I'm totally convinced that those early enemas from mom were the origin of my enema fetish today and I think that is the case with most of us on this forum. The first enema I can remember was around age five and it was quite a traumatic experience. During my childhood, I would hold back when I needed to have a bowel movement if I was busy playing and that led to constipation. On this occasion, she asked when I last went to the bathroom. When I answered three days ago she gave me a dose of Milk of Magnesia in an attempt to move my bowels with a warning that if it didn't work she would have to use the syringe on me tomorrow. I was filled with a sense of dread for the next few hours as I waited for the laxative to work. Despite the cramping in my belly from the laxative I still hadn't went by the next morning. When she asked me if the Milk of Magnesia had worked and I answered no, she took me by the hand and led me into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I know this wasn't my first enema, because when she said she was going to use the syringe on me I began to cry and beg her not to, so I obviously knew from experience what an enema was. She undressed me, placed me on the toilet and told me to try to go again. As I strained in one last, unsuccessful, attempt to go and avoid the enema, I watched her retrieve a bowl from under the sink and fill it with hot water. She then unwrapped a bar of Ivory soap and begin to swish it around in the water until it was milky white. The smell of Ivory soap filled the bathroom and filled me with a sense of panic over what was about to happen. She placed the bowl of soapy water on the floor and laid towels on the floor beside it. She then opened the door on the medicine cabinet and got out a jar of Vaseline and the bulb syringe. She removed me from the toilet and told me to lay face down on the towels. I begged for more time and told her I knew I could go if she gave me a little longer. She said it was clear that the laxative hadn't worked and since I hadn't gone in three days, she was sorry, but she was going to have to use the syringe on me and make me go. With that she picked up the syringe and applied a liberal coating of Vaseline to the nozzle and kneeled on the floor by the bowl of Ivory soapsuds. When I heard the bubbling sound as she filled the syringe with the soapy solution I began to whimper, knowing my fate was sealed. She told me to hold still as she spread apart my butt cheeks and placed the tip of the nozzle against my butthole. I tightened up in a futile attempt to prevent the invasion. She began to apply pressure, until the nozzle pushed past my resistance and up inside of me and I let out a squeal as she pushed the nozzle all the way in until the top of the bulb was up against my asshole. Instantly, she squeezed the bulb hard, sending the hot, soapy water forcefully up into my plugged up bowels. I cried out as I felt the soapy solution squirt up inside of me. I felt her pull the now empty syringe from my ass and heard a gurgling sound as she relaxed her grip on the bulb and air filled the syringe. Before I could recover I heard the bubbling sound as she refilled the syringe and felt her spread my cheeks and quickly stick the nozzle up my ass again. I cried out again as she squirted another syringe full of the Ivory soapsuds up into my bowels. When she pulled the empty syringe from my ass I caught my breath long enough to beg her not to use the syringe on me again, telling her how much it hurt. She told me that it was going to take more than two bulbfulls to make me go and that she was going to have to use the syringe on me until I had taken enough to make my bowels move. Again she apologized and said she was sorry, but since I hadn't gone in three days she was going to have to give me a good syringing to clean me out. She told me it was for my own good and that I would feel better when it was over. Again and again I heard the bubbling and gurgling sound as she repeatedly used the syringe on me, filling my bowels with the hot, stinging solution. I told her I had to go and couldn't hold any more but she told me she had to make sure she got enough up inside of me to make me go, because if it didn't work we would have to start all over again and she knew I didn't want that. She continued to syringe me and I fought to hold it in as the cramps wracked my bowels. I certainly didn't want to start over again. Finally I pleaded with her to stop, telling her I was full and couldn't hold any more, that it was going to come out. Finally she agreed and said, okay honey, just try to take one more for mom, to make sure. This is the last one, I promise I heard the bubbling sound as she filled the syringe one last time and I looked at the bowl, which was almost empty now. I felt her stick the nozzle all the way up my ass until the top of the bulb was pressed tightly between my cheeks and then she squeezed the bulb as hard as she could with both hands to make sure she got the last syringe full as far up inside of me as possible. When she pulled the syringe from my ass and finally sat it down she squeezed my butt cheeks together and told me to hold it in. I begged her to let me up and let me go, but she told me I had to hold it in for a while to let the soapsuds work on me. Here I was getting syringed, because I had held it in and wouldn't go when I should, and now when I wanted to go she was telling me to hold it in. Talk about confused! I fought to hold it in as the cramps continued, until she was satisfied the soapy water had done it's work and she finally let me up and helped me onto the toilet. The soapy water she had squirted up my ass came gushing out and into the bowl with a loud splash. It stopped suddenly, then I felt a terrible cramp and more of the enema came pouring from my ass along with the shit that had been plugged up inside of me for the last three days. I could feel the chunks of hard crap exit my butthole an fall into the toilet with a loud plop, followed by more soapy water and more shit. After what seemed like forever the last of the enema dribbled from inside of me and I was finally done. My mom wiped my butt and had me stand up so she could look in the toilet to see if the enema had cleaned me out to her satisfaction. She proclaimed the enema a success and flushed the toilet. Finally my ordeal was over, or so I thought, until I saw her pour the little remaining soapsuds from the bowl, fill it with plain hot water and pace it back down on the floor beside the towels. She told me to lay back down on the towels, explaining that she had to give me another enema of plain water to rinse the soapsuds from inside of me. I begged her not to use the syringe on me again, but she said it was necessary to get the soap out of me and that we would soon be done and that this wouldn't be as bad as the soapy enema I just had. I heard the now familiar bubbling sound of her filling the syringe and knew I had more to endure. I felt her shove the nozzle up my ass and the syringing resumed. I had to admit that it wasn't as bad as the first enema. The plain water didn't have the sting of the Ivory soap, but it was still far from pleasant. As I began to feel full, I looked over at the bowl and saw it was about three fourths empty. As she stuck the nozzle up my ass again she said, this is the last one, I think you've taken enough to rinse out the soapsuds. It's almost over, honey. With that she squeezed the bulb forcefully and shot the last syringe full up into my bowels, but to my surprise, this time she didn't pull the nozzle from my ass, but left it up inside of me. She relaxed her grip on the bulb and the syringe filled as it sucked water from inside of me. When it was full she squeezed the bulb again squirting the water back up inside of me. She saw the look of confusion on my face and explained that she was doing this to make sure she got me rinsed out good. Just a little longer honey, and it'll all be over, she told me as she used the syringe on me like this four or five more times. Finally she squirted the water up my ass one last time and pulled the syringe from my bottom. She told me I didn't have to hold it this time and that I could get up on the toilet and let it out. As the water rushed from my ass, I watched her pick up the towels from the floor and put them in the hamper. When the last of the water emptied from my bowels she had me stand up and once again checked the toilet. Seeing mostly clear water, she said we were done, but I needed to sit back on the toilet for a little while in case there was still some water left up inside of me. She picked up the bowl, rinsed it out and placed it under the sink along with the bar of Ivory soap. As a little more water dribbled from my sore bottom, I watched her put the Vaseline away and begin to clean up the syringe. She ran some water in the sink and wiped the nozzle clean, then she sucked water up into the syringe and squirted it back into the sink. Each time she squirted the water into the sink I could feel my butthole tighten, realizing that was what had been happening inside of me with each injection. When she was done, she looked at me, with the syringe in her hand, and told me I needed to keep myself regular and go when I needed to, because if I got constipated, she would just have to use the syringe on me again. With that she put the bulb syringe back in the medicine cabinet and I knew my ordeal was finally over. Despite her warning, it wasn't long until I was back to my old habit of holding back and I would find her asking me when I last went. True to her word she would get out the syringe and use it on me each time I became constipated. This cycle continued for the next two of three years until I finally stopped withholding and the constipation stopped. I had many encounters with that syringe over that time. I disliked those enemas and each time would be filled with a sense of dread before each one, but along with the dread was also a sense of excitement. The enemas finally stopped when I was about eight, but I continued to be curious and fascinated by them. When I was left home alone when I was about thirteen, my curiousity got the better of me and I got out the syringe and used it on myself to see if it was as I remembered. Though the feelings were similar there were also new feelings involved which I recognized as sexual excitement. From then on I was hooked. I would give myself an enema whenever I had the house to myself. There is no doubt in my mind that those early enemas are responsible for my current fetish.