Hello my name is Dylan, and as I was surfing the internet the other night I came across your page of people telling about their childhood experiences with bowel problems, and the use of enemas. After reading some of their stories, it brought back memories of an enema my mom gave me when I was 15 years old, due to a case of me being constipated after returning home from a camping trip with our church. I still have a vivid picture in my mind of how sick I was that day, but was to ashamed to tell any one, to me that was just something you didn’t go around talking about. So I kept silent, a mistake I paid for later in this story.
Three days after I returned I still had not had a b.m. and was feeling sick to my stomach. At the dinner table mom noticed that I was not my self as I was a big eater, and for me to turn down her pot roast she knew something was wrong. Mom asked if I was sick ,so I tried to play it off , and told her I had a headache and that I was going to lay down for a while.
She ,dad and my sister and brother, went shopping to give me some privacy which gave me sometime to try and use the toilet. I was clogged tighter than drum and went back to lay down. After mom and dad returned, she came in to check on me and ask how I felt.
By now I was feeling sick, and thought I better tell the truth.
I told her I had not used the bathroom since I returned from the camping trip. With a concern look on her face, she felt of my forehead, and told me I felt hot. After checking my temperature and putting the thermometer away ,mom came back into my room and announced to me that she was going to give me a soapsuds enema to get my bowels to move. She said an enema would work faster then a laxative.
I knew what an enema was from reading about them in a medical book. At the time I was too sick to protest the suggested treatment and accepted my fate. Mom told me to strip from the waist down and put on my robe and come into the bathroom.
When I entered mom was standing at the sink pouring a soap and water solution into the red hotwater bottle that always hung behind the bathroom door and hung it over the tub. A towel was spread in the tub, and then I was told to lie back in the bathtub and draw my knees up. Although I hated to expose myself in this manner, I removed my robe and took the position in the tub clad only in my T-shirt.
I asked mom to lock the door to keep my younger brother and sister from walking in seeing me sprawled out buttnaked in the tub with a enema hose snaking out of my ass. Mom said for me not to worry that dad took them to the park for a couple of hours which made me feel more at ease knowing they were out of the house.
At this point mom opened a jar of Vaseline and applied a generous amt. on and inside my rectum and slowly inserted the smooth black enema pipe up my rectum, and opened the metal clamp sending a surging stream of warm water into my bowels. Soon after the enema started I begin having sever cramping and asked her to stop the flow. It wasn’t long before I lost control and begin to squirt a stream of water and feces into the tub, getting it all over the glove mom was wearing.
She reinserted the nozzle and I had a repeat with another explosion of water, gas and shit into the tub. The smell was awful as I had been constipated for almost a week. Mom gave me two bags of water to get me cleaned out real good. After I was finished she helped me out of the tub and cleaned it out so that I could shower and get cleaned up.
When I was done showering, I put on clean underwear and my favorite pair of Levi’s and went to lay down. Then I heard the car pulling in the driveway and heard my sister and brother fussing over who got to watch TV.
Boy was I glad mom was finished giving me that enema before they got home. This incident took place 15 years ago, I’m now 30 and married with two children. My wife have a folding douche syringe that she keeps hanging on the shower curtain for her personal hygiene use. It has been used only once for an enema when she used it on our 11 year old son about 3 months ago after he was bed ridden for a few days with the flu and got constipated real bad.
I haven’t had any more enemas since my teen years, but I will always remember my moms old red hot water bottle and how it came to rescue when I was so constipated after returning home from my camping trip.