Marlene: I was fortunate that my mother learned to give enemas, excellent ones, long before I came along. She learned from my grandmother and her older sister Kathy who was an RN. My grandmother gave me a few enemas but the majority of them were given to me by my mother and aunt, and they trained me to take and give enemas. When I was 8 they had me help with my enemas by mixing it, pouring it into the bag or can and controlling the hose clamp. When I was 11 they instructed me to self administer and left the “door open” that if I wished to have an enema given to me rather than give it to myself they would and except the ones I gave myself for my period discomfort I quite often requested that the enema be given knowing that a better enema can be given than we can give our selves. However after reaching puberty and discovering the sexual aspects of enemas I would often give myself the follow-up rinse enema in private and have sexual relief.
Marvin:
From birth to age 12 my mother gave me all my enemas except when I was in the hospital. And as has been explained when I was 9 while receiving enemas in the hospital from Miss Ryner, that’s when I became a true-blue Klismo and although enemas had became a fetish for me from that point on I never fanaticized about them being given by someone else when my mother gave them. However when alone in my room after the enema was over I did fanaticize about someone else having given it to me. Often by Miss Ryner and occasionaly a neighbor, Mrs. Bender who had once given me two enemas because my mother was teaching her how to give an enema to her children. By the time I was age 12 my father had passed away and my mother to support us had become At first a waitress and when that did not provide sufficient income, an LPN. She worked in a hospital and also did some private duty on the side. While going through her training the tired red rubber enema bag she had used for years was replaced by a white Volrath can.
Part way into my 12th year I began sneaking enemas after I got home from school my mother would be either working at the hospital or I knew she was on a private duty call and hadn't taken the can with her. She was often called on to give enemas to at home shut-ins providing an individual colon tube to each patient but using her own can. When she returned home she sterilized the can and hose with a bleach solution. When giving myself an enema from the can I would, quite frankly pleasure myself, and fanaticize that my beloved Miss Ryner was my giver, never my mother. The only difference being that instead of using the colon tube, which I couldn't get in well by myself, I'd use the old bat shaped rectal nozzle that had been part of the bag set holding it in myself with one hand and either controlling the flow or doing “other things”with the other. I had been at it for several months giving myself enemas once or twice and sometimes three times a week always being careful to dry the can well after use, reconnect the colon tube to the hose and coil everything up inside of the can just like it was before, and my mother never suspected what I was doing. Of course she knew that I did occasionally become constipated so I would ask her for and receive an enema about twice a month.
Then one day when I thought she was working at the hospital and that I would have several hours before she came home, she returned unexpectedly while I was on the bathroom floor with small amount of enema in me. She called out to me when she came in the house. Fortunately the bathroom door was closed and I called back to her where I was and would be out in a few minutes. I stopped the flow, pulled out the nozzle, emptied the remainder of the enema into the toilet and afraid of being caught, while sitting on the toilet releasing the enema I hurriedly coiled up the hose inside of the can without thinking to drain the hose or remove the enema nozzle, which shows how your brain can react when you're in panic mode. When I finished I put the can on the open high shelf where it was stored. I also forgot the colon tube lying across the top of the toilet tank. When I came out of the bathroom my mother was in her bedroom getting out of her nurses uniform but still wearing her half slip, bra and white hose, and she ask me if I was finished and I told her that I was and that I had just needed to use the toilet. She said that she was glad I had finally come out because she really needed to use the bathroom and going in closed the door.
A short time later I heard the bathroom door open and my mother called me saying: "Son I need you in the bathroom." The words were no sooner out of her mouth than in my minds eye I saw the red 18-inch colon tube lying across the top of the toilet tank. Going to the bathroom my mind was racing to come up with an explanation of why the tube was where it was and I was still drawing a blank for an explanation when I went in. When I got there I saw that things were even worse than what I thought. My mother was standing there holding the enema can by the handle and between her thumb and forefinger at the hose connection she held the black plastic enema nozzle gleaming with a coating of Vaseline and the red colon tube was in her other hand. With a question that was more like a statement she ask me: "You were taking an enema when I came home weren't you?" I couldn't look at her, staring at the floor I admitted to what I had been doing. She than ask me: "Why?" I told her that I hadn't gone to the toilet for several days and that I had not felt good and had gas and cramps during school and that when I got home I didn't expect her to be home for several hours to ask her for an enema and that I had decided to try giving one to myself. The excuse was plausible, she had been giving me two and sometimes three enemas a month because of "supposed" constipation and it had been several weeks since the last one. (I had been faking constipation for almost two years to get them from her.) She ask me if I had taken the entire enema and did I have relief? I told her that I had barely started when she came home and had stopped, emptied the can and put it on the shelf and still didn't feel good. She said that in that case I still needed to have an enema and that since I had tried to do it for myself that it was probably time for me to learn how.
Handing me the can she ask me to show her how I had made up my enema. Realizing that I wasn't in trouble I took the can, put a small bar of ivory soap in it and filled it with water. She quietly watched what I was doing and when I was finished she ask me if I was ready to continue and I told her that I was. After dipping her finger into the can she told me that the enema was too cold and it would cause me to cramp too soon. Opening the medicine cabinet door over the hand basin she took out a round dial thermometer with a long probe and put it into the water. The hand on the dial came up to just below 90 degrees and she told me that the enema was too cool and it needed to be between 102 and 105 degrees. She had me run the hot water for a few minutes and while it was she had me take the bar of soap out of the can telling me that it would be soapy enough. She had me dump half the enema out and fill the can part way up then checked the temperature. It had gone to 109 degrees so she had me turn on the cold water and fill the can up to the hanging hole. The temperature was right at 104 degrees and she told me that the enema was ready to take. I ask her if she wanted to hold up the can as she usually did when giving me an enema and she said no, you need to do the whole thing for yourself. She ask me where I had put the can before when I was taking the enema and she arrived home and I told her on the top of the toilet tank like she sometimes did when she was giving to me and she said that it was a good place for it. After I placed the can on the top of the tank she reached up to the shelf the can was stored on and took down a 1” x 2” x 4” piece of wood and put it just under the back of the can so the hose connection was tipped down, she told me that, that was what she always did so the can could empty completely. She ask if I was ready and I told her I was so she told me to get onto the floor and continue and that she would stay with me while I took the enema but she would not do anything other than to watch to be sure I was doing it right and if I had problems she'd tell me what needed to be done. She also commented that often when giving myself an enema I might be inclined to stop because of discomfort but that I would need to take it all for it to be effective. She said that if I couldn't take it all I could get on the toilet and let it out but afterward just like when she needed to stop one of my enemas and let me go, the can would need to be refilled and the enema started over. She had me expel the air from the hose and nozzle. Then she sat on the toilet seat and watched as I bent forward and put Vaseline on myself and the nozzle then lay down on my side, put the nozzle in, and opened the clamp. While taking it I took deep breaths and during cramps I temporarily closed the clamp and panted through them. Several times I ask her if the can was almost empty and she only said to listen and I would know when it was. As I continued taking when having strong cramp she told me to pant rapidly and massage my abdomen starting low down and to go up the left side to just below my ribs and then across to the other side and to continue doing that till the enema was finished just like she did when she was giving me an enema and I cramped. I told her that I was afraid that the nozzle would come out of me if I let go of it and ask if she would hold it in for me, I was beginning to feel a need for her to take over and give me some TLC but it was not to be, she said that I needed to get up on my knees with my chest on the floor and massage myself with my other hand. So I did although it was quite awkward. About 10 minutes after starting the enema I heard the soft sssshhhhuuuupppp and she told me the can was empty and that I needed to close the clamp. Then she ask me what I had to do next. I told her "take out the nozzle and get on the toilet," she said "no, now you need to hold it, lie back down again either on your side or on your back and continue massaging yourself, you can either take out the nozzle or leave it in while you do, it's up to you." Since I had a "stiffie" there was no way I was going to lie on my back with it sticking straight up so I opted to lie back down on my side with the stiffie tucked between by legs. I ask her for how long I should hold it and she took off her wrist watch and handed it to me saying five minutes and longer if you can. Since I was using an adult enema nozzle I had to hold it in me the whole time. When I was sneaking enemas I would stoke the nozzle in and out of me while I took the enema but with my mother there I only held it in snugly, so I elected to take it out. The enema was doing its work and I had several cramps as I held it and with my mothers coaching panted and massaged my way through them. Finally the time was up and my mother got off of the toilet seat and left the bathroom and I got on. As she left she told me that I had done fine but that she wanted to see me prepare and take another enema without soap after supper. When I was alone I made the "stiffie" go away. After supper under her observation I made up my second enema with salt, gave it to myself and it went well.
The following morning my mother ask me if I was feeling OK and I told her that I was, all she said was good, you did well last evening. I went to school and she went to work.
That evening she came home a little late and gave me a Rexall drug store bag. I took out a long flat box and inside was a new Rexall Kantleek fountain syringe with black adult and infant nozzles and a bulbous douche nozzle. She said it was mine to use and the only restriction was that whenever I had to use it I needed to let her know,[/color][/b]
[color=#222222] [/color]and that she wanted me to have her there two more times when I took them so she’d be sure I knew what I was doing, and that after that I would be on my own but would still need to tell her that I was going to take them. She also told me that anytime I wanted her to give me an enema she would. This cut my acknowledged enema "play" to about two a month, and secret ones to two but that was OK. As for the acknowledged ones half the time I gave them to myself and the other half I had my mother give it using the can and colon tube, I dearly loved the feel of the colon tube, going in nd coming out and she was very skilled in its use..
One thing that intrigued me was the douche nozzle with the bulbous tip which was different than the douche nozzle that had come with the old bag, it was thicker than the enema nozzles that were with it but longer and curved with three lobes, like a clover leaf, with holes between them and the tip was thinner than the one that came with my new bag. I wondered what it would feel like to use either of them but because of their size I was afraid to. Then one Saturday I came home from a ball game with my buddies and needed to use the bathroom but the door was closed. Really needing to go I knocked on the door and ask my mother how long she would be in there and she told me that she was taking an enema and would be a while, I told her how bad I had to go but that I could go down to the basement and use the floor drain. I guess she thought I needed to take a "dump" and said don't do that wait just a minute. A short time later the door opened and my mother was wearing her robe and she told me to go ahead and go but to please hurry because she had taken most of her enema and needed to finish it and that she would lie down on her bed to make it easier to hold it and to call her when I was finished. She also said that if I took too long she would need to use the toilet and be unable to take the rest so she’d need to refill the can and start over. Going into the bathroom I saw the white can on the top of the toilet tank, looking in I saw that it was about a quarter full, the hose went from the can over to an adjacent towel rod and was draped over it, but the fascinating thing was that instead of the colon tube on the hose there was the cloverleaf shaped douche nozzle glistening with Vaseline. My mother used the douche nozzle for her enemas not the tube. There was also another small metal pitcher beside the enema can on the toilet tank and it had a little soapy water in the bottom of it. I did my No.1 and went to her bedroom and told her I was finished and as she scurried to the bathroom she muttered something about wishing I had told her I only needed to do No. 1 and not 2 and I could have used the basement drain. After the door closed I could hear her expelling so I knew that another enema would be taken so she would be a lot longer. It was quite a while before I heard her on the toilet again. I was fascinated that my mother would use that big nozzle and had the second smaller can. I thought about it for the remainder of the weekend and decided that my mother could sometimes take more than just the 1 can of enema. Monday after arriving home from school I gave myself my first enema using my bulbous nozzle. I never went back to the enema nozzle again.