Shared by a Mr. Young. Though this seems more likely someone’s lovely day dream, I thought it fun enough to post here since they sent it to me:
I had my enema at age 5, a hot soapy mixture my mom made up with bar soap and literally poured into me with this douche nozzle and 1.5 Qt. latex enema bag: it was an acciident from the beginning and I howled in pain as the water flooded into me, my poor bowels aching so badly and my mom piching the skin of my anus to force me to hold the water. I still remember crying, it hurt so bad (if I recall correctly, she had me on her lap with the bag hanging on the shower rod to free her hands, and she had no idea just how fast the water was pouring out of that elevated bag. Whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t about being 5 and feeling so frightened or in such pain.
A year llater, she tried to take her life when her fiance died suddenly, and I was in a Lutheran orphanage in central PA the next day. My second day there, I had to go to bed in the dispensary that night and at about 4:00, the nurse got me up and I had to take my pajama bottoms down and climb up onto a gurney. There, she had this huge, red rubber enema bag with seemingly a mile of tubing. I still remember the smell of Ivory soap connected with that bag that was hung on an IV pole on the side of the gurney. A huge hard-plastic nozzle covered with Vaseline was unceremoniously shoved into my rear and in came the burning water mixture. I can’t take an enema today without literlaly tasting Ivory soap. I remebered the enema I’d been given the year before but this bag was overulled to the point of almost being round, and I tensed up almost from the beginning, having an accident with less than half the solution having gone int me. Not only did I have to finish that one, but she repeated it after I’d expelled the first and spent a very unpleasant morning in the dispensary. After I’d finished the second soap suds enema, I had to take two more — but these were administered with a huge 1.25″ colon tube that I thouoght was going to tear by butt open. The worst of it was that most of the tube was pushed high up inside me and I had never felt like I was going to burst open before.
Every month, two of our names came up and we’d have to take our pjs and stuffed toys over to the dispensary to be hosed out early the next morning. One huge enema of hot, water was sent high up into our colon. After we were finished, we had to lie on our right side and hold the water for a minimum of 15 minutes, but there being no clock other than that pinned to Mrs.Paul’s uniform, it always seemed like hours and we’d call and shout for her to come back and let up get up. I think that to teach us an object lesson anpout giving her a lot of guff, she’d deliberately delay coming back to the treatment room. Any discernable leaks were harshly dealth with. I still remember her making up that first mixture of Ivory Snow soap flakes, with 4 ounces of liquid glycerin per pint of hot water and one cup or so of lemon juice concentrate into the steaming water. After filling each bag, she’d hang the bag top up and siphon the water put of the mixing bucket tg et the last of the solution and the bag seemed almost round by the time she’s hang it above us. She would at least administer it slowly but I always got to a point where I felt that I could hold another drop, and when I’d complain, she’d make me get on my knees chest down to hold the solution better. I still don’t know how I ever held so much.
The second clear-water enema was just as big, except that it was administered with a big, thick colon tube that was thickly covered with Vaseline. She’d put several inches into us before she would start, and the tube all but disappeared by the time the last of the water was given. The pressure now was even greater with this big, round red tube shoved up my bum, and even with the Vaseline, I remember that my poor little anus felt as though it was going to tear wide open.
Some of the older boys would have an accident and the younger boys wuld get blamed for getting up and … you get the idea. I had to repeat the enema after it was expelled, the penalty for getting up before our time was up. If memory serves me correctly, my record was 7 enemas in one day, but not close to the record that a girl in the school had. And whiile all my friends were outside playing baseball or other sports, I was still in the dispensary getting a hse shoved up my bum.
When I left the orphanage six years after getting there, I hoped that I’d had my last enema I remembered thinking as I was driven away from the orphanage grounds. It was something I never became accustomed to and I was glad I didn’t have to ever go through it again.
The next year, I spent my summer in western PA at the home of one of my five aunts. I remember one particular week when I was out follong around with other kids and I came home badly dehydrated every night for a week. I remember feeling that I couldn’t have a bowel movement, and my aunt recalled that I came in the door so thirsty that I could hardly talk. My aunt figured out that I was so deydrated that my constipation probably risked being impacted. She trotted out this humongous “fountain” douche bag with a large, white soft rubber nozzle and was in the process of mixing something up in the sink
when a phone call took her suddenly away from home, but not before leaving her oldest, 17-year old daughter in charge. My cousin was a volunteer in the local old soldiers’ home but whatever she knew about medicine, she knew nothing about enemas.
My cousin and her sister, a year youngerm giggled too much for my comfort and I recall thinking that I was having none of thism no matter how much trouble I got into with my aunt. I was a little more than half way to the back door when the two of them literally tackled me and had my pants and underpants off before I could fight them off. My younger cousing disappeared laughing, waving my pants at me, and my older cousin gave me a washcloth to put over myself. I was beet-red with embarassment and tried to dash to the bathroom, hoping to beat her there so I could lock myself in until my aunt got home, but she grabbed at the washcloth and came away with it, just as her sister blocked my retreat. I was forced into the bedroom and told to get on my knees on the bed. Reluctantly, I did so but not before I lost my shirt and t-shirt to one of the girls. They enjoyed their advantage just a little too much and I had no idea what they had in store for me.
I was kept lying face down on the bed, chest pressed flat against the mattress, when my older cousin brought the open-mouthed
bag slopping water out of the top into the room, and as one girl took down a plant hanging on a nail, the other placed the bag on the nail and straightened the thick tubing leading down to this obscene penis-sized white rubber nozzle, greased with at least an inch of Vaseline. The nozzle was pushed into me and without warning, the stopcock was opened. One of my cousins reached down to my abdomen and started to rub it, bumping “accidentally” into the erection I was trying to hide that I’d developed when the huge nozzle slid into my rear. I heard giggling and without any ceremony, my older cousin sat down on the bed and had me slide onto her lap. In doing so, my erect penis pushed against her leg and my testicles bumped against her leg with every movement that she made. I thought that she was having a great deal of trouble keeping this huge rubber nozzle in for, with my bum centered over her left leg, she kept moving the nozzle around, puting pressure on my rectum in various places — not all of it unpleasant (the nozzle was huge) — but I was embarassed by my stiff erection pushing against her, testicles flopping around and I could feel that my face had colored a bright red.
I almost bolted off the bed when my younger cousing put her hand around my erection and beghan to masturbate me, slowly, and I found it diffficult to breath. I was beginning to get “full” and mercifully, my older cousin stopped the flow and patted my rear, then rubbed her hand around my bum, back and legs. I had no idea why this felt so appealing, being acutely aware of my naked state and feeling embarassed about my erection. This had gone on for seemingly an eternity when my younger cousin stopped playing with me, pushed the nozzle hard into me, and pulled me by my shoulder along with her sister and got me up onto my knees. Pushing the nozzle high up into my rectum, but moving it around every now and then, my older cousin got on her hands and knees and put my rock-hard penis into her mouth and began sucking on it, moving her head up and down slowly. Her sister held the nozzle high into my rear with one had and held my penis by its base until her sister had control of me. The feelings were wonderful! My heart beat so hard and fast that I felt I was going to suffocate, feeling light-headed. My younger cousin held me steady with one arm wrapped around my waist while her other arm was around my chest, playing with one nipple then the other, something that made them hurt because they were both hard. Whatever a young boy experiences masturbating was nothing like and could not have prepared me for the absolutely devastating orgasm that I had.
I had finished the enema and had to rush into the bathroom, taking caring who might have seen me in my mad dash for the toilet. When I finished expelling the solution, my cousins came into the bathroom and washed me, standing in the tub, and while I toweled off with my younger cousin helping, the older one went back into the kitchen to prepared another enema. The next enema, obviously the cost of admission into manhood, went without struggling as my younger cousin introduced me to intercourse, the older playing with my rump.