I can’t remember the first enemas and suppositories I received. I do remember seeing and playing with a red fountain syringe and a lavender inflatable douche syringe in the bath when I was probably 3 years old, and being erotically excited by handling them. This and other evidence makes me think I imprinted on them very early. The same for suppositories. I don’t have any memory of getting them, but at 5 or 6, one of my nighttime erotic fantasies was of getting ‘pills’ in my bottom or giving them to others, that would make us need to have a BM. This must have been a memory from infant/toddler age. I think my parents probably stopped any rectal treatments for me very early because I was obviously developing a strong anal-erotic interest.
By 2-1/2 years old I was playing doctor with a neighbor girl who was nearly a year older. We took pretend rectal temps outdoors, and sometimes put a finger up each other’s bottoms. The play continued with my twin brother and sister when they got old enough. I remember getting in trouble when I was 5 for pushing a fragment of Dial soap up my sister’s bottom while we were in the bathtub. It burned, and she complained to Mom. Not long after, I got in trouble again for filling a vaginal ointment applicator with toothpaste and squirting it up my brother’s bottom. Same thing - it burned and he complained. Nevertheless, they were willing participants in our ‘Doctor’ games throughout our pre-pubic years, and when our little brother came along, we included him in the games.
The enema breakthrough happened when I was 10. A neighbor girl who was friends with my sister had moved away and came back to spend a night with her. After bedtime, we boys joined the girls for whispered tale-telling. I don’t remember how we got on the subject, but Barbara started telling us about her enema experiences. Apparently she got frequent, strong soapsuds enemas from her mom. She described having to strip and bend over the edge of the tub, and how the enema felt ‘HORrible’ in her tummy. She continued with a story about being in the hospital when she was younger, and being taken to a bathroom for an enema before bed. As she was expelling her enema, a boy was brought in and given an enema right in front of her. Then she had to move from the toilet to a potty chair so he could expel on the toilet.
Barbara’s stories awakened something in us, and especially in me. Shortly after her visit we borrowed Mom’s douche bag one night and sneaked to the unfinished basement. We filled the bag from an outside tap on the way, and hung it on a nail in a ceiling joist, probably 5 feet overhead. We slid an old trunk underneath and covered it with an old quilt. Then my sister, my little brother and I took turns bending over the chest. The douche nozzle felt wonderful going in, even with no lube. The sudden gush of cold water spraying inside us was a shock, but one we liked. We each said “STOP” after a few ounces of water, then expelled on the old potty chair that we had all potty trained on.