Did you ever talk about enemas with your childhood friends? I did -- many delicious times -- but the most memorable of my discussions happened one day in my fourth-grade lunchroom.
The table held about a dozen of us -- boys only of course. Our teachers were close enough to prevent misconduct but too far to overhear our conversation. I don't recall exactly how it got there but the talk was drearily about being sick; feeling bad, pills, shots, and the like. It was boring to me but suddenly Johnny Wright said "How about an enema? Ever get one of those?" This produced a variety of reactions: lots of giggles, some silent nods, a few blushes of embarrassment, and a frozen excitement from me. "Enemas? Wow!" I thought.
With an upward thrust of his finger, Johnny continued "I don't mind when they stick that big black thing up my butt; it doesn't feel bad going in. But OOHHH that enema water from the bag!" The table dissolved into laughter. It was clear that we all knew what Johnny was talking about. To me it was a delicious picture: Johnny kneeling nude on hands-and-knees as the black enema nozzle was inserted; I loved the feeling. But I also thought the enema water felt good and was disappointed he didn't like that.
Tim laughingly agreed with Johnny about the nozzle and the enema water and I could see several others nodding too. Roger said "Enema goes the good, out comes the bad" was what his mom told him. "The enema goes in, but I think it's good when that black thing is pulled back out" he giggled.
Johnny told about how when he recently spent the night with his friend Randy (who was at the table) Randy's little brother Mack got an enema. Johnny and Randy had been in bed but not asleep when they heard Randy's mom taking Mack to the bathroom next to Randy's bedroom. "No, No, Mom! I don't want an enema!" Mack shouted. "Hollering didn't work," Randy told us with a grin. "Mack got the enema and Johnny and I heard it all!" Another boy told about hearing his little sister protesting the administration of an enema and how he saw the big red enema bag hanging up in the bathroom the next morning.
Our lunchtime enema discussion was broken up when we had to go back to our classroom but it has lingered ever since in my memory and I have come to some conclusions that were not immediately evident to my fourth-grade self. In my group of about a dozen eleven-year-old boys, everyone had had at least one enema and most of us had had many more. Some got enemas regularly and frequently, others got only occasional enemas. Most did not find an enema to be a pleasant experience. Some liked (or at least tolerated) part of an enema but found other parts unpleasant. It was not evident at the time, but I later learned that several boys who participated in this discussion actually enjoyed enemas as did (and do) I. I will be glad to write further about this if there is interest.