Enemas: From dreading to enjoying them

I never received enemas growing up but my 2 best male friends did and would tell me about them. It turned me on even at a young age. When I was about 13 I bought my first enema bag which was kept very well hidden at the back of my closet. I had 2 hours alone each day after school and would take enemas and jack off. The older boy next door, a football player at our school, would come over and we would fuck, suck, and jack off each other. He had never had an enema but he let me give him one once. He took the full 2 quarts of hot water and let me watch him expel it. He kept his jockstrap on the entire time!

The teen years bring on incredible changes. Little boys become men, and little girls blossom into things of desire. I remember telling my own son that his little wee wee was going to change into a hormone fueled one eyed raging monster, with no brains at all. Mine did. So I suppose puberty might be responsible for new takes on a lot of things. I had my first enema at 6. I became a Klismo at 12.

Never had enema but have been intrigued by what I saw in pics. The more I see the greater the desire to have it. For me its' about loss of control. Control to Mommy. Its' a fascination of mine, 😃

I only received the occasional bulb when needed - as far back as I can remember, to my days as a tot. I always found them pleasantly invasive.

My mother gave me fleet enemas growing up and those things stung, at some point I started giving myself water enemas and I've been doing them ever since.

The male anus is a wonderful structure. I am sure the female anus has equal important qualities.

Our anus is our secret place. We cannot see it without a mirror. It is tight and designed specifically to allow feces out.

As males we are taught that the area is private to only us our moms and our doctors. Everyone else stay out.

Because we pass feces through it, it is considered dirty. For hygiene purposes, we are taught to keep the area clean.

Despite the fact that in the internet age there are millions of pictures of anuses from adolescent selfies to old men who ought to spare us the look, we are still firm in the belief that the male anus is sacred.

Young boys and old men fear a rectal exam because in their mind it is unnatural. Nothing is supposed to go into the anus because its purpose is for feces removal. Get over. It is no big deal.

The male anus is sensitive and erotic. The nerve endings provide pleasure and stimulation.

Yes I at first hated enemas. I never did come to enjoy the large volume of water in my gut nor having to hold it interminably, but by early teeagehood, I came to love the lubrication and nozzle insertion. My anus was anally erotic and my prostate was very sensitive.

When you had as many enemas and anal insertions by my doctor as i did aran early age, you come to rationalize the good with the bad and just enjoy the moment.

I only had one bulb enema by my mom when I was age 5 or maybe less- really can't remember. That was it. At that very early age it seemed uncomfortable at the time and was not something I enjoyed. Fast forward to my early teens and I was fascinated and wanted experiment with sticking things in my ass. I found the enema bag in parents bathroom and the rest is history.

I really don't think my one bulb enema at an early age really led to my anal eroticism- it was going to happen no matter what happened at an early age. I have thought about it and I really can't explain why I love anal play. I just know it is a huge part of my sexual pleasure.

I'v e always felt that it was hormones driving my like of enemas. I got my first when I was 7 or 8 and they were just odd experiences. I will never forget that initial rush or soapy water on my first enema. I thought surely that I was going to expel all over to bathroom floor but my Mom managed me pretty well and I was able to take 2 quarts by taking it a little at a time. That first enema must have taken the better part of an hour as she coach me to take just a little bit more then stopped and let me get over the sensation. I got weekly enema right from the start and as I got more and more of them I got used to taking them to the point that I just got the two quarts all in one long flow with no interruptions. I wouldn't say that I liked them or hated them, they were just a curious part of my life. When I got to be 11 or 12 my hormnes started to kick in and I definitely began to feel differently about them. I began to have erections just getting ready for them. I always got to the bathroom first so I was able to lay down on the floor and hide my erection before my Mom came in to give my my enema. Then one day while being filled as normal, my whole world changed and I had my first orgasm while being filled. It took me most of the night to figure out what had happened and put that together with my new "LOVE" of enemas. The next morning I took my first solo enema and had my second orgasm. Yes, I would say it was probably hormones that introduced me to one of the loves of my life.

I was one who hated enemas as a child and began liking them later in life. My mom gave me soapsuds enemas over her lap. I remember complaining and crying each time. When mom said that I was to get an enema, I wanted to run and hide.

When I was a child, my parents gave me soap enemas and it was a miserable experience. Now I give myself plain water enemas and enjoy them. What a contrast!

hankb

I never got enemas as a kid but got suppositories, both glycerine and medicated (medicated suppositories are drugs diluted in grease inserted as suppository). I disliked the medicated suppository and the procedure mom used to give them to me. I also disliked being spanked.

Now I like being given suppositories and being spanked by my wife.

One of my longtime friend told me that, first as a child and then as a teen, she screamed and cried whenever she was given an enema. «At that time I thought I hated enemas in themselves» she confided to me «but, reflecting in retrospect, I've realized that is not so. In fact I've never hated the enemas, but I hated the context in which they were administered to me. Never having known my late mother I was deeply attached to my father, so I would have expected to get my enemas from my beloved daddy, lying on his cosy knees. Needless to say, my hopes were everytime disappointed because that task had been assigned to our gruff nanny, which always gave hasty enemas keeping me on all fours in the cold bathtub. So I vented every times my disappointment screaming and crying during the whole procedure».

Is there any member with an experience similar to this one? Would anyone here have liked enemas from the beginning if they had been administered in a different way?

If yes, what scenario and what enema giver would have been preferred?

My mom gave OK enemas, but that does not mean I liked them because I didn't. But if she decided that either me or one of my sisters needed one there was no convincing her otherwise. Lord knows I tried using every line I knew: "I don't need one", "I don't want one," and give me another chance and I'll go. Promise!" Only minutes later I would be over her knees with the hose up my butt filling with soapy water.

As a young child, I fought tooth and nail when I found I was going to get an enema. My mother had to have a neighbor come over and old me down in a prone position while the nozzle was stuck in. I think it was mostly the embarrassment of exposing my rear end, not so much my penis. At the time, I didn't know what an erection was, so that was not the issue. I can't remember how many times the family doctor prescribed an enema, he said, "just give him a bag." That bulging yellow amber bag was so intimidating. I think the reason the enemas were so painful is because the bag was suspended from a ceiling light and was so high up. The family enema bag was stored hung up in the shower,eventually I started experimenting with it.

the hoseman1

I think almost everybody both loves and hates every enema they take! How you feel in a particular session gets into your feelings about the giver.

Enemas were just part of growing up and my mother did the giving. She was kind and gentle and I don't remember having ever said "no thanks". Actually while the warm soapy water was filling my bottom if I expressed some discomfort, it halted the flow for a few moments but didn't stop the process. Somehow when I was allowed to release the enema I felt a tremendous pleasure, or relief, and enjoyed the release.

My best experience was an enema I received from a babysitter when I was pretty young and I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of it. So much so that I told my mother. Bad choice, I never saw that babysitter again; and I've been searching ever since.

OTKguy

Enemas and spanking before hand to relax your butt and encourage cooperation just seem to go together.

Enjoy a story to get you in the mood.

Country B & B

Some years back when I first started in the farm seed sales business I was away from home at least one week a month. By the end of the week I was tired, miserable, and longing for some home cooking. Suddenly I saw a sign ahead which read “Mother’s B & B; clean rooms, hot showers and good food. My car turned onto a dirt road and about ½ mile farther on stood a beautiful three story farm house with a sign that read Mother’s B & B.

I stopped, and was pleasantly surprised by the attractive middle age woman who owned the establishment, that a room was available. She showed me to a large second floor room with a private bath, and view of the surrounding mountains and lake.

I thanked her and said I just wanted to take a shower and lay down awhile; that’s when I asked if she had anything for an upset stomach. She asked if I was a salesman and if I had been on the road for awhile. When I said yes I had she replied, “I think I have just what you need; why don’t you take your shower and try to relax while I get you something. As she was leaving I asked what her name was; to which she replied “most everyone just calls me Mommy”. Yeah sure that’ll be the day I thought.

When I finished my shower I noticed a pair of pink panties hanging on the towel rack and started fantasizing about their owner. I slipped them on, and wrapped a towel over them and went to lie down. Shortly after I heard the door open and saw “Mommy” coming in carrying some extra towels and stuff. She said I was probably all tense from driving all day and that a good backrub would help. She bade me, remove my pajama top, lie down on my stomach and just let her rub my back with some cream. While she was massaging my back she asked if I noticed a pair of panties hanging in the bathroom. She said her previous guest had called while she was downstairs. She also said it might just be an excuse for the young lady to come back for another stay. I almost choked, and lied that I had not seem them, but if I do I will be sure to let her know.

She kept talking and rubbing and I was really starting to feel better when the conversation returned to her prior guest. It seemed that she too was a salesperson and also had had a stomach ache when she arrived. I asked if she had helped her, and if so, if she thought

the same medicine could help me? Mommy replied, “My procedure is always effective, safe and fast acting. “Wow” I said and asked just what that might be. She leaned forward bringing her lips close to my ear, her right hand came down and rested on my behind, her finger traced my most sensitive crack and she whispered in my ear, “A Nice Warm Soapy Enema”.

I blushed red and wanted to disappear, then I heard her say, “first lets take your temperature”. Her hand reached for my towel and pulled it off. Then she exclaimed,” well now, I do believe I’ve found those missing panties; you naughty boy”. Smack, Smack! “Mommy’s going to have to have a talk with you” as she smacked my backside. Next she lowerd those panties and smacked my bare butt as she said “shame on you lying to Mommy”, smack, smack, smack. “We have to talk young man.”

Next she took hold of me ear and led me to a chair. As I approached her I saw a folded towel resting on the vanity table next to her; a portion of which was laid back and I could see what looked like a hair brush without the bristles. She reached out and took my hand, leading me to her. As I stood motionless before her she said “Naughty boys and girls have to learn not to take things that don’t belong to them and especially not to lie. Mommy’s going to have to give you a good Old FashionedSpanking”. With that she reached up and took hold of the waist band of my panties, lowering them and draped me across her lap. As I lay there I couldn’t believe what had just happened, I was still catching up with events when I heard a swooshing sound followed by a loud slap and a burning sensation across my behind. My head snapped up and the air was sucked out of me so I couldn’t even scream, Whoosh, smack, yowl. I reached behind to cover my butt only to have Mommy grab my wrist and pin it to my waist., and so it went till I was crying like a baby. Next she stretched one of my cheeks upward to expose that sensitive area where the behind meets the upper thigh, whoosh, smack, whoosh, smack. All sense of propriety was now gone and I was balling like a baby; listening to myself cry Pleeeze Mommy I’m sorry, pleeeze Mommy, pleeeze. Next she paused and repositioned me over one knee and wrapped her other leg behind my legs, locking me in a scissor grip; then came the paddle. I don't ever remember a more painful, discipline spanking in my entire life.

A good spanking should not only be painful, but embarrassing and even downright humiliating; hearing yourself begging and crying. Well I certainly learned a valuable lesson that afternoon. I would never lie to “Mommy” again. When she finally stopped she set me down on my knees in front of her and hugged me and held my face in her bosom. As my tears soaked her blouse I could see the nipples of her firm breasts pressing against the cloth of her blouse, there softness caressing my face. At that moment I felt more loved and aroused then I could ever remember; not since my mother had last spanked me.

While I lay with my head in her lap recovering she whispered that I should go lay down while she prepared a warm soapy enema for me. After your enema we’ll talk again about taking things that don’t belong to you, and telling lies. I was mortified. When she came back in she was carrying a large red enema bag with little soapy bubbles running down the side. She bade me to lay across her lap while she administered my enema. First I felt her cool slippery fingers spreading my butt cheeks and touching my most sensitive place, and hearing her say “take a deep breath now” while her finger gently slid up inside me, slowly sliding back and forth relaxing my bun hole. Then came the enema nozzle and the rush of warm soapy water filling my bottom.

When she finished she gently massaged my tummy to get the cleansing water into all those “nooks & crannies” as she liked to call them. Finally I was allowed to go relive myself. Wow I felt so relieved, so un-bloated, so weak. I washed up and returned to my bedroom, only to see “Mommy” sitting there waiting for me. I wondered what she wanted now.

“Come here young man, it’s time we had another talk”.

Well OTK4fun, your story is a nice story, but it seems you have posted (#6) in the wrong thread.

I'm with Claudia. Keep fantasies in their section. This is a thread for real replies. I have no interest in fantasy since my own imagination beats any story I've heard.

Maybe "hate" is too strong a word, but when growing up being told that I was going to get an enema was met with dread. I can remember my mother telling me that the slowest she ever saw me move was when coming to the bathroom to be given an enema. It was like my feet were made of clay. Once there I took my time with every action thinking that I could put off the inevitable. I would whine, complain, and beg not to be given the quantity of warm soapy water that waited for me in the bag that hung on the wall. Despite all this procrastination I eventually found myself lying over her knees being given the enema and then told to hold it until I thought I was ready to explode. But times change and kids grow up. I only had maybe one enema as a teenager and that was one I asked for.

The only one I had as a child I was 9. I had no idea what was going on or about to take place or why. I was told by my mom to take off all my clothes and get on my hands and knees. I remember the nozzle going in and the first part of the water. That wasn't bad but when the cramps hit I took off. It pulled the nozzle out and everything else came out as I was on all fours headed to my room crying. My older sister knew what had happened. She got them all the time. I hated it. That was my first and last as a child.

My early enemas produced some dread and whining/crying. Oddly enough, I do not remember this, but was told by my sister, who is two years older. We were given twice-weekly enemas, in Grandma's bathroom, always together, and naked. My earliest recollections were of going to my bedroom and getting undressed, then marching slowly to the bathroom usually holding hands with my sister for support. The enemas started small...3 or 4 child's bulbs. Sis got five or six, and we both knew that no amount of whining, crying or begging would stop Grandma. We immediately knelt on footstools which allowed us to drape ourselves over the sides of her clawfoot bathtum, hands flat on the tub floor. Sis always got the fingerful of vaseline first, then it went up my anus. In went the nozzle and the first bulb was squeezed in. She alternated us until we both had received our full enemas. Sis always got two or three bulbs more. Oddly enough, Grandma switched us both to the bag at the same time, and we both got our own 4 qt bags. (Obviously, they were NOT filled all the way.) They WERE filled more full as we grew, until we were both getting 3 qts. By then, we both had bocome big time klismos, and were giving to each other when Mom & Grandma were not around. The three qt enemas became easy, because we decided to help each other increase our ability to take four. Yes, they were very sexually charged for us, and although we did not actually have sex, we did enjoy seeing what the enemas did to us "down there". We have had a lifetime shared love of the bag, and during our married years would sneak off to a hotel for a day ("shopping") to enjoy our fetish. If our spouses ever found out, they never let on, and now that we are both widowed, we enjoy each other 3-4 times a week.

We all have our own experiences, but I understand the feelings and reactions of e mom.

Unlike her and others I never had an over the lap enema. Mine were always on the bathroom floor on my knees leaning over the side of the bathtub. When I saw the enema bag hanging on the shower curtain rod I knew that it was going to fill my backside with warm soapsuds and that I was going to lose control of my bowels in a few minutes.

When my mother told me, I really hated to have to take an enema, and I moved slowly also. Unlike e mom my enemas were from ages 5 to 17. Unlike e mom, my mother would often surprise me after school when I saw the full bulging bag with the black nozzle shiny with vaseline dangling down to the bathtub. Mom had that nozzle inside my bottom before I knew it, and she would hold it in me to keep it there until she was satisfied that she had filled me up.

When I was a child I hated enemas even the word spoken by my MOM or Grandma I was terrified.I would put up a real fuss and had to be held down. And like so of you I begged and cried but nothing was going to change when Mom mind made up her mind. I started getting better as I got older, I gave into it more I don't know if thats when I started liking enemas or I knew that nothing would change her mind about it. My Brothers and received enemas twice weekly until we were in our teens.

Did u brothers hate the enemas or like them?????

I absolutely hated those first enemas from my mom. I would hold back my bowel movements if I was playing because I didn't want to stop to go to the bathroom. This would eventually lead to constipation. My mom would notice my condition and ask me when I last moved my bowels. When I gave an unsatisfactory answer she would give me a dose of Milk of Magnesia and tell me if it didn't work she would have to use the syringe on me to make me go. Instantly I would be filled with a sense of dread and terror knowing what was going to happen. The laxative never worked because I would continue to withhold because by now it was painful to go due to the constipation. After a while she would ask me again if I had gone and when I said no she would take me into the bathroom and explain that since the laxative had failed to produce results she was going to have to give me a good syringing to make my bowels move. She would undress me and place me on the toilet as I begged and pleaded in an attempt to avoid the enema. I was given one last try to go as she got out the bulb syringe, Vaseline, a bar of Ivory soap and began to prepare my enema. Finally, I would strain to go as the scent of Ivory soap filled the bathroom as she mixed up a large bowl of the hot soapy water. By now I was so constipated that there was no way I was going to move my bowels. When she had everything ready she would place some towels on the bathroom floor and tell me it was time to get started. She would have me lie face down on the towels and place the bowl of soapy water on the floor beside me. She would lubricate the nozzle with Vaseline and I would hear the bubbling sound of her filling the syringe. No amount of begging, crying or pleading was going to stop her now. Her mind was made up and she was determined to make my bowels move. She would then spread my butt cheeks, stick the nozzle in my ass and squeeze the bulb hard, squirting the first syringe full of the Ivory soapsuds up into my unwilling bowels as I cried out in protest. As she pulled the now empty syringe from my trembling ass I would immediately hear the bubbling and gurgling sound as she refilled the syringe for another assault on my stopped up bottom. Despite my begging her to stop she would continue to use the syringe on me again and again explaining that she had to get enough of the soapy water up inside of me to clean me out. Wracked with cramps and feeling like I was going to explode, she would finally stop and make me hold it in for a while to give the soapsuds time to work on me before at last placing me back on the toilet and telling me to go. She would watch me as the soapy water and the plugged up shit gushed from my bottom and filled the toilet. If she was satisfied the she had thoroughly cleaned me out she would place me back down on the towels and give me another syringing of plain water to rinse the soapsuds from my bowels. As I expelled the second enema she would clean everything up and put away the syringe while warning me that if I didn't want the syringe used on me again that I needed to keep myself regular. As much as I hated having the syringe used on me, I think the worst part was the realization that I had no control over one of my most basic bodily functions. She had determined when my bowels would move, not me. As I said, I would hold it in, even after being given a laxative. I was in control. But after she syringed me there was no holding it in. She was now in control. After a while I would revert to my old habits of holding it in and the battle for control of my bowels would begin again with always the same outcome. She would get out the syringe and once again I would lose the fight. This war would go on throughout my childhood with me always on the losing end of the syringe.

I never got enemas, suppositories, but no enemas, but my 2 best male friends did. One hated them and one kinda liked them I think because he would talk in detail about them.

In truth I hated enemas as a child. Mom was a nurse,and enemas were very clinically done, just like you would expect them to be at the Drs. office or Hospital . The bag always seemed to be be very full and very soapy, though I am sure they were not full sized enemas. I was always expected to take the entire enema, and hold it, no matter how urgent the need to go or how crampy they were. I always thought that they were embarrassing, invasive,and some form of cruelty. This feeling was fueled by all of the commercials on television advertising laxatives an never enemas. Needless to say I resisted ,complained and misbehaved, causing Mom to get angry and stern. The whole process was a struggle

I received enemas and suppositories for my ever constant "constipation." from my mom. I hated them, but to her, regularity was an impossible goal to be attained and she meant to attain it. For me, I'd rather ride my bicycle.

All of that changed around age 10 or so. I was in the hospital preparing for surgery and at that time, enemas were still given routinely prior to procedures and surgeries. An older (but not much older) girl came in to give me my enema. She was probably a "candy striper" volunteer, maybe 15 or 16. I was told to strip naked and lay on my side. She inserted the nozzle, started the flow, and then proceeded to talk to me. I had never had a nurse talk to me during an enema. She also noticed that I got an erection and she commented on it. Suddenly, I was embarrassed and excited at the same time. I never told anyone about it there, especially my parents.

Since that time, enemas weren't that bad. 😃 I enjoy giving and receiving them today as well as suppositories.

A candy striper 16 yo volunteer give an enema to a patient? I don't think so...