How were you told you would be getting an enema?

I remember being told that I was going to be given an enema and to strip my bed and cover it with newspapers. After I was done, Mom would put a sheet over the newspapers and I was told to take off all my clothes and get in bed under another single sheet. During all this I could hear mom pouring water in a pan and heating it on the stove while stirring in the soap. By the time the water was cooled, I would be in bed and could see her pouring the soapy water into the bag through the open bathroom door. Then she walked in holding the bulging yellow travel syringe up high with the white tubing coiled and the nozzle hanging down. I was then told to turn over on my stomach and could feel the sheet being pulled away. Then the tubing was dropped down around by butt and felt the hot tubing against my skin. Soon I was being given a high, hot and hell of a lot enema.

I was not told, my friend just coming up to me when i was in the dorm, and gave me one as I was not feeling well

"I just talked to the doctor. He says I should give you an enema."

First my mom would "suggest" that a good, warm soapy enema would make me feel better. Off course when I would resist, which was part of our little ritual, she would insist.

As a kid let's say 6, my mom was way over concerned with BM's she would sit on the edge of the tub with me on the toilet, directing and encouraging me to push. Her schedule was the timetable for my functions, that's what produced the crisis. She had noway of knowing if I even knew what pushing was, I complicated this by learning that it was I who was in control of my mothers attention; by failing to produce the desired results I got more private time with my Mom. Later she would insert a lubed finger into me, and command me to push to confirm that I indeed had control of my anus. Enemas weren't confrontational but kind of an acknowledgement of common disappointment , mistrust and communication failure. For 2 or 3 years, when she was concerned, the red bag would come out, she used the longer vaginal nozzle, but it was always a regretful event.

She left the assembly hanging and I started to self administer, creating a the typical 8 y.o. bathroom messes, the bag was then hidden and my mom switched to castor oil, or some other oils that continued till I was eleven or twelve. Why she thought that my BM needed to be regular time-wise, I think was just part of that era (1957) of what moms had to do.

I've been thinking about this 'simple' question .. a lot .. my Mom was the one to give me enemas when i needed them when i was younger and i was sick and cranky .. cold or fever .. or whatever bug was going around. She would kiss my forehead .. give that concerned mother look .. that 'hmm' look at my eyes .. feel my forehead again .. the questions .. then out came the thermometer .. and i would be told to lay down on my side ...

Looking back it was always .. 'let's get you feeling better' .. or .. 'let's see if this will help you' .. rectal temps were almost always followed by an enema. Rectal temps were when i had a cold or flu and usually cranky or out of it. Mom was so positive about it and when 'we' decided that an enema was what i needed and .. it really was. Of course i would always ask her if she did enemas when she was feeling bad .. she would smile .. kiss my forehead and say that she did.

If i hadn't had a BM .. then she would skillfully guide my thought process and 'suggest' that maybe an enema would be a good idea .. 😉 followed by her asking if i needed help or just wanted her to help or stay and talk.

When i think about it .. most of my enemas were .. 'my' idea. 😃

I only received enemas when I was very young. It would be evening and my mom would call me into the bathroom where she had everything all set and ready to go -- the red bulb syringe, basin of Ivory soap solution, jar of Vaselene, and towel for her lap. She'd tell me to take off my pj bottoms, then position me over her lap, and begin. I don't think she said the word enema, but I knew because I was used to the routine.

Mother just said the word enema when it was time. I remember one time after I had literally begged her for over 2 weeks to give me an enema, she did and rather than take it, I left the bathroom and hid. Mother called out...."Mike, if you want me to give you this enema, come now, or I will take it down and if I do, I do not want to hear another word about wanting an enema! Well, I decided that I wanted that enema bad and quickly came back to the bathroom. Mom never disappointed me.

Usually she would recommend it. Something like "I think a good enema will make you feel better". We would go back and forth a little with me feigning mild protest, eventually giving in. If it was recommended by the family doc, as soon as we got home she would be getting out the enema bag. Then she would just call me into the bathroom for the enema.

While enemas were not infrequent in our house they were always given for a good reason. If one missed a few days, was ill, or especially if the doctor was called, one could always look forward to a good cleaning out with the red bag. The enema was usually given naked in bed, and while mother was caring and gentle, the results were usually extremely effective. She would usually tell me just before giving the enema, but occasionally I would be informed in the morning that I could expect an enema if I had not moved my bowels by that afternoon or evening. After mother's announcement I would spend the whole day at school filled with ambivalent feelings of excitement and embarrassment that would strongly increase as the time approached to go home, and I would feel very self-conscious even though I knew that my friends did not know. When I look back now i can see that there was a rich texture to those feelings, but both ways of being told were exciting, and part of the whole experience of receiving an enema.

Step mom always told me before, I would have to go to my room and wait for her to call me. Sometimes it was a half hour or hour wait, the most nervous times of my life

I think like most on here especially we older folks enmas were always a part of growing up. My memories as an adult changed over the years. When I was a kid I hated them. The cramping was awful. The ritual though was something that s an adult became erotic. Being sick especially with a fever I knew what was coming next. Mom would announce after taking mytemp that she "had" to give me an enema. She would say "I know you don't like them but it will make you feel better sweetie".She would then tell me to take off my PJ bottoms. Next came the ritual. I could hear her go downstairs and a few minutes later come back upstairs with a pot of warm water with a bar of ivory soap in it. I could then hear her in the bathroom open the closet door and rummage through. I could actually hear the box being opened since we had a Faultless in a box with a plastic window where you could see the red bag inside. I could hear the water being poured into the bag and the sound of the clamp clicking shut. Then came the worst. Hearing mom walking to my room and anticipating the enema, and being told to get on my side with my leg drawn. The interesting thing is later in life as an adult when my wife gave them to me that same ritual that I feared and hated became extremely erotic to this day.

Only my mother would give me an enema. She would tell me in the morning that if I had not gone to the bathroom by dinner time that after dinner she would have to give me enema. I would be very worried all day about what was going to happen but also never tried to go myself, instead waited for the big question at dinner and then the inevitable evening enema in the bathroom. This went on from my earliest memories until I was 15 / 16.

Very little conversation was held. From 12and 1/2 to 17, Sunday morning was enema series time for me. Three two quart enemas, the first with soap and the final two rinses. By 15 i had graduated to a retention nozzle and occasionally a Higgenson pump to push more water in.

I seldom got enemas during the week unless it was colon tube clean out at the enema room at the local hospital where my mom worked. If I was going to get one it was announced to me in the morning that I should not plan anything after school because an enema was planned .

My sister, on the other hand were announced at the dinner table. I think it was done to make my dad blush. Her period started when she was 12. We all knew when her period came. Mom gave her a very large volume warm water enema every night of her period to relieve cramps. When her period was over she was told that she would be douched to clean her vagina out.

I was none the worse for wear. My sphincter is still tight. I was always able to move my bowels. I took the hundreds of enema that I had injected as part of life. I knew I got more enemas than other kids. But I knew that resistance was futile. If my mother decided that I was going to get an enema, then that was what was going to happen. I was never abused or punished with an enema.

As I remember it, it happened when I was around 9 or 10. Sometimes it would happen for bad behavior or sometime it would happen because my mother knew that I had not taken care of business for a while. If for bad behavior . My mother would give me warnings first and then after the third time it was time for a enema. I really did not like this. She would tell me it was enema time. I would then go to my bedroom where a towel would be a then mother would then insert the enema. It was not pleasant but this did not happen much

All of the enemas I received as a child at home by my mother were prescribed by our family doctor. The enemas were always followed by a doctor visit when he told her that she should take me home and give me some large warm enemas, which she did. She gave them to me very quickly which caused me to expel almost immediately with lots of cramping. Not very pleasant.

My mother would ask me if I had gone to the bathroom today and if not (always after a perceived 2-3 days of no BM) she would take down my pants and panties and feel around my rectum to see if there was hardened matter that had to be washed out. She would tell me I was bad or otherwise say that I should be able to go on my own. The enema was always done with anger.

No warning, just called to bathroom, pants taken off and the enema started, no breaks until expulsion. Was not a common experience, but happened every month or so.

My experience was somewhat similar to that of shadoekin. My mother would call me into the bathroom and I, not suspecting anything, would go. When I got inside, she had the enema rig loaded and ready to go. She would ask me when my last BM was and I would not have any idea, so she would tell me I needed an enema, and things proceeded from there. It was a dreaded, uncomfortable, humiliating, tense experience which gave no pleasure at all. Fortunately, it did not happen more than once a year, if that.

I cannot explain how I came to enjoy giving them to myself for pleasure as I do now.

hankb

Well, at the time I think I was about eight or nine when I ate something that gave me really bad stomach cramps. My Dad was in the military and stationed overseas so we were living with my Grandmother. I guess I complained about my "tummy ache" once too often because the next thing I knew, my Grandmother was telling my Mother that she knew what to do. She went into the bathroom and was gone for what seemed like forever, and when she came out she told my Mother to bring me in. I had no idea of what was about to happen to me. Once inside the bathroom, I was told to undress from the waste down, and lay down on my back on the towel which was already on the floor. My Grandmother said "you are going to get a warm enema to stop your cramps". At the time I had never heard of an enema, or had an enema, and had no idea what an enema was. I was in so much discomfort from the cramps that I would have willingly submitted to anything to get them to go away. Well, next thing I know, my butt is being lubricated with a finger full of butter and this small tube is being pushed up my hind end. Not so bad yet. Then all of a sudden the flow started, and I screamed. My Grandmother told me to lay there and take it or get a spanking first followed by the enema. I did as I was told, the water was warm and actually kind of felt good going in for the first minute or so, then I got full, and the cramps kicked in again. This is when I was lifted up and sat down onto the toilet and told to "let it all out - - - - then we will see if you will need another fill-up". Well, whether they were or not, I swore that the cramps were gone just to keep from having that experience repeated. Who would have known then, that from this first experience, I would have turned into the enema loving maniac I am today!

My step mother gave me enemas ,I would be on my back on the bathroom floor she would squeeze the bag her white cotton pants would be wet.

I got my first enema from my Mom when I was 7 or 8 after a Doctor visit in which he told her to take me home and give me an enema with Ivory. I had seen the bag hanging on the back of the bathroom door all my life and I had asked about it but was told if I ever needed it she would explain it to me. That day, on the way home form the Doctor's Office, she explained ti to me. I was told to go to the bathroom and take off all my clothes. Mom came in a few minutes later and took the bag and hose off the back of the door and proceeded to put a bar of Ivory in the open top bag and then preheated the water and stated filling the bag. I remember being impressed by the suds as they began to cum out of the top and run over the sides. She filled it full so that milky white ware was flowing over the side before she hung it on the towel bar. Then she let the air out of it and turned around and spread towel on top of the bathmat. I was then told to lay down and she spread my cheeks and introduced the nozzle. A few moments later I experienced my first enema. SHe later talked to my Aunt who share with her that she had been giving her two sons (my cousins) weekly enemas for more than a year. Mom told me that night that I was going to received them every week as well. She explained to me that I was to go to the bathroom a 7:30pm on Friday nights, (my normal nightly bath time was 8:30) and undress. She would then come and give me my enema and when I was done on the toilet I should take my bath as usual and then get ready for bed as usual. After that she would never say get ready for your enema, but if I wasn't moving toward the bathroom at 7:30pm, she would just say "it's 7:30". I knew exactly what it meant. Once i started getting them weekly there were only a couple of occasions when I was sick that I got an extra one. They were always given on the floor of the bathroom, always a full bag. At first, I remember walking into the bathroom with out feeling a little tingle of apprehension knowing that in a few minutes i would have a very urgent need to expel. By the time I was 10 or 11 I was beginning to get erections and things got a little more embarrassing for me (nothing changed in the procedure). I started getting naked and as soon as I was I would lay the towel on the floor and lay down so that I could hide my erection. I didn't quite understand why, but soon every time I got ready for an enema, I got an erection. Soon, while receiving an enema one Friday night I had my first orgasm just as the bag was emptying. Fortunately I was able to hide it from her. Puzzled by what had happened that night and the wonderful feeling that the enema had produced, the next morning, when I was left at home alone, I took my first solo enema and had the second orgasm of my life. Today, all I have to do is think about the sensation and I am busy planning when my next session will take place. I don;'t say anything to myself verbally, byt I still here it loud and clear and begin to look forward to the sensation one more time.

There where two ways enemas were announced, the serious way, "Looks like I'm going to have to give you an enema," and the more playful way, "it's time for a belly wash." This set the tone for the enemas, the first way was very businesslike, everything at the ready and me down on then floor on the receiving end. These were often the evening enemas if my dad was around, dad never participated, listening to the radio or later on watching tv while my mother gave me the trio of enemas. The belly washes were usually home alone afternoon affairs, it might be right after lunch or school and I might be called in from playing, usually with my friend Janet who was often called in at the same time for the same reason by her mom. For the belly washes I would be there for the preparation and all the ritual and fol-de-rol that went with it. I might even be asked to help with the preparation. Thinking back it was clear mom was enjoying as much as I was, and while it was never admitted we were both enjoying it. Usually it was the trio of 3 enemas, but sometimes mom would just get carried away, and it was like she lost count and just kept giving them, and so far as I can remember I never objected. On occasion I would even be asked if I wanted another, and I don't think I ever said no.

The trio... Usually strong ivory and two rinses, but sometimes salt, then ivory then a rinse, maybe two. On the belly wash days mom might dissapear into the bathroom for a while after, and as I got older I realized she was giving herself enemas, and probably masturbating, I was happy to go back out an play with Janet, and we always talked about the enemas we had just gotten.

Both Janet and I knew the cues to give to get enemas but I don't think we ever just asked for them outright, maybe Janet did, but all I had to say was that I felt stuffy, which meant constipated in our house, or I might be asked if I felt stuffy... Sometimes mom needed that justification for an enema, but usually they just happened.

No matter, I loved them all, and though some might consider it molestation Janet and I were very willing participants.

Generally for me there were two ways. 1- "have you gone to the bathroom recently? Go get undressed and go in the bathroom while I prepare your enema." that one was commonly used for illness or constipation. 2- "get undressed and get in here!" commonly used when I was in (pardon the pun) deep shit. nothing like a hot enema and being unable to sit for a few hours from a spanking to cure bad behavior, or at least that's what my mom always seemed to think.

When I was growing up, I had an old fashoned mother who usually kept her open top enema bag hanging on the back of the bathroom door ready for almost instant use. The enema bag was an open top enema bag that was red with a long red hose and a black enema nozzle and the bag had a picture of two Dutch children and I believe was branded as the flamingo. The nozzle was tucked into the open top of the bag.

Mom believed in frequent enemas for perceived constipation and other conditions. She believed in them for relief of misbehaviour at home or at school or elsewhere, because she felt that poor bowel mismanagement was the cause of many problems. She also believed that a good cleaning out was essential at least twice a month for continued good health.

When I was a child I never knew when I was going to receive an enema, and I hated that. I knew that she would tell me that the bloating and cramps from a good enema were a necessary sign that the enema was working to clean my insides out..

Often when I got home from school the bloated enema bag with ivory soapsuds and a bar of ivory inside was hanging from the shower curtain rod, with the hose and nozzle dangling down, and I was surprised to be told to take off my clothes, and to get on my knees on the bathroom floor and to lean over the side of the tub to be cleaned out. She had shiny vaseline on the nozzle, that she pushed into my backside.

She would sit on the closed toilet seat and hold that nozzle in my butt, while I cried and begged her to take it out. She did not do that until the bag was empty, and I was afraid that I was going to have an accident on the bathroom floor.

After that she would watch while I expelled the soapy water and whatever else came out.

I remember that I was tired both physically and mentally from her cleansing enemas, and the embarrasment of her looking at my private parts.

When I was older, she would use the same bag for me to douche with vinegar and water, after the enema. She would force me to remain on the toilet seat, and insert the black curved douche nozzle into my vagina to clean it out.

My mom didn't tell me about enemas because she didn't give them to me. My ex used to say "you're getting an enema and you'd better like it because it's way more soapsuds than you can comfortably take. " Yikes she was right!

The only one I got as a child I was not told about until that moment. I thought I was going to take a bath until my mom told me to get on my hands and knees. Then I felt something slippery on my butt hole. Then I thought I was going to get my temp taken until I felt the nozzle go in.

My mom did not give me enemas. My wife announces uses various expressions: enema, "purge", "cleaning out", "flush your bowels".

Susanm74: How would you mom tell if you had moved your bowels during the day? Would she ask and you answered truthfully, even if a negative meant an enema?

I'd hear her say "Your enema is ready".

Our doctor was a proponent of enemas. "Keep his bowels open" he would say "An enema will do him a lot of good".

One time when I went for a school physical he gave his usual advice about the bowels and added "An enema is just the ticket". Coming home nothing was said. We came in the door and I was steered up the stairs and into the bathroom. There was no point in discussion or protest so I just got ready and watched the enema preparation with the usual dread and fascination. Enemas at home weren't painful at all but were very thorough (while not painful they were often very hard to hold) and made for great feelings after they were done..