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By the time I was 10 years old I started sneaking enemas in my parents bathroom.
At the age of six, I knew I liked enemas and within a few years I was self-administering them as often as I could have some uninterrupted time in my parents’ bathroom when my parents were not home.
My interest in and love for enemas began at age six when my mom gave me a punishment enema because I played doctor with a neighbor kid. I had showed my friend how to give an injection in the bum. Not having been to medical school, I didn't know that injections go in the butt cheeks and in lieu of a syringe, I used my index finger and pressed it into my friend's bottom hole and then, after I thoroughly training him in the proper technique, I had him return the favor. Later, when his mom asked what we did for fun that afternoon, he told her. She did not see the fun in it. Kill joy! Neither did my mom. Kill joy!
The next day, to teach me a thing or two about sticking things in my bottom, Mom said, "I'll teach you a thing or two about sticking things in your bottom."
I had no idea what was happening when she took my into the master bathroom, had me strip naked, and told me to bend forward with my hands on my knees. From behind, she inserted the black nozzle into my rectum and the single squeeze of the red bulb taught me a lesson, just not the one she was trying to teach. When the spray of warm water hit my insides, I knew I was in love with whatever it was that she had just done to me. I let out a shriek of surprise and immediately made it sound like a shriek of anguish because I knew it was supposed to be punishment, not pleasure.
Within a few years, whenever my parents were gone and one of my older sisters, under duress, was babysitting by using the method of letting me do whatever I wanted as long as I left her alone to talk on the phone with her friends and I didn’t burn the house down on her watch, I would wait until she was on her phone call and then I would say, “I have to go to the bathroom” and she would scowl and growl with derision, denigration, defamation, deprecation, denunciation, disdain, disregard, disrespect, and disparagement, “Whatever” and waved me off with the back of her hand.
And I knew I had at least two hours . . .
So off I went to my parents' bathroom . . . where the red bulb thingamabob was hidden at the back of the big middle drawer. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I had the basic concept: Put water in the red bulb, put the nozzle in my bottom hole, put the water in me by squeezing the red bulb, put myself on the toilet to expel, and repeat for two hours or until the babysitter pounds on the door and asks, “Hey, are you almost done in there?”
I eventually discovered the red bag with white tubing and a few other enema delights. With lots of experimentation and loads of mishaps, I kind of worked out how they worked. With all the enema equipment I found, I knew my mom was definitely into enemas and so I wondered why she didn’t give us kids enemas on a regular basis as a matter of course.
No worries. I had ample opportunities to self-administer enemas on my own, and I never got caught, but I sometimes suspected she suspected that someone was using her equipment because I couldn’t completely dry it out or put back in the exactly same position I found it, but she never said anything.
And so, I’ve been giving myself enemas nigh on 60 years, but I no longer have to sneak them as my wife is well aware of my love for enemas. Alas, she does not share my penchant for them, but I have no complaints because she fully participates in all my crazy anal play as the person who inserts and manipulates the many butt plugs, dildos, and other anal toys in my rectum, as well as her fingers, hand, and wrist.
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