What psychological aspect of your enema ritual particularly turns you on?

The psychological anticipation, standing all bare, except for my ankle socks and little play shoes, watching Daddy filling Mommy's enema bag. The dull hollow sound the water made as the big red rubber enema bag was filled. The sight of the big red rubber enema bag glistening with beads of moisture hanging from the towel rack over the straight backed bathroom chair.

I, too, was very excited about the enema preparations. It was always done before my eyes. The second thing is a shared secret - the enema took place without any witnesses: just me and my mother. If anyone saw it, I would be very embarrassed. My mom had a right to know me undressed and put the end of a rubber bulb in my anus.

I think an enema is not just a health procedure. It is also showing who is in charge here. The child or teenager must obediently traverse the bare buttocks and allow the rectum to penetrate.

For me being given an enema going back to when I was very young. I was maybe 3 and it was my very first memory I have in my life. It was such an experience that I still have vivid memories of the events. At that age it was more fear and crying. I was thinking what are my parents doing to me. I felt totally helpless. Even at this young age I remember bouncing my bottom on the floor. I was hoping to get the enema out of my butt. I think I actually when moving around was actually getting pleasant feelings as I did this. This as strange as it might sound I knew this was incredible even way back then. My first memory in my life was burned into me for life.

The major force behind the development of most every fetish involves three things occurring together : embarrassment, pain or discomfort, and sexual stimulation . For me, enemas score a hundred percent in all three categories. Watching the red combo bag draped over our bathroom sink, pulling my underpants down in front of mom as she told me to lie face down on the towel she had spread on the floor, feeling her long finger dilating my sphincter prior to inserting the pipe, then feeling the first rush of warm soapsuds filling my bum as she released the clip. After six decades I still repeat the process while dreaming about moms enemas…

I wasn’t particularly close to my father. But a few times growing up he was the parent who had to give me an enema. While the procedure itself was never welcomed, I did enjoy the caring way he ‘coached’ me through it — and the fact he was endlessly patient with stopping and starting the flow, depending on my comfort level. (As I recall, getting an enema from Dad was a much more lengthy process than from Mom.) I don’t know for sure, but I am guessing he got lots of enemas as a kid and thus had a good understanding of what he was putting me through.