I think my first experience with something in my rectum was the rectal thermometer. I had to be pretty young because I barely remember the first time and it was taken by my Mother. I remember her shaking it and then putting Vaseline on it before she put me over her lap and inserted it into me. She always warned me to hold still and not fight it, because that first time I remember, I was pretty scared and didn't know what to expect. My mother had to restrain me a little that first time and probably got the idea I was going to be a fighter whenever she felt like she needed to check my temperature.After the first time she should have figured out that I wasn't going to fight it. But she always warned me not to fight it and that it could break and I would really be in trouble. For some reason I didn't tell her that after the first time, I liked getting my temperature taken. It was that I just got the feeling that it wasn't right that I should like it and she expected resistance. I didn't want to disappoint her but I never really understood. I do remember her saying to me one time when I didn't put up the fight she was expecting, "You must really be sick. You aren't fighting this." Well, Mom, you told me not to.Somewhere along the line, she became concerned with the number of bowel movements I had. She would ask my grandmother about this and my grandmother told her that no one should go three days without a bowel movement. And grandmother told her that if I didn't have a bowel movement by then, that I needed some castor oil at least. Now, THAT, I fought! There was no halfway liking that stuff. I fought that pretty hard and that is when grandmother told Mom to give me an enema, just like she used to do with her.Again, I got the feeling that I wasn't supposed to like enemas because of my mother's approach to me when she felt like I needed one. It felt bigger than the thermometer and the water going into me tooks some getting used to, but mom was gentle and never rushed them. So, yes, I liked them and only acted like I was being killed or something. Why? Because I got the idea I wasn't supposed to like them.I figured out that I mainly liked my enemas because of the nozzle being put into my rectum. Enemas were a little hard to give myself because of all of the things needed for them. There would be too many questions and I hadn't figured out how to be that sneaky to give them to myself. But I sure could sneak a pencil, or Sharpie, crayon, or something up my butt and not draw too much attention.It felt good and yet, for some reason, I got the idea that I wasn't supposed to like that. That put me in the closet and people's reaction to the word "enema" kept me there for years to come. No one knew, not even my wife/best friend.