gave us?"

She laughed again.

"And Jason was always head of the line!"

"I wasn't!"

"You were! For a kid your age you were pretty advanced. You really enjoyed it!"

I hung my head - because it was true. Then I chanced my arm.

"You could do it again if you like."

She laughed.

"In your dreams, Jason. But I like your style even if you are only a kid. Ask me again when you're twenty one."

She was right about the dreams, but I was hurt because she had called me a kid. My life was over and I resolved never to have anything to do with girls. I would remain single and merely smile sadly if anyone asked about the photo of two small kids on my desk.

Mom was real excited when I got home. We had crossed the Elbe and General Patton was advancing on Berlin. A couple of weeks later and it was all over - Germany had surrendered. There was a huge party on post, but afterwards everybody suddenly stopped celebrating and looked real serious. Mom eventually told me what was wrong - we were still fighting Japan and they wanted at least a million men to invade their home islands. She actually broke down and cried and said that it just wasn't fair, but we both knew that didn't count in war.

Then everything changed - for her at least. She got a letter from dad and she screamed with joy.

"You father is being promoted to half-colonel! And he's got a staff job as G2. He's staying in Europe!"

"Dad? In intelligence?"

"Honey, the whole place is in chaos. He's even got us a priority - we leave for England next week! He can have his dependents over there now that the fighting is over."

It was wonderful news. I hadn't seen my father for four whole years - not since I was only eleven - and he had only been a first lieutenant then. Now he was a lieutenant-colonel, a rank that he had never imagined he would reach because in the peace time army they would probably have retired him as a captain.

One thing the army is really good at is moving people around - I guess they have had plenty of practice because nobody stays anywhere for very long. I just kept a low profile and let it all happen.

I was real excited at having my first flight. Not just my first time in an airplane, but flying right across the Atlantic Ocean. Until I discovered that military planes don't have windows, that they are noisy, dirty and that the seats in them are so uncomfortable that they must have had pain designed in. It took over 10 hours of mind numbing noise and vibration with only a box lunch and tepid coffee from a thermos plus the most alarming lavatory on the planet before we finally touched down at a military airport near London. Even the ground seemed to be vibrating as we were processed by a bored corporal who, by his own admission, didn't know nuthin about anything. Finally out of the building, mom let out a shriek and ran towards a strange man.

Was this my dad? He seemed a lot smaller and much less imposing even though he wore the silver oak leaf of a half-colonel. He sure had a lot of ribbons and maybe he was my dad, because one of them was the silver star. Finally he disentangled himself from my mother and held his hand out to me.

"Jason."

"Dad."

We shook hands and then we hugged. He was my dad even if he wasn't ten feet tall any more.

"You've grown."

"You haven't."

Then we all started to laugh. Dad had a staff car and he drove us into London where he had booked a couple of rooms in a run-down hotel - he apologised and said that all of the hotels were run down and this was the best he could find. Our rooms were next to each other with a connecting door and when I went to bed I was jerked into wakefulness by a scream - it took me a while to realise that it had come from my mother and that the doorframe was bent so that it didn't fit properly.

It was awful. I could hear every word and every movement as they made love. Several times. It was like being in there watching them and I felt horribly embarrassed at the squelching and thumping, moaning and screaming noises that I was forced to endure. Eventually it stopped and I lapsed into sleep, only to be awakened early by more of the same.

When we finally went down for breakfast, I could hardly even look at them. Not that it mattered, because they were only paying attention to each other. They didn't notice how bad the food was and they even drank the tea which was so foul that I felt like throwing up after my first taste. Later we looked around and I realised for the first time that war wasn't something to do unless you really had to - dozens of buildings had been bombed to shells or piles of rubble and everybody looked poor and thin.

Next day I got the bad news. Dad was based in Germany and mom was going to join him there. But I wasn't. I had to go to some English boarding school instead.

Dad just ignored my protests and my pleading.

"Son, Germany is no place for a boy your age. There are no schools, there are probably still some people who don't intend to stop fighting and the whole place has just about been destroyed. We'll visit with you whenever we can and maybe next year you can join us."

"Why didn't we just stay Stateside then?"

They looked at each other and I blushed because the answer was so obvious. I tried to make them take me but it was useless - they got me a pair of grey long trousers which seemed to have been made from a horse blanket, a grey jacket and some shirts and underpants and then they drove me into the country and dumped me at the school.

As soon as they left, I was surrounded by boys who looked at me with what seemed to be hostility.

"You're a Yank?"

"I'm American."

"Same thing. What are you doing here?"

"My father has to go to Germany and I have to stay in England."

"You could have stayed in Yankee Land."

"Look, I didn't ask to come here."

"Typical Yank. Turns up when it's all over."

"Where were you lot when we were being bombed?"

"Not here!"

"Was that man your father?"

"Yes. He's a colonel."

I became aware the my principal tormentor was a boy my own age with a mocking grin and an upper-class accent. He sneered at me.

"There are only three things wrong with Yanks. They're over-paid, over-sexed and over here! Who was the woman? Some floozy he bought with a pair of nylons?"

That did it. I threw a punch at him, he retaliated and then we were rolling around in the dirt trying to kill each other. Then a shadow fell across us and there was a terrible silence.

"My study. At once, if you please."

It was the head and he wasn't amused. He ushered us into a book filled room with an odour of tobacco, picked up a cane and pointed to the desk.

"You first, Campbell."

The other boy started to move towards the desk and I began to protest.

"You can't just punish us. What about finding out what was going on?"

He looked me in the eye.

"You were fighting like common street urchins. Gentlemen do not brawl, they settle their differences in a civilised fashion. That's all I know and all I need to know. Bend over please, Campbell."

He gave each of us four strokes on the seat of our pants. He was almost casual about it and the main injury was to my pride rather than my butt - the actual caning hardly even stung. Released, we eyed each other up in the corridor, then he held out his hand.

"Robbie Campbell."

"Jason Boyd."

We shook hands and he grinned.

"Hey, it was hard luck being caught by the beak. I think you have probably set a new record - nobody else has been whacked within an hour of arriving at this dump."

I grinned back. This guy was okay, even if he did talk like he had a plum in his mouth. In the way of boys, friendship was immediate and we were buddies from that moment on.

My fight had given me instant notoriety and the subsequent caning had gotten me much sympathy for what was considered particularly harsh treatment of a new boy. I was allotted a bed in a large dormitory and, to my surprise, Robbie volunteered to show me the ropes until I got settled in.

I had begun to expect little from English food, and I was not disappointed. After school we ate bread and jam - their name for jelly, a runny sweet red substance that didn't taste of fruit at all, plus mugs of sweet tea that everyone else drank with much appreciation. I asked Robbie if there was any coffee and he just laughed.

"We haven't had coffee since before the war! Drink your tea and be grateful for it."

I simply could not bring myself to even taste the brew - the smell alone made me nauseous - so I settled for water and decided to write to my dad and ask him if he could send me some coffee. Afterwards we had "prep" - which meant we all did our homework - then we were released to run off our energy before dinner. That was another culinary disaster - a stew of unidentifiable meat, vegetables and grease - but by then I was hungry enough to eat anything that didn't eat me first.

Bedtime was a surprise. I had never before lived in an all-male establishment with all the informality that resulted. We went to our dorm and Robbie instructed me in undressing - or rather in how to arrange my clothes. Trousers came off first and he showed me how to fold them and drape them over the back of a chair. My shirt had to be placed over them, followed by my coat, then underwear and socks were placed neatly on the seat. At that stage everyone was naked and I was astonished when boys grabbed towels and toilet stuff and ran out of the room, down the corridor to a large communal washroom. It wasn't that I was bashful - it was the idea of running around the place with no clothes on that was so unsettling.

I found myself the centre of attraction when we got back to the dorm.

"Are you Jewish?"

He was indicating my dick and I suddenly realised that I was the only boy there who had been circumcised.

"No, I'm not Jewish. Most American boys get cut."

"Why?"

I could only shrug.

"They just do. Maybe it's more hygienic."

"How do you wank without skin on the end of your willy?"

Two new words, both immediately understandable, but I chose to pretend not to know what they mean.

"Wank? What's that?"

"You know - when you do this."

I stared incredulously as one of the boys wrapped his hand round his dick, produced a boner and then slid it back and forth with every sign of enjoyment. The others actually cheered him on as he rubbed harder and finally spurted on to the floor. I was shocked. What sort of place was this where boys jerked off in public?

"Your turn - show us what you do."

"The same thing."

"Show us!"

It was a challenge and I could see in their eyes that I had to accept it. I had never let anyone see me jerk off in my life but I gritted my teeth, grabbed my dick, thought of Alice and the bathroom window and came gloriously - I had been too preoccupied to do it for more than a week, so I produced an impressive amount of stuff as well.

I understood soon afterwards just why I had been tested. Those guys in my dorm were world class masturbators. Everybody was doing it and I stared in horror at two pairs of boys who were jerking each other. Robbie saw my expression and just laughed.

"It doesn't mean anything - nobody in here is queer."

"Sure looks like it."

"It's only friction, my dear chap. Now if they were kissing, I really would start to suspect something."

It was weird, but I gradually realised that he was right. Those boys had spent their whole lives, since they were seven or eight years old, in boarding schools and they didn't even know what privacy was any more. It was worse than the army - army brats at least had moms and dads and their own quarters and they didn't have to live in a dormitory. These guys had no privacy, no secrets, nothing - in fact they had become almost one person with twenty different faces. They just did what they felt like doing and the fact that there were other boys around was irrelevant because there were always other boys around no matter what you were doing. I felt sorry for them - at least I would go back to family life when dad and mom got settled in Germany.

I had to see matron next day and I did so with resignation - nobody ever seemed to think that a bay could survive unless he had his balls felt on a regular basis. I was surprised when I knocked on her door to see that it was just an ordinary room, the sort you lived in, and that she was wearing an ordinary dress. She looked okay - fairly old but not terribly strict.

"Yes?"

"I'm Jason Boyd. I'm a new boy."

"Come in, come in. Have some tea."

"No thank you, ma'am."

She looked at me as though I was from outer space.

"You don't like tea?"

"No, ma'am. I don't like it at all."

She seemed incapable of understanding that, but eventually it got through to her that there was at least one person on the face of the earth who actually did not like tea. She sighed and I felt almost as though I had let her down, but then she smiled again.

"Tell me about yourself, Jason. Where are you from?"

"Everywhere, ma'am. I'm an army brat."

"Oh. Are you healthy?"

"Yes ma'am."

"That's good. Well, you know where I am if you ever need me."

That was an English physical? I asked Robbie about it afterwards and he grinned at me.

"What else would she do? If you feel ill, you go to see her, she sticks her magic tube up your bum and makes you better. Or don't you ignorant colonials know about the subtle art of the enema?"

I was getting tired of Robbie and his insults and I moved to punch his lights out. He nimbly avoided the blow and held up his hands.

"Hey - do you want to got to the Beak's study again? We got off with a few love-pats last time, but the old bastard can really lay it on if he wants to."

"I'm sick of your insults. I'm not ignorant."

He put his arm round my shoulder.

"Jason, old friend, you really don't understand it, do you?"

"Understand what?"

"It wasn't an insult. Well, I suppose it was in a way. But you always insult friends. In fact, you only insult friends unless you want a fight."

"You English are crazy!"

"ENGLISH? That's fighting talk! How can I be English with a name like Campbell? I'm a Scot and proud of it."

"So? Scotland is part of England isn't it?"

He visibly shuddered.

"You may be my friend, but that's going too far. I'll tell you all about it later, after you answer my question."

"What question?"

"Do you Yanks practice the noble art of the enema on your children? Or have you been deprived of the sublime pleasure of rubber and soap?"

"If you're asking if American kids get enemas, the answer is that we do."

"I was asking rather more than that, old chap, but let it pass."

I had an idea just exactly what he wanted to know, but I wasn't ready to bare my soul to that extent.

Things moved along at a steady pace for a couple of weeks. One Saturday afternoon I was wandering round the grounds when I heard the sound of a motor bike. I turned to see it stopped beside a boy who was pointing to me - then I realised it was an army bike. It puttered to a stop beside me and the corporal gave me a suspicious look.

"You the Boyd kid?"

"Colonel Boyd is my father."

"This is from Major Morrison. You dad sent him a TWX asking him to get it for you and here it is."

He reached back and handed me a heavy parcel, then he drove away, leaving me baffled. I shook it and then I caught the smell. Coffee. Real American coffee. At last I could have something decent to drink.

Then it hit me. I couldn't, could I? Common decency meant that I would have to share it, and that meant it would hardly last a day. They would let me keep it for myself, I was sure of that, but it wouldn't be right. At the same time it would be just plain stupid to waste it on people whose taste was so feeble that they could drink the tea they served in the school.

I could only think of one recipient. I went into the school and tapped on the door of the Beak's study. He stared at the parcel when I put it on his desk.

"Well, my ears and whiskers, what have we here?"

"Sir?"

"Alice through the Looking Glass. White rabbit."

"Oh."

"You want me to open this? Will it explode?"

"No Sir."

He produced a penknife and slit the wrapping to expose the five pound pack of coffee and I salivated as the delicious aroma filled the room. He stared at it.

"Oh frabjous day!"

"Alice in Wonderland, Sir?"

"Jabberwocky. Same author, different story. Can I believe my eyes? What is this treasure doing here?"

"Sir, I wrote my father and asked him to send it. It's a gift for you. To thank you."

He sat down and looked hard at me, then a little smile formed.

"I've underestimated you, Mr Boyd. You saw right through my little subterfuge, didn't you? It was cruel to cane you on your first day, but there had been mutterings about an American boy coming here and when I saw who you were fighting with, the opportunity was just too good to miss."

"Sir?"

"Young Campbell. He's a wild Scot and he's impulsive, but he's a natural leader. If I managed to be unjust to both of you, I hoped it might unite you against the injustice. It worked rather well, I think, and I didn't exactly hurt either of you. But you had worked that out for yourself, hadn't you."

I had by then, so I just nodded. He beamed at me.

"And so I get this munificent reward! You will join me in the first brew, won't you?"

"Thank you. I'd like that."

I was surprised to see a small kitchen behind one of the doors. He lit the gas under a kettle and busied himself with a coffee pot and crockery. Finally I savoured my first - and last - cup of coffee in the school before he shook me by the hand and let me go.

I was feeling really low at the loss of my coffee and even lower because my dad hadn't even written back to me about it. Just a teleprinter message to a buddy - and he had just dumped it on one of the HQ corporals. I missed my mom too - this was the first time I'd had to cope with misery all by myself. Robbie spotted me and loped over, then looked worried.

"I say - bad news?"

"No. I just feel lousy."

He grinned.

"I know just what you need. Matron's magic rubber pipe."

"I'm not ill - just miserable."

"It cures that too. In fact, I don't feel very chipper myself. We'll both go."

Maybe it would help. An enema always made me feel better - so I just tagged along behind him. Matron answered his knock and surveyed us.

"Well now, Master Campbell, what can I do for you today?"

"My friend and I feel somewhat under the weather, Matron. We seek relief from our ills."

She laughed.

"Master Campbell, why don't you just speak English? Come to the sickbay - I know exactly what you need."

The sickbay turned out to be a large room containing two beds and one of those doctor's couches. In keeping with the usual standard of privacy, a row of chairs stood along one wall for those waiting for attention. My attention was drawn immediately to a white enamelled cylinder on a shelf above the couch, whose purpose was made clear by the coil of rubber tubing attached to a pipe at its base. Matron indicated it with her hand.

"Master Campbell - reach that down for me if you please."

Robbie bounced up on to the couch and removed it from the shelf. Matron struck a match and lit an ancient water heater above the sink which hissed and spluttered but managed to deliver a trickle of hot water. The routine was familiar - the soap, the temperature adjustment and finally the transfer of liquid into the can.

Robbie waited until she was doing that and then stripped off, revealing that he already had an erection - and not making the slightest attempt to conceal it from Matron. Nor did she appear to think that it was at all unusual - she just indicated the can again.

"I think it will take both of you to get this into place for me."

It was quite heavy and I carried it across the room while Robbie jumped back on the couch, his erection now at eye level, took it from me and placed it on the shelf. Matron beamed happily as he lay down with his butt towards us, then she picked up an enema pipe and pushed it into the end of the tube. I stared at in disbelief. It was made of the usual black material, but it was about eight inches long and the business end consisted of a rounded bulge as though it was some sort of Popsicle. She smeared it with grease, then she pushed it into Robbie's ass with a sort of rotary motion before she reached for the tap which controlled the flow.

Every enema I had ever received had been a matter of just lying quietly while the liquid did its work. Matron obviously believed that it was better to dislodge stuff directly, because she started to stir things around inside Robbie - the pipe was obviously made for that purpose. I watched and winced as she pushed it in and out, round and around as though she were a cook scraping batter from a basin before she finally slapped Robbie on the butt and told him he was done.

I had changed my mind, but it was too late, of course. Matron detached the nozzle and started to wash it in the sink.

"Won't be a moment, Master Boyd. Just get ready now."

Exposing an erection was no longer a problem for me because my dick had shrivelled up with fear. I felt the bulge push against my hole, then it opened and closed round the thin shaft. She started to move it around and the result was dramatic. My asshole reacted immediately to the stimulation and I completely lost control of my body as the intense sexual pleasure paralysed my will to resist. I lost all track of time, craving only more and more of those amazing feelings - and then the spell was broken as I went into the irresistible spasms of a prolonged and ultimately almost painful climax.