Did mom know the psychological impact of giving you enemas?

My mom's friend and "advisor", "Aunt Erike", sometimes told her that such an enema would also have good effects in other ways, especially with little rebellious boys. She liked to refer to these enemas as „educational and pedagogical enemas“

Odd. When I read this I would have interpretated 'educational and pedagogical' to mean as if they were meant to be a sort of sexual education in how male organs react to anal insertions and bowel flushings.

Maybe it is just my naughty mind that is giving me this slanted perspective.

My adoptive mother must have noticed that my tiny thing swelled a bit.

When she me a hot and soapy to cure my constipation.

Which did ask for.

So it was not a punishment or health related phenomenon.

It was a loving thing that we shared.

I don't know if my mother thought about the psychological impact of giving me an enema. She only ever gave me one enema when I was about five years old. I have written about that experience elsewhere on ZITY. I was naked, on my back with her holding my legs up by my ankles with one hand and giving me the soapsuds enema with a small squeeze bulb enema syringe with the other hand. I could look through my partially open legs and see her as she gave me that enema. I can't say what volume of soapy water she gave me, but I can tell you that one enema flipped my "enema switch" to the "Permanently ON" position for life. I like that enema, it felt good and I have been into enemas ever since that time. I do wish she had given me many more enemas, but it was not to be.

I can only dream of what it would have been like to be given enemas every week growing up. Those of you who got regular enemas from your mom, aunt or grandmother are very lucky.

Looking back after my first comments about the subject, I find myself more closely examining my mom's incentive for giving me enema. While it didn't arise to the level of sexual arousal, it produced a flow of endorphins that brought a change in her voice & facial expressions. One tell were the same phrases : like "you need a good cleaning out" or " I need to give you an enema tonight. before you go to bed. Then there was her need to announce her intent in front of my grandmother or aunts. The enemas were always the same; lying over a towel on the bathroom floor while she held the bag up high in one hand while holding the nozzle in place with her other, as was the look on her face as encouraged me to hold it all in.

As I have posted elsewhere, my mother gave me regular enemas starting around the age of two and ceasing just after I turned 12 and started having a sexual response to them. I have always had a close relationship with my mother, but still, could not work up the courage to talk with her about my enemas until she was in her late 70s, and much less defensive or secretive about sensitive issues. During our candid conversation, she shared several valid factors that had led to her giving me enemas throughout my youth. Shortly before I turned 2, I became so ill with a severe GI disturbance that I had to be hospitalized in order to keep me hydrated and nourished. The problem was ultimately identified as an extreme lactose intolerance (which wasn’t always known about back in those days), and my entire GI system was in a such a wreck that even upon discharge I continued to have problems with constipation...what the doctors called “lazy bowel” back in the days. This was 1965 BTW. As a result of the continued constipation, the physicians assigned the routine cure that was first turned to back in the days. Regular enemas as needed.

Mom also mentioned something else that rang true, “Good Lord, all us mothers had Dr. Spock’s child rearing book (a best seller) and we just did what he told us to. And that’s true. I’ve read the old Dr. Spock books from the 60s, and he recommended enemas, and even recommended quantities of water that should be given to their child at each age range.

Finally, she shared a “secret” that she probably would have not revealed any earlier in our mother/son relationship. When she was in junior high, her parents told her she would have to move in with her aging grandmother to help her. Her grandmother lived in the house right next door, so it wasn’t like she moved away from home. Moms mother had never liked or used enemas, she preferred laxatives. I knew this was very true because when when we were staying with them during the summers and mom would take me to the bathroom to give me my enemas, she would always say, “Why do you waste your time giving that boy enemas? Why don’t we give him Fletchers Castoria. She was always trying to force that crap down my throat.

But mom’s grandmother loved enemas, and had of course had occasionally given mom some when she was growing up. But when she moved in with her grandmother, she was expected to not only give her grandmother frequent enemas, she was required to submit to frequent enemas herself anytime grandma got one. She gave and was given enemas by her grandmother from about the age of 14 until she graduated from college. So there’s that.

I have never regarded the enemas mom gave me as unnecessary, physically or sexually abusive, or any other selfish reason. She was doing only what she’d been taught. I believe the situation she encountered when living with her grandmother was partially uncalled for, but in that day, enemas were a very routine treatment for the entire family.

I do not recall, and am quite sure I never did, get an erection while being given an enema as a young child. Right around my 12th birthday I got my first erection (I was kind of a late bloomer) and the first time it scared me, pretty much a normal response. The second time I got an erection I learned how to masturbate. Didn’t take me long to master that! The third time I got an erection was the next day as mom was giving me a warm, soapy enema that was always followed by a second flush enema of plain water. Once I started getting my enemas from a bag, I was always told to assume the knee-chest position. Mom never gave them to me any other position. By the time I had been given about half of my soapy water I had a throbbing erection, the kind that points straight at the ceiling. Since mom was sitting on the closed toilet directly behind me, I don’t think she could see it from her position. After she’d gotten me filled with the soapy water, she reached a hand down to help me stand as she always would. I froze, and didn’t want to stand up period. I was so mortified! Finally, having no choice I rose to my feet and with her hand on a hip she turned me toward her to take a quick look at how my tummy had filled up as she always did. I kept my head down, eyes to the floor. Not saying a word, she exited the bathroom to let me expel privately, as usual. I was given just one more enema by my mom when she returned and almost apologetically told me she still needed to give me my flush enema. Before I stood from my knee chest position, she told me she thought that I was now old enough to “treat” myself when needed. She was right. That was the last day I was ever given enemas by mom.