Not your first enema. The evolution of the experience.

Okay there has been a lot written hear about our first enemas or first remembered enemas. I totally get that as I have vivid memories of my first enema. The surprise and uncertainty and fear or terror of the first enema are all powerful emotions and often erotic. Let's change it up a bit. Let us focus on the subsequent enemas we got. My memories of those enemas are much more clear as I grew older. And my attitude toward enemas changed and evolved. I mean my prime childhood enema years were between age 11 and 16 when I got my last from mom. My experiences prior to that are memorable as well because I was trying to make sense of it all. But once I hit 11 I had started secretly enjoying enemas and found the experience and memories were/are more satisfying. I mean, I was more cooperative (somewhat) for my enemas as I grew older. I would use the dreaded and embarrassing word enema in the bathroom with mom and that gave me a thrill which is hard to explain. Of course I would avoid using the word enema at all cost outside the confines of my maternal enema experience. The thought of someone knowing I even knew what an enema was, let alone, that I was a regular receiver of one was mortifying to me. My point here is that the ritual and routine subtlety changed. At least for me. Bulb to bag. Bathroom or bedroom. Ivory soap versus castile. And the cat and mouse game of my mother tenderly suggesting an enema to insisting. How did the experience evolve for you over time? Or did it? For me they were all the same yet very different. Some were more memorable than others. Like the time when I was 13 and my family was on vacation in California and whilst my siblings went with my father to the beach, my mom held me back to give me a very serious series of bulb enemas. Even though by that age I was accustomed to the bag, instead she used a white 8 oz davol bulb syringe on me and filled me up several times to resolve a road trip induced constipation issue. I will never forget the way I could see my naked self in the vanity mirror through the reflection of the large sliding closet mirror door. Anyway my point is, this was not my FIRST enema. I was an accomplished receiver.

Chicken pox. If I had to place the time enemas transformed from an ordeal to an overt pleasure, it would be when I had the chicken pox.

The blisters itched constantly, causing me to complain and resulting in my mother admonishing me not to scratch. She drew my baths and bathed me, daubing at the blisters with the washcloth, not trusting me to scrub at them. The baths were soothing, if temporary respite, to the itching.

Above my head, draped over the clothes rack, was the enema bag and hose. I tried not to look at it during the baths but was never able to refrain from glancing at it from time to time.

As the bath water drained from the tub, I sat draped in a towel on the closed commode lid while my mother prepared my daily enema. She ran the water in the tub to fill the enema bag, added some Ivory soap from the peanut butter jar kept on the window sill, and hung it from the medicine cabinet knob. The rectal tip got attached to the hose and the Vaseline jar opened and placed on the sink.

I was getting too big to fit comfortly across her lap, but she placed me there for these enemas. The nozzle was dipped into the Vaseline and inserted into my bottom. The clamp opened and the warm liquid flowed into my colon. It was still an odeal to take the enema and I complained but I also knew that it would make me feel better afterwards. A small but cherished pleasure amid the agony of the pox.

Chicken Pox were also involved in my transformation. I got pox on my tongue and could not stand the burning that salted food caused.. My mom called our pediatrician, who was an enema fanatic. He INSISTED that I MUST have salt in my diet and told her to give me a pint of saline. I was 6 at the time. I had to have saline enemas 3 times a day to keep my NaCL levels where he wanted them.

This caused her to buy the first open top fountain syringe that we had in our home. All previous enemas were done with a black 4 oz bulb syringe. The bag enemas were much different and more intense than those from the bulb. And 3 times every day? That changed my outlook on this previously horrible treatment. By age 9 I was sneaking my grandmother's open top bag. (It was the same one as appears on my avatar). I loved spending Sat. nights with them, cause he went to bed at 8 and she at 9. I stayed up to watch TV, but after those hours, I was using grandma's bag and having intense orgasms.

I later bought a Rexall hide away like grandma's and an Armstrong Artweave open top like my mom used. I still use the "hide away" quite often with the knob ended nozzle.

Any "normal" doctor would have said, "don't salt his food"; not this guy! Every time he came to the house for bronchitis, measles, Otis media, he always told her to give me an enema of at least one quart. I had to fake my displeasure when told I needed a bag. In Jr. High, I'd always complain that I couldn't "go" whenever I was ill with anything.

I missed out on getting Enemas for illnesses. When I had chicken pox, I was in the second grade and it was spring. The teacher was an old maid virgin spinster who had never had the pox and wouldn't let anyone back in class for two weeks. I only had 3 of them on my body; one on side, one on arm, and one on nose.

MED question: Since I only had 3 pox, would I stand more, or less chance of developing shingles at some time?

Dan

You have had chicken pox, you have the risk of shingles. Get the vaccine.