I talked with my mom about enemas!

Yesterday was the big birthday bash at our family. Some of you here on the board know my story, that my fraternal twin brother and I were born on our Dad's thirtieth birthday. All my life October 27 has been the big family birthday event. Then, to stretch everyone's credulity, my husband joined our family a dozen years ago, and it turns out he shares the birthday too.

So yesterday we had the big annual shindig at our house. My mom and my brother's wife as usual took charge of making a party setting out of what would otherwise have been a potluck, and a big (by my standards) happy family gathering ensued. We had several friends over, packs of their kids terrorized the neighborhood, and love and laughter reigned everywhere.

Somewhere in the course of the afternoon, the guys drifted off onto the porch to discuss sports, war, politics, and women, and the girls sat around the living room and chatted girl talk. After a while, the topic of birthdays led to births and delivery stories, and I can't keep up there, since I have never been pregnant. Then those horror stories drifted off to child-rearing stories.

Out of nowhere my mom contributed her recollections of our family trip from Phoenix to New York with my brother and me in tow to visit my grandparents over the Bicentennial weekend in 1976. Her comments were more about us kids' behavior on the trip than about the visit. But that visit held a wondrous bright memory for me. It was there, on the very day of the Bicentennial parades, that I had gotten my first-ever enema.

So of course I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Maybe the Devil made me do it: I had to tell her I remembered something about that trip. "You and Grammie gave me an enema," I stated. "What was that all about?"

OMG, I said the e-word! I'm sitting there in a group with my mom and sister in law (who is a dear friend) and five other ladies ranging in age from 77 to 23. Some of these girls are wives of my husband's friends and I really hardly know them. But Mom, who is not a klismo, didn't turn red, she just told the story, relating it much as I have done on this board previously. Yes, she remembered the incident. I had last pooped in Phoenix, we'd now been in New York for three days, and she was going to do something proactive about it. To her it was just a simple act of parenting, a simple homeopathic solution to my problem. I could tell by the way she spoke of it that she still attached nothing sexual in any way to an enema. It was only to me that that moment became the beginning of a life-long love of enema pleasures. .

And I actually talked with my mother, in front of other people, about that long-ago moment. It had only taken thirty five and a half years to bring the subject up!

And now I'm thirty nine. Is there really life after forty?

Hugs,

Diane

[quote author=azdiane link=topic=58763.msg394440#msg394440 date=1319811273]

. . . . And now I'm thirty nine. Is there really life after forty? Hugs, Diane

[/quote]

YES THERE IS!

It's as exciting and kinky as ever.

I talked with my mother about her giving me enemas. I was 29 when I talked with, and now in my 60's, so yesthere is life after forty.

Both my mom and I were shy when adults about talking about the enemas she gave me in childhood. When 50 or so I did point out the trusty enema can in the bathroom cabinet and she said something like "You don't need that anymore." I actuallly did from tme to time but did not press the point.

Anybody more forthcoming, as I wish I'd been?

One of my biggest regrets is that I never talked to my mom about why I had gotten enemas. so take it from me. if any of you received enemas when you were young and you don't know why AND the person who gave them to you is still here ASK THEM!

I still talk to my mother about enemas. I take them solo but when she sees that I am suffering a major bout of asthma and bronchitis she is the one who brings it up and then takes hold of the situation by giving me a good dose of castor oil followed by a series of enemas. I am not fond of her giving me the enemas but I have to admit that when she is through I am no longer constipated.

Janet S

"

. . . . And now I'm thirty nine. Is there really life after forty? Hugs, Diane

YES THERE IS!

It's as exciting and kinky as ever."

Excitinger and kinkyerer than ever.

Yes there is life after 40! It's just harder to remember. 😉

I talked with my mother about my sexual attraction to enemas when I was about 40-years-old and she was 70. I was single and my father had just passed away the previous year and she was spending a few days with me at my apartment in Indianapolis. We had been out for dinner and were having a post dinner drink when I decided to tell her. She took the news very well, but sort of became defensive, and stated something to the affect, "I never gave you that many enemas." To which I replied, "Well, I guess it doesn't matter, it must have been enough." And she just sort of, with a resigned chuckle, said, "I guess it was." I think we both felt better after I told her, and after that I felt sort of relieved and from then on could be more open with my enema practice while she was a guest in my one bathroom apartment. I could leave my enema bag hanging by the tub, and if I was getting ready to take an enema inquire, "Do you need to use the bathroom, because I am getting ready to go in there and take an enema." I have to say that I genuinely feel that even though my mother was bowel obsessed, I do not believe enemas held a sexual connotation for her. And actually by that point in her life she had drifted away from the enema bag and gone to glycerine suppositories, which she went through at an alarming rate. All this took place about 15-years ago and my mother is now deceased. I was born in 1950 and back then enemas were very popular .... and they still are with me.

I didn't receive an enema from my mother until I was about 12 years old. Previously she would make me open my bowels by pushing a piece of soap up my bottom and making me hold it in total discomfort until it has worked my bowels. I often received this treatment from her when I had been punished for some misdeamenour or disobedience. Somehow she seemed to associated bad behaviour, irritability, bad temperdness and disobedience with constipation.

Her immediate remedy was to insert a 'soapstick' right up my bottom and then make me hold it until I could no longer retain it anymore. I would then be made to sit on a hard enamel potty whilst the soap helped to open my bowels.

Many years later during a family dinner party, I asked her why she had soaped me so many times, especially after I had already ben punished for some wrongdoing. She replied that when I had been properly punished using C.P. she would generally get three or four months of good behaviour from me. Inserting soap up my bottom was done to imediately to open my bowels as constipation was often thought to be the root cause of childhood disobedience, defience and bad behaviour.

Maybe, and just maybe, she was right for I was most certainly on my best behaviour for some time after undergfoing this treatment.

Best regards from

Frazer

I beleive that my mom was klismophilic but she always denied this. when I asked her how di she fell giving me so many enemas, she replied that she did not consider them as somethig special, "just like to put thermometer in your armpit".

But she used it on herself quite often. I still do not know what to think about it.