Enemas: From dreading to enjoying them

I guess I'm just a late bloomer because I was 19 and in my second year of college. Oh, wow, but am I ever embarrassed to acknowledge that.

Emom: What happened then at 19 that is so embarrassing to explain? :-)

My brother was always getting enemas, because he ate like a pig. He would kick and scream and cry about how they were hurting him. So, I lived in fear of getting one, but one came anyway. I was six, and had bad stomach cramps. I could hear my mom preparing her pumpkin style bag, and I was already crying. The nozzle going in was a delightful surprise, and enema itself was warm and comforting. The second enema was one I gave myself, the first time I had a chance to be alone.

Never did dread enemas. They were always administered slowly, and my mother would shut the clamp if I began to feel uncomfortable. Went from receiving enemas for whatever ailed me as a young child to enjoying them solo when I was about 13. Still enjoy them today, almost 60 years later.

At a young age I guess it's safe to say that I dreaded having to get an enema. As time wore on it was not so much dread as tolerate. Then there was a huge gap in years and when I was in my mid-20s had gotten ill and my new wife decided that what I needed most was an enema. It could have been my age as well as the giver, but that first enema from my wife was entirely different and I really enjoyed it.

Pecan, no the embarrassment is that it took me that long to appreciate an enema. At 19 I was really so naive and as a consequence missed out on several years of enjoyment. Today, I just love getting or taking a good enema. 😉

At 7 I received my first real enema in the hospital before tonsilectomy surgery. Within a year, mom gave me an enema at home for flu or something. Then I received several enemas in a year and they began to feel good. By 9 I asked mom several times for an enema, several of these were for fun although I told her I needed them.

By 11 She refused to give me a requested enema. Gave me Ex-Lax, UGH!

I played with the dry nozzle a few times then at 13, as a "functioning" adolescent I tried my first water enema. I immediately ejaculated as the enema flowed into me.

That was the beginning of a LTR with enemas.

Probably around age 10 or 11, my body was certainly changing, as were my attitudes towards nudity,and exhibitionism. I was beginning to like the sensation,and my body's reactions to it. I also began to enjoy Mom witnessing my nudity and bodily reaction

Can' t really remember a ' dread ' age but up until about 10 - 11 I do admit to being perhaps ' passive -indifferent ' to the enemas I was given in our home setting of the 1950's . My mother was the family enema administrator and ' enema time ' was something we just did . When I had a childhood illness , an enema was part and parcel of the ' wellness ' process . A home enema was as normal as our evening measl but not near as often of course . My mother was a great believer in personal enema use and was fortunate to have several other ladies who would administer to her as she thought they were required .

When I entered into puberty , something just ' clicked ' , no pun intended as to our metallic shutoff clamp for the enema hose , and I began to really become shall we say ' engaged ' in our mother / son enema time such that I so looked forward to our time which in retrospect I now see as a ' bonding ' time for both of us . And while my mother often viewed my tight , turgid erections even before the procedure began as she asked ever so sweetly that I remove my white , cotton boy briefs such that she would have full access to my little fanny , she accepted my reaction as I suppose ' normal ' for a growing boy and never said anything derogatory concerning my erection(s) . We did have conversations later as to my obvious fondness for the enema and my even greater affinity for her administration . I did over my years as a child / youngster / young adult receive an occasional enema from both of my grandmothers in their homes and also a spinster great aunt who was my my grandmother's sister . I really enjoyed the fact that I was being ' enemaed ' by these wonderful and experienced ' older ladies ' and shared my delight in their care for this very personal need at the time with them but I was partial to my mother and her special ' touch ' as to my enema(s) .

My dear mother passed away many years ago but I will always cherish the above memories I have of her loving , gentle care when that ' special care ' was required . ......... Thanks Mom !!!!!

I got enemas as a small child when I was constipated and did not mind them. Although they were crampy from the soap, they helped me to go. I didn't like the small milk and molasses enemas that I got occasionally because of the half hour retention time but they were very cleansing. The Mayo enemas were a larger quantity, but I was allowed to go as soon as I felt a strong urge. Around 9 or 10, I got diarrhea from too many antibiotics and the doctor told mom to give me starch enemas. After I got up in the morning and had a loose bowel, mom brought a saucepan with a thick opaque liquid and told me to lie down on my bed to receive a small enema. Afterwards I wanted to expel it like I had my previous enemas, but mom told me that this was medicine and I had to retain it. I did not like having to retain any liquid in my rectum and even less having to accept a daily enema each morning after a loose bowel. I didn't get breakfast until I accepted being syringed with the starch enemas. Then I tried to find a place to expel it but mom watched over me for several hours to make sure the enema stayed in me. I hated those enemas because I wanted to expel them and was not allowed to. I felt violated by the white bulb syringe yet the warm thick liquid flowing through my anus and the insertion of the nozzle and its movement inside as the bulb was slowly squeezed started to give me a pleasant feeling in my anus and an erection. The tip of the children's nozzle touched a spot that gave me great pleasure. My pijama hid the erection I masturbated after receiving the enema when mom left. I came to hate and love the daily, morning enemas which continued for a number of weeks. A year later, I started to give myself enemas to recreate the pleasure I felt from those enemas. First I used the bulb syringe and then our fountain syringe. Then I discovered the special joy of a Higgenson syringe.

I hated getting enemas growing up and would resist and protest when told I needed a enema, so my mom stopped informing me of her intentions and and would have it all ready so when I got to the bathroom and the door closed I was going to get the prepared enema no matter how much I pleaded,funny cause today I would love to recreate such a scenario.

There has ALWAYS been that mixture of dread and enjoyment.

Still there I both love and hate EVERY enema I've ever taken whether Fleet or 4-qt or something in between

I had a step between dread and like - not sure what to call it. Acceptance? Submission? Compliant? Anyway, enemas were a regular occurrence in our house and I was syringed frequently with the bulb (prior to my graduation to the family bag). I remember complaining and crying to no avail whenever mom announced that I needed a "good" enema. At some point, maybe age 7 or 8, I began to listen to her calming voice as she talked to me throughout the session. She would tell me how everyone needs an enema occasionally, how good it will feel to be cleaned out, what a good boy I am to take a good enema "for her" without fussing, etc. The enema became a way for me to please mom and hear her praise of me, so I learned to relax and accept the water but not because I really like enemas.

It was during one memorable bulb session while she was spraying the second bulb-full into me, telling me to squeeze real tight, that I experienced a "dry" orgasm. It was at that point that I can say for sure that I liked enemas. And so began a lifetime of chasing the enema-induced orgasm.

I was a teenager when I went from dreading enemas to enjoying them. Of course, by that time I was no longer getting them from my Mom. I hadn't had any from her since I was 8 or 9.

One day, after arriving home from high school, I was looking for some towels in the linen closet to use for my shower, when I saw the long-unused family enema bag. Having discovered that I was anal-erotic, I wondered what it would feel like to have an enema after so many years, so I decided to give it a try. (Both my parents worked and wouldn't be home until at least 5 pm.) I took the bag out of the original cardboard box and checked to see if it was still usable. I don't remember the brand but it was manufactured in the 1950's; a classic red bag with a set of black nozzles. It seemed like it would work so I took it into the bathroom, rinsed it out, and placed it on the vanity.

Returning to my bedroom, I stripped off all my clothes. I was always naked when getting enemas as a child, and it just made sense to be naked for them now. Plus, very exciting. I went back into bathroom, filled the bag with warm water and hung it up on a clothing hook on the bathroom door. I had decided to use the douche nozzle; the long black one with the ribs. I knew I'd enjoy the feel of it. I coated it with vaseline (just like in my childhood) and hung the hose up on the clothes hook.

Now, how to take the enema? I was always over my Mom's lap as a child. There was just enough room around the toilet to lay across it. I placed a towel on the toilet lid, inserted the nozzle up my butt, laid over the toilet, and released the clamp. The warm water felt wonderful as it slowly flowed into me. It was exciting; I was excited! My cock was hard and throbbing. I began to feel the pressure of the water building up inside me. I looked up at the bag and saw that I'd taken more than half of it, maybe a quart and a half. I decided to take just a little more. Feeling nice and full, I closed the clamp. I just laid there for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation of the warm water inside me and my hard cock rubbing against the towel. After another couple of minutes, I stood up and slid the nozzle out. What to do next?

I quickly walked across the hall to my bedroom, my cock throbbing and pointing straight up in the air, placed a towel on the bed, laid down on it, and began to masturbate furiously, with all that water still inside me. I held off as long as I could but soon my orgasm hit. I could feel my cock pumping out a huge load. (Well, huge for a mid-teenager!) Rising from the bed, I saw the big wet spot of my cum on the towel. I'd need to wash this towel on my own!

I returned to the bathroom, cleaned up the enema stuff, and took a long, hot shower.

I had found the erotic enema pleasure I'd been hoping for.

I still hate them to this day. I flat lied when I was in the hospital for a bypass. What I do like is find a willing bung and give one. I started by imagining my kindergarten teacher and haven't looked back..Yum

Honestly I have both love an hated every enema I've ever taken. From the first one when I was 4, to the one I took back in January. Every enema is a weird mixture of pleasure and pain. In some ways I love it. The sexual feeling The success of a clear return the cleanliness that you feel on completion. In other ways I hate the loss of control, the fact that it infantilizes you, the fact that it's not quite one with you when it has essentially finished it' job and cleared you out.

It's both positive and negative EVERY time

I don't know how different it would have been. I hated them, didn't fight tooth and nail but did hide and fuss when I realized one was coming.

Part of that was because my mom mixed them very soapy, so they burned and cramped. Another part was probably the loss of control. As an adult, a limited and negotiated surrender of control can be fun, but kids don't have much control usually. I think I also operated under some delusive magical thinking idea that things would magically straighten out. They never did.

As an adult it is in a way a loss of control. When I take an enema I know that very soon I will not be able to hold onto my bowels, but at the same time it is a assertion of control. I can take an enema and have my bowels work. There's also the more obvious sexual element, and as an adult I can appreciate the dance of the urge and (when I have them) cramps much more than I could as a kid.

I cannot say that there was a ' dread ' but I do admit to being rather ' indifferent ' at a very early age as to .... ' mom ..... can we just get this ' thing ' over ???? I did not resist but then I think that I was passive only to quickly get past ' this shameless invasion of privacy ' . .... but then one day ..... at about 6 - 7 something wonderful ' clicked ' , no ... not the metal enema hose shutoff clamp .... it was that ' little voice ' that connected from my little bottom to my brain that indicated to me ....... ' pleasure ' before I could define same and at once and all throughout my stay at home on into young adulthood forever bonded my mother and I as to the pleasures for both of us with respect to a well given , well received enema and it was at the tender transition age as per above that my first fledgling ' klismo ' steps were taken . Thanks mom ... for all your encouragement and support on my enema journey as you traveled along right beside me ...... you were the best . Yes .... my dear mom was ' klismo ' as well , we had the confirmation conversation early on , and she had any number of female friends and realtives who ' watered her garden ' as she had need and yes ...... she did likewise for them ....... this I know .

About seven years old to the best of my recollection. I recall talking about enemas to classmates at that age that was mostly false bragging.

Enemas were still a traumatic ordeal that ended in tears but by then I wasn’t actively fighting when an enema was due. I thrilled at the prospect of the enema and relished the sensations afterwards but still couldn’t quite get through the actual process. Also, enemas past that age were mostly used when down with an illness and not to cure constipation. Mom was a blamer and would berate me for getting constipated. And while she tended to also blame me for some action that caused me to get sick, those enemas were part of the home remedy Arsenal, not directly a consequence of my supposed neglect.

Hard to say if there was every a "dread" age. It was also a disliked but accepted part of life's routine in my home growing up and allthough embarrassment was always a factor, I am of the era when "all" kids got enemas.

Thus, it's hard to pin down a specific age where it turned to "like". But, I can say this, for most of my friends and I a mahor turning point came at around 14/15 when we started having "weird feelings" during enemas, and simultaneously discovered our clitoris and how to use it! Major game changer with respect to enemas!

After I was old enough to understand...10 or so. By the time I was in puberty, I used them as my main sextoy. Inthink the only "dread" I ever felt was being found out, and having to admit that Iliked them. I always say, given a choice, that I prefer to give, but I do truly enjoy them. I like to receive, but only from a woman--now just my wife. Same for giving.

I was nine when I got the last enema my mother would give me. I had been having a small problem with constipation I believe, and Mom decided to take me to our family physician one morning before school. I don't remember much about the discussion of my symptoms, but the upshot was his advice to my mother that she could give me an enema if she felt the need, should I complain again. I cringed at his mention of that dreaded word, but since he didn't say she HAD to give me an enema, I wasn't distressed. I was taken to school for the rest of the day. However, that afternoon, I no sooner got off the school bus, which dropped me right in front of my house and was barely in the front door when my mother announced that she was going to give me an enema. I protested that the doctor had said only if I had a recurrence of my problem, but she informed me that she'd re-checked with him and he agreed that giving me an enema wouldn't do me any harm regardless. I fretted about this as she went about preparing the enema in the bathroom. I then decided to myself that I wasn't going to cry or fuss as I had always done before, that I was now too old for that, and that I would take this enema and not complain. I took off all my clothes in the hallway and walked into the 'torture chamber' and was surprised to find her filling our black enema bag. I hadn't had an enema for a couple of years and the last one had been with our 3oz. black bulb syringe, as had been all the enemas I'd received previously. She mixed up a baking soda solution (the Ivory soap had been replaced with the baking soda a year or two earlier) My younger brother had gotten them with that solution, so I wasn't surprised by the change. She had me sitting on the toilet to receive the enema, which was a first. It had always been given over her lap before. I guess I'd gotten too big for that position to be comfortable for her. Not only did I not complain, especially when she attempted to insert the adult rectal nozzle, which always made me squeal in the past, but she let me help guide the nozzle into my rectum and I was allowed to hold it there. I don't remember how much of an enema I had to take, but it couldn't have been more than a quart or so, though that bag bulged like it was full no matter how much was in it. I had no trouble handling the volume she gave me and was able to take the enema with no difficulty. Even the mild cramps I endured were not enough for me to complain, though I grunted a couple of times during the procedure. And, though I would never have admitted it to her, I thoroughly enjoyed that enema. Afterwards, when I was outside and walking to my friend's house, I kept thinking how good that enema felt and how naughty the enjoyment of it made me feel.

For me, the first remembered enema at 4 started a years-long gradual transfer from absolute hatred of the treatment to a strong craving to have one. Along the way, a sister remembered recently, I seemed nervous whenever I was siick and the possibility of an enema was raised by our mom.

Some where around age 11 or 12.

For me, I never went through the "dread" stage. I just went from receiving comfortable gently administered enemas starting at a pretty young age when I was too young to know that I might be aroused by them, to really being aroused at about age 13. And nothing has changed in over 50+ years.

I am not sure exactly but around 10 i started playing with the enema equipment i remember i didnt recieve to many more enemas after that age cause i would outwordly put up a struggle , but i really enjoyed them whether over my mothers lap, or over the bath tub ,i have been a big fan ever since.

Dread/like? As the "dread" novelty & shock value wears off, so does my interest wane. If it's not nasty & downright sickening, it just ain't fun.

I think around 3rd grade for me

I HATED them as a child. My father was a firm believer in the more soap the better. He told me that the more cramps you had the better it worked. He didn't even mix the soap in with the water. He would just put a chunk of soap inside of me; then put the water in. I remember him tying my hands more than once.

I don't think it was the pain that really bothered me. It was the situation. I felt like my father was trying to control every little thing I did. And I didn't like being forced into it. I knew that if I didn't do it I would get one hell of a beating, so I tried not to fight.

I fought enemas from around 2 until 8. I always had the red bag. I raised so much hell mom knew she only had one shot with me.. My day was ruined if I knew an enema was to be given. I was always tag teamed: mom and dad, mom and a neighbor lady or mom and an aunt. I cried, begged and sometimes threw a tantrum not to have one. On my bed on my stomach I went. Mom usually handled the business end. She inserted the nozzle all the way then she watched my hands to make sure she could brush them aside if I tried to pull it out. I yelled, screamed, bucked and cried. I hated insertion the most but I also did not like the cramping and the feeling of not being able to go. I did not have many after 8; one or two I think around 11 or 12. By then I just submitted. When I do them now I recall the old days: a true love hate relationship wth the old red bag.