Childhood Enema Conversations

I didn't have any in-depth enema conversations with any of my childhood friends because of my embarrassment. I began to enjoy mom's frequent enema sessions at a fairly early age and believed there was something wrong with me and that I needed to keep my enjoyment secret. I was afraid of ridicule. If the word "enema" came up in conversation I did my best to not react or act disinterested. This secrecy lasted well into adulthood until I discovered, with the help of my home computer and telephone modem, that I was not alone in my enjoyment of a good erotic enema. This site, and the others that came before this one, has provided an opportunity for me to have those conversations with other like-people. I've become comfortable keeping a distance behind the keyboard, and will probably remain so. Unless, of course, you turn out to be my neighbor......(one of my many favorite fantasies).

Several childhood conversations led to the subject of enemas and everytime it was exhilirating.

I have never had those discussions

I have written about how my sisters and I all got enemas, but it was my younger sister who got them most often and was not at all bashful about talking about it with me. As for outside the family there was only one time and that was in high school when a friend of mine had developed a pilonidal cyst and had to go have it surgically removed. He was the first person my age to ever have surgery and he told about how his mom had to give him a couple of enemas before he went to the doctor's office. There were several of us boys in the conversation and nobody seemed a stranger to what an enema was.

I remember a day that started those conversations with my next door neighbor Dattie. She and I were in my back yard playing when my Mom called me into the house to give me my "medicine." I yelled back "ok!" and told Dattie not to leave cause I'd be right back out. Mom gave me a couple of spoons of that dreaded "Castoria," and out I went. Dattie asked me what kind of medicine did Mom give me. I told her "Castoria." She stuck out her tongue and said "Yuk, my mother used to give me that stuff, but no more." I asked her why and she told me that she threw-up after each dose. I told her that I felt like doing that right now, but I needed to keep it down to help me poop. Dattie asked me if I had trouble pooping. I told her "yes." She told me that she had that problem too, but that her mother had started to give her enemas now. I told Dattie that Mom used to give me bulb enemas, but stopped when she changed doctors. Her new doctor thought enemas were bad for people. Dattie told me that her Mom gave her what her mother called a "bag enema" that very morning and that I ought to get my mother to give me one soon. She said that it felt "great." Well, that was the beginning of many talks about enemas. As for me getting Mom to give me a "bag enema." Well, that's another story, and it took much pleading and help from Grandma to achieve that.

I never talked to childhood friends about enemas, but my brother and I talked about them on a few occasions.

I received more enemas for not having BMs than he did, and he made fun of me that I had to lie on the floor of the bathroom with the door wide open when my mother paddled me and forced me to take enemas.

One day we were snooping in our parents' bedroom. My brother had a plastic yellow sherrif's star toy and he told me to lie on my belly and pull my pants down on the bed. He said he was going to stick it in my butt just like my mother did to me. After he finished playing with my butt he wanted me to do it to him.

Although this was rather innocent, I look back at these times of enemas in the home with kids and feel relieved that this seems to be no longer mainstream. Sexuality in enemas can rear its head at very young ages.

No way did i discus with other children, can you imagine setting in a classroom and someone hollars your name and say did you get a enema last for the whole class to hear lol

I do not remember any childhood conversations about enemas. I was embarrassed about the idea. I never had an enema that I remember until I was in 7th or 8th grade. I had seen enema equipment drying in several homes, but never talked about it with anyone. It was too embarrassing to talk about.

Ahh, fanny, while we kept enema thoughts to ourselves in childhood a bit of more mature conversation can be quite exciting. I'd certainly enjoy visiting with you a bit about the joys of rectal temps and flowing waters. A woman of maturity, grace and a playful spirit is a treasure.

When I was growing up, I had a cousin about my age who was constantly on the receiving end of an enema syringe. The only enemas I had ever had were when I had been sick and they had been used to reduce fever. Suffice it to say my experience was limited to "dire situations".

One day while we were playing, her mom called her to come inside. She turned to me and said, "I'll be back after I get my enema". I asked innocently, "why do you need an enema?" She replied that they helped her "go" and she liked them. Of course I was puzzled. Why would someone like enemas?

In about 30 minutes, she was back outside and was positively beaming after her enema session. She informed me that she enjoyed her enemas and that she had asked her mom (my aunt) to give me one! I was mortified!!

I never got the requested enema, but from that time on, we talked about enemas almost every time we got together....well into our teens.

I suppose I was a late bloomer, not getting into enemas until my 20s, but I understand now what the thrill was all about!

Have fun and play safe!

Deb

I too went to a catholic school and we always argued as to whether the sisters peed...We knew for sure they never pooped but the big controversy was over them peeing...Well in the 7th grade the sisters at our school got new furniture for their rooms (cells) in the convent next door..Father asked the boys to help take out the old furniture and bring in the new...As we went up the staired to the cloistered cells we passed what was the bathroom ( well that answered our question) and there was a hugh red enema bag hanging from a brass hook on the wall in total view...We all kinda giggled as we went by and got our first load of furniture..As we carried them back downstairs you could see the bag still..However, by the time we brought the new stuff up the door was closed and sister Anne Marie was standing at the top of the stairs motioning us on...After that we talked about the sisters peeing and even wondered who of the sisters needed the enema bag..There were a couple of them that were young and very pretty and we talked about them giving each other enemas...

Michael2

I remember when I was about 8 and had been getting enemas for a few years. My buddy was in the hospital and when he got home he told me about the enemas that he was given. I played dumb and asked what is an enema, we went to his house and he showed me his mothers enema bag. I asked if they hurt and he said do you want me to give you one? He did a nice warm soapy one just like my mom gave me. I agreed if he would let me give him one too. We did enemas for a few years till his older sister caught us and started calling us enema boys at school

Before Junior High, I would brazenly bring up the subject of enemas with girlfriends and cousins, trying to find out if any of them enjoyed getting water squirted up their butts as much as I did. On one occasion, I talked a couple of girls into joining me in the bathroom to perform reciprocating enemas on one another. That was fun!

On another occasion I spent the night with a girlfriend who loved to "play doctor" and other sexy games. I led our discussion of such activities around to enemas and I ended up on the floor of the upstairs bathroom with her kneeling between my legs inserting an enema nozzle up my butt.

I would talk about enemas to any girls my age who showed any interest, but those were the only two times that talking led to role playing.

It's not that I was a Lesbian, I was just afraid of boys.

Once I was in High School, I became extremely shy about discussing the subject. Something about being an adolescent changed everything. (Although, one time I spent the night with my BFF and we took a bath together, and there was some playing around in the water with a plastic squeeze bottle.) In High School, I was very attracted to boys, but still wary of any that I didn't know well. I went steady with one boy for a year or so, and I still remember him teasing me by singing a song with the wrong lyrics: "Splish, splash, I was taking an enema ..."

After I became an adult, my brazen personality showed itself again from time to time, only with males and never with girlfriends anymore.

Both my parents were farm kids and viewed life in a productive frame. Dad’s family grew crops and had food animals all over the place. Mom’s family produced cream for the cream man and fed the milk to their hogs as the primary product. They married and started a small dairy, pouring the milk through a strainer into typical milk cans for “Pet Milk. It was a day and night operation, with a little break in the middle of most days. Cleanliness was the mode of every function, as the product demanded purity.

Both were limited in education and people skills, but were perfect for each other in every way. Dad was nearly killed in WW-2 and his guts a living miracle, with adhesions all through. For him enemas were the secret of life and for mom being able to nurse him, gave her great pride. Enemas did not work well in the house, because of the rustic structure of their makeshift dwelling. Play had to accompany everything to keep everyone on track. The opposite was a noncompliance that met with a serious spanking with talking to’s before and after the beating. “It always hurt them more than us”, was explained and thought to make us more accepting of the situation. Dad’s enemas had an air of drama to them that caught on with us kids, or maybe just me, as I thought to imitate the scenes with my younger siblings. At first they were all dry runs with imitations and talk, with the complaints we had heard, and careful application so as to comfort and help. When mom discovered my interest, she asked me to give a little assistance in especially guarding the cleanliness of things, as she busied herself with the operation. I soon became expert in knowing how it all worked by the age of four, and wanting to experiment the next year. Momma saw the desire in my eyes and asked if I wanted to try a treatment to see how it all goes. I expected it would comfort me from the start, and it did, as she explained each step and caressed my poop hole with the important grease from some of our butter fat. She revealed the dripping nozzle, black with a bulge on the front of it. Then for my training she asked me to work it in as best as I could. As soon as the very tip eased against my tiny hole she let it fly and giggled as it sprayed, saying, “Go ahead and keep working it in for me now and let’s see how it feels to you.” She did not do dad this way and I realized we were playing. To stop it from squirting all over, I set it against my anxious hole again, and she raised the bag higher and made it squirt me again, but some of it sneaked inside too, and this time I laughed. “Keep trying.” she coached. As soon as it stopped spraying out sideways, I was getting it full force and she quickly dropped the bag down to her side, and let me soak up all that had happened. As I looked up into her eyes she lifted it again and I felt its gentle trickle working its way around inside. My eyes closed and she dropped it to her side again. I looked inquiringly and she told me we had to get ready for milking time and I should just let it out and clean up. I was happy and eager to work as hard as I could in the sanitation of shoveling manure, feeding cows, chickens, and rabbits. I washed the cow’s bag for momma or dad just before they started taking the milk from each cow. I soon learned to tie the cow’s tail from switching around as she was being milked. They had 20 for each milking with 5 in each session getting special food and alfalfa hay. Dad also played soft dance music from the radio. The barn hummed along happy as it could be and the cows just poured out all they could to the rhythm of dad and mom’s strong hands.

I asked for another squirt the next day, and she just gave me some other thing to do. There was always more to be done. Dad took on a second job as his strength picked up. Then Saturdays, we were told to get out of the house and stay out till called back in. We invented things to do. We did not have the toys like city kids. We made stuff and pretended, pounding out a pretend living just like the big folks did, for real. We soon got around to needing an enema one Saturday, as planned the week before. A caring finger in the butt wiggled around, pretending to fill each other up, with the other hand held high with a red rag as our enema bag. The receiver would pooch out their butt to receive the treatment and we would watch their belly grow till it was big. Then with the finger still in place, we would pet their tummy and talk about how good and helpful we were. The receiver was to sigh in satisfaction the whole time.

We had some neighbors, half a mile away and could hear their arguments sometimes. Since our arguments were too serious, we pretended to be the neighbors sometimes. This worked well and we could argue without really arguing. Which fit really well when demanding someone needed an enema. As soon as compliance was had, the complainer became the sigh-er and happiness was ours again.

The following year after I was forced to start school, I took our game to the neighbors to play. The little girl slapped me hard and made me eat some of her mud pie, insisting I tell how good it was. I patiently played her way. Then after another visit, she was ready for my game too, after that. She even brought me some butter for her hiney and allowed me to work under the cover of her skirts. This worked well for me too as my little fingers explored around till finding the proper spot. Much to my surprise she started sighing before I got my seeking fingers onto her waiting butt hole. I must have gotten in a hurry because she squealed out when I pressed in. I apologized quickly and reached under with my other hand and properly rubbed her tummy till she was cooing and pooching her hiney hole for me at my coaxing. Once in place, she asked me to kiss her, but I was too bashful. She pouted and asked me to stop and let her have a turn on me. I was not sure about this because I doubted she had any idea how to make her finger fit inside my butt. But hey, I had already eaten some mud pie bites, so I could allow this too. She asked me to coach her, and added she might need to see what she was doing, OK? Again I thought of those awful mud pies and decided in her favor again, hoping never to have to bite another. Instead of going for my but, my little pee-pee caught her eye, and she touched it instead. She even sniffed it and seemed pleased. Right out of the blue, I suggested she put some butter on it, but she was not through inspecting it and waggling it. She caught me closing my eyes and asked me if I liked it. Not wanting to expose my inner feeling, I told her I was just happy we were having such a good time together. She said. “OK, then I’m going to give you some butter fat, like you gave me. Let me see it, pull your hiney open for me.” I complied and stretched my fat little cheeks wide for her. She peeked in and dabbed it with her butter fat. I coached her to rub it in and to apply more. As she did I pooched the rim out to meet her little touch. She asked, “Did you just sort of kiss me somehow?” I said, “Well maybe.” Do you want me to do it again?” “OK, Try it again.” she giggled back to me. With the second hiney kiss, I asked her to press in a little and soon her happy little finger was really buried in a kiss. To this she nuzzled my belly button and kissed my tummy. Game over, she left my butt and quickly kissed my lips. We looked deeply into each others eyes and my bashfulness led me to suggest, I aught to be getting home and get the barn ready for milking. We were only in the third grade and each felt the other was more important than our own self. We protected our secret, only exchanging glances we thought were hidden, but they were not. My mother started asking questions which caused me to stay away from visiting. After the next year and very few visits, where she played her record player for me and we pretended other things, our kind of farming came to a close and the market for Grade B milk went away with only Grade A milk being sold anymore. Dad sold out completely and we moved to town and mom worked in the packing sheds, while dad developed a machinists’ trade. I never made another connection like that one as I missed my friend dearly. Ten years later another girl found me and then the US Army draft. We married while I was still serving in the US Army and happily ever after.

The three of us boys all got enemas from mom as young kids, for fever or constipation, no other reason. We all cried when told we needed an enema, mom used a 4 oz bulb, she sat on the toilet with us lying face up on her lap, legs up. One time I was crying as usual, until she squeezed the first bulb into me. The crying stopped... I said 'It doesn't HURT... it feels kinda GOOD!" Mom always gave us two bulbs, after asking if we could take another. I said YES to the second, and "I can take another..." when that was in. After that I was volunteering to take any enema my brothers resisted, and would sneak suppositories until the bottle went down to one... I did not DARE to use the last! My brothers & I would sneak into Mom's closet and play with the enema bag that was not used for kids. I recall sticking the smaller nozzles into me, as my brother watched (no lube made it kinda uncomfy) and wondering how ANYONE could get the bulbous tipped douche nozzle in???? I found myself thinking about enemas almost all the time... and had very few opportunities to get Mom to oblige my desires. I would sometimes take the bulb out of it's box in the bathroom cabinet, grease it and stick it in. It felt OK, but nothing close to Mom's enemas. I wonder if it is the WATER that feels so good? One day around 6 years old while I was sticking it IN...and WISHING it felt like a REAL enema... I heard Mom busy in the kitchen. I put the bulb back in it's place, ran hot water into the sink like Mom had showed us, rubbed the soap arond in the water like she did until it became soft white, then got the bulb out and filled it like Mom had showed us, squeezing the air out and refilling. Then IN again, and SQUEEZE! This feels GOOD like a REAL enema from Mom! Oh... NOW what? Mom never showed us what happened after she squeezed. Pull right out, or let the bulb expand first? I chose to let it expand, as it kept the bulb feeling good in me longer, then went to fill for the second bulb. RIGHT THEN I realized my error... the water squirted out as soon as I squeezed to fill it! QUICK, back IN and SQUEEZE... then PULL OUT! YESSS, like Mom's! Refill, empty air, and IN. Second was GOOD too... Repeat once more, then empty the bulb, dry it, and back into the box before sitting on the toilet. I DID need to go, I had a REAL ENEMA in me! :-) At my next opportunity I asked Mom if I could have an enema every day... "Oh, no! Not every day!" I did not ask further, deciding I could have one every OTHER day. :-) Life was GOOD now! No more watching for my opportunity and ASKING, or waiting seemingly FOREVER for those GOOD ENEMA FEELINGS! I do recall this all happened before I started second grade, as I recall having to get regular shots from the family Dr the summer after first grade physical exams, and I was concerned that I not take enemas the day of Dr's visit as he might be able to TELL I had one. :-)

The family bag still resided in the closet, and by the time I could READ, I spent time in there reading the directions on it's use, and feeling the SMOOTH nozzles. About the summer after 3rd grade I found time when Mom was at work & brothers were both out playing in the yard to try to USE the bag. I filled it right from the faucet, not knowing how to get SOAPY water into it, attached the hose and smallest infant enema nozzle, laid the bag on the toilet lid and laid on the floor, sticking it in and clicking the clamp. I could feel the water, but nowhere near as good as the bulb. I stopped, changed to the

adult enema nozzle, and put it in. It was bigger and LONGER... and I let it fill me until I felt fuller than ever before. I decided to STOP.. and went to the toilet, then put the stuff away. I did not feel quite like I did after the bulbs, butt decided to walk to grandma's house 1/4 mile away. Not long after I arrived, I had ANOTHER rather urgent bathroom call, and it was noisy enough that grandma reported back to Mom that I had the runs. I was in no hurry to use the bag again after that. :-)

I was interested in getting my 2 year younger brother involved in my enemas. One day I took the bulb out and asked if he would like me to give him an enema... "NO!" I asked if he would give ME one... "No". I then stuck the bulb in me and asked if he would pull it out... He shook his head no. I pulled it out and put it away. No more sharing enema fun with HIM! However, there was still that BIG nozzle in the bag set that was so INVITING although still seeming IMPOSSIBLE. I have no idea what age I was, butt before 7th grade, at times I would take that nozzle out and place it on my anus... SOOOO impossible! However, my logical reasoning had improved enough that I realized that nozzle was not bigger than my turds, and THEY fit. One day I greased that nozzle and laid legs up on Mom's bed, and pushed like I was getting a BIG turd out while pressing the nozzle IN. It resisted for QUITE a while, then suddenly was sucked IN! W O W, felt GOOD! I pulled it out, it was tight, then reinserted. It was much easier this time! I put the nozzle away, to await a chance to really USE it for an enema. When the chance came I needed to use the BAG. It was at this time I learned to fill it with a drinking glass from soapy water in the sink. THIS ENEMA was VERY GOOD! VERY GOOD! :-)

We moved the summer before 7th grade. The new place had the bathroom on the first floor, bedrooms on second. Sometime after we moved I felt the desire to take a bulb enema in bed. I told my brother I wanted to take an enema, asked if he would tell. He said no, I got a bowl of soapy water and the bulb and carried it past him to my bed, did the dirty deed, and came back past him to the bathroom. He did not tell, and I repeated that several times that summer. We were living close to my other grandma now, and Mom's large family would gather there often. One time Mom told the whole table that I LIKED enemas. I pretended not to hear.... however, I got no offers to HELP from Aunts or cousins either. LOL I'm pretty sure this was before my first ejaculation lying face down in the bathtub reaching down under my tummy and between my legs to put the bulb in, then squeezing the bulb with my thighs to get that INCREDIBLY good feeling from the warm soapy water entering. I know I did this a number of times because it felt sooooo good, then one time as I clinched & relaxed my thighs to squeeze my fun into me, I suddenly felt UNCONTROLLABLE spasms down there... I thought I was DIEING. I think I was about 16, a LATE bloomer fer sure... butt I recalled questions from guys in school about why I was NOT jerking off ... and suddenly realized what had just happened. I LIKED that a LOT... and it was not long before it repeated... and repeated.. and repeated. I did not CARE if I went blind! :-)

As far as I know, I'm the only one in my family with an enema fetish, although I heard from a cousin who ridiculed an aunt he said had joined a naturist group that featured colon cleansing or enemas in her last years before she passed... ??? :-) I've tried to discretely verify this... not successful yet! :-)

All the boys in my neighborhood got them so we always compared after we had one. Back in the 50s and 60s enema's were the cure-all for anything that ailed you. From having a high fever to tummy aches and constipation you got an enema. If it happened when you were sleeping over a friends house, then that parent gave it to you. What wonderful memories.

You know i remember the embarassment of having to get enemas but i have to say curiostidy got the best of me to talk and ask others about their enema expeirances 1 was my 3rd cousin where she claimed her mom and dad gave her a enema, the other was a close friend of mine he got them a lot

Yes mixed school boys and girls we all talked at times about enemas it was so common one of us bring it up say had massive enema of my mum last night then rest join in comparing bags to bulbs different soap feels no one really embarrassed by it get quit few giggles out things like farting wile getting them or what mum used to lube bum hole even girls join in conversation discussed position we got them in to and if mums took rectal temps never thought any thing strange about it was so common

In jr. high and High School, this was not a topic we discussed at all, even though I'm sure a great many of the guys were given them. It seems we were testosterone driven, and this was just not a subject for boys. With one exception. I had a friend, Ronny, who was openly gay. Very unusual for those days. He got beat up a lot. And I had to fight occasionally because I was his friend. Probably his only one. Ronny was very open and talked animatedly and at length about his "needs" and whishes, and enemas was one he particularly enjoyed. He often encouraged me to try this or try that, but was never pushy. I wasn't gay then, nor am I gay now, but his musings and candid descriptions gave me a perspective, that today would be considered very flexible. I thoroughly enjoy enemas and I don't mind discussing it with any one. I believe I have Ronny to thank for that.

My junior high it seemed a great percentage of us had and still were giving or receiving weekly enemas. One of my best friend Ed, we'd gave each other enemas as often as we could. One day his mom asked me what did I like about enemas since Ed her son told her of our contast enema play, of which she wasn't against it. I was sort of embarrassed and shy. Butt, she assured me it was okay. She was a widow and rarely commingled with anyone. She was curious how we started. I told her since childhood everyone experience enemas at home. Butt, as we grew fond of them, we began experimenting and now were enjoying them as much as possible. She said you mean all of your friends participate in this. Most of them do, even Celia your niece. What? So, you give girls enemas? Yes, and they're okay with it. So far no complaints. Wow! Two days later while visiting Ed's house and invited for dinner. Mrs C, approached me and slipped me a note. " Would you give me an enema? " I remember quickly putting it into my pocket. Ed showed up we all ate, turned out Ed told his mom that he was needed at the roller rink tonight. He felt bad he couldn't stay with me. Mrs. C said why don't you spend the night being Friday? Not soon after she called me into her room. There was the 2qt. Bucket with the long hose and the black nozzle. It was incredible and after a month later the 3 of us were giving enemas to each other.

I never did!

My father liked to remind me that both he and his father both had a much younger brother. As a result they never got away with anything because the little brother would rat them out!!

He would tell me how big of an advantage it was not to have a younger brother.

His Mom was totally against enemas, at least for boys, and since there was no sister, he had to hide it from younger brother also, because younger brothers will rat you out , as he likes to put it, "For FUN, for PROFIT or for BOTH!

As a result they never got away with anything because the little brother would rat them out!!

Yes! Finally someone who talks of the disadvantages of having siblings. And btw, this applied to younger sisters as well, who not only ratted you out, but also exaggerated and misrepresented so many things that you were sure to come out looking guilty as sin, no matter the protestations or lack of evidence or innocence ...

I was camping with a neighbor boy. He related that before a tonsillectomy he was given an enema by a nurse. He said he could not hold it and messed the bed. This was in the late 50's

In the 50's and early 60's in public school in CT I never heard the word enema from anyone.

I guess this was in early 50's, in a rowhouse, I was at bottom of steps, mom and sister were upstairs, heard: "if you won't let me give you a suppository, I'll have to give you an enema".

Mom was old-time nurse, sister and I got enemas & suppositories. Sis was crying, I was enjoying

it.

I never got enemas growing up, suppositories, but no enemas. My best male friends and I would discuss enemas because 2 of my males friends both got enemas!!!

In second grade, when such things meant nothing, a female classmate and I would talk about enemas whenever we had the opportunity. The conversations would devolve into bragging and fantasy in short order. Numerous sessions, odd mishaps involving the full enema bag.

I guess we were exaggerating and kidding to conceal our nervousness about such a scary and upsetting process. I did realize that in her I found a kindred spirit to share the love/hate relationship.

Unfortunately future class assignments separated us and I forgot her name. I never knew if, post puberty, whether or not we would have explored our fetish. Of course, she never tried to find me either.

UncleO,

It's sad to reflect on those missed opportunities in life...regardless of how good things are now, one always wonders about what could have been. The only thing to be done is to seize the moment when they present themselves again.

Cheers,

Jag

My recollections are: As a child you could talk about spankings but enema were a very privet affair and were not talked about in polite company. Enemas were very embarrassing ..if your friends knew you got spanked they felt sorry for you... if they knew about an enema your teased and made fun of.

No never. Wonder why