When my siblings and I were growing up in the nineteen fifties, if mom, grandma, or our aunts noticed we were acting moody, they’d give us an enema. After getting a spanking, they gave us an enema to help calm down. With mom or our aunts, we didn’t get a choice, we got an enema wanted or not. However, with grandma, she always gave us a choice. We could either except or refuse her offer, and the funny thing is, I don’t recall any of us ever turning her down.
Years later, as teenagers, when enemas were our responsibility. My siblings and I gave one another enemas for a variety of reasons. For example: If my brother or I were upset about something, and needed help to calm down. We’d ask our sister to give us an enema, and we did likewise for her. The enemas we gave each other under those circumstances, took our minds off whatever was troubling us, redirecting our thoughts to the douche nozzle slowly moving around as a two-quart soapy or rinse enema filled our belly.
After I was married in my twenties. My wife and I used enemas, much like my siblings and I did, for a variety of different reasons. Then, once we had kids, like mom, grandma, and our aunts. We gave our kids enemas, for basically the same reasons they gave us enemas.