Did you watch the enema being prepared?

When you were given an enema was everything ready when you were taken into the bathroom, or were you taken in and had to watch while the enema was being prepared? If you had to watch the preparations, how did it make you feel? I was always taken into the bathroom first and had to watch as my mother prepared the enema. I remember being told to undress and then having to watch as my mother retrieved the bulb syringe from under the cabinet, along with the vaseline, a bar of Ivory soap and a bowl. I was overcome with a sense of dread as she mixed up the soapy solution in the bowl and the scent of Ivory filled the bathroom. I hated enemas at that age. I think that is why I was brought into the bathroom early. I believe she was afraid the soapy solution would cool down if she had to track me down and drag me into the bathroom. She liked to have the solution hot when she gave an enema. I remember her telling me to lay down on the towel because we had to get started before the soapsuds cooled down. Some tell of being taken into the bathroom and seeing the bag already filled and ready, but my mother always used the bulb syringe on me. What were your experiences and thoughts?

Most of my childhood enemas were given to me in bed. I knew what was going to happen when my mother would bring a stool into my bedroom and set a potty on it. Then she would bring in a plastic garbage bag and a large towel and tell me to move to the far side of the bed while she spread them on the side nearest to her. Next she put the jar of vaseline and a box of kleenex on a TV tray beside my bed. Finally she brought in the already filled enema bag and the empty jug that she had mixed the soap solution in, using it to catch the bit of solution that she let out to clear air out of the tube. She hung the bag on a hook on the opened door of the closet beside my bed, made me take off my pyjamas and curl up on my left side on the towel, inserted the nozzle in my rectum and opened the clamp while squeezing my butt cheeks tight together. If I was up and around when she decided I needed an enema, she would give it to me in the bathroom and prepare everything first before calling me in.

My bedroom shared a door with the bathroom and I could see my mom preparing my enema at the sink while laying naked in my bed.

One of the most erotic enema sessions that my mother ever gave me occurred on a Saturday morning when I was about eleven. Mom had stopped giving me enemas with a small red bulb and had started giving me laxatives such as milk-of-magnesia, ex-lax, and that dreaded castoria. A neighbor girl, named Dattie, told me about a bag enema that her mother had given her recently and described it as being special. She told me that I ought to get my Mom to give me one as well. Well, after we stopped playing together, I went back into the house where Mom was and told her what Dattie had said about her bag enema that her Mother had given her. Mom listened but did not say anything and kept on preparing dinner. I bugged her about it for weeks. No matter how often I bugged her, she appeared to ignore me. So, I enlisted her Mother, my Mam-Maw, for help. Mam-Maw did talk with Mom for me, but it still did not bring me a bag enema. A month or so passed and I continued to bug Mom for a bag enema. I, even, continued to ask Mam-Maw for help as well. Finally, one day, Mam-Maw came over to our house. I was sitting on the front porch on the porch swing. Mam-Maw sat with me a second or so before she entered the house. I, again, asked for help. Mam-Maw kissed my fore-head as she was leaving the porch. A few minutes later, she came out, gave me a thumbs up and got into her car. About 30 minutes later she came back. She got out of the car carrying a sack with a red and black box sticking out of it. She, again, sat down next to me on the swing. She pointed to the sack and said "Mike, I think I have gotten your Mother to agree to what you want." I smiled, kissed her cheek, and told her how much I loved her. She got up and entered the house. A few minutes later, she came out without the sack and again sat next to me. She said "I've done all I can, son." She kissed my fore-head again, got up and left. I waited a few minutes before entering the house and when I did nothing was said about Grandma's gift. Weeks passed and that special Saturday came. I was sleeping. Mom had already prepared my enema when she came in to wake me up. She did it by sitting next to me and rubbing my back. Once awake, Mom took my hand and led me into my bathroom where the enema waited. Mom gave me that bag and then 2 more. I watched carefully as she prepared my next two and on the last one, as she turned off the water, I asked her to add a little more to the bag. She looked at me as if I was crazy, but in the end, she turned the water back on, undid the adapter plug and stuck the bag back under the flow. She asked me how much water did I want. I shook my head not knowing what to say. So, she said, "well, let's see, why don't we fill it all the way and see if you can take it." I smiled and she did end up filling the bottle all the way up. And, believe it or not, I took that entire bag! Mom couldn't believe it. It was a feeling I will never forget. Absolutely awesome!

Only once do I recall watching Mom filling her trusty vintage enema can with an Ivory soap solution while I sat on the toilet struggling unsuccessfully to have a BM. I knew I would not been able to avoid the enema since she had already covered my bed with a towel. The cleansing began in moments.

Most of my childhood enemas were prepared and ready to go when mom called me into the bathroom. The sink would be filled with hot soapy water (Ivory of course), the 8 oz. bulb syringe would be standing upright on the side of the sink along with the large jar of Vaseline with its cap off, and the toilet seat lid would be down and covered with a towel. Mom had set the stage and I was about to get another one of her "good" enemas.

Later, after I had graduated to the family combination syringe bag, the stage would be set again with the bulging bag hanging by its knotted shoelace on the robe hook next to the toilet. Mom would be sitting on small stool next to the toilet, coating the black nozzle with Vaseline. After removing all my clothes, it was over the toilet again for another session. I do recall sitting on the toilet and watching her refill the bag from the bathtub spout for my second filling. She would tell me what I good enema I took and how good I was going to feel after this next one.

The equipment was always left out to dry for a few days after its use and I can recall several enemas given to me just because the bag was handy and it had been awhile since my last one. I'd be finishing up my evening bath and mom would reach for the bag and I'd sit there hypnotized, watching her fill it from the tub spout. As the water was draining out of the tub I would get on my knees with my head down and get filled right in the tub. That woman knew how to give a good enema.

I never saw my mother make me an enema. The bathroom door would be closed and I would be waiting in my bedroom having already been told what was soon to happen and had changed to either pajamas or just had my underwear on and a robe. When called to the bathroom I would never see the full bag until the door was closed and there it would be hanging from a hook. My body would tense on the way to the bathroom, but I know that my pulse also quickened once I saw the bag. Mom would sit down on the edge of the bathtub, I would take off my robe and step out of my underwear, and position myself over her lap.

There were times when I would be asked if I thought I needed another enema since the bag was still out. I don't think I ever said "yes" to that. There were a couple of times when I was not asked and got one because it was so convenient being out and all.

No I never watched the preparation. I was called to the bathroom and after the door was closed I could see the Davol Red Comfy enema bag hanging from a hook. It was usually full with ivory soap suds running down the front. The vaseline was opened on the sink and mom would sit on the closed toilet seat and I would lay over her knees.

As child my mother came in when I was sitting too long on the toilet. "is everything ok?" she asked. "yes,yes" was my answer, but my mom knew my answer.

So she took a big red rubber bulb out of the little case byside the lavatory, filled it with water and I had to kneel down, butt up, and she filld me with two -three fillings.

This situation was a very terrible one for me. When I saw the bulb in her hand drops of swead was forming on my forehead.

Today, when my wife is preparing an enema for me, I'm always nervous and I coundn't wait for receiving. And my little friend is getting very hard.

Those images of my mom and/or grandma preparing an enema, have likely fueled my lifelong interests and equipment fetish. While I didn't often see enema preparation for one to be given to me, I did see the prep when one was about to be given to another family member. I was usually being positioned by one or the other as the actual enema was prepared.

When one of my sisters was to be on the receiving end, the actual prep was usually carried out at the kitchen sink. I suppose that it was more convenient to fill the enema bag at the taller faucet or to fill the pitcher with water and soapsuds. I watched intently and tried to get a better view in the bedroom or bathroom whenever possible. I was excluded as I got older.

I must admit to some feelings of jealousy and perhaps envy, as my older sister was about to get an enema on the bed rather than in the cold tub. That is where I always got mine.

Most of the time I was in the bathroom during the preparations. If I was constipated, I was usually sitting on the toilet trying to have a BM. If it was a 'scheduled' enema, I'd participate in the preparation (getting the equipment from the hall closet, etc.) About the only times I wasn't there for the prep was when I'd been sick and was asleep. I'd be woken up and escorted into the bathroom where I get onto my knees and chest on the bathmat.

If I was not feeling well, I would either get called to the bathroom after it was filled or Mom would come in with a towel and told me to turn on my left side. There was no warning of the impending event.

If it was a 'maintenance' enema, Mom would say, "bobby it is time for your enema", I would go to my room, get undressed and watched her finish the preparations of the first enema, always with ivory soap.

I was always present for the preparation of the second enema, and there was always a second enema. It was a tap water enema. They were always given with me in a knee chest position.

It would all depend. When I was younger and not feeling well Mom would do her usual 'Mom' thing and come in to check on me while I was still in bed. She sit on the side of the bed and lean over to kiss my forehead probably to see if I had a temperature. If I felt warm to her I would have my temperature taken. If she was going to stay there while she took my temp I would usually have it done orally. But if she had me take my bottoms off I knew I would have my temp taken rectally ... which I was totally ok with .. and Mom would always tell me to lay still. (I asked her once why rectally if she wasn't going to be in the room and she said she was always afraid the thermometer might break if I bit down on it ... made sense.) Before Mom left my room she would pull the covers back up over me and then leave.

Of course her leaving the room ... only after I was 6 or 7 ... was almost certainly to get things ready for an enema. I learned that real fast and associated the rectal temp and her leaving the room to mean that I was going to get an enema. She was gone usually a little longer than the 3 or 4 minutes and when she came back she would pull the thermometer out of me and read it. Looking back .. I don't think it made a lot of difference whether I had a temperature or not .. she had made me an enema and that is what I was going to get. Ok with me.

As I've said before .. enemas from Mom were always good and I never really minded them. She would always have this mixing bowl that she filled with water and the Ivory soap bar. Sometimes I saw her prepare the soapy enema .. sometimes not .. either because I was in bed with the thermometer .. or she just wanted me to rest. She was always so soothing ... I will never forget how she would hum a song or something when she was giving me the enema. 😃 ... As to the rinse enema .. yes I almost always was there when she rinsed out the bowl and would put water in the bulb to rinse out any soap that had been there. I watched when I was sitting on the toilet letting the soapy enema out.

I usually was given 2 bowls full of rinse enema with the bulb. That was before I 'graduated' to the bag. By that time Mom was pretty liberal or understanding and would let me have my enemas when the urge got to me. Sometimes I actually needed an enema .. but to be honest .. it was usually just me wanting an enema. Except for my periods. Sometimes those were a bitch.

Until I was 10 or so, I always got to watch the preparation of my frequent "well" enemas. I would be told by my mother that it was time for an enema and would be led into the bathroom where I could see Daddy standing at the lavatory preparing my enema. Momma would kneel down on fluffy bath towels that were spread on the floor and begin to undress me. I could watch Daddy running water into the big red rubber enema bag that I had once thought was the hot water bottle used when I had an earache. But the hot water bottle didn’t have that long red hose coming out of the bottom like this did. He would hold a bar of Ivory Soap under the tap to make the warm water quite soapy. I also got to see the black bat-shaped enema nozzle lubricated with cold cream before I was told to kneel on all-fours on the towels.

After the first time, this procedure always excited me and I looked forward to having it repeated often. If I was ill, the procedure would be different and I usually didn't get to watch the preparation of the enemas.

Whenever my Mom or Dad gave me a punishment enema, I was led into the bathroom and there, hanging from the curtain rod was a bulging enema bag filled with soapy hot water. For some reason my cunny always started getting moist and damp. Just the site of a full RED enema bag gets me all sexually excited. I hope it never stops.

Yes i got excited seein enema being prepared

The great majority of the times, it was ready for me when I got called to the bathroom. A few times when I got there she was still preparing the solution by working the bar of ivory soap in the sink which was full of warm water. She looked like she was washing her hands rubbing the bar of soap with both hands immersed in the water. I noticed that the water went from just a bit cloudy to a more white color. The bulb syringe would be standing up on the edge of the sink. When she was done preparing the solution, she ran some warm water over her hands to rinse off the soap and almost always left the bar of Ivory floating in the solution. If it was to be an enema with the bag, the sink would still be full of soapy water. She used a plastic pitcher to fill the bag. When I entered the bathroom after being called I'd always look to see if a pitcher was present. If it wasn't, I soon noticed a bulb and not the hanging bag. Before I was a teenage, all the enemas she gave me were bulb enemas. After that, about two thirds were bag enemas and the other third was with the bulb.

The only preperation i saw was the bulb floating in the sink

Part of my mom's routine for both my older sister and myself was to bring us into the bathroom for the preparation of the enema that we were to receive. When I was eight it brought me to tears when she would attach the hose and nozzle and the start running the steaming water into the 2 quart red bag. She would stop and drop the bar of ivory soap in the bag and shake it up. Then she would fill the bag to the top.

Out would come the jar of vaseline and the rectal thermometer. She would put a finger cot on and coat the nozzle with vaseline. The I would undress and lay on my back with my knees pulled to my chest. She would place a glob of vaseline on her finger and start working it into my hole. She would work her finger all the way inside and she would lube me two or three times. I remember that she would be humming a tune the whole time.

The rectal thermometer went in for three minutes before and after an enema. Then the nozzle went in all the way. Then the click of the clamp and the rush of the very warm water.

Enemas were two quarts always and held for a minimum of ten minutes, sometimes fifteen.

I stopped fighting the enema process at about age 10. By my adolescent years, I looked forward to them.

The smell of Ivory soap or the appearance of a tube of K-Y Jelly takes me back to those days.

When my mom passed away in 2005, my sister and I cleaned out her house. In the linen closet, we found the enema bags used on us. Neatly paced in two boxes were the enema bags used on us. She had all of the nozzles and several bars of soap, along with two jars of vaseline and the rectal thermometers she used.

We had a good laugh about it. It only made us miss her more.

My parents always had the bag filled and hanging there when my mother called me into the bathroom. It was always a surprise and I was completely unsuspecting when I went in the door. It was always a bad experience, and I cannot explain why I would want to give them to myself so many years later, but I do and always enjoy it.

hankb

We lived in a small house with only a single full bathroom. If someone was going to get an enema mom would get the bag from the linen closet in the hall and stand at the bathroom sink running the water. We could see her doing it and we usually knew who the lucky recipient was going to be, too. Between my two sisters and me, the recipient usually was the one not watching mom doing the preparation. Of the three kids I was the one who liked the procedure at the time the least. My two sisters were much more accepting. But in hindsight (not a pun) mom really did give very good enemas.

Sometimes the enema was already prepared. Most times I sat and watched as mom got it ready. Laying out the towels across my bed. Poping the lid off of the Vaseline jar. Pouring a pitcher of warm water into the enema can and dropping in a bar of Ivory soap. She'd swirl the soap around in the can until she was satisfied that the solution was thick enough, most times leaving the bar to float in the can till it was empty. Mom would position a few tissues to be wrapped around the base of the nozzle as she pulled it out of me. It always added to the anxiety , to see her hang the can on the nail above the headboard of my bed, and then thickly coat the nozzle with Vaseline.

That is half the fun!

After I had been informed (by my Dad) that I would be getting (my first ever) enema (with a enema bag) I was scared silly.I basically knew what a enema was. I got out of bed, in my p.j.'s,I sneaked out of my bed and peeked into the kitchen.My Dad was preparing this first ever (age 9) enema,going by what the family Pediatrician had advised. It was a full quart of warm soapy water (103-104 degrees F when poured into the enema bag). I was a small bodyframed boy,and this was a big enema for me.I watched my Dad pour the water into a large glass bowl,and rub a bar of Castille soap in the water until it was milky/bubbly.Then he poured the enema solution into the enema bag,screwed in the stopper-hose thing.My Dad raised the bag a bit,unsnapped the clip,and let maybe a oz.or two come out the black,baseball-bat shaped enema nozzle (to get the air out of the hose) It was ready.My Dad started to come my way,so I ran back to my bed and pulled the covers nearly over my head. My Dad went into the bathroom.He was there for maybe 10 minutes.More preparations. My boyhood fears and dread of getting a enema were about to occur.

An ex of mine wanted me to give her enemas but we always seemed to be "busy" doing other fun things. Since then, I've often thought of how fun it would have been to have her standing naked and watching while I filled the bag. Wish I'd thought of all that at the time! LOL

I was never given enemas. I discovered them on my own. It never occurred to me to make the visual preparation of an enema part of the eroticism or punishment. That is an excellent idea, and it sounds very hot.

I was called into the bathroom and the full open top bag was ready hanging on the door hook with the hose in the bag.

I would be usually naked sitting on the toilet trying to have a BM. My mom would get the red combo bag from the hall closet and fill it in the sink. I could not believe how much it bulged when full! She would hang it from the open medicine cabinet door over the sink. She would then spread towels on the floor and get out the Vaseline. She would put a heavy coat on the black enema nozzle and I would then be instructed to lay down. I would be on may back with my knees pulled up, my feet flat on the floor. In would go the nozzle, click went the clamp and the warm water rocketed into my constipated little rectum.

Lance--That was more or less my experience--I was called in when it was ready and given no warning or choice. It was a bad experience, and I cannot explain why I like to give them to myself now, 60 years later.

hankb

I got all my childhood enemas by bulb. When I was called to the place (was not the same at all time) the bulb was full. Of course, when a second bulf of water was given, the bulb had to be refiled.

I was eye-witness when a friend of same age was given enemas, that time the bulb was also filled, when his mothet entered into the room where we were playing.