Sorry, this is long-winded, but couldn't edit it too far without losing the juice. . .
At present, I have no one to ask, so it's not a question of clever salesmanship, it's a matter of short supply. But I wasn't always in such a luckless position. In the last several years of marriage to my now ex-wife, I didn't have to ask -- I was told when I needed an appointment with the bag. Happily, that was almost every weekend, with Sunday afternoon being the favored time. I have her to thank for a raging enema fetish, unlike so many, who can trace theirs to childhood experiences.
To the ex-wife, the enema was a safe and convenient means of asserting dominance over me in a mild dom/sub game that she borrowed from an older lady coworker. Obviously, that coworker was more than a casual buddy to share lunch and coffee breaks with: she had become an intimate friend, confidant, mentor, de facto sex therapist. The game as we played it underwent a short period of development and personalization, but quickly became ritualized in every respect: she'd re-familiarize me with the expected degrees of obedience and submission through humiliation and reduction, using the enema as her instrument and the toilet as her "chamber". Essentially, it was intensive potty training -- including supervised expulsion -- with direct sexual gratification at her hands as a reward for good performance on my part. Apparently, I was a good student, because the reward never failed to be given.
Mood and feeling are difficult things to convey in writing, but mean everything in the actual moment -- otherwise, we're left with the enema as an impersonal clinical procedure. I'll try to re-create enough of the ambience to give some idea of what a session with her was like. Normally affable, easy-going and plain-spoken, she was wonderful at putting herself through a momentary transformation that started with dress, and continued with manner -- not quite a female Incredible Hulk, but close enough to use the comparison. She'd get me situated on the bed, in nothing but my underwear, and then disappear to change into her "Enema Bitch" outfit, which was nude from the waist up, form-fitting blue jeans, black high-heels, with hair brushed back and a hard application of makeup to give herself a more severe look. Even her continuing to wear her glasses was calculated for effect. And a great effect it was! Her demeanor changed from girl-next-door to haughty and non-negotiable, with a steady stream of demands for instant compliance on the smallest things. The sharp contrasts in her physical appearance and behavior only served to heighten my excitement. . . from June Allyson to Joan Crawford in a single leap makes for quite a jolt!
After we parted -- several years after -- I met and dated an older nurse who was anus-obsessed, without a doubt: she loved to be rimmed and fingered, and return the favors. With her, I felt no hesitation about mentioning enemas, because I was reasonably sure -- and as it turned out, spot on -- about what her response would be: Y-E-S! She was a fleshy but attractive Filipino woman who certainly knew her way around the apparatus; it was she who introduced me to the flexible colon tube, castile soap ("ex" used Ivory bar) and the Higginson accessory. She drew the line right before accompaniment on the expulsion run, but still, my enema experiences with her were memorable. Unlike with the "ex", I got to give as often as receive, and that was a treat in itself. She also got me comfortably into the "Three-quart Club", which was a surprise, since I always felt like I was approaching my limit at two quarts with the "ex".
Realistically, I know I was lucky to stumble across the nurse, after having had the one-in-a-million intro to the erotic enema at the hands of my wife; I'm not surprised that I haven't found another female enthusiast since (though recently, I did have a boy-on-boy encounter that was definitely easier to arrange, and surprisingly gratifying!) Broaching the subject with the nurse was easy, because there were clear indicators that she had pretty much boundless interest in everything anal. But first, I'd have to get to that level of confidence before laying out such a proposition. It's not exactly the kind of subject you bring up with the plump-rump lady standing in front of you in the check-out line. No, a sane and discreet female enemate is not easy to find, even if you relax the requirements to little beyond being human and aroused by the thought. (Again, based on my recent experience, finding a guy to play with seems easier by at least a full order of magnitude!) I have to laugh at some of the ads I see, not so much here, but on Craigslist, for example: "Hot guy, 40, seeking hot lady into giving and receiving enemas; please be fit and blonde; British accent a +++; under 30; I'm squeaky clean, you be too; no tobacco but recreational user OK; this is for today only; can't host, must be hotel or your place, no RV dates; respond with face and body pics, clothed OK, no pics = delete." Surprise is, he's surprised he didn't score.