This happened three weeks ago. I was sitting on my front porch, listenting to a video tape on history. An older woman who lives down the street, and whom I have known for years, came by and came up to sit and talk. We discussed what i had been doing gthe last several weeks since my spouse of many years passed away, and she was concerned that, living along in the big house, i was doing OK.
This woman is a true friend. She is 61 years old, still very shapely and with a great personality. We spent over an hour discussing a range of subjects. As she was preparing tro leave, she asked if she could provide any help, perhaps food, and I responded that I had a kitchen full of food, but I was going a bit slow on eating. She askedwmy, and eventuallly it came out that my gut was giving me problems and I was trying to eat light.
Then, she asked if I was moving the bowels well. She explained she had been a nurse, but recently retired (Something I did not know). I paused a bit and said I probably needed a laxative or something because it was often 3-4 days between trips to the bathroom. Another discussion ensued on the need to stay regular. I agreed. After more discussion, she looked me in the eyes and said, “What you probably need is just a good, soapy enema. That would clear you out.”
I guess my face turned a bit red and she added, “Don't be embarassed, everyone has these problems once in a while. Being here alone, you just don't probably realize the problems that can happen to you.”
All I could do was stammer a bit, and shake my head.
“Look,” she said, “We have been friends for years. How about I give you an enema and get you going?”
Again, I stammered a bit, more in embarassment than anything else. She was a good friend, and single. We were close, and she had been a good friend of my late spouse as well.
Without waiting for me to answer any further, she continued, “Do you have an enema bag in the house?” She rose and reached out for my hand, as I answered that I did.
“Good, then let's get to it.” She led me into the house, and asking where the bag was kept aswe walked toward my bedroom. “You get undressed and under the covers while I get your enema ready.” I just did what she asked, unab le to resist.
In a minute or so, I could hear the rustling of the linen closet, then water runnin and shortly after the smell of soap. She quickly returned, and in her hands were the enema bag, a towel, and a jar of lubricant.
“OK,” she announced, “It's time to solve your problem. She plopped the bag down on the bed, and told me to get up from where I had lain down. She sat on the bed, then took the towel, placed it over her legs and urged me across her lap.
”Best place for an enema," she said, “Right here”. I lay over her lap, she took some of the lubricant and separated one of my butt cheeks, and started to lube my hole, quickly pushing a finger inside to make sure everything would work smoothly and without pain, doing the same with the enema nozzle.
I felt the tube going in, then the warm water. She held the bag lower, then gradually started to raise it to get as much of the solution in as possible. When I felt a cramp, she stopped for a few moments.
Being in heaven is the best may to describe this gentle act of my friend. She held me a bit over here lap at the end to be sure the enema would work, then let me up to go to the bathroom. I stayed in there about twenty minutes. Eventually, she came in to put the bag and hose in the sink. By then, I was mostly drained, and nothing else was coming out. She came over to the toilet and hugged me as I sat, saying she hoped everything worked, and if I needed another, she would do it all over again. Then, she smiled, and said she was leaving to go grocery shopping.
I thanked her profusely and hugged her back. There were a couple of tears in my eyes. She kissed me on the forehead and left.
A day later, I took her to dinner to thank her. Now, I dream about her and the enema constantly, sure I will ask her again.
Dreams and fantasies do sometimes come true.