Moms, BMs and Effects

Yes, the venerable Boston and Maine Railroad

My mom never gave me enemas. If I was constipated she would have me lay across the bathroom counter on my stomach. Then she would insert her middle finger in my ass up to the last knuckle. She would root around in there a bit. I would get funny feelings in the “willy” while she did this. Then she would tell me to push. I would push out here finger and a turd the size of a Polish sausage would always follow.

Cranky or sick home. Mom didn't need any more information before the bulb or bag got used.

I am not sure how she knew it was time for an enema, except asking my sister and I if we had a BM recently (within two or three days). Of course, if it was beyond that time limit, we were called into the bathroom, one at a time, and put into the ass up prone position.

@BigBagBoy

It was not until the mid to late 1960's that central heating and cooling in residences went main stream in most of the US. That meant many homes depended on convection for air flow to maintain fresh air in the home. Thus when your kid brother unleashed what he referred to as a, “Silent but deadly one”, and he laughed as you gagged walking through it when caught off guard, you often were not the only victim. Mom's frequently would walk through the house later, encountering the remains of many a brother's juvenile prank. It was not a matter of watching with eyes in the back of the head, but rather simple deduction. Make no mistake about it, foul flatulence has its own distinctive aroma for each individual and Mom's can usually differentiate a particular gas cloud's source and identify the producer.

My younger brothers were baffled by Mom's ability to call one of them into the kitchen where she waited with a purgative dose of Milk of Magnesia for the offender.

When I got to expulsion of the 3rd enema, I was expected to tell him whether that round had run clear or not.

I can remember back to when I was 5, and my mom gave me an enema. I didn't like it at first. She would give me an Enema every Saturday, she said she did it to keep me healthy. As I grew older I began to accept them as normal and began to like them. Did anyone else feel this way?

Victoria raises another good point regarding gas. Enemas for distention, bloating, and gas were often prescribed back in those earlier days of my life. Many texts in those days referred to those “gas moving enemas”.

My mom didn't purchase laxatives or other digestive aids such as m.o.m. If she thought help was needed to mitigate any digestive distress, “you're getting an enema” was the battle cry.

We kids didn't dare stink up the house or car and did our darndest to keep our playful fart storms to more discrete venues lest we get tattled on.

Let's face it, boys fart. Not only that we like to. Growing up there were some hazards to letting one, however, and I soon learned that a fart anywhere near where mom was would result in a conversation that began with “Have you been to the bathroom lately?” The result of a “no” answer always meant that I was going to get an enema. If the answer was “yes,” mom would say “well, you better go try to go some more.” That meant that I was now on the hook to deliver and if I went to the bathroom and did not, then it was back to getting an enema. No, as much as I loved farting, there might be a price to pay for that little bit of enjoyment. Now having two sisters only made made matters worse because if either got a whiff of one of my farts they would announce to the world that I had cut one. Then it was the conversation with mom again.

@Victoria1951 said,

My younger brothers were baffled by Mom's ability to call one of them into the kitchen where she waited with a purgative dose of Milk of Magnesia for the offender.

With my mom or grandma, it wasn’t a laxative, it was a couple of enemas. With grandma, it was only the guilty one on the receiving end of an enema nozzle, but with mom, it was all three of us.

I had numerous enemas from mom growing up. They always seemed to be when no one else was home. Very private moments for us. She would just tell me I needed an enema. She only had on a a very thin house robe loosely tied. She was very busy. She would tell me to get undressed. Get on the bathroom floor on the towel she had put down, on my knees, shoulders down. She would throughly lubricate my hole, nice and deep, inside and out. Would already have the two quart bags filled with hot soapy water with douche nozzle attached. Insertion, fill, evacuate while she watched and refilled the bag with hot water for the rinse. 'That feels better,doesn't it's, she would ask? She would then tell me this is just between she and I and nobody's else's business. She wouldn't want me to be embarrassed about it. Continued until I was fifteen and privacy became an issue. After my father passed I discussed it with her and she very happily administered whenever I pleased. Our secret.

Did my mom monitor me? Ha, as I've mentioned somewhere here, it was like a timer was started once I went into the bathroom and if I stayed too long I'd soon here the dreaded “any luck yet” question being called out….

Yes she did. About twice a month when we were home alone. she’d grab me by the hand, into the bathroom. I’d be kicking and screaming. She’d have a chair by the toilet, a pot of warm water, with a bar of soap floating in it, and the RED enema bulb. She’d start talking sweetly to me, to calm me down. She then pulls down my shorts, and underwear, sits in the chair, and has me OTK. She spreads my checks, and starts finger fucking my ass with lube. All the while telling me I’m a good girl. I remember it felt good. She then gives me an enema, and tells me to hold it. She’s squirming under me, and moaning. When she’s ready, she tells me to sit on the toilet. While I’m on the toilet, expelling, she has an orgasm. She got off giving me an enema. It started around five, and ended when I started my period. How it manifests itself is, I m all about anal sexual play. I’m only able to orgasm through anal sex. I enjoy giving and receiving. I only give myself enemas when I’m going to have sex. It does arouse me to read about, and watch enema porn. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before I experience an enema during sexual play.

Receiving enemas for the sexual satisfaction of another is so erotic.

I think Mom enjoyed giving me mine as she hung around “ doing stuff / cleaning the equipment / bulb or bag ” as I expelled. She ALWAYS checked the results, and if not up to par… guess what??? More of the bulb or bag.

"if you are sick enough to stay home you're sick enough to get an enema"

Yup - I remember that growing up in the early 1950's. It made for a really good attendance record. 😃

Yes, he checked and asked how it was going. He gave me an enema weekly on Saturdays to keep me clean and prevent problems.

Yes if she noticed I wasn't going right..I was definitely getting an enema…her doctor was very big on enemas…fix all !!

If I stayed home from school and had to go to doctors office 99% of the time when home changed into pajamas and waited for the dreaded call to the bathroom floor…

Here we were talking about the sixth sense. Moms seem to have owned this one🤔; but not always. 😎

I used to sit on the toilet for a long time because I found peace here from my two brothers, who always bothered me while I was reading. In the beginning, of course, they were picture books.

Sitting too long, forgetting time ALWAYS meant enemas. Mom thought I had a little problem that could only be solved with the red bulb.

With these enemas her sixth sense was completely wrong; at least 90%.

But otherwise she had a 100% hit rate 😂, except for a few punishment enemas. She literally "smelled" constipation 😂 or ailments in the colon. Then, from my point of view, I quickly found myself at the wrong end of a bulb. Mother was merciless.

@efun42: “waited for the dreaded call to the bathroom…”

I can relate to that! When I stayed home from school, I knew an enema was in the offing. If I heard mom puttering around in the bathroom and running water, I knew the dreaded call was coming soon.

Most of this fits here, what doesn't, perhaps it will give you a chuckle.

Mom always knew when we needed one, usually by observing our demeanor, and I learned if we were fussy about eating the question of our last BM would be asked to which any reply other than "a little while ago" would result in the bulb for younger sisters or a hosing for me or older sister.

I recently spent 3 days visiting my older sister on my way to Philadelphia to visit other family, while there as her two adult kids are temporarily living with her (thanks to the scamdemic) were using one of the bathrooms, I went in the bath shared by the guest bedroom and my sister's bedroom.

I was surprised to see an open top silicon bag with a double balloon hanging in the shower. This is the sister that I shared enemas with on the farm when we were young I was between 5 and 8 and she was between 7 and 10. Of course later she was aware of my discovering her equipment and that opened up discussions of our younger years and she told me a story about our youngest sister.

My two younger sisters didn't share our enjoyment and every time they needed enemas a lot of arguments were heard. She told me of one time when our youngest sister was called to the bathroom for an enema and she told mom “I don't have to poop,” Tess said to her “don't worry you will”! She still laughs about it today. I don't remember that incident but she is two years older than me.

While we shared a lot together there was nothing sexual, we didn't even know what sex was back then. I wish I was able to buy that farm, I looked it up, it's been developed, houses all over it!

LostInThe50s

@LostInThe50s said,

This is the sister that I shared enemas with on the farm when we were young I was between 5 and 8 and she was between 7 and 10.

My siblings and I did the same thing you and your sister did. Unlike you and your sister though, my brother, sister and I were active from twelve to eighteen when we engaged in enema activity with each other. It got started as preteens, once we were responsible for our own enemas, due to constipation issues. It didn’t end until we graduated from High School.

Mom would come over on Sunday morning when all the stars were aligned and we knew we would not be interrupted. She would drive over wearing just her house coat and plastic, pink fuck me pumps we found online. She would pull into the empty garage stall. I would close the garage door. She would get out and immediately remove her house coat. She had large sagging tits with large nipples that pointed forward with the sag. I had trained her in the proper language to use, so, upon exiting her car she would say, 'Are you ready to have your asshole stretched honey?' To to be continued...

Every three days we were asked about bowel habits and when was the last time we pooped. It was routine to get the enema if there was any hesitation or questionable answer or just for good measure. Lifetime effect for regular bowel habits and enemas. No complaints here!

I was rarely if ever asked. Mom had and still has a 6th sense about bowel habits. She just knew. I don't know if I had a "tell" or what. I never asked. But she would look at me, and just had "that look" on her face, and this certain, "ah ha" in her voice and before I knew it I heard, "Carly, come into my room, please". There was the bulb or bag (depending on age) waiting and needing no introduction. Umm but it was "introduced".

In adulthood, the issue of regularity has been something that many of us seem to be concerned with. After all, the late evening commercials make sure we're well aware of the multitude of products available.

Like mom and grandma, I don't spend hard earned money to take care of business. If I need, or desire, a quart or two of warm water and maybe a bit of soap, certainly mitigates the issues at hand.

The initial acquisition of a vintage enema bag adds to the pleasure of some adult TLC, and an adept administrator/partner is always appreciated.

This has been the case for many decades since mom and grandma started this simple effort, even though I resisted their ministrations as a youngster.

Boy oh boy, have enemas been a wonderful indulgence, and a simple procedure and pleasure!