Did you ever need to seek medical help because a medical roleplay went wrong?

I once found myself in an incredibly embarrassing and uncomfortable situation, an event that occurred several years ago, yet remains etched in my memory. It was a night that involved a series of decisions, fueled by a few more glasses of wine than usual, leading to an unexpected and unforgettable incident involving enemas.

My boyfriend and I had some prior experience with this intimate practice and decided that on this particular evening, we would experiment further. Looking back, it was perhaps not the wisest choice to indulge in our play session after consuming a bit more alcohol than usual. In hindsight, the influence of alcohol clouded our judgment, and we embarked on an adventure we had not fully considered. After administering the enema, an ordinary and familiar procedure for us at the time, I suddenly felt a discomforting sensation—a bit later a bleeding from my rectum. Panic set in swiftly and ruthlessly. Fear took hold as I immediately assumed the worst: the enema nozzle had perforated my intestines. My mind raced with nightmarish scenarios, envisioning a major surgical intervention, a prolonged hospital stay, or even more dire consequences. With trembling nerves and an overwhelming sense of dread, we made the decision to rush to the nearest emergency room. Our apprehension only deepened as we arrived at the hospital, a place normally associated with treating genuine emergencies rather than the result of our intimate experimentation. Walking through those doors, I felt an intense blend of embarrassment and anxiety. Describing the situation to the medical professionals was a truly humbling and mortifying experience. Yet, what compounded my discomfort was the relentless fear of the unknown. I was consumed by thoughts of the potential severity of my condition, and the weight of those thoughts felt unbearable. Fortunately, the medical staff at the emergency room exhibited exemplary professionalism and compassion. They demonstrated a remarkable ability to put me at ease, despite the awkwardness of the situation. Their approach was free of judgment, emphasizing their role as caregivers. It was their unwavering commitment to patient well-being that began to calm my racing heart. Following a thorough examination, my worst fears were not realized. The doctor's diagnosis was a far cry from the catastrophic scenarios that had haunted my thoughts. Instead, it was revealed to be a relatively minor issue—a small scratch caused by the enema nozzle in the anal canal. It was, in essence, a superficial injury, one that would heal in due time without the need for invasive procedures or extended hospitalization. Relief washed over me like a soothing balm. I could hardly contain my gratitude for the medical professionals who had managed to put my anxious mind at ease. This unexpected episode, though embarrassing, turned out to be a valuable lesson in responsibility and self-awareness in intimate relationships. As I reflect on that evening, it's impossible not to cringe at the misjudgments and recklessness that led to our predicament. The combination of alcohol and our adventurous spirit had taken us down a precarious path, one we had ventured onto without due consideration. While enemas had been part of our shared experiences before, this particular instance had taken an unforeseen turn.

The experience prompted my boyfriend and me to engage in a candid and thoughtful conversation about boundaries, safety, and mutual respect in our intimate adventures. We both recognized the importance of experimentation within the bounds of responsibility and consideration for each other's well-being.

Oh @Lumara I'm so glad it was not serious. Happy to hear the doctors were professional and nonjudgmental.

I actually began thinking of such things as a young teenager, as when I played with myself, usually in the mirror, and I became attuned to how the sensations felt, good and not so good. And sometimes my fingernails weren't cut too well and it hurt enough to make me think: nails should be cut & filed before they touch Down There! I still think of that today.

Think I've mentioned this in others posts somewhere. I'm not sure the experience really classes as MedFet, but was related. When I was much younger and in my first relationship, my partner and I were getting more adventurous in our play and experimenting with sex toys. She had got a long string of graduated anal beads which we were playing with. She inserted them into me; with a bit of resistance getting the largest 3 beads in. As she was then stimulating me, I approached climax and she started to pull the beads out (smallest first). When my orgasm fully kicked in, my anus clenched tight and caused the string to break 😮🙄. After several attempts at removing the beads, we couldn't get hold of them & they weren't coming naturally.

Getting a bit frightened (we were both new to this sort of play), we made the rather embarrassing trip to hospital 😳. Initally explaining what was wrong to the receptionist where other people booking in could hear what was said was the first embarrassment; and the receptionist got a smile as we told her what was wrong. When we were called to be seen, the doctor was professional, but you could tell very amused by my predicament. After several attempts at trying to get hold of the beads; during which it obviously stimulated my prostate, as I became erect 😳; he finally managed to remove them. Only comments he made to us was to make sure we used official sex toys (it was!) and plenty of lube - we had and it was the lube that was making grabbing the bead difficult 🙄.

We never replaced the anal beads preferring solid toys instead; fearing a repeat experience.

A friend of mine was a paramedic in London. He told me it was an unusual weekend if there wasn't some experimental sex injury in most of the hospitals. X-rays of rectums with foreign objects were often left on the light box for entertainment of others who knew what it was. That said, the staff didn't judge as it was so common.

I almost lost a thermometer in my butt, after falling asleep, and rolling over. I was just barely able to get it out. Had it been lubricated, it would’ve been an awful experience. I can imagine needing surgery, and having to lie to my employer and friends about what really happened. Knowing how the medical profession works, I would expect to be referred to a psychiatrist, which would have achieved nothing, other than a huge financial burden. My medical insurance probably wouldn’t have covered anything.

People get panicky when they loose things up their butt. Relax. It will come out the next time you poop, like everything else up there.