Enemas: From dreading to enjoying them

My sister and I always hated getting them from our mom. My first few were not too Bad because I didn't really Know about them. I had witnessed not visually so much my sisters first red bag one and wanted nothing to do with them. Months later I got a few child fleet ones that were really not the end of the world but soon after it was the red bag of Ivory soap. I didn't enjoy it for sure . After that I hated knowing I would be getting one. I as many others here held back the urge to go and later found a stomach pains complaint could keep me out of school which I hated at the time. The trade off was usually a trip or at least a call to the doctor and result in at least one enema sometime more later or the next few days. The embarrassment of mother discussing them with others also added to the hate of them. Fast forward to being in my teens I think that embarrassment factor is what I grew to like. Not the actual event but knowing that others knew and thinking If they got them or fantasizing about certain other females giving or receiving them..???

I THOUGHT I hated them. I must of gotten a couple very early in childhood, because when, at age six, when sick, my mother pulled out the enema bag as she was preparing my bath and I whined with dread. She was surprised that I was so concerned. She gave me the enema, but she never gave them to me again. When I complained, in early puberty about constipation (in hopes she would give me one), she set up the equipment and told me I was old enough to do it myself. There was pre-cum all over the towel. I wondered if she noticed. Dread of an enema (the exposure, the invasion, the humiliation, the fear of a “mistake”) marked my erotic fantasies for many years. Though I give myself enemas (and am sometimes given them by others) frequently now—and love every aspect of it—I have never been able to reproduce the intense dread, fear, and nuturing, maternal comfort of that last maternal enema at age six. Sigh.

The point of legato345 is particularly interesting. Did we really hate those suppositories and enemas administered to us during our childhood? Or that is just what we thought? The answer to this question is not trivial.

As a kid I was convinced that I hated both suppositories and enemas, but at the same time I had a (male) cousin and I clearly remember that we were exchanging our experiences and we were quite excited at doing that, up to playing doing that in our games. That was actually happening in the same period. So, even though with my cousin I would play like that, if one minute later I was called for getting a suppository I would anyway make a fuss over it, as I always did.

Still, it was not until reading the post of legato that I reflected on this simultaneous hate/love for those constipation rectal remedies.

Useless to say that the passion for both suppositories and enemas never left me, but now I know that there is the concrete possibility that the hate for them was never real too!

The first time I had an enema was at a hospital, 60s, appendicitis. It was common practice back then.

It was not that I hated it. It was painful, uncomfortable, embarrassing, and unexpected as I was not told much about was was going to happen.

The good and comforting thing for me was that my mother was there and was participating helping the nurse. It was a smaller hospital at the suburbs of the city.

The second one was by my mother and our house keeper a few months later. The third one that got me more hooked and made me realize that it was not as bad was from our house keeper about a year or so latter when I was almost 12. She was from a village where they utilized olive oil in the solutions and the best part was that she used oil on her hand and rub my belly for long time before, during, and after the enema. She was not attractive. She was average looking built I would say for the times but because she new me since I was very young she would sing with a beautiful voice all the time even the day she gave me that enema.

Strange though I did not had a rinse enema by anyone, hospital, my mom, or Aliki our helper.

All good though and pleasant memories!

I never got a rinse enema from my mom, and I am pretty sure she was acting on the instructions of either my doctor or my grandmother (who was a nurse) or both.

Never had one in the hospital or a doctors office but heard that they don't rinse. I guess they figure the bother and embarrassment/discomfort for the patient isn't worth it.

I never liked getting one ever. Now giving them is a horse of another color.

Moppy it is absolutely obvious that you and I sing from exactly the same sheet of music!

I was given enemas growing up,I couldn’t stand them really hated getting them enemas was a fix all for my mom ,,at age 11/12 the enemas stopped after a few weeks I was happy but fun I was st to crave them .my mom had 3 open top enema bags hanging in the bathroom always any time to would go to the bathroom the enema bag were staring at me ,my needs gro stronger day by day ,it was a Saturday morning my parents were going out shopping the minute the drov off I ran into the bathroom I can’t tell you how nervous I was, I filled the enema bag striped and slid the long douche nozzle in funny I used the much larger nozzle I never like the smaller enema nozzle it would poke me the round smooth douche nozzle looked so much better,,I remember the different feeling of the water flowing inside me I remember taking just about half of enema ,,,I was so nervous I sat on releasing my enema ,,,i was looking for this filling the fee of fullness and warm water flowing inside me ,,,it was the beginning of my solo enemas ,I hung the enema bag bac in it place .

now I think about it I’m so sure my mom knew she must of seen the enema bag wet after me using it .I snuck my enemas as much as possible slowly taking more and more I was giving myself more enemas then my mom ever gave me,,I won what she thought about my enema

I only had the one when I was nine and hated it. Years later I had a girl move in with me that liked anything anal. She started me on enemas and after weeks of giving to her I built up the nerve to try. After a few weeks more I finally had an orgasm while she was giving to me. Now I enjoy them,

Hmmmm…. from dread to enjoy… Well, I still dread them and enjoy…that's a relative term. I still dread them because it's almost always part of punishment play. However, the feeling of loosing control and all that goes with it is the enjoyable part…

I dreaded my moms first enema age 14 ,then I had orgasm from it ,and loved enemas ever since

I do both!

I dread the thought!

I dread the prep.

I dread the setup.

I LOVE the enema itself

When I was quite young (7) I had minor surgery and was given 2 separate enemas while there. They were 3H. I hated them. A year or so later, mom decided I was constipated and needed an enema. I fought tooth & nail. Finally gave in. It wasn't bad, not like the hospital ones. She gave me more over the next few years. About the 3rd one, I got an erection and loved the feeling. That was the beginning. She gave outstanding enemas. Loved enemas since.

I love everyone's experiences. Having never had any childhood enemas, when I started at 17, I had no dread. I did know the very 1st time how great they made me feel. Even now I feel amazed by how much I love all things Zity.

The dread comes from a primal animalistic instinct to protect our own bodies. Imagine giving an enema to your pet cat or dog....it will fight you tooth and claw and experience great distress like I did when mom forced bowel treatments up my butt. The experiences made me curious about buttocks and anal sensations, but it was only much later that they evolved into enjoyment of anal pleasures.

Receiving enemas can be emotionally confusing to a child because on one hand children are socialized to respect authority figures like their parents, but on the other hand these authority figures are intruding into the most intimate of body spaces which any creature would instinctively want to protect, and it's even more confusing when the enemas are forcibly given, betraying the child's trust in the authority figures. I received forced suppositories and enemas in childhood and the emotions I felt are unforgettable....the helplessness and despair from being held down by the adults who were supposed to be protecting me, shame from being disrobed and forced to submit, and dread from the anticipation of unpleasant things that were going to be done to my body. But deep down inside I knew (or believed what I was told) they were doing something that was good for me, because my anal penetrations were given a seal of approval by medical reasons and parental concern, and were not overt molestation of my body. I'm not sure if the evolution into enjoyment would have happened if it had been overt abuse, and that's food for thought.

Mom and her anal treatments had seeded a budding love for anal pleasures, and from my teenage years I desired anal sex because it mimics those childhood experiences of being penetrated by the enema nozzle. It was a twisted outcome because I wasn't interested in the health benefits of an enema, but only wanted to relive the anal sensations and utter submissiveness I felt when forced to take an enema….like when my lover presses his body onto my back pinning me down and then teases his warm living nozzle into my anal opening, I feel that familiar raw ache in the muscular ring of flesh guarding my rear passage, as if my body's telling me "stop, that's not right, nothing's supposed to be going into your butt", then the ache intensifies as I feel the ring yielding ever so slightly, and then it suddenly gives way and I get a pleasant shock from him sliding unimpeded into me, stretching and occupying me in both ass and mind, just like the enema nozzle did so many years ago in those episodes of anal innocence lost. It's funny how the nasty dreadful episodes in childhood have become a source of pleasure, only it's so perversely counter-instinctive now and much nastier too (but without the dread), because I'd be hungrily taking a pounding by a more massive intruder in my poop passage, trembling like a distressed animal, moaning like a cat in heat, and rubbing myself until my orgasmic anal contractions drive him to cum in a way not intended by nature, that is, deep inside my ass. Mom made me kinky and gawd I love and hate her for it.

That was one heck of a beautifully written and heartfelt post, @Phoenix7. Thank you for sharing such personal experiences.

Commented on this before on other posts. I WAS a kid who didn't like long car rides and felt ill. Maybe 5 or 6, until my first knowing filling. Mom said “ when we we get home, I'm going to give you the ” spritz " before bed. I was made to get ready for bed, until I got called into the bathroom. Mom told me to come inside, close the door, get naked in front of her, and lay over her lap. Saw a red bulb and bowl of water sitting on the counter waiting.

Getting over her lap face down, made me cry and resist, as she poked my butt with Vaseline, telling me that I would feel better later. Heard the bubbles and sucking sounds, as Mom filled the bulb, then more after. 1, 2, 3, went in, and pleaded to go “ potty”. A few more squeezes and fillings, and Mom was done. Then the wait over her lap that seemed to take forever.

Her terms changed from the “ spritz ”, to a go a good cleaning out, then a flat out enema.

After about 7-8 and seeing / getting the bag, and getting in the knee chest / over the tub position for these, made me hard with strange feelings, but didn't put the 2 and 2 together until playing in my parents backyard with other kids in a tent. Boy's and girls.