This is my early history with suppositories and enemas. I don’t remember anything significant about bottoms when I was very young, so probably nothing very traumatic happened there then, but I definitely remember suppositories and enemas from elementary school time – but it was not at all traumatic. From as far back as I clearly recall my sister and I shared a bathroom, which opened only into our rooms, and right on top of the toilet always was a very large jar of adult glycerin suppositories. I recall the jar as being cylindrical but flat, with all the suppositories lined up on one level like soldiers, rather than in a jumble, as I see jars of poopers today. It was up to us to use them as needed, not just for constipation but to make bowel movements easier as we thought helpful.
We were both pretty athletic and in after-school ballet class and gymnastics, and we thought that friends who refused medicine for their bottoms and preferred tummy aches were as weird as they probably thought we were for using bottoms treatments without complaint. Mom encouraged us to use a suppository ourselves if we were uncomfortable or if we had not pooped by the end of a second day, and she told us to let her know if it did not work when we thought that we needed it, or for sure if we were on a third day with no BM. Her response was generally to give us an enema in bed, almost always just warm salted water from a blue syringe bag with a tube with a soft, rounded end. We did give ourselves suppositories as they seemed helpful, probably about once a week on average; I don’t really remember.
And I do not remember these enemas as being embarrassing nor even uncomfortable, and certainly never forced in the event itself nor the amount: we rather liked the intimate time and attention with mother and we also liked the feeling of getting light and fresh and empty instead of feeling stuffed up. The enemas themselves just gave us a feeling of a warm and full tummy, but with no pain or even pressure to potty too quickly; mom put gentle pressure on my anus, and that seemed to help keep them comfortable. When mom showed us how to do enemas ourselves it was not just temperature and bag height, but where to press or rub and how to massage, and how to most comfortably release them on the toilet, even to watch our hydration afterwards. I don’t really remember whether these were particularly relaxing or de-stressing, but the enemas, or simply getting them from mother, did feel soothing. I think we got the enemas a couple of times a month. We continued this throughout high school, and as we got older we did appreciate their effects on stress.
Eventually, if mom was too busy to manage an enema, she took the advice of some doctor who told her that bisacodyl suppositories were more modern than enemas and could work as well if she got them really up high and rubbed the medicine into the rectal wall for a few minutes as it melted. So, I did occasionally get a bisacodyl dose that way instead of the enema I expected, but I think I enjoyed her extended massage in my butt, and also the very strong and irresistible bowel urge which those suppositories gave me when she administered them that way. These did not relieve stress as real enemas did, though.
A few years later, in college, my dormmate and I also similarly kept a jar of glycerin suppositories on our toilet and gave each other enemas for a wider range of indications, such as to increase relaxation and to release stress, like around exam times, and also in connection with our menstrual cycles. I was fortunate to get a roommate with a fair history of being given suppositories, but I introduced her to enemas. We both definitely got good feelings from our enemas, which we always accompanied by very nice body massage, but I am not sure that you would really call them sexual, nor did our massages focus on erogenous areas. These were more like sessions at a fancy body wellness spa – I would imagine. Bodies should be fun!
My roommate and I eventually got boyfriends, though not too many, and we eventually got them to similarly attend to their bottoms – or actually to let us do that for them. Sexual aspects were pretty much incidental – that is, being unclothed and all; our own main reason for the treatments was that this seemed to definitely release their anxiety and almost immediately improve their disposition, even though back then we didn’t know anything about stimulating vagus nerves or about microbiomes. I suppose that the reason boyfriends went along with our urging these occasional treatments was probably that they expected some exotic sexual kink, but they usually found their enemas as deeply relaxing as we did, and similarly appreciated the intimacy and being cared for – having our ample experience in really comfortable administration.
This post might be rather long for the discussions area; a moderator (?) made that criticism of my posts a long while ago, but now I see that some participants recently seem to get away with longish posts and even whole stories in the discussions sections, so now I do again try to get back here every so many months or a year – mostly inspired by being about to receive or administer an enema!
-- jillie