Watching enema preparation

If at home, I usually found a washed heating pad with a hose in the bathroom. At that moment, I already knew what was about to happen. No, I continued to play children's games, as usual, although even then I was worried. The nurse came. I anxiously waited for the outcome of events. They prepared everything necessary. They made a bed and spread an oilcloth, covering it with a sheet.

I got a call and was told to either take off all my clothes below the waist or lower my shorts. Everything was from the desire of the nurse. I was ashamed, but I never said or did everything that I was told. The nurse was assisted either by her mother or, most often, by her older sister. They were holding a heating pad. The family did not make my privacy necessary during such a procedure. Even my sister, 5 years older than me, could easily enter the room or even stay in it throughout the entire procedure.

I have several memories of watching mom preparing an enema for me. The blue rectangular box was open on the kitchen table and I was starring at the nozzle assortment while mom was stirring the soapy water in a white porcelain pan on the stove with her wooden spoon, telling me I need a "good" enema and how much better I will feel after I'm cleaned out. Another was after a soapy fill and results were inspected, mom would take the bag off the robe hook next to the toilet, unscrew the hose and while refilling the bag from the bathtub spout, she told me I took a real good enema for her and this next one will clean me out real good. And another was during the period when I was self-administering, mom would prepare everything for me while I watched, including filling the bag, hanging it on the robe hook, spreading towels out on the bathroom floor.....and would tell me as she left the room to take your time and give yourself a real good enema. No wonder I'm here.

@redbulb ..... "No wonder I'm here."

Love your wisdom on this one, redbulb.

Isn't that the truth!

Tom

While watching the preparation of an enema when young, had an impact on me through adulthood, a couple of events during role play scenarios really had me close to the edge prior to actual administration. In those cases, the enemas were about to be administered by "nurses" and they really played up the events as the prep and orders were undertaken.

In one case, I had been sent to the clinic because my mom thought I needed to be professionally "cleansed" due to my unusual obsession with enemas and my spying on others in the family which precipitated masturbation. The "cleanse" was to help eliminate my dirty thoughts and were sort of an aversion therapy. The "nurse" was a no nonsense type who put me through the ringer including prostate exam, hemorrhoid inspection, penis assessment, and reaction to volume, solution, and nozzle insertion which she described in detail. All of this was intended to exhaust me relative to enemas. What an ordeal...although it didn't work.

The preparation phase is, and has been, such an integral aspect over a lifetime of enjoyment!

Yes, I would like to see my enemas being prepared. Why? Because everything about enemas, from the very word enema to seeing the enema syringe and nozzle and the visions of what it will feel like when I'm getting the enema makes me get excited.

I don't remember many details about the early enemas I got, but it seems mom called me to the bathroom after she had got everything ready. But starting around eight or so, she would let me watch her get things ready. She would explain as the water was running in the sink that it should be warm but not hot. Then she showed me how she "burped" the bulb to get all of the air out. I think that is what made the enemas she gave me comfortable, even fun, and led me to start giving myself enemas just because I liked it.

Oh yes watching my enemas being prepared is a big part of memories of growing up. It would always start with mother calling me to her room, she would have me undress and lay on her bed so she could take my temp. She would sit on the edge of the bed and rub my back while waiting for the thermometer to register. About 50% of the time after checking it she would announce that i was going to be getting my enemas. i would be led to her brightly lit bathroom, she would stand at the sink and i would be behind her. I can remember her looking at me in the mirror as she opened the bathroom cabinet and smiled at me. The bag of choice for the day would be removed and placed on the counter, then she would bring out her little white box full of old vintage nozzles. She would pick thru them until she selected the one she wanted to use and i would watch her put in on the white hose. The whole time i wouid be standing there on display, with my tummy doing flips as i watched her. Then it was down on all fours, head down butt up and the process would start.

Millions of girls and boys remember this youth experience.

Our moms took good care of us. Now a lot has changed. Many today don’t even know what it is. The coffee enema has some followings, but the good soapsuds is not. Sadly.

Most of the Enemaholics nowadays use disposable units for quick cleaning out.

Anal play is, however popular and gaining devotees .

Long Live the Bag Syringe!

When I was growing up and my Mom gave me a soapsuds enema I didn't watch the preparation but I knew what was coming because she would bring a TV tray, plastic sheet and a bath towel into my bedroom as well as a stool and the chamber pot. Then I could hear her get the enema bag out of the linen cupboard just outside my bedroom, hear her running the water at the kitchen sink and the tablespoon tinkling against glass as she mixed up the Ivory soap solution in a big jug in the kitchen. Then she brought the filled enema bag along with the empty jug into my bedroom and hung it from a hook on the outside of the cupboard door beside my bed letting a bit of water flow through the tube to expel any air. Next she made me take off my pyjama bottoms while she laid the plastic sheet and towel on my bed, then made me curl up on my left side with both legs pulled up to my chest and my bottom towards her as she smeared Vaseline on the bat shaped rectal tip and pushed it up my bottom, then squeezed my butt cheeks together as she opened the clamp on the tube and let the hot soapy water start to flow full force into my bowels. No amount of complaining would stop the flow until I'd taken the full amount. She just squeezed my butt cheeks tighter together to keep me from leaking. Then she'd pull out the rectal tip and continue squeezing my cheeks together as she set a kitchen timer for 5 minutes of retention to give the soapy water time to "do it's job". Then she'd help me up to sit on the pot and expel the enema. Once I'd finished expelling she'd have me lift up to inspect the results. In most cases she was satisfied that I'd pooped enough and she'd wipe my bottom and take me into the bathroom to wash, dry and powder my bottom. Occasionally she wasn't satisfied with the results and she'd let me rest for about 15 minutes and give me a second enema that seemed to be soapier and she'd force me to hold it in for 10 minutes. That was real agony as the soapier solution gave me strong cramps, but it seemed to make me poop out a lot more. She never gave me a rinse enema with plain water after a soapsuds enema.

Yes, it is all part of the experience!

I was on hand for most of the enemas mom prepared for me. When I was told to get ready, I would head to my bedroom and mom to the bathroom. I'd strip off my clothes and then head naked across the bedroom hall to the bathroom and watch. Since I was started on weekly enemas at age 9 I could help which was better than just standing there thinking about what was coming. Generally mom mixed up the soapy solution and I would assemble the hose and nozzle parts. When everything was hooked up and hose clamp closed I would hold the bag while mom poured in the solution. I'd then get into position (knee-chest) on the bathroom floor while mom lubed up the nozzle with Vaseline. She sat on the ledge of the bathtub, slid the nozzle into my waiting butt and opened the clamp.

These days I'm a one-man show.

When I was nine or ten, mom moved my siblings and I from the bedroom to the bathroom for enemas. In the beginning, she only moved our rinse enemas to the bathroom, where she had us get in the knee chest position. But still gave us soapy enemas laying across our bed together. When this first started, we not only got to watch her fix our rinse enemas. We got to help fix them. Once she was comfortable with us fixing our rinse enemas, she started letting us help give one another enemas under her supervision. At first, she only allowed our sister to help give my brother and I enemas, but after my brother and I complained it wasn’t fair, she allowed my brother and I to help give our sister enemas. This continued for a couple of months, until she was satisfied, we could give one another rinse enemas without help. Once that happened, she moved our soapy enemas from the bedroom to the bathroom. And started letting us fix and give one another soapy enemas. Like the rinse enemas, this too were under her supervision.

About the same time mom started letting us help at home, our aunts started letting us help whenever we were at our grandmothers. In fact, they had actually started letting us help a little before mom actually did.

Fast forward a couple of years, the summer I turned twelve, our RN grandmother taught us personal hygiene and enemas became our responsibility. This was the nineteen fifties and enemas were commonplace, but most things of a sexual nature were taboo.

I don't remember my early enemas probably up to maybe 3 or 4 YO, but my older sister Tess told me she watched mom give me enemas with "the red squeeze thing in my butt" when I was little, and that she seemed proud that she was getting enemas with the hose since she was 6 YO, and liked to think of herself as an expert, even taking them by herself when she could. After getting an enema (it was a surprise as I didn't have any memories of enemas up to then) from a very stern nurse in the hospital at 5 YO, I was hooked! My next enema was from mom a few weeks after the hospital. It was deemed that I was "out of sorts" so I went with her to the large upstairs bathroom where I later learned all enemas were administered to all of us kids while living on our grandparents farm in the 50s.

Mom took out our grandmother's open top red bag and was running water until it was warm, she then used a 16 oz measuring cup (I remember looking at it later and the 16 oz stuck in my memory forever) to put a pint to one and a half pints in the bag. While this was going on I was watching her every move and taking my pants and undies off and putting them on the clothes hamper. Next she hung the bag on a hook next to the window, sat down on the window seat, told me to lay across her lap,she reached for the hose from the top of the bag, squirted a little in the sink, put Vaseline on the end, inserted the nozzle, reached for the clamp and CLICK! I'm getting my first hose enema from mom! I watched the whole prep, I could see the insertion and her reach for the clamp as there was a full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

I watched many preparations and administrations for not only mine but my three sisters too. My older sister Tess and I would crouch down on the porch roof by the window and got to see many enemas prepared and administrated to our sisters, cousins and each other over the 9 to 10 years we lived on the farm. So yes, I got to watch every detail of preparation when mom or our grandmother gave one of us enemas!

At 76 YO I can't believe that I can remember all that happened in such detail! I guess our early enema days will live forever in our memories.

I'm still LostInThe50s!

I’ve never watched anyone prepare an enema for me. However, during my time with my giver, hearing him prepare my enema from the next room while I waited in bed was always a time very charged with anticipation.

Usually I’d be lying on my side, riding out IBS cramps, as the sounds of water running and the clink of the spoon as he stirred in the baking soda could be heard. Then he’d bring me the can to test the water temperature before lubricating me with a finger.

Waiting for him to prepare my enema was an interesting combination of surrender, because of the intimacy of the procedure, and reassurance, because I’d learned that he would always take excellent care of me and that I’d invariably feel better afterwards.