Anticipating an enema - how did it affect you?

If you have read any of my previous posts, you will know that I was given enemas for constipation when young. These were few and far between, but nevertheless sufficient to imprint me as an enema aficionado. My Mum would administer the treatment, using an Ingrams Perfex Enema - Higginson syringe, of the kind popular in the UK and it’s Commonwealth. My Mum was a methodical person, and always followed the same procedure. When an enema was announced, it was given on my bed, with me on my back, lying on a thick towel, legs raised, and bottom exposed. Not a very elegant position.

She would come into the bedroom with the necessary impedimenta on a tray, with a white hand towel on it, on which was a bowl for the solution, a jar of Vaseline, and the enema syringe itself. She would leave the tray on the bed, and go off to the bathroom to mix up the soapy water, leaving the tray with the Higginson on the bed.

I would look at it, and it had an almost hypnotic effect. It looked just like a snake. The nozzle clearly had only one purpose. Someone from another planet, where enemas were unknown, would look at it, and know immediately it’s purpose. The Perfex had a particularly well designed nozzle, unlike the straight pipes you find today, it was well made and shaped so that with a bit of Vaseline it would enter easily, but once in place, it would stay there.

I would look at it, and knowing where it was soon to be deployed, I would get a strange feeling in my bottom, a cross between dread anticipation and a strange sort of excitement.

Once the enema began I could feel a churning in my bowel, as the warm soapy solution was gently pumped in, and this added to the strangeness of the experience - a feeling which I now recognize as being erotic.

Even to this day, when I see an enema syringe, let alone get or give one, the feelings come back to me, and I feel just as I did, aged five or six looking the enema in the eye, so to speak, and feeling both dread and excitement as to what was in store.

Did anyone here have similar feelings or experiences?

Delia

@Delia Were you legs lifted up, or to your chest? Who held them?

Delia, beautifully written description of the process and feelings. The dread of seeing a full red bag waiting was something I definitely felt.

There are only a few things that cause chills to tingle my spine and trigger involuntary reactions in other parts of my body. An adrenaline rush may become activated and increase my heart rate. The shudders of excitement and the eventual release of pent up psychological baggage, that occur with the anticipation and ultimate expulsion of those various substances via sources of elimination, that generally only relate to the ultimate outcome from an enema.

Wow! Mom would say that I was out of sorts and cranky and would get an enema after school so I had 6hrs to think about the enema! I rushed home with a hardon in anticipation of the enema and was sent to the bathroom for my enema!

I have talked about this in other posts previously. But, I know just thinking about a few of the special times brings tingles to this old body. As for the story… Probably the event that created the most intense anticipation occurred on my second honeymoon. So what happened? My wife must have remembered that I had been after her for months to give me a “special” kind of enema. I had even told her what I wanted in that enema and that I would give her anything if she would only do. Well, she let me know one morning while we were on our trip that she was going to do it. I went into the tv room of the cabin while she prepared the thing. I watched her go to the refrigerator and get ice cubes. I watched her go into bedroom and get some Vicks salve. The excitement was unbelievable! And when she came to get me … wow! Her sexy voice and the tiny kisses as she pulled me up off the sofa about did it. Wonderful memories…

From an early age from my ‘ sickbed ’ as it were my mother after my early in the morning ‘ vital signs ’ were taken and recorded she began her day ‘ business-as-usual ’ for a ‘ baby boomer mom ’ . As the childhood illness progressed after a while , she would reenter my bedroom and would gently announce : ….. ‘ I’m going to give you an enema later on this morning ‘ . No comic book , game , model project or early morning TV show could distract me from the strongest mental pictures as what was to be . All was the strongest and intense ’ anticipation ‘ of what had become a very intimate and pleasurable event in my life . Fast forward from my above shared boyhood ‘ anticipation ‘ story to my young adult years in university graduate school . The last thing I did after my finals and packing my car for the trip home was to call mom and before the conversation ended there was again that ’ sweet ‘ gentle voice this time indicating that ……. ’ you know my boy ……. do you think that you will need some ‘ enema time ’ when you get home ???? I know I do ……. ’ with her statement being that of her offer to be my enema administrator ( again ) . It was a three hour trip from our ‘ university town ’ so the ‘ anticipation ’ of what awaited only grew in intensity as I neared our home . The thoughts of those days as per above , both now long ago , still encourage a good erection when I factor in the ‘ anticipation ’ which was only satisfied by the reality of the procedure .

Before puberty when I dreaded enemas there was not much time between being told I was going to get an enema and for it to take place to affect me all that much… the one thing that stands out in my memory is of waiting while the enema was cooling down (it was made with a large amount of Ivory Flakes dissolved in pot of water heated on the stove). For some reason I'd be wearing just a tee shirt and looking down my little peckeroo looked so small that I felt like it was going to disappear! In an odd way that was exciting.

Oh for sure delia. walking into the bathroom and seeing the full red bag or being followed to the bathroom bag in hand gave me a pit in the stomach.

In addition to my latest post concerning the anticipation of a future enema, another one peaks my interest This one, also, has been written about in previous posts elsewhere, but I think it warrants a mention here too! My Mother had been giving me enemas with a small red bulb that had a black tip on it or years. So, I knew exactly what an enema was at an early age. I kind of grew up with them so I never dreaded Mom giving me one. However, one afternoon, I was outside playing with a next door neighbor girl. Mother called me into the house for my “medicine”, which was the dreaded dose of Castoria. Now, that was something I hated. Yuk! Still can taste that horrible stuff But, Mom was insistent on giving me that stuff instead of the bulb enemas that she had used for years. Why? New doctor .. the one that had prescribed enemas had retired due to health issues. And, this one did not believe in the use of enemas at all. Anyway, I went in, took my “medicine” and came back out to play. My friend asked me what kind of medicine was it that Mother had just given me. I told her. She stuck out her tongue and said my favorite word “Yuk!” Then, she went on to explain to me that her Mother had given her an “Adult” enema that morning with her douche syringe and that it felt good. She, then, asked me if I had ever had an enema? I told her “yes!” But, that I had never had an :adult” enema The very thought of an “adult” enema perked my interest. So, after we finished playing, I went back into my house and asked Mother f she would give me an “adult” enema. I remember her looking at me like I had a screw loose or something. But, I didn't give up. In fact, I asked her for one every day for about 2 weeks. But, Mom just ignored me. So, I rode my bike over to my Grandmother's house. (My Mom's mother) and asked her if she would get Mom to give me one. Grandma listened to my request and, I remember, all she said to me was “Mike, be careful, son, for what you ask! It may not really be what you want!” I told her that it was and would she please help me. She said “ok, son, I will try. ” Well, Grandma did and she even got Mom a new Rexall Victoria Combination syringe to use on me. I was on my porch sitting in the porch swing when she came over. She showed me the syringe before she went in to talk with Mom. It was at that point, that the anticipation began to grow. But, no enema came for weeks. But, my anticipation continued to grow. In fact, I kept right on asking Mom to give me one daily. Then, finally, one Saturday morning when she did not have to work, she surprised me. Wow! It was great…

I can recall vividly that early childhood experiences with mom's enema ritual were not pleasant affairs. Fear, crying, and pleading to no avail. After awhile, not sure what age, I learned to surrender to the bulb syringe to just get it over with. And then came my first dry orgasm triggered by warmth and pressure of the soapy water. After that, it was more of a relaxed compliance when mom decided an enema was necessary. I graduated to the frightening sight of a full bulging fountain syringe around age 7, which took several uncomfortable sessions before I became accustomed to the larger volume and could start to relax and accept the water. Although it was almost mandatory to complain a little at the sight of full bag with its long hose and black nozzle, I secretly looked forward to being cleaned out and the alone time with mom and all her encouraging “enema talk” during the session (hoping to experience another dry orgasm of course). At about age 11 or twelve mom decided, due I'm sure to my ever present firm erection during the enema, it was time for me to self administer. And being alone in the bathroom taking enemas and discovering masturbation is what ultimately brought me here.

I have used a higginson once and loved it. I have seen a regular enemabag with inline bulb and fanyasized having a guy over my lap getting the gravity flow enema and then vigorous pping of the bulb to give him a good goose and a big gush

I always have some anticipation anxiety!

I have sure learned to keep it out of my head entirely when I'm in “Boss mode” or “Mom mode”

Once I really get out the bag and start mixing the enema, I'm completely clinical. Does not bother me at all.

I have learned the hard way not to look at the bulging bag too long. No more than 5 seconds before the nozzle is in. No more than 3 seconds between nozzle insertion and valve opening, and after valve opening not for at least a minute with the 2-qt bag, and not more than a few seconds over a minute with the 3qt bag.

I have a bad habit of holding the nozzle straight up in the air and staring at it a couple of minutes before I insert it!

I HAVE freaked myself out doing that! I soon come back to reality, understand where it needs to be and get it there!

I have also learned to close my eyes from valve opening until I can't feel it running in. I do that so I won't look at the bag.

It is not that easy to see the bag in knee-chest position, but I can always do it.

Once when visiting my cousin South of Stockton CA, i was about 10 and got a severe ear ache. (65 years ago)

His mother, my mom's sister brought out a big red 3 quart "Flawless".

My eyes jumped out on stems, just like in the cartoons and i started crying.

She showed me how to lay my head on it. It felt so good, i squeaked out a, “Thank You”.

She reached under the covers and squeezed my butt. I quickly fell fast asleep.

When I was 10 I got a bad stomach bug and was sick for days. Finally Mom took me to the doctor. On the way home, in the car, she said the doctor told her to give me an enema. Hearing her say that made a wave of emotions come over me. Fear and dread. And also an electric excitement like butterflies in my belly. Not to mention a throbbing boner. Although I loved to give myself enemas every chance I got, getting one from Mom was just too embarrassing. Not only did I get one later that day, but also one a day for the next several days. Great memories.

Growing up I was not an enthusiastic enema taker. While I would not fuss and carry on, it does not mean that I would avoid complaining about my fate or trying to talk my mom out of it. For that reason mom never gave me a lot of notice that it was enema time--maybe 20 to 30 minutes max. During that time however, the anxiety would take over. Call it sweaty palms or butterflies in my tummy, either way I was nervous about what my fate would hold. Curious enough, I don't recall an of those enemas being painful because they were not. There was some discomfort for certain, but more than anything I'd have to say it was embarrassment and for me that was the expelling. Going in was not a problem, but knowing what goes in must come out is another matter.

Growing up & knowing & knowing an enema was coming [produced anxiety.! Butterflies in the stomach, anticipation, and always surprise when called into the bathroom and saw the enema prepared and ready! Mom was ready sitting and waiting for me to get over her lap, later when I got older a chair was prepared for me, vaseline on the sink, once in position, the enema tip was greased, and then me, Insertion feeling the hot soapy water surging into me!

Hated it as a young child being bent over mother’s lap Ironic now I enjoy them, same with suppositories as it seemed like every time I got sick as a kid I’d end up with like compazine suppositories for nausea and Tylenol in suppository form and mom would push them in. I remember the burning sensation I’d get with the compazine and I’d get yelled at to not push them out

It really was not difficult to figure out if I was getting an enema. The sound of the hall linen closet opening and closing was the first clue. Which of my two sisters were around was the second. If my younger sister was to be the recipient she would have been at mom's elbow as if the prep was some festivity, would be the third. Mom would have served notice on my older sister, so the conclusion would be that I'm the potential recipient. I wouldn't get all upset and anxious but a certain amount of dread was normal. All that was left would be positioning over mom's lap, getting filled, enduring a short wait, and then the inevitable results.

I was never given any notice when I was to get a soapsuds enema. I would be sitting in the living room or kitchen and suddenly my Mom would appear holding a full enema bag. She would then order me into her bedroom, take my pants off and lay on my back on the towel. She would either hang the bag on a nail on the wall or my Dad would hold the bag. I did not like it, I complained and moaned excessively and would say repeatedly, “ take it out”. Nothing fazed her and it continued until I thought I would burst. Even to this day, I cannot recall why I ever got an enema. I don't remember being constipated, asking for one or complaining of bowel or stomach issues.

@Westy The sound of the hall linen closet opening and closing was the first clue.

Oh yes, a telltale sound - mine was the sound of a metal pot clinking as it was placed on the stove while I was in the bathroom after hearing my mom call out “any luck yet?”.

Anticipation was one of the main things that started my attraction to being given an enema . I would get butterflies in my tummy hearing the preparations . I have to admit it , I did not understand why the feeling but looked forward to being given an enema in an odd way .

As a enemaphobic 9 year old boy it was awful when the family Pediatrician prescribed enemas for my constipation episodes (after Castoria lost it's effectiveness) When I'd get the “notice” I'd be getting a enema (in 30 minutes +/-) I'd get almost frantic with “fear & dread”) I'd do some really dramatic “pity party” sessions with begging & pleading/crying & sobbing. I'd really let it loose when I was face down in the bathroom and I could feel my butt cheeks being gently separated for the well lubed 4" black enema nozzle full insertion…Then-the dreadful sound of the brass clamp being unclicked…the inflow with the Victoria enema bag @ 18"-20" was moderately intense--and the 103F. Castile soapy water really stimulated my constipated rectum/g.i.tract with a strange “tingly” sensation. At about 25% “in” the feeling of pressure/fullness would begin as the 1 quart of solution streamed into me. By the time the enema bag went empty..it would feel like my anus would let loose/explode and cause a awful mess. Once the nozzle came out I had only a few seconds to get on the toilet..No matter how “bad” I was clogged up--everything just blasted out of me--everytime. After the initial blast into the toilet--it took a good 30 minutes for the balance of the enema solution to come out. Any enema I got really cleaned me out very thoroughly. It took maybe 4 enemas (over maybe 2 months) to calm down and reduce all my over reaction drama/crying & fussing --but even then getting a enema was no picnic..

I definitely had those feelings of dread and anticipation that others describe. Enemas were a “last resort” option deployed by my mother when the laxatives she had given me the afternoon or evening before did not work. I had a lot of constipation-induced stomach aches as a kid and my mom's go-to remedy was either milk of magnesia or Castoria given after school or right before dinner. Those usually worked in the early morning hours or as soon as I woke up. On those rare occasions that they didn't work before I had to leave for school, I would be kept in bed until the laxative kicked in. If nothing happened by noon, I knew that I would be given an enema. I remember lounging in bed on those mornings and having the anticipation build. I had a funny tingling sensation inside. To this day I cannot really describe it. Part of me dreaded the discomfort and humiliation, but I still very much looked forward to getting the enema. It almost took my breath away when I would hear the water running in the tub in the hall bathroom, knowing that I was minutes away from being hosed out.

When I was 11, the basic routine changed a bit. I was getting better at hiding my constipation and, often, my parents would not figure out I was constipated until I had gone more than a week without pooping. I specifically remember being on vacation with them where I did not poop the whole time we were gone. I figured they would just give me Castoria when we arrived home. On the last day of the vacation, we had a 12 or 14 hour car trip home. As we set out that morning, my parents started discussing what they were going to do about my constipation when we got home. My dad's view was that my constipation was too far gone (well over a week) to just give me a laxative. He told my mother that I needed an enema as soon as we got home. My mother eventually agreed and for the entirety of that day I sat in the car knowing what was coming when I got home. I remember the anticipation being overwhelming. It was all I could think of. Honestly, I couldn't wait, even though I knew it would be an uncomfortable one because of how backed up I was.

By age 12, I was getting a lot more enemas. My constipation had worsened and my parents were often just going straight to an enema because the mild laxatives they used on me were becoming less effective. I believe the anticipation became sexual at that point. I remember distinctly being in 7th grade and getting aroused thinking about an impending enema. My mom had told me when I left for school that if I didn't poop by the time I got home I was going to get an enema. I forgot about it until the last period of the day, when the thought occured to me that I had not yrt pooped. Immediately, I thought about the enema that awaited me at home - probably within the hour. I got an erection and felt my pulse speed up from the thought alone. I remember getting an erection again as I rode home on my bike after school. Sure enough, about 30 minutes after I arrived home I was on my left side in the bathtub with the amber latex hose up my butt. I think that was the last enema my mother ever gave me. After that, I was allowed to self-administer even though my parents still made the decision about when an enema was necessary.

My siblings an I got enemas from an early age and starting around age six or seven, when my brother an I got lubricated with a Vaseline covered index finger, we both got an erection. And the erections didn’t go away until we expelled. Starting around age eight whenever mom told us, we’re going to get an enema, we both got an erection from just hearing the word “enema.” Then when she lubricated us with her index finger before putting the nozzle in, we got even harder. This continued until our RN grandmother taught us personal hygiene as preteens an enemas became our responsibility.

I have a bad habit of holding the nozzle straight up in the air and staring at it a couple of minutes before I insert it!

I HAVE freaked myself out doing that! I soon come back to reality, understand where it needs to be and get it there!

LisaK — your words brought back memories of mom standing in front of me in the bathroom, or sitting on the bed beside me, with the black nozzle, covered in Vaseline, as she held the red tube where it attached to the nozzle so it pointed up and as she told me calmly, firmly, with evident concern and care, where she was going to put the nozzle, what would then happen, why I needed it, I'd be filled with dread and yet an exciting sort of anticipation. Sometimes, as she talked, she'd tilt the nozzle towards me as if to make her point.

I'd protest I didn't want an enema — although part of me secretly did — and she'd say something like, “I know, I know Tommy and mommy is sorry she has to give you an enema but you need one and so I have to slide this into your bottom so it I can make the enema fill you up and clean you out. I want you to be a good boy for mommy and take it all. Will you do that for me dear?” I'd say I'd try. All the time my eyes would be fixated on that black thing she was holding.

Anticipation:

At home if the word was mentioned in my presence my butt and stomach would clench. I'd usually be bare butt upward soon. I'd clench if I smelled ivory soap. It was only used for enemas. If the soap was out I'd soon be bottoms up. Even all these years later if I smell ivory soap in a store I clench up the same way.

In the hospital a nurse or someone came by and told me someone would be in soon to give my enemas. I suppose they were telling me so I could prepare. One time they didn't show up. I waited over two hours. The doctor, who was also a personal friend, came in to check on me while he was doing rounds. He could tell I was upset. Pressing me he made me tell him why. He got angry. It actually surprised me when he buzzed the nurse. He told them who he was. He was a big shot at the hospital. He told them if I needed enemas to get in there do it. After that I told him I'd hoped it was a mistake. He laughed hard. He waited and quickly a nurse showed up with a big bulging bag. He got up to leave and said something like, no such luck buddy. He laughed all the way down the hall.

The anticipation had more effect on my thoughts, fantasies and dreams then the actual enema. As a child even walking passed the hall linen closet knowing an enema bag was hidden under a stack of fluffy towels excited me. Knowing Bobby is going to give me an enema is more exciting then the enema itself!

When I was in the teens and up until maybe 12 or so years ago the anticipation brought on a lot of stimulation. In my older age now the anticipation brings very mild stimulation.

My ex wife and I had a un-curtained den sliding door that faced our neighbor Cathy’s house.

We loved role playing with her as a nurse and me the naughty patient wearing an open back exam gown and me bare ass up on a massage table waiting to get my enema while my wife filled up the bag in the bathroom next to the den. She would always make me wait in anticipation thus giving our neighbor Cathy a show. I never dreamt that Cathy could ever see anything but that is why my wife positioned the massage table right next to the sliding door. I heard footsteps behind me coming from the bathroom and I figured it was my wife coming to start my enema. I felt a hand separating my ass cheeks and lubing up my hole. They I heard a voice saying how far shall I stick the nozzle in? It wasn’t my wife’s voice but the voice of our neighbor Cathy. I looked over behind me and there were both Cathy and my wife grinning eye to eye. My wife said Cathy had ask me if I could sometime come over and help. I started to protest and my wife slapped my bare ass with a stiff leather sandal she just took off her foot 20 times right in front of Cathy. She said you will take the enema from her or else.

For the next hour my bottom hole was subjected to 3 enemas from Cathy and then my bottom hole was pegged by my wife in front of Cathy.