Eleanor: Part II

At the start of the next semester Eleanor moved into my apartment. We had many opportunities to test our compatibility before then, as she frequently slept over. I was ready for a companion. We never fought and rarely argued. Arguing with a woman is like playing chess. You gotta think a few moves ahead.

She told me no matter what happened in our relationship she’d always remember me as the guy who introduced her to enemas. She loved them. The converts are always the most devout, I suppose. Eleanor enjoyed her enemas. She liked feeling the water flow in, and she liked feeling it flow out again. She liked the feeling of being full, and she liked feeling empty. She liked them hot and she liked them cool. We made them an important part of our Saturday night ritual. On Saturdays it was a light veg dinner, followed by a stroll around campus. Then, back to the apartment. I started by giving her a mild soapsuds cleanser and finished with a large-volume rinse.

And after that, we made love.

Our sex was better after the enemas, I thought; and I suspected Eleanor was anal-erotic. She was inhibited about it, though. She denied she was; she didn’t like hearing me talk about it and she never let me touch her there sexually. She even wouldn’t let me use my finger to lube her. I always had to use the tip of the nozzle for that.

But I could tell that, after the enemas she was more … eager. It took less to get her aroused, and she was a more active participant than other nights. When I mentioned this observation to her she said, yes, the enema did that – by making her feel more relaxed and invigorated. That, plus the knowledge we could sleep in on Sunday morning.

I suggested we try making an enema part of our love play. She refused, saying she was afraid of leaking water at the wrong moment.

I decided to eliminate that particular excuse.

Early one Saturday morning I let myself into the department workshop and used the lathe to turn a piece of teflon rod into a custom nozzle for her. The finished item looked like a blunted, elongated ace of spades. It was a bit thicker than my thumb at the widest point, and tapered a slender waist before flaring out to a wide hilt.

I drilled a series outlet holes around the body of the gadget and then polished the surface until it was a smooth as an 18-year-old’s bottom. Instead of a barb fitting I cut threads into the end to accept a nylon compression fitting. A hose would not pull off the end of this bad boy.

That evening we prepared for our enema ritual. Eleanor came into the bedroom wearing a short nylon slip that clung to her small breasts like a coat of paint. Its hem cut across the upper thirds of her muscular thighs. fsI handed her a gift wrapped box.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Now, do something to deserve it.”

She unwrapped and opened the box and held the nozzle. Then she looked up at me.

“Guaranteed not to leak,” I said.

“You expect to put this … inside me? It’s so big.”

“You regularly pass objects out that’re bigger, don’t you?”

She flushed. “I suppose…”

I led her into the bedroom where the soapsuds awaited. I had bought a pair of open-top two-quart bags and filled one of them with two quarts of hot Castile soap solution. This now hung from an IV stand I had expropriated from the medical college. We had moved from Kirk’s Castile on to Dr Bronner’s – a tablespoon of unscented liquid in two quarts of water packed just enough wallop to get Eleanor’s colon in motion without upsetting her stomach.

She lay on her stomach. I positioned a thin pillow under her hips to elevate them and to keep pressure off her abdomen. Then I squeezed some petroleum jelly onto the tip of the nozzle, spread her buttocks and worked the nozzle in a circular motion to lube her.

It slid easily into her. I handed her the clamp and she snapped it open.

She modulated the flow at first, until the lower part of her bowel relaxed and opened to admit the flow. Meanwhile, I smeared some lavender body lotion onto her legs and massaged her calves.

She let go of the clamp, crossed her wrists under her face, relaxed and closed her eyes. I watched the bag as it emptied its contents into her rectum.

Eleanor drew in a deep breath and released it. “It’s flowing in easy,” she said. “Good temperature. What you’re doing feels good … mmm … really good.”

The bag emptied with a soft gurgle. I snapped shut the clamp and pulled the nozzle from her.

“Feeling the soap yet?” I asked.

“Not yet. Maybe I’m getting used to it.”

“Maybe we need to up the dose,” I suggested.

“Maybe… Here’s a cramp … small one…”

I pressed and held her buttocks together. She grimaced as it passed. “Two more like that one,” I said.

She nodded. I continued massaging the backs of her thighs. “Another…” I pressed her buttocks together again. She moaned. “That was a good one. I think you got the soap just right… Another … oh! They’re getting stronger … uhh!”

She groaned and grimaced and a soft gurgle came from deep inside her. “I think you can go,” I said. She rolled over, sat up and headed for the bathroom.

I rinsed out the equipment and filled both bags with two quarts each. These I hung on the IV stand. Their hoses I connected to a Y connector with a common outlet hose. I used three shutoff clamps – one for each bag and the third on the outlet hose.

This was our standard setup for her large-volume rinse. She never took a full gallon – I didn’t expect her to, being so petite – but she could take three quarts and then some. Her belly would bulge like a three-month pregger.

Some nights I put hot water in the first bag and cool in the second. The relaxing warmth would work its way deep into her and the cold would stimulate her so she could expel it easily. She said she liked feeling the temperature change as the water passed out of her. Tonight, though, I had warm water in both – 46 degrees C according to my lab thermo – 115 F.

Eleanor returned from the bathroom. “Everything come out okay?” I asked.

“It was a good purge,” she replied.

She lay on her back on the bed and eyed the big nozzle as I tightened the hose fitting and slathered it with a coat of petroleum jelly.

“Why do you want to use that … thing?” she asked.

“We’ve talked about it, Ellie,” I replied. “I think you’re somewhat anal-erotic. I thought something like this might be a … kick.”

“A kick for who?” she asked. “You or me?”

“For both of us. Would you rather not use it?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. Go ahead and use it – if it’ll help you get your rocks off.”

“Ready?” I asked.

She hooked her forearm under her knees and pulled her thighs against her chest. I put the tip of the nozzle on her spot and began a gentle, circular motion to open her up. “Bear down a bit,” I said.

Her anus opened for it and I started sliding it in. Once I got the widest point past her orifice, her rectum swallowed the thing whole up to the hilt and her anus closed tight around its narrow waist.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m okay. It feels so big.”

I opened the clamp to the first bag and handed the clamp on the common outlet hose to her. She snapped it open.

I put some lotion on my hands and began massaging her arms. Then, I slipped the straps of her slip off her shoulders and turned down the fabric to expose her breasts.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“A different sort of massage,” I replied.

I began massaging her chest. I poured a dab of the lotion into the palm of my hand and held it for a moment to warm it. Then, I smeared it onto her nipples and began a deep massage of her breasts.

“Ohhh!” she gasped. “This feels really good…”

“The enema or what I’m doing?” I asked.

“Both… Mmm…The warm water flowing in … you got the temperature just right … and the way you’re touching me… Mmm … so relaxing…”

“And you don’t believe you’re anal-erotic,” I said.

The first bag emptied. I closed its clamp. “Time to roll over.”

She rolled onto her right side and I snapped open the clamp on the second bag. I lay on the bed and reached around to massage her abdomen with one hand and her breasts with the other. She held the clamp and modulated the flow.

“Don’t let yourself get too full,” I said. “I want you to hold this one for a while.” Her belly was becoming firm and heavy. “I think that’s enough.”

She closed off the flow with the second bag nearly half full. I coaxed her onto her back and began caressing her stomach. “You can feel the outline of your whole colon,” I said.

She ran her hands along her stomach. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I’m very full,” she replied. “But not uncomfortable.”

“Can you hold that much for a while?”

She nodded. “For a little while, I think.”


I slipped my hand between her legs and a finger into her vagina. “You’re very wet.”

“Its from what you were doing. You know that always makes me wet.”

“I know an enema makes you wet. Admit it.” I dipped into her pool of juices to lube my finger. I began massaging her clit, and with my free hand I pinched and rolled her nipples, alternating from breast to breast.

Her breathing grew heavy and she started to pant.

“Oh, God,” she said. “Don’t look!”


“I said don’t watch me!”

I closed my eyes and turned my face, but continued rubbing her clit and pinching her nipple. “I’m not looking,” I said.

She let out an unearthly moan. She gasped, groaned, panted and moaned again. I could hear her pounding the mattress with her fists.

“Stop!” she gasped.

“Can I look, now?”

“Yes,” she panted.

“What happened? Why couldn’t I watch?”

“I came. Now, I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“Here,” I said. I made sure the two clamps from the bags were closed and I disconnected the outlet hose from the Y-connector. “I’ll walk with you.”

We reached the bathroom. “Sit on the toilet and I’ll pull out the nozzle.” She complied and I reached between her legs. “Relax…” I pulled on the hose, which was firmly attached. “Bear down a bit…” The nozzle popped out along with a torrent of water. “I’ll let you do your thing.”

“No – don’t go. I have to say something to you. I really came – harder and longer than ever in my life. It’s never happened before.”

“Never? This couldn’t have been your first orgasm.”

“It was of sorts…” She closed her eyes, lifted her faced and expelled a long gush of water. “Mmmph,” she grunted. “There’s something very wrong with me. You see … I’ve never been able to come in the presence of someone else – especially if they’re watching me. It’s a hang-up of mine.”

“You’re embarrassed to have someone watch you have an orgasm?” I asked.

She nodded. “It’s like not wanting someone to watch me vomit or go to the toilet.”

“I’m watching you now.”

“This is different. This is only water.” She grunted and released another long gush. “I mean… I can … come … by … by myself. But not… with…”

“With a partner?” She closed her eyes and nodded. “Do you mean all those times…”

“I was faking it.” A tear ran down her face. “I’m so sorry … it’s like I was lying to you. Don’t get me wrong. I do love our sex. I love feeling you inside me, and I love satisfying you.”

“But you get so aroused during our foreplay. Doesn’t that leave you … frustrated?”

“Sometimes … afterwards … once you’re asleep … I come in here and…”

“And get yourself off.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “I do enjoy our lovemaking… Believe me, I do.”

“But I wasn’t satisfying you.”

“Yes you were. It was all very satisfying. It’s just…”

“You weren’t coming.”

“That’s right.” She expelled another gout of water. “ …’till tonight. I don’t know what it was. It happened so fast – maybe you caught me off guard. You looked away and then I could come.”

“Maybe it was the enema.”

“No, that wasn’t it.” She folded her arms across her abdomen, leaned over and let out a groan. “Stuff from way up is starting to come down. In a few moments it’s gonna start smelling pretty bad in here.”

“I’ll go make the hot chocolate.”

After her enemas Eleanor and I would sit and sip hot chocolate. The warm sweetness in her stomach seemed to relax her colon, and any water left in her would drain so she wouldn’t need to get up in the middle of the night. I heard the toilet flush and she sat at the kitchen table. I set a cup of hot chocolate before her and sat across from her.

She looked at me, her eyes moist. “It’s not you. Please believe me it’s not you – there’s nothing wrong with what you do. You’re the gentlest, most giving lover I’ve ever known – not that I’ve know too many. It’s not you. It’s me. It’s my problem.”

“I know what it is,” I said. “You’re anal-erotic. That nozzle and the water pressure gave you enough stimulation so you could come.”

“No. That’s not it,” she replied.

“I think it is. There’s no shame in it, Ellie. The nerves back there are close to the ones in the genitals. Sometimes they’re … criss-crossed. You know – wire A connected to post B. If that’s how you are, you should learn to exploit it.”

“It’s not how I am.”

“We both know how much pleasure you get from the enemas.”

“Yes. I like how they make me feel afterward.”

“And, you like them during, too.”

“Because it feels good. It doesn’t mean it’s anything sexual. It doesn’t have to be sexual to feel good – or is that a concept a man can’t grasp? I enjoy them the way someone might enjoy … a backrub.”

“A backrub can be erotic, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am not anal. I might have stuff wrong with me…”

“It’s what I keep saying,” I interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with being anal-erotic.”

“Look,” she replied, “I don’t need to finger my butt to get myself off. Okay?”

“You should try it sometime. I don’t want to argue with you, Ellie…”

“Take my word for it and there’d be no argument.” She sipped her chocolate. “No – I’m inhibited. That’s my problem – I’m inhibited. I have all these hang-ups. I’m so fucked up and I can’t believe you want to put up with me.”

“Ellie, I love you. Of course I’ll put up with you.” I bit my tongue. She had me trapped in one of those female lose-lose arguments. I always was a rotten chess player.

“See? I’m such a terrible burden you have to put up with. You said so yourself.” She pressed her knuckle to her lips and looked away.

I drew in a deep breath and paused to re-group. “Ellie, If you’re inhibited then tonight was a victory, don’t you think?”

“Sort of, I guess.”

“Sort of? You went from can’t to can. Is it a coincidence it happened during your enema?”

“Yes. I only could because you weren’t watching me.”

“I think it was more than that.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “What about you?” she asked. “If either of us has an anal fixation it’s you. You’re the one with a prurient interest in my butt. There’s no hiding the fact you get plenty hard when you’re giving me an enema.”

“You have great legs and a great bottom, Ellie. Of course they make me hard.”

“Oh, no. It’s more than that. I think you enjoy my enemas as much as I do – maybe more.”


“It’s okay with me,” she continued, “if you get your rocks off that way. I think it’s why our sex is so much better afterward. I’ve been wondering, though, how long it would take you to ask to go to the next level.”

“Next level? I’m not following.”

“You know what I mean.” She looked me in the eye. “Anal sex. Those enema nozzles are simply surrogates for your dick.”

“That’s ridiculous. Ellie – when have I ever mentioned anal sex? I don’t seek it with you and I have never sought it with you.”

“Do you mean to say if I offered it you’d turn it down?”

Her reply blindsided me. It sounded like another lose-lose argument. “Uhhh…”

“I knew it! Well, you can forget about it. And, maybe next time I have an enema I’ll do it myself … alone!”

A long gurgle came from her abdomen. She pressed her hand to her stomach. “The last of that enema is calling. I’m going to get rid of this and then I’m going to bed.”

She stood, stalked into the bathroom and closed the door. Loudly.

I went into the bedroom, undressed and slid under the covers. There I lay, with my fingers laced behind my neck, thinking. There was truth to what Eleanor had said. I did find giving her enemas arousing. It surprised me that I did, but there was no denying it. And, I don’t think any guy would turn down an opportunity to try it the back way once, even if only out of curiosity.

I didn’t want her to go to sleep angry with me. I knew what had to be done. Sometimes to secure victory a guy has to concede defeat.

Eleanor came into the bedroom. She tied her hair into a ponytail and hung her slip on a hook behind the door. Without saying a word, and without eye contact she climbed into bed, lay with her back to me and pulled the covers to her chin.

I touched her shoulder. She jerked it away from me. “Ellie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have argued with you. It was pretty arrogant of me. You know your body better than anyone. You’re right – I do find giving you an enema a turn-on. I don’t know why, but I do; and I appreciate how … trusting and giving you are to let me do it. And, if you offered me anal sex I would try it – but only if I was certain you really wanted it, too.”

“If you had admitted that up front, we wouldn’t have argued, and I wouldn’t have come to bed angry with you.”

“I know. It’s just my way of working things out in my own thick head. I love you, Ellie. I love you more than anyone in my whole life. And, we have such a good physical relationship. Who cares what kind of pleasure we get, and how? I don’t want us to argue about something we both enjoy so much.”

She rolled over to face me. “I’m sorry we argued, too.”

“And, Ellie – if you have a hang-up about me seeing you climax… I promise I won’t ever watch. I’ll wear a blindfold if it’ll help you.”

Eleanor giggled, then laughed out loud. “The thought of you, naked and wearing a blindfold…” She hooked her arm around my neck, drew my face to hers and kissed me full on the lips. “I love you so much.”

Maybe I did salvage something.

“And, I’ll help you work on your inhibitions,” I said. “Sex is one of the beautiful things about being human and mutual pleasure with someone you love is a wonderful part of being alive. But, I believe sex is a learned activity. Sure the motions are simple enough, but good sex requires three things: You need to love your partner. You need to love yourself. And, you need to be in touch with your own body – your own responses, as well as those of your partner. You’ve learned your inhibitions. You need to un-learn them, that’s all. It’s like any activity. It’s all technique and you get better with practice.” I lay facing her and gazing into her hazel almond-shaped eyes. “Any time you’d like to try some un-learning, I’m more than happy to help.”

She looked at me and I could feel her breath on my face. “Okay, let’s try some un-learning.”

“Now? Do you mean it? You’re not angry with me any more?”

“No. That was one of the nicest apologies I’ve ever received.” She looked me in the eyes and hers began to brim. “Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you.”

We kissed. We kissed again, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths and us sharing each other’s airways. I kissed her neck, tasted her skin and inhaled her scent under her arms – the blend of her own body chemistry and the deodorant she wore. She led my face down her neck to her breasts. I fondled them and admired her small, brown areolas. “You have beautiful breasts,” I said, “lovely nipples. Did I ever tell you that?”

She giggled. “Only about every night.” I began to tongue them. They responded by becoming erect – not hard, but erect. She handed me the bottle of lavender lotion. I poured some into my palm to warm and smeared some onto her breasts.

I began massaging her breasts and rolling her nipples.

“Mmm,” she said. “That feels so good. The lotion makes my skin slippery.”

“Yes – I can stimulate you deep without the tickly sensations on the surface.”

“I feel it deep in my breasts,” she said. “It’s wonderful.” She touched her lower abdomen. “I feel it in here, too.”

“Did you know there’s a wire running from your nipples to your clit?” I asked. “Every woman is hooked up that way.” I continued to roll her nipples. Her legs began to twitch.

“Speaking of which,” she said and guided my hand between her thighs.

I dipped my finger into her juices and began rubbing her clit. “Tell me when not to look.” She nodded. I watched her lie there as I stroked her, her eyes closed and her lips pursed. I stroked and stroked. She wasn’t responding.

“This isn’t working, is it?” I asked.

“I get close and then it slips away from me… You’d better stop. I’ll just get frustrated.”

She bit her lip and turned from me. I knew she was trying not to cry.

“It’s all right, Ellie. You can’t unlearn years’ worth in a few minutes.” I caressed her shoulder blade.

“I was trying so hard,” she said, sniffling.

“That’s your problem – you try too hard. You become so obsessed with failure it becomes self-fulfilling.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Let’s rest a while. I probably over stimulated you. Too much stimulation and your nerves shut down. Your clit becomes numb.” I touched her chin to turn her face so I could look into her eyes. “There’s nothing sadder than a numb clit.”

She giggled; then coaxed me on my back and began caressing me. “While I recover I’ll do you.” She began kissing and caressing me, running her hands along my body and touching me the ways she knew I liked. “You go ahead and have yours,” she said.

“No, not like that. I want it to be mutual.”

“Maybe we need to work up to it. I came once tonight. If you have yours – then at least I won’t feel I like let you down. Afterward if we want to try some more un-leaning…”

“Fair enough.”

She got on her hands and knees. I started to approach her from the back. I slipped my finger into her vagina. She was still plenty wet there.

“No,” she said. “Back door.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m going to knock down my inhibitions one-by-one. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I AM anal. Maybe you want anal. I’m nice and clean back there. It’d be a shame to waste it.”

I opened the nightstand drawer and retrieved the jar of petroleum jelly. “I’m going to get you good and lubed up,” I said. I dipped into the jar, spread her and put a big dab on her anus. I worked my finger into her, past the second knuckle; then stretched her some more with two fingers.

I spread some onto my rock-hard member and knelt behind her, adjusting my stance to align with her hole. “Ready?”


I spread her buttocks with both hands and pressed my glans to the spot. “I’m not going to force anything,” I told her. “Bear down so you’ll open up for me.”

She grunted as she complied. At first she tightened up, but then she began to open. I went in glans-deep and paused. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Don’t worry, I will. It doesn’t hurt.”

I pushed myself in further. “I’m about half-way in. Okay?”

“Okay. Keep going.” I went in deeper and she giggled. “Your hair is tickling me.”

“How does it feel?” I asked.

“It feels okay – a bit like that nozzle. Go ahead and do your thing.”

“I want to savor,” I said. “This is the first time for me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it. I’m a butt-sex virgin, Ellie.” And, if there was any virginity left to lose, she was the girl to lose it with.

“How does it feel to you?”

It felt … indescribable. I was enveloped by the warm, moist velvet of her rectum. It took all my self-control to keep from blowing my load then and there. “It feels really good,” I said. I got hold of myself, crouched over her and reached between her legs from the front with my right hand. I helped myself to some of her juices and began massaging her clit again.

I cupped my left hand over her breast with her nipple between my second and third fingers. I massaged her breast and squeezed her nipple; but my ulterior motive was to monitor her heart.

“That feels good,” she said.

“Can you come like this? I promise I won’t watch.”

“I’ll try.”

“No. Don’t try. Just let it happen. Don’t think about it. Earlier when you came – you weren’t thinking about coming, were you?”

“No – I was worrying that the nozzle would pop out.”

“Think about something else, now.”

“Okay, I’m thinking about something else.”

I counted under my breath to keep a steady rhythm on her clit: 1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4…; and I rolled her nipple in synch with my stroking. I could feel her heart accelerate.

Her breathing grew heavy. “Mmm…. mmm… mmm…” she moaned with each exhale and each time I could feel her tighten her sphincter around me. I knew what she was thinking about: me in her butt. Each time she squeezed it was a warm velvet caress.

I was taking my own advice and thinking about other things, too: Having to file my taxes … the President’s latest speech … baseball statistics… Anything to keep my mind off the tension building deep in my pelvis ‘til I was ready to unload.

I was also paying attention to her heartbeat. It grew stronger and faster, and I knew she couldn’t fake that. It told me tension also was building in her – building to an inescapable conclusion. If I didn’t mess up, that is.

She touched my right wrist. “Over to the left a little.”

“You’re thinking about it. Stop it.”

“No, I’m not – but you need to be over to the left a little.” I adjusted my stroking. “That’s it … perfect … don’t change it … feels good…” Her breathing became panting and her heart began racing. “ … feels good … almost … little more… Oh, God!” she gasped. “Don’t watch.”

“My eyes are closed.”

“Don’t look at me!

“I’m not!”

“More! Oh, God! MORE! MORE!”

I stroked her clit as hard and fast as I could. She let out the unearthly moan, gasped, grunted and moaned again. I knew she was coming. I could feel it – the rhythmic pulsing of the muscles in her pelvic floor.

For the first time in my life I knew without a doubt my woman came. I had never felt anything like it the front way. I felt the involuntary contractions in her bottom and there I was in the thick of it. The sensations pushed me over the edge. I tried to hold back but it was too late. I was past the point of no return. I grabbed her around her waist with both hands, pushed deep into her. “Ellie!” I grunted and pumped my fluids into her rectum.

She moaned again and I felt more pulsations. Then, she gasped and looked back at me. “Are you finished?” she panted. I nodded. “Me, too.”

I pulled out of her, grabbed some facial tissues and cleaned us both off. “You did it!”

“I did,” she said, “I came hard – twice.”

“I felt you both times.”

“I felt you come, too. You got bigger and firmer – then I felt you … squirting into me. It made me come again. What did it feel like to you?”

“I could feel your muscles pulsing. It felt so good it made me come. I was trying to hold back but I couldn’t.” She kissed me, put her arms around me and squeezed. “Not bad for the first time, huh?”

“Not bad at all. Thinking about it makes me want to do it again.”

“Not right away. I’m spent. I need to recharge.”

“No … next time.” She cuddled up to me and I switched out the light. “You’re so good for me … and so patient. How did you learn such patience?”

“It must be my studies in the East,” I replied. “It’s a Zen thing. Sometimes the best way to grasp something is not to reach for it – to achieve something is not to desire it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does in a Zen way. You have Asian heritage, Ellie. Your mom was Korean. Didn’t she teach you any of this?”

“I never knew my mom,” she replied. “My dad tried to raise me as an ordinary American kid.”

“How boring.”