In my experience, connecting with a safe, sane and sincere enthusiast has been hit-and-miss -- mainly miss -- even in a meeting-of-like-minds place like this. Before I ran across Zity, I'd troll the Southern California Craigslist personals to see what I could find. Not much, as it turned out, in spite of the fact that enema-centered ads were often posted. So many were bogus in one way or another. It was rare to get to the point that "safe" and "sane" even mattered; the dialog would collapse because its foundation was a fiction -- the poster had no intention of ever following through to a live meeting. Time and again, an E-mail connection would either never develop -- no response to my initial reply -- or would evaporate in short order without explanation. A few dialogs went on for a while, with mounting exasperation on my part over ongoing and poorly explained hesitation to meet. Even arranging to meet in public casually and solely for the purpose of getting acquainted would be agonizingly difficult to nail down. The notion would be agreed to, but then hang in limbo by a string of implausible excuses as to why a date wouldn't work, or had to be broken near the last minute.
I'll share the strangest of the Craigslist experiences, the one that still leaves me shaking my head chuckling to myself over the weirdness of it. The ad itself was straightforward and enticing: a husband and wife, both retired, were into enema and bathroom play, and were seeking a guest individual or couple to play with them. Untypically, I got an immediate response to my initial reply, and speedy exchanges of E-mails followed. All was very encouraging. In my case, having no partner to make it a foursome, a simple encountered was proposed: the wife would give the hubby and me enemas. The male not then being ministered to would assist the wife as needed. Both the hubby and I would tend to the wife when it was her turn to receive. There would be potty play after each retention period was over: The holder would be accompanied to the potty by the other two, and he or she would entertain them with the sights and sounds of expulsion. I especially liked this inclusion, because I love to probe a playmate who's relieving himself or herself on the pot -- give him or her those extra sensations and exciting mental imagery of a well-lubricated finger repeatedly penetrating past the final defense against rectal "invasion", the sphincter. The possibility of other fun and games was left open, and a "happy ending" for all was assured. Almost too good to be true, but desire trumps denial in a case like this, so on I continued, toward those bags of warm, soapy water at the end of the rainbow. I was given their address, which was in the Larchmont section of Los Angeles -- upscale-ish, and something like twenty miles from me. (That's twenty L. A. miles, which in terms of time consumption and energy required to negotiate them, are more like fifty elsewhere.) I arrived at the appointed time, and found that their house was situated at the end of a long driveway, behind a similar larger house at the street. Their front door was open, with only a locked screen door for security. With butterflies in my chest and a little shakiness of hand, I ran the bell. And knocked. And called out. And rang again. Nothing, except from a large regal-looking dog that at first gave a halfhearted bark behind the screen, and lost interest after that. With my racket, the neighbor in the front house peered out of her back door, and said something about her being sure the man was home. I raised the level of noise a bit and waited, but still, no response. Finally, I gave up and headed home. On arrival, I immediately went to my E-mail, intending to send a query with a slight tone of annoyance, but found they had already messaged me: "Where are you? We've been waiting for hours!" I answered, and immediately got a reply that the wife had been to the store, the hubby had been listening to music through headphones, and though disappointed and at first thinking I had flaked, they were now inclined to accept my story because I had mentioned the locked screen and greeting by the dog. They insisted that I come back then and there, and I was still aroused enough at that moment to commit to a second try. I didn't go far. I was suddenly struck by the colossal nerve they showed, first by failing to apologize for the misfire they alone had caused, and then, by being "magnanimous" enough to give me a chance to redeem myself! On top of that was the fishiness of their story; some of my runaway eagerness had begun to give way to suspicion. Yes, the planned game was delicious to contemplate, and I had been riding high with anticipation -- but I decided to put the car keys back on the hook. I did get more E-mails from them, and I suggested that we switch from E-mails to the phone as the preferred way to communicate. There were two conversations, both graphic and arousing as far as they went -- but both times, the wife was unavailable. Remembering that the neighbor had said "the man is home", I wondered. . . did she mean that he, but not she, was home? Or just that he, who lives alone, was home? I called for a third conversation, and again, no wife was available to join in. The hubby claimed she did not have a personal cell phone, so there was no number at which I could reach her except for the phone we were on. He'd have her E-mail me instead. So I left it at this: Have her call me at her convenience, because I'd like to hear her voice, and get all tingly at hearing her say that she was as eager as we were to play. No surprise by then, I never heard another word, and was satisfied that there had never been a "wife". So, what was the man's game? I have no idea. To me, it defies rational explanation -- truly, a bizarre episode, with a well-hidden motive behind it!