Role play I LOVE for recreating my most erotic enemas— real ones given to me by bullies in my youth, and a real one I got from a male nurse when I was hospitalized for constipation. So I like when someone gives me an enema role playing as either a bully or a nurse.
I like being given enemas for any reason by anyone in any kind of context or role play. Punishment enemas, erotic enemas, medical enemas, sweet and gentle enemas, kinky and painful enemas, enemas from men or women, soapy or plain, tied up or face down, douche nozzle or bardex, whatever the enema is, Im stripping naked and submitting to it.
If I am giving, I prefer to give them to men and I like to recreate the enemas of my youth that gave me my fetish— except I take on the dominant/giver role in a role reversal. Some of my first enemas were from a young man who enjoyed mocking, bullying, and harassing me at school and church. I’ll call him Oliver. His parents and mine were friends, so I was encouraged to play nice when his parents invited us over for dinner. His parents would talk for hours in the living room and I would watch my bully “friend” play video games.
One day, he turned to me and told me he was sorry for being mean to me. He explained that he was worried that if he was kind or indifferent to me, that the other kids would mock him. He said the other kids thought I was gay/queer amd that was why he had been so mean. To create distance between himself and my gayness, which threatened his status and masculinity.
I nodded along, a bit relieved. He then asked me, “are you gay? It’s ok if you are…” and I let my guard down and said yes, I liked boys.
He then turned away from me and played his game again.
After several awkward minutes, he shut off his PlayStation and turned to me. He asked me if my parents, teachers, or anybody else knew about my secret. I told him no. Nobody knew. I begged him to keep it between us. A mean little smirk unfurled on his face and he said he could tell everyone and I would be ruined.
Oliver asked me if I took it up the ass or sucked c*ck. I tearfully told him no. And it was the truth.
He told me gay people had to clean out their butts if they chose to have that life. That they would shoot soap and water up their butts so they could do their sinful, shameful things. He asked me if that was what I wanted. I cried a bit and shook my head no.
Oliver went down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door, leaving me to squirm and sweat and worry. Five minutes later, Oliver emerged from the bathroom and told me to come with him. He told me if I didn’t do what he said, he would tell everyone my secret and I would be ruined.
He took me in the bathroom and an open top enema bag overflowed with soap suds, hanging from the shower rod. It had a hose attached to a bulbous nozzle that looked different from the douche nozzle enema attachment I got with my enemas at home.
Oliver said if I wanted to be gay, I should know what kind of sinful perversion I was signing up for. That I should enjoy this if I really was queer. Oliver said “this is what gay people do. Im going to show you how embarrassing it is and how much it hurts. And I’m gonna wash all that disgusting gayness right out of you. Like washing your mouth out with soap. Except you’re getting your ass washed out because you think it’s ok to treat your ass like a sex organ.”
I looked at Oliver in shock, but found myself blushing furiously and obeying his orders to strip and position myself face down, ass up as he instructed. I wondered if our parents would catch us. I was humiliated before I even unbuckled my pants. And, somehow, I was sporting a huge erection that only went down long after the enema was over and I was dressed And Oliver went back to his game.
Oliver told me to strip. He asked me if this is what I wanted. I told him “no,” and he scoffed at me. He pushed my head into his crotch and told me to inhale. I did. His balls stank and I hated myself for enjoying the scent. Oliver said that I was surely going to hell. But he would help me wash the sin out.
He put the bulbous white nozzle in front of my face and told me to put it in my mouth and get plenty of spit on it.
I did. And then he jammed the nozzle into my ass. He opened the clamp and the gurgle of water began to surge into my bowels. I was wide eyed and shaking from nerves and from begrudging arousal.
As the water went in, Oliver began to spank my ass cheeks. Hard. He leaned down so his lips and breath tickled my ear and called me a f*ggot over and over. He flicked my hard penis and said he knew I would like this. I closed my eyes and surrendered to hot tears of embarrassment.
The enema was eventually over and he kept the nozzle in and told me to stand up. He sat on the toilet lid and said he wouldn’t let me release the enema until I did something for him. He told me since I wanted to be gay so bad, I should be gay by sucking his penis. And when he unzipped his pants and pulled his penis out, I couldn’t help but hunger for it. No matter how much I hated Oliver, no matter that he looked at me then, his expression dripping with so much mocking disdain and gazing at me as if he was taking something from me, something worth more than my lunch money and more significant than a fist fight on the playground.
I hated myself for diving to my knees and sucking his penis like it was food and I had been traversing the desert. I felt disgusting and my penis pulsated in erotic energy, betraying my truth. I took Oliver’s stinky penis down my throat like I was chugging water after great thirst. And when he came down my throat I was alarmed. I didn’t know what that was. I had not yet discovered jerking off. But when I tasted the salt and funk of his semen, I knew it was elixir that made me insane with desire.
Oliver then got up off the toilet and gestured for me to sit. He stared at me and I asked him if he could leave while I pooped the water out. He said no. And kept his condescending, shit eating, shit eating smile, of his face locked in on me. And so I let out the water while he watched.
Years later he found me on Grindr and he invited me over for more enema play. He was kind and cordial and mature in the way he talked to me on the phone and greeted me like an old friend when I came to his doorstep.
That all melted away and when he walked out of the bathroom carrying the enema bag and asked me to strip, he transformed back into the bully of my youth.
And when we met all those years later, smart phones had become commonplace. And when he asked me if he could write slurs on my ass cheeks in sharpie and take photos of me, I did acquiesce.
So he wrote “f@g” on my cheeks, Flicked my hard penis and mocked me for enjoying the enema, and sent me a link to the website where he posted the pictures of me and updated me on how many views and comments my photos got.
Years later he married a woman and had two kids. And I would look him up on Facebook or LinkedIn, marveling at how ordinary he looked. Like any other guy. And remember how he bullied me, naked and gasping and whimpering on the ground. I wondered if he was actually straight and whether him demanding a blow job for me was an act of homosexual desire on his part, or if he was simply a straight guy who got off on being domineering and degrading toward one of his weaker and more feminine peers
Whatever the case is, I find myself face down ass up on my bathroom floor, giving myself enemas and imaging it was Oliver and not myself opening the clamp
And when I lay down with my dates and lovers, I swish their semen around in my mouth, silently dissatisfied because it would nerve be as funky and salty and sexy as Oliver’s did that day. Perhaps the eroticism of primacy or the novelty of losing my mouth virginity made it so potent in my memory.
Whatever the case, I stare at Oliver’s Facebook profile photo as I fill myself up with soapy water, naked but never alone all these years later.