It's complicated....

I cannot number the times over the last 60 years I have cleaned out. But today I finally achieved one goal I have been working on since forever: comfortably taking and holding at least a 2 quart washout. Oh, I have done a gallon many times, but was rarely able to complete a whole bag without cheating and never able to hold for long. But I did keep on trying.

Why? Because enemas connected me to childhood and to adolescence and to furtive / forbidden erotic reactions that my strict upbringing as an Irish cradle Catholic destined for the priesthood put off limits.

It's complicated, though. I am definitely anal erotic. How could I not be, a burning sexuality awakened before I could talk since Mommy Dearest provided anal stimulation so frequently, from infant syringe to big-boy enemas. And since the local RC priests raped me when I was in gfrade school. I just kept on seeking that stimulation - in spades after puberty and inevitable ejaculations.

But there was more to the enemas than just cumming, however delicious that was.... is.

Feeling relaxed and clean inside and out was most often felt as the calm after the storm, some residual desire to 'get the badness out' (thanks Mommy.....) and the excitement of the whole scene.

So today was about letting myself experience and enjoy those hidden feelings.

For that I am very grateful.... and I feel that I will be able to choose those other feelings in the future as well - when I want to choose them. It's not about either/or.... Thank the Goddess!

"Complicated" is not necessarily a negative thing.....????

So, disappointed that I find no responses to my last posting. None the less, I forge onward. The last few days have given me leisure time, alone, and that, as so often happens, leads to enemas and memories and, maybe, insights.

Just finished two two quart plain water clean outs. Not intended to be erotic, and so only slightly so. Mostly a quest to take the full two quarts comfortably and to enjoy the relaxation and flat tummy that can result. And so it was.

The memories this time hovered around the phrase "No, Mommy, I'll be good." I wonder if anyone reading this post has such memories. Another phrase from me was "PLEASE, Mommy, don't use soap!" And her response was usually "I need to get the badness out of you." Anyone have that experience?

Of course, as a cradle Roman Catholic, that was all the rationale that I could register, no matter how WRONG I may have felt it to be. Though I was entirely stopped from even registering the feeling to myself, let alone verbalizing it to Mommy Dearest. And when the police responded to the neighbor's complaint of loud noises from my house (not "home&quot 😉 dismissing it as a boy (teen at the time) "just resisting his enemas.")

Back in those days, the Fifties, life was pretty cut and dried. Change was not a value nor a perceived reality. If it was suspected, it was suspect. Eisenhower was president forever, and Prius XII had the last word: from GOD.

So, why was Mommy Dearest hosing out my youthful hole? What was the "badness" she must exorcise? For me it was 'talking back' or more generally not being perfect. After all, I was "not like the other boys." (HA!) And I was destined for the RC priesthood.

As I type this I wonder how many fellow zity.biz folds can relate to it.

I have been reading a book titled "Irritable Hearts." Subtitle: "A PTSD Love Story." Lots of detail, and the insight for me is that it explains to me why for most of my life I have been dead from my knees to my navel. Yes: no sensation whatever. And why I have been, until recently, emotionally numb. Really numb: no feelings except suicidal ideation and the experiences that led to that.

Bottom line: I wonder if any old timers can relate.....

Heading off, now, after a couple of Vodka hits, for one last round of clean out. (And happy to say that the inflow and outgo are working in an essentially non-erotic mode. Approaching my goal; I am gaining sensation in that formerly dead zone form knees to navel. It is amazing to have a dick!

Thanks for reading. Responses are welcome.....

Chuck

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I guess I'm sort of slightly near the same camp? Didn't get a bunch of enemas while a kid, but they're definitely in a sort of twighlight area now - not quite erotic at this time, yet I can see the possibilities. I know I like assplay, just haven't moved it over to the enemas yet.

No flashbacks to childhood, no Roman Catholic guilt, and fortunately my pelvis isn't usually a dead zone, but for some reason I'm not letting myself enjoy the enemas yet - though bowel issues (IBS-C, the reason I'm taking them) may have something to do with it.

Have fun and don't do anything stupid.

Important to remember:

My Dad is about to turn 60 He was born just as the 1950s were ending.

His earliest memories are about 1963.

His sister died that year, one of his first "outside world" memories was the Kennedy assassination, and then in January of 1964 his biological grandmother on his fathers side died as well. so no one in his world wanted to talk about the 1950s