Was your mother a hanger, holder, or squeezer?

I don't know that I have seen this topic, but when your mother gave you enemas with a bag, did she hang the bag, hold the bag, and/or squeeze the bag? My mother would always hold the bag over us while we were on the floor getting our enemas. I don't think I can ever remember her hanging the bag. I do, however, remember during one of my last enemas from her, she squeezed the bag, causing the soapy water to eventually run out of me and onto the floor. Anyone else want to share how your mother handled the bag during enemas?

My mom was a hanger. the bag was always hung from the towel rack. I would be called into the bathroom and see the bulging enema bag hanging there and dripping soapsuds along the sides.

My mom was a little of all three. When I entered the bathroom the bag would be hanging from the towel rack. Once I was in position and the nozzle inserted she'd lift the bag from the towel rack and hold it as she opened the clamp. She would judge the flow rate and either raise or lower the bag as she felt it necessary. If she thought the flow had stopped, she'd move the nozzle or give the bag a squeeze. Mom then usually hung the bag back up on the towel rack once the first third to half of the enema was inside me.

Since Mom used an enema can it was placed on top of the bathroom counter with my butt on the floor.

My mom held up the yellow travel syringe with one arm straight up as high as she could while I laid face down on my bed. Her other hand held the enema tip in place with one finger on either side of the little flange on the nozzle.

To use the enema can, which had no handle, my mom needed my grndmother's help the first few times holding up my legs and holding the classic black nozzle in place while mom held the can up and controlled the hose clamp.

When I graduated to the left side position, I was sometimes given control of the clamp while mom held up the can and needed no extra help.

A holder - of the red 2 quart family enema bag with a small rectal tube.

Most of the time, my mom was a hanger. We had an old coat rack that she would bring into the room and hand the syringe on it.

My mom was a hanger, she would hang the bulging beauty on the shower certain rod and as we walk in the bathroom the bag in all its glory would be hanging there and then my feeling in my tummy would tart at that point.

in our younger years we would lye across moms lap with our feet over our heads and I could watch the bag bounce around as well as when mom had us lye across her lap but then when we got older we went to the knee chest and could not see the bag anymore

Ha if I could only go back to those days of great 😘

Mostly just a hanger and sometimes holder, but never a squeezer. She would occasionally have to hold the nozzle in in there was a lot of pressure.

My Mom was a holder and a squeezer.

My mother was a hanger. There was a hook on the back of the bathroom door and when the door was closed it was in just the right location to hand the enema bag should my mother be seated on the edge of the tub and I was across her lap. I got enemas that way until I was about 12 years old.

When called to the bathroom for an enema with the bag, it was hung from the towel bar. After the nozzle was inserted and the clamp opened, my mother always asked if I could feel it going in. If I said no or wasn't sure, sure would then lift the bag higher to get things going. As far as squeezing goes, she never squeezed the bag, but was quite good at squeezing a bulb syringe when she used the bulb for an enema.

My mother hung the enema bag from the shower curtain rod.it was always a red open-top enema bag with a red hose,and a black nozzle.

Mom was a hanger, but that didn't stop her from pressing on the bag after it was about half empty to increase the flow. She was a believer in "It has to get up there to really work!"

Mom always hung the Jones enema can on a hook just under the bathroom window. That was probably too high. The pressure was too great producing a very crampy enema. At least it was over fast. I hated getting a soapsuds enema. The sight of the white can still evokes an element of fear.

Definitely a squeezer of warm soapy enemas. Then of course it had to be held for at least 15 minutes

Mom was only a squeezer. All enemas in our household while I was growing up were delivered with an 8 oz. Adult Rectal Bulb Syringe. After getting an enema from a Jones can in the hospital, I suggested that we could buy the enema adopter kit for our hot water bottle for my future enemas. She was clearly upset that I would suggest such a thing. I am sure that mom really enjoyed giving dad and my brother and I long slow bulb enemas

Speedstick77's memories are not far off from mine. My mother was one of those get-it-over-with moms and she held our enema can too high. I could tell by looking up and clearly seeing the bottom of the "irrigator," including chipped enamal at the base.

I had very mixed feelings about the can, either just thinking about it or actually seeing it headed for me with no way out.

My Mom hung the red bag with the small black enema nozzle on the bathroom door knob, so it wasn't too high above me as I layed on a towel on the bathroom floor. She was always very gentle and slow with giving me warm soapy enemas (Ivory soap as I remember), and so I never minded receiving them, even though I was too young to associate them with sexual stimulation.

Mother had Dad hold the bag while she wielded the nozzle.

My mom hung the red bag on a nail she had my brother drive into the wall about as high as her head, 5'3", and to the right of the commode when seated. She took many enemas and douche's sitting on the commode and hung the bag on the same nail when she laid us on the floor and enemated my siblings and I.....Jimbeaux

My mother always hung the bag, always using some various hanging contraption designed from an old wire coat hanger. Over the years it morphed from being a simple put the hanging eye of the enema bag over the hanging part of the coat hanger and hanging it on the shower rod, to pulling the whole hanger straight by pulling on the bottom and then bending it in the middle and hanging that part on the shower rod and hanging the enema bag on the actual hanging hook. This was years before the cheap plastic hanging hooks that they now include with bags that never work and can't hold any weight whatsoever!

Mom hung the bag we had a hook on the wall in the bathroom.but if we were on vacation she would hold it.and i would hold for her if she to need one.which i enjoyed the older i got.

Mom would always get someone else to hold the bag much to my dismay. Usually a female. 😳

My mother was a hanger. We had a bucket and whenever I see one of them it still gives me shivers. I hated them at the time and a lot of it is probably from her hanging the bucket too high.

My mom only gave me an enema twice, once when I was 3 and again when I was 9. I don't know why I got the first one, but I remember my mom sitting on the side of the tub holding me in her lap with one hand and the pipe in my butt with the other. My dad was holding the bag about waist high, and I think it was only half full, but I was scared and screamed for her to stop the entire time. It started with a tickling sensation in my butt, which I actually liked, but it quickly changed to cramps (my gut hurts as I write this from my memory of it) and I clamped down to try to fight it, but each time I did, my mom had my dad lift the bag shoulder high, and the explosion of cramps overwhelmed me. My tummy hurt like I had to vomit, and it just went on and on. I remember my mom telling me that one of my friends (a neighbor's girl my age) liked enemas, and would pull down her pajamas and lie happily across the toilet whenever her mom said she needed one. I couldn't imagine how anyone could like such torture! I was in agony long before it was finished, and I can't explain, as I think about it now, why my bowel didn't burst from the pressure, I mean it was probably a quart of Ivory soapsuds going into a 3-year-old.

After my dad shut it off, he put the bag down and lifted me over the toilet before my mom stopped pinching my cheeks against the pipe and took the tube out. I still had cramps as the water exploded out of me, but my mom stood next to me and rubbed my tummy, which lessened the pain somewhat. That's all I remember about my first enema.

When I was in fourth grade, about 9, I got my second enema. I had told my teacher my tummy hurt, and she told me to go up to the teacher's room, sit on the toilet, and "Do whatever else you have to do". When I came back nothing had changed, and she sent me home with a note for my mom. She must have phoned, too, because my mom was waiting for me when I got home. She told me to go upstairs and get undressed, then come to the bathroom. I had no idea what was in store for me, so I didn't protest.

When I came into the bathroom, my mom was swirling a bar of Ivory soap in a glass of water. She continued until it got foamy, took the stopper out of our hot water bottle, poured the soapy water in, and stoppered it again. She did this several more times, until foam was coming out the top of the hot water bottle. Then she screwed a a stopper with a long red hose into the hot water bottle and hung it on a shower curtain hook. I saw the tube on the end, a black rubber tube about an inch and a quarter long by 1/8 inch diameter, with a hole in the end and rows of holes down each side. My mom held it over the tub, briefly opened the clamp until water sprayed out, then clamped it again. She pushed the tube into a jar of Vaseline, then sat down on the side of the tub and put the vaseline jar on the window sill next to her. She put the folded bath towel across her lap and told me to lie on my tummy in her lap. Then she got the vaseline, put a little on her finger tip, and pushed the vaseline into my butt. She told me this was a way to give me medicine that would let me feel better very quickly and slid the tube into me.

She pinched my cheeks against the tube, snapped the clamp open, and put her free hand on my back, holding me in place. The water spraying into me gave me a wonderful tickling sensation. I tried to open up as much as I could, moving against the tube to get the most stimulation. I felt my peter get hard, and my mom told me "Don't worry, that often happens when boys get enemas". I really enjoyed it for a long time, until my tummy started to hurt. Suddenly, I felt worse than I had at school, and I clamped down to fight the water, but there was way too much pressure to fight against, and the more I squeezed, the more I cramped. My mom told me it would hurt less if I just relaxed and let it flow, so I tried to. The tickling didn't even help, my insides hurt all over. Suddenly, it got much worse, and I felt like my guts were about to burst. I couldn't stand it! I reached behind me, grabbed the hose, and pulled it as hard as I could. The hose and tube pulled out, and the pipe flapped around spraying soapy water everywhere. My mom grabbed the clamp to shut the water off, and I jumped off her lap and got on the toilet before the poop and soapsuds erupted. Then they did, and the relief was wonderful. I still had cramps occasionally for nearly an hour, until I finally got emptied out. Then my mom washed off my bottom and put me in the tub for a bath. I put pajamas on and came down to watch TV while my mom made dinner. I felt fine for school the next day.

My Mom is a nurse so she 1) always used a red fountain syringe bag, 2) usually used warm soapy water, 3) hung the bag on the towel bar or removed it and raised and lowered the bag to increase the flow rate. It seems raising it rapidly makes a surge. It sure was noticeable to me. I cannot duplicate the feeling with a closed combo-bag or get the gurgle sound as the bag empties. Remember it all well.

My mother was a hanger. Since she took an enema ever day we had a hook on the wall next to the toilet. When she would give me an enema I was sitting on the toilet with her kneeling in front of me holding the nozzle in place. 😁 😁 😁

My mom was also a "holder". When summoned to the family bathroom for my enema her red, 2 quart combination enemabag/ hot water bottle would be lying plump & full over the sink, a trail of Ivory suds dripping down the side. The long red hose would always be draped over the side of the basin with the black adult rectal pipe glistening with a thick coat of vaseline.

Despite the years that have gone by and the extensive collection of bags and nozzles that I now call my own, I am still excited by recollections of the enemas that I got from her while lying naked from the waist down over a towel on that bathroom floor.