A few years ago when sales were extremely good, one of my neighboring store keepers and I made a little business agreement. She had a store a few houses down the street that sold baby clothes, outfits, toys, stuffed animals and the like. She asked if I would care to put some of my cuter antique furniture in her shop on consignment. It would look nice in her interior and I’d get better coverage by having my stuff in two locations.

The neighbor’s name was Nancy and she was about 10 years younger than I am. She was certainly much better looking than me by far, with long blond hair parted in the middle, a shapely figure and an almost perpetual smile on her face.

I didn’t need much convincing to come to an agreement from which we both profited during the coming two years. I gave her a large discount on the pieces she took from me and she steered customers my way. Everybody happy.

But the good times don’t last forever and Nancy had to give up her shop due to economic and personal circumstances. She ran through a series of boyfriends during that time. I don’t think that helped out much. She went to work for a while and then opened up a new store with a lady partner. They are in the interior decorating business now, doing upholstery and a trendy wall decorating line as well.

Since her shop is now even closer to mine than her baby outfit store, we still see each other on the street regularly, exchange greetings and compare sales. She’s doing Ok, I’m doing OK and generally speaking business is good.

What’s even better is her looks. Like I said, Nancy’s blond, has a good figure and usually seems to be of a cheerful disposition. But she’s also one of those girls that wives don’t like having around. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but there’s something arousing about her, this hint of availability, of being ‘easy’. Maybe she also has a reputation in the neighborhood, though I for one never indulge in gossip.

Whatever it was, I know that my wife vaguely disapproved of Nancy while being grateful for the extra sales our agreement generated. Nancy and I were always proper and correct in our dealings and there was never any hanky panky or even any sly and ambiguous hints and double talk when we were together.

Not that it was due to any reservations on my part. If it had been up to me, I would have loved some form of closeness with Nancy, even kisses stolen in a back storeroom for want of anything more intimate. But that’s probably my own fault, wimp that I am. I usually do what I think is expected of me instead of what I want.

In the meantime an Internet Café opened up right across the street from my shop. Now I can slip in during the daytime and rent a computer with Net access while keeping an eye on my shop during slack hours. I discovered the naughty newsgroups, ASE in the forefront and familiarized myself with the ins and outs of Net etiquette.

Indeed, one would think that a café being a public place, that would impose some restrictions on what is accessed. After all, there are large 17 inch screens in the café and anyone coming inside can easily see what the customers are viewing. And folks being what they are, even in a public Internet café the main attraction is still and foremost sex. Sex in all its’ sometimes gaudy and tacky manifestations, sex in pictures, photos, words and drawings, sex in chat groups, sex in newsgroups.

But there is an etiquette about these things. It’s very very impolite to stare at fellow netsurfers’ computer screens, especially when they are viewing photos of naked ladies, and it’s even more impolite to comment.

That’s lucky for me or I would never have built up such a nice collection of enema photos and stories. Just about every day I go in for a quick mail check and to browse through my favorite newsgroups.

My next door neighbors in the street, older by far than I, probably have uncharitable thoughts whenever they see me sitting behind a computer screen at the cybercafé. They must imagine me giving in to the more base aspects of my nature, and who knows ? Maybe they’re right.

A few months ago my wife left for a climbing vacation in South America. I stayed behind to tend the shop as usual. It’s not really that much of a hardship as it sounds. Home alone, I can indulge in pastimes that my wife frowns upon. I have no one to account to, unless the customers in my shop are included, and they don’t concern themselves with anything much beyond antique furniture.

So I was free to get up, go to sleep, cook, watch, read and fool around with whatever I wanted. Within bounds of course.

One evening, instead of looking up an old girlfriend or doing anything constructive, I was at the cybercafé assiduously browsing through the newsgroups and downloading whatever there was of interest. That’s a frustrating business at the best of times, since for reasons unknown to me, the owner of the site choose to install a rather odd selection of computers : on the one hand he has several expensive Silicon Graphics Workstations, great for adding special effects to cartoons and movies but useless for e-mailing, chatting and downloading net-files.

On the other hand he has rinky dink 586 hybrids with baby boards as the main machines. They only have a miserly 16 meg of RAM and consequently they grind and groan like old coffee mills, freeze up whenever you open up more than 2 windows and are generally a slow and agonizing pain in the butt to use. But since customers pay per time unit for Internet access it isn’t in his interest to provide fast up to date machines.

I’m more or less used to it, but at times it’s annoying, especially when all computers are taken and the Net traffic slows down access speed. Then it’s twiddle your thumbs time between mouse-click and results on screen.

That evening there was an unexpected harvest of nice graphic enema jpgs on ASE : bare bottomed ladies and red rubber enema bags prominently displayed. Now when I download such files I do take care who’s hanging around my computer and who comes in the café. Once my wife surprised me by announcing an urgent phone call at home and every now and then an acquaintance enters the café and comes over to my seat for a chat. I try to keep an eye on things but on busy and crowded nights it’s not always possible. And with my wife off to another hemisphere I was not on my guard.

As I was struggling to download a series of particularly large jpgs to diskette, I was startled by a vaguely familiar voice calling me from behind. I felt a hand on my shoulder : “Hey Alex, how are things ? You OK ? I see you here whenever I pass by…”

I jumped up a little, flustered and surprised and turned around to see whose hand it was. It was Nancy smiling at me. My first instinct was to quickly minimize the file I was viewing/downloading but I botched it and clicked somewhere inappropriate. The cheapskate computer was already working past it’s capacity and froze.

“Nancy,” I said with a thumping heart. “Good to see you….” Click, click I kept on trying to make the image disappear. It was a nice one of a big naked female butt with a tube trailing out to a distended red rubber enema bag. “I’ve never…seen….” Click, click, “…you in here…before…”

“Yeah, it’s my first time here…..” she glanced over my shoulder at the screen. “I’ve gotta send an urgent e-mail. Never done it before. Can you give me hand ?” She looked again at the lady’s naked behind. You could tell it was female because her genitals were also clearly visible. “I mean if you’re not too busy with anything else….” Nancy had trouble concealing a grin. “….or I’ll just ask one of the help “

“No, no. For goodness sakes, I’m not doing anything important now….” Well I was trying to preserve my dignity. Click, goddamn click. Still nothing but grinding noises from the computer. “As a matter of fact I’m just about…” click, click, nasty punches on the keyboard, enter key, space bar, escape key, F-keys. “…finished anyway….I guess.”

Exasperated I just switched off the confounded device. The computers don’t even have a reset button in the cybercafé. You have to switch them off and on. When you do that a red light starts blinking and then the timing mechanism hooked into the machine starts peeping.

“Stupid machine,” I said for Nancy’s benefit and for the assistant who came to see what was wrong (again).

“No big deal,” I mumbled. “It got hung up. I don’t know why, but I know how to boot up by myself…” I am a big boy and know my way around PCs. Which is more than can be said for most of the customers at the café.

The assistant shrugged and went back to the counter. I grinned sheepishly at Nancy. “Temperamental little buggers, aren’t they ?”

She gave me a questioning look, probably thinking I was referring to the behind in the picture.

“These computers I mean….they’re so slow…”

Understanding dawned. “Oh…yes, yes…I guess so….if you say so…I don’t know much about them…” She nodded emphatically.

“OK, now what do need to do ? I’m at your service…..”

“Sure you’re not busy Alex ?”

“Of course not, c’mon let me get you a drink and then we’ll get your letter or whatever on the way. Leave it me.”

“Thanks Alex. I’d appreciate it.”

Getting Nancy’s message out was small potatoes and was taken care of in nothing flat. We left the computer to another customer and went to finish our drinks in the non-computerized area of the café. I made sure I had all my diskettes safely tucked away in my pocket. Nancy saw me put them away and smiled at me. “Are those for storing information ?”

“Uh huh,” I simply said. “That’s right.”

“Can you copy the things on the screen onto those plastic things ?”

“Well, yes, that’s the idea…”

“Wow, that’s neat. I still don’t have a computer at home yet….they sorta scare me.”

“They don’t bite you know,” I joked.

We talked a bit and finished our drinks. I had the impression she wasn’t in a hurry to head for home so I suggested we go somewhere else.

“Sure, that’d be nice. Want to get your wife to join us ?”

I laughed. “That’d be difficult. She’s off climbing mountains. Won’t be back till next week…”

“Oh really ? Which ones, where ?” Nancy asked.

“Somewhere in the Andes, can’t remember their names…”

“Wow, that must be fun. And you don’t mind being home alone ?”

“Nah, it’s no big deal. I’m a big boy now. I can cook and wash myself and everything…” I put on my best hangdog Lou Costello face and twiddled my fingers.

She laughed and put her hand on my shoulder, leaning closer. “Well, you don’t find too many guys like that around….”

No ? Well fancy that.

We walked around a bit before choosing a nice quiet old neighborhood café. Over drinks we talked about this and that, business mostly at first and then other things. We worked around to affairs of the heart. I asked about her current boyfriend (if any).

“Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend anymore….right now. You know that me and Caroline do the store together.”

I didn’t see what that had to do with it and said “Oh ?” with a questioning look. Business partners didn’t preclude boyfriends in my experience.

She grinned bashfully. “You know….we share the apartment too…”

“Oh ?” I was very articulate at the moment. And dense.

“Geez, you know what I mean…we sorta live together. You know ?”

“Ah ….I see.” I was regaining my conversational skills. But did she say what I think she said ? I suppose she must have noticed my puzzled look.

“C’mon, everybody around here knows. We live together. You know ? Share things ? Business, apartment, kitchen, bedroom….?” She bobbed her head sideways and arched her eyebrows.

“Oh…I see, I see….sorry I didn’t understand at first….don’t know what’s wrong with me….never mind it’s none of my business….” My penny finally dropped. Nancy had a girlfriend. That was certainly a change from her earlier habits. Well good for her I thought. If I were a girl I’d have a girlfriend too. They’re so nice and soft.

“Silly, I don’t care. It’s no big deal anymore.”

She was right about that of course, it wasn’t. Not anymore. In fact I was positively enchanted by the idea that one of my friends had a lesbian lover and was willing to talk about it, however circumspectly. I suppose like most self-centered males, I thought the idea of lesbian love arousing and titillating but at the same time nothing serious for those involved. It was like two girls amusing themselves until a man came around to give them a taste of the real stuff.

I don’t think I consciously harbored that chauvinist attitude, but maybe my knowing smile was a trifle condescending. ‘Isn’t that cute ?’ it implied. ‘Two pretty naked girls fooling around with each other.’

She grinned at me. “Didn’t shock you I hope ?”

Well a little flustered and caught off guard maybe. “Good grief no. I was just a little slow on the uptake there, it takes a lot to shock me.” I smiled right back, experienced man of the world that I am.

“Yeah I bet.” She was looking at the pocket where I had put my diskettes. A smile played on her face and I could see her thinking something over in her mind. “I wonder what it would take to shock you. You were fooling around with some very peculiar stuff there on the computer.”

I figured she would bring this up sooner or later. I didn’t know whether to be dismayed or delighted. “Oh, you noticed, huh ?”

“You couldn’t not notice, Alex. Not with a behind like that. What was going on in that picture anyway ? Did that lady have a tube up her ass ?”

At least she didn’t sound disgusted or repelled by what she had seen. Actually she even chuckled. I took this and the jocular language to be a good sign.

“Oh, that was just a picture…”

Well obviously, her expression said. Nancy waited for me to continue.

“Sorta something you don’t see very often…”

“I’ll say. What was she doing ? Some kind of kinky sex thing or something medical ?”

She just about hit the nail on the head. “Nothing really kinky,” I explained. “It’s just something a bit different.”

“I saw something on the screen. It said ‘alt, sex, enemy or enough ? What’s that mean ?”

Nancy had a sharp eye. I translated. “It’s the name of a newsgroup called”

She frowned as if I were trying to evade the question. Maybe I was. But I did explain the concept of a newsgroup to her to the best of my ability.

“And what’s an ‘enema’ ?” One of the good things about ASE was that most Belgians looking at the title had no idea at all what an ‘enema’ was, the Dutch word being so completely different. In Dutch the correct term is ‘lavement’, ‘klister’ or ‘darmspoeling’ depending upon your taste and what part of Belgium or Holland you’re from. The ‘sex’ part in the title was no big mystery of course, and neither were naked ladies. As for the ‘alt.’ part, well I still haven’t figured that out myself yet.

I translated enema into Dutch for her. “People do that for fun ?” Nancy seemed more surprised than shocked. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Well….” I wanted to imply that between heaven and Earth there’s more than meets the eye. “It’s a very old thing actually. In fact if I’m not mistaken it’s one of the oldest recorded medical practices known to man….”

“…or women…?” Nancy interspersed.

“…of course, pardon me. …known to man or woman. It used to be very ‘in’ to get clysters in France before the Revolution. They were given for every conceivable reason and then some more. Nowadays it’s still a normal thing in Germany.” I was into my academic mode.

“Really ? I’ve never heard of it at all.”

“I guess it’s one of those things people do but never talk about.”

“Hmmm, if you say so……” She was squinting her eyes and a smile was playing on her upturned mouth. “I guess you ‘do’ it too…..?”

“Well……. every now and then…” That should have been added to the list of Great 20th Century Understatements. I think I was starting to blush and looked down at the table.

She made a make believe fist and punched me on the shoulder. “I never knew you had it in you Alex. You always look and act so proper. Still waters….” Nancy chuckled.

Yes, that is one of my problems, I thought.

“Your wife likes it too ?”

“No…. not exactly….” Another understatement for the list. “It’s not her cup of tea…not really.”

“Oh, well….I was just curious you know….I’m not being too snoopy, am I ?”

“Actually you are, but it’s OK…” I joked. “For a pretty girl like you I’ll lay bare the secrets of my soul.” And much more besides.

I noticed Nancy looking at me in a different way. She had a knowing smile on her lips, as if she had got my number, and liked it. I had the impression she was secretly amused at what she had seen at the cybercafé and found out about me and my little predilection.

“I bet you would….” She finished her drink and put it down, running her finger along the rim of the glass, rubbing the moisture between her fingers. She then stuck a finger into her mouth, licking it off. “You know…..” she cocked her head pensively, “I was wondering….could I have another look at that photo you were fiddling with on the computer ? I only got a glimpse…”

“Are you sure ?”

“Silly, of course I am. You wouldn’t mind would ?”

Surprise, surprise, I took a deep breath, not knowing how to proceed. “Of course not, but you need a computer to view it. Those machines in the cybercafé are awfully slow and expensive…” And it’s crowded as well I thought.

“Don’t you have one ?”

One ? I had three at my disposal for the moment. “Oh sure.”

“Good. We don’t want everyone looking over our shoulder at those naughty little pictures, do we?”

Heaven forbid. Who knows what it might put them up to.

On the way home I was trying to gauge Nancy’s intentions. Was she hinting, flirting or implying something ? Maybe she was just curious or wanted to have a good laugh at my expense ? The last thought had crossed my mind, paranoid jerk that I am. What if she went home to her lezzy lover afterwards and they laughed it up at my expense, recounting the disgusting ways that some men like to get it off ?

I was running an improbable scenario of humiliating circumstances through my head when Nancy took my hand as we crossed a busy street. On the other side she didn’t let go. She squeezed and fiddled her fingers through mine, an innocent but delicious little pastime as we strolled the dark streets.

I was a little nervous as we entered my house. I wondered how things were going to proceed. Also I hoped that my neighbors weren’t peering through their widows to see me come home this late with a female in tow. There was one exception though : I wouldn’t have minded one bit if the stuck-up, but good-looking teenaged girl who lived right across from our bedroom got a good eyeful. It would show her what she was missing. Discretely I glanced up at her window. It was dark and the curtains were drawn.

Safely inside the house we went upstairs where I fixed us drinks. We went up higher to the computer room. “Well here we are,” I joked, “Mission Control Antwerp.”

I was exaggerating of course. Two computers and accessories do not a Space Center make. But still I was proud of my room and toys. Nancy made some appreciative sounds as I booted up my trusty machine. I pulled up an extra chair for her and swiveled the monitor so she could view it comfortably.

“OK… we are…..” I announced when everything was up and running smoothly. “What would you like to see ?”

“The pictures from the café ? Or do you have anything better ?”

Hmmmm, that was a question I had been thinking about as well. What to show ? At that time I already had a collection of a few thousand jpgs and drawings, some in worse taste than the next, some exquisite little works of art. It was all in the eye of the beholder of course and I wanted to make a good first impression on Nancy. I figured that it would be best to start with some tasteful and relatively innocent drawings or watercolors.

French artists had produced a large amount of quite charming erotic art during the 20s and 30s, mainly as illustrations for naughty novels that were published in Paris. Since all conceivable tastes were catered to in those tales, there were a number of enema and clystering scenes that I had in my collection.

“I’ll show you some old drawings first. They’re really very cute,” I said.

“OK, you’re the expert….”

I looked up several illustrations I had scanned by an artist named Herric and imported them into a viewer. They popped up on screen.

They were of the ‘charmes discrčtes de la bourgeoisie’ type. Well dressed (or undressed) ladies were fooling around with a clyster syringe, ready to insert the nozzle into another young thing’s behind. In one the subject for clystering was on knees and elbows, in another drawing she was on her back, legs wide spread and open. Neither were especially revealing in regards to nudity. Both were in very good taste, at least in my opinion. I could imagine my grandparents having a good chuckle over them in their younger days.

I busied myself with the mouse as Nancy looked at the drawings. I arranged them side by side for comparison. “Hmmmmm…..these look so tame ? Innocent maybe ?” she was leaning forward for a better view. “But …still special. The ladies are nice.”

I didn’t contest any of it. I found a few more old 1920s color drawings, a bit more explicit this time. The subjects weren’t being clystered so willingly. They were held down by older women (mothers, aunts, nannies ? Take your pick) and putting up a fuss. You could discern an element of punishment in these drawings or at least of unwillingness.

Then I got a series of very old woodcuts, 18th century illustrations. While meant to be erotic, their age and style gave them an illusory quality, something almost comic. Nancy had to laugh they were so naive looking.

After that I pulled up some early 1900s etchings, mostly of enema equipment, all strictly medical. “These are from textbooks.” I explained, “nursing manuals, home health care books, the like.” Some of these illustrations showed the proper position for nurses to administer enemas to bed ridden patients. They were very trim and proper in a way but also quite anatomically correct as well. I had always found these to be quite appealing, maybe because I first read about the practice of enemas in an old medical book I found in my grandfather’s library.

Nancy snorted, something between a giggle and a guffaw. “Must have been fun studying to be a nurse in those days.”

“Oh, nowadays as well, I think…”

“Do they still do this stuff in hospitals ?”

“I don’t see why not,” I authoritatively said. But I knew from my wife that where she worked most nurses just positively loathed anything to do with enemas, and if at all possible, tried to get out of administering them. “I guess that the equipment would be more up to date though.”

Nancy made a face. “Gee, I’ve never had anything like that in a hospital ? Have you ?”

Actually I had once, as part of the standard pre-op procedure. But those are occasions when you don’t enjoy them very much, apprehension about the upcoming surgery spoil any possible fun. I decided not to mention it. “Not really.”

“Don’t you have any photos ? What about those at the cybercafé ? Can I see them ?”

Oh I had loads of photos all right. I was just trying to decide which were most appropriate for Nancy. Mostly I lumped them all together in directories as I downloaded them off the Net with not much regard to quality, subject mater or good taste. There were far too many for me to ever remember the names so I was trying to be circumspect about what I showed her. Nothing too graphic or gross for a first viewing.

I decided I’d let her see some Japanese photos. The girls were certainly top notch beauties, no doubt about that and it seemed that the Japanese never stinted on equipment and accessories. They used quite an interesting and varied assortment of enema devices, either as main instruments or as background props. The one quirk about Japanese enema photos was that they seemed to like the girls tied up, in some kind of bondage situation. I could do without that, but Nancy didn’t mind. She pursed her lips in what I hoped was appreciation. “Not bad…. pretty girls too, aren’t they ?”

I grinned back. Now that she had a female lover I should have figured she’d be appreciative of lovely ladies. “Oh my yes. They strike your fancy ?”

She made a face in jest. “I’m not a real Lesbian you know, or I don’t think so.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything.”

“Silly, it’s all right. I still like men and all that. I was just sorta tired of them for a while there. Say, don’t you have anything of men getting an enema or something ?”

Of course I did, but personally I preferred the all female variety. I looked through a few directories with a thumbnail browser and enlarged a few mixed gender enema scenes, these were back and white photos. They looked old fashioned somehow, probably because they were made in the 50s or 60s, I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t tell from the indistinct backgrounds and the subjects’ lack of garments gave me no hint either. They seemed to be professional photos, probably scanned from some old magazine. Genitals and other naughty parts were clearly visible, the subjects unshaven in the pubic area. A male was being restrained by a lady in a nurse’s uniform while another held a tube and nozzle ready for insertion.

I pulled up several dozen photos. There were amateur scenes as well as color shots, sometimes blurry and indistinct but still very recognizable as to activity.

“It’s amazing people let themselves be photographed doing this.” Nancy remarked.

“Hmmmm….” Sometimes I agreed, but when you thought about it, these photos were hardly more obscene than straight fuck shots, probably even less so. “I suppose once you’ve got your clothes off it doesn’t matter too much anymore…” I didn’t want to get started on what was and what wasn’t objectionable.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that….” Nancy snickered.

“Just a question of taste…something acquired I suppose.”

“Yeah, “ Nancy grinned, “Like oysters or caviar…”

I grinned back, though I was thinking of another taste that you had to work on to appreciate. I flicked my tongue up and down between my lips very quickly wondering what Nancy tasted like..

I pulled up some more photos. In one directory I had apparently stored shots of enema equipment. Some were from advertisements, some were photos of collections.

“I guess you’ve got stuff like this too ?” Nancy asked me, arching up her eyebrows.

“Well…..I’ve got a few things.”

“Can I see them ?”

I hesitated, not sure what to say.

“I mean, if it’s too personal…” Nancy added.

Oh, it was personal all right, but nothing I objected to at all. In fact, dense lamebrain that I usually was, even I could see that Nancy was being very straightforward and was hinting for something more than just a look through my collection of enema photos. Did this stuff turn her on ? It seemed too good to be true. We had never even kissed before. Now she was none too subtlety insinuating she wanted an even further exchange of intimate revelations.

Was she serious or just setting me up for a good laugh ? During our business proceedings I had never known her to be anything but totally trustworthy. We had handled money matters on our personal word alone, never anything on paper. I figured if you could trust a person in that manner, anything else would be on the same level.

“No, no, it’s OK. I’ve just never had anybody ever ask me that before.”

“No ? Don’t you and your wife do this stuff together ?”

Delicate subject that. Usually my SO just pretended to be magnanimously unaware of this quirk of mine, or else acted as if it were a strict medical thing (going on vacation she always asked if I had packed ‘everything’ in the medicine kit, meaning my clyster syringe). Then on other occasions she would consider it something akin to an incurable perversion. It was best to just avoid it all together. Out of sight, out of mind was my motto.

I tried to laugh but it came out more as a snort. “Together ? That’d be the day. No, not her cup of tea at all.”

“You mean you do this enema thing by yourself ? All alone ?” Nancy asked.

I shrugged. “That’s how it goes….”

“Wouldn’t it be more fun with someone else ?”

Good question. It’s like masturbation I guess : it’s fun alone, but until you’ve done it with a partner there’s no way to compare the experiences. “I suppose so…. probably.” I tried to inject a hint of sadness into my voice. I turned my head away and contemplated the floor, projecting what I hoped to be an aura of forlorn longing.

Nancy didn’t bite though she patted me comradely on the back. “Oh well, there’s bound to be someone willing. Say, do you still want to let me see your stuff ?

I wonder if she knew how ambiguous that sounded. “I guess so….but no laughing, promise ?”

“Sure, I wouldn’t ever make fun of you, Alex. You know that.” She put her hand around my neck and gave it a squeeze. My spine tingled all the way down to my prick. I smiled back at her.

My favorite clyster syringe, a rubber squeeze bulb model, was in the bathroom, but my stash of assorted nozzles and paraphernalia I kept tucked away in my computer room. I also had a Higginson surge pump, a kind of continuous flow device for pumping water into the bowels via tubing. It was a simple but wickedly delicious looking little contraption. I showed it to Nancy.

“Hmmmm… does this thing work ?”she asked. I attached a black nozzle to the proper rubber tube.

“This end,” I wiggled the tubing, “goes into whatever you’re using to hold the water solution and the other with nozzle goes into the …er patient. Then you squeeze the rubber bulb and water is pumped into the patient’s…er behind.”

“Can you feel it going in ?”

“Sure, but it depends on how hard and fast you squeeze.”

“Doesn’t it hurt ?”

“No, that’s not the idea. Certainly not if it’s done correctly and carefully. You do have to be sure that the water is the right temperature, that the nozzle is well lubricated (here Nancy nodded with a smile on her lips) and that you don’t make the solution too strong or irritating.”

“Irritating ? Do you add something to the water ?”

“Well, not necessarily, but I usually do.”

“What ?”

“Some baking powder maybe or salt, and usually soap.”

“Soap ? You’re kidding ? Doesn’t that sting ?”

Now it was my turn to smile. “Not necessarily. It gets your intestines working in a hurry though.”

“I’ll bet….”

I handed the Higginson to Nancy. She squeezed it, forcing air noisily through the nozzle. “Can I try this with water ?”

“Sure, I’ll fill the sink in the bathroom. C’mon with me.” Well, from the look on Nancy’s face and her questions I had a good idea what she was going to ask next. The question was : was I ready to give a live demonstration if she asked me ? One part of me dreaded the thought, but the other was whispering to pluck the day, a similar situation might never occur again.

Luckily our bathroom is kept neat and tidy so there was nothing to unobtrusively pick up and stuff in the hamper. I let the sink fill with water and invited Nancy to try out the surge pump. She pumped the bulb several times, purging air out before any water squirt out. When it did, the tubing went rigid and wiggled around in Nancy’s left hand as she squeezed with her right. She giggled and pretended to aim at my face. I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Please don’t. I am your prisoner…”

“Oh really ? Then you’d better do as I say….”

“You’ll only get my name, rank and serial number…” I laughed, but that typical American joke was lost on her.

Nancy put the syringe down. “Have you got anything else ?”

“Well,” I opened up a drawer and took out a red rubber clyster syringe with a rather thick black nozzle. There were several holes at the tip. “This is something for more regular use.” I handed it to Nancy. “You squeeze air out and then hold it upside down, with the tip in the water so it can suck up liquid. Try it, it’s easy.”

She did it several times, compressing the bulb and forcing water out the end. She examined the nozzle and held her fingers around it in an o-shape. Nancy pretended to study the ring she had made. “You know, this looks like it’s a pretty large thing to stick up your behind.”

It was rather large sized I guess, but I had had a lot of practice over the years. I shrugged. “You get used to it. It feels OK to me.”

“I bet it does…” again she gave me a knowing smile. Yes, Nancy had my number all right. “Ya know….I was wondering…” she twirled the syringe in her hand playfully. “Would you ah…like me to give you… one of these ? Give you an enema ?”

“Would you like to ?” Even as I said this I was wondering why I just didn’t say yes. There was no figuring myself out.

“I wouldn’t ask otherwise. You’re not too shy are you ? Or is it more fun to play around with yourself ?”

Sometimes I wondered. I made a silly face and shrugged. “No, no. it’s not that really. I’ve just never done it with anyone else before. An enema, that is…” I clarified lest she think me woefully inexperienced.

“Well…?” Nancy gave the bulb a good firm squeeze.

“Well sure, I’d love it of course. But I’m…gonna have to undress for this, you know.” And show a hell of an erection.

“I certainly hope so Alex.”

“In that case, sure, as long as you don’t mind….”

“I’m a big girl now.” She looked pointedly at the bulge in my trousers. “I won’t be shocked. At least I don’t think so…”


“Good, now why don’t you get ready and then you can show me what to do.”

By ‘getting ready’ I took it Nancy meant for me to undress. “Well you can start by filling the sink with hot water so you can wash out the syringe.”

“Does it matter how hot ?” Nancy asked.

“No, this is just to clean the device with. You can add some soap too. Here,” I opened up a cupboard door and pulled out a liquid soap dispenser, “You can add some of this.”

I watched as Nancy merrily squirt half a dozen jets of soap into the sink. “Hmmm….” She sniffed, “Smells nice and clean.” The stream of water from the faucet had already worked up quite a lather of soap suds. She twirled her hand in the water.

“C’mon Alex, don’t just stand there daydreaming,” she said to me, “you’d better get undressed or I’m going to have a hard time figuring where to stick the nozzle.”

I blushed and turned around. First I untied my shoes and stepped out of them. Next my sweater and socks went which left me debating what should go next : undershirt or trousers ? I decided to live dangerously and unbuckled my trousers, swiftly stepping out of them while leaning on the bathtub rim.

I turned around for a look at Nancy. She had been watching me undress and was grinning. “Better slip off your briefs as well Alex, I think your tent pole is getting in the way.”

She meant my stiff and quite discernable erection of course. At least she wasn’t acting like it didn’t exist. I had no compunction about showing myself off to a pretty girl, but I was curious what she would say when she saw I liked to keep clean shaven.

I had to stretch the hem to the limit to get it over my ‘tent pole’. I pulled my briefs down to my ankles and stepped out of them. With a dainty little flourish I discarded them behind me.

“Saaaay….this is the first time I’ve ever seen a man shave down there.” She cocked her head and stared unconcernedly. She seemed to like it. “That’s sorta cute, like the girls over in the old harbor area.” When someone spoke of ‘the girls’ they used a Dutch slang word that left no one in doubt they were referring to the ‘ladies of the night’, our professional working girls. The red-light district wasn’t even a 5 minutes’ walk away, but it surprised me that she was acquainted with the girls’ pubic hair fashion.

“Really ?” I feigned ignorance, but knew she was correct from first-hand experience. “I didn’t know the girls trimmed their pubic hair….” I tried to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, I bet you didn’t….” She said, choosing not to confront my obvious lie. She took my undershirt and lifted up the hem, the better to look at my prick. “Cute. Did you do it yourself ?”

I nodded. She carefully ran the back of her hand over my skin. Nancy brushed by my prick but didn’t take hold of it. Her fingers felt along my groin and lower. I knew that no matter how low she searched, there wouldn’t be much hair to be found. I liked to keep clean shaven.

“It feels very soft. You didn’t shave did you ?”

I wondered if Nancy had any experience with genital shaving. She seemed to know that a razor is not the best way to remove pubic hair.

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to nick myself down there…”

“What do you use then ? A cream ?”

I nodded.

“You know, that’s charming. I’ve got to see more of this. Maybe you could set a fashion.”

I wouldn’t know how to ever begin. I just laughed nervously. She was having me on anyway.

Getting back to the matter at hand, Nancy bade me come closer to the sink. The clyster syringe was still soaking in the soapy water, nozzle floating on the surface. Nancy asked what to do next. I told her to take it out, dry it off and then to refill the sink with warm water, not too hot.

With exaggerated precision she dried the rubber bulb in a clean towel and set it upright on the rim of the sink. The nozzle got a similar treatment. She held it up to the light and slipped it in and out through a ring she made with her thumb and index-finger. “Are you sure this is what you use to squirt water up your behind, Alex ? It looks large enough for a vaginal douche head.”

Well, well. She knew more than she had let on at first. I assured her that it was my favored tip. I said I was willing to let her try it out as well.

“Don’t you wish ?” Nancy laughed knowingly. “Oh well, maybe you’re used to getting it up the backdoor. Or are you keeping in practice for a boyfriend ?”

These were enlightened times for sure, but I still blushed. “No, really Nancy. I’m just used to it.”

She gave me another one of those mock punches on the shoulder. “Just kidding…”

Nancy kissed the tip of her finger and transferred it to the black nozzle. “Voila, clean as a whistle. Now what ?”

“Fill the sink with warm water.”

“OK, do I add anything ? Some more of that sweet smelling soap ? What kind is it anyway ?”

“It’s lemon scented. Do you like it ?” I don’t know why it’s so, but I’ve always associated lemon soap with enemas. Even in public restrooms I’ve had that feeling.

Nancy nodded. “How much should I put in the water ?”

“Not too much please, one or two squirts should be more than enough for now.”

Nancy put in 4. I took the flask of liquid soap from her, tsk tsking. 4 was no big deal at all, but if I had let her continue she might have put in an even dozen. That would be too much of a good thing, even for me. “That’s enough. I want to be able to retain the water without having a ‘little accident’.”

In most Belgian homes, toilets are not in the bathroom, but built in a separate small closet-like room. Ours was down the hallway, not very far away as distances go until you’ve got cramping, leaking bowels. Then you could end up messing the carpets. That wouldn’t do.

Nancy stirred the water. Soapsuds formed on the surface. I could anticipate the warmth flowing inside me already. Only this time I wouldn’t be in control. A pretty female hand would be forcing water up into my bowels. I shivered deliciously at the thought and sighed.

“What’s the matter Alex ?” Nancy asked, seeing me shudder, “Are you cold ?”

“No, it’s nothing. I’ve just never done it like this before.”

“So you keep on saying, but don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you…” she grinned again. Clearly she was enjoying herself. “Now what do I do ?”

I told her to attach the nozzle to the bulb. Now it was time to lubricate the tip. And myself. I wondered how to get around to that.

I took a tube of Prep H ointment from the cabinet. Since it was intended for rectal use anyway, I had figured out that it should be an efficacious lubricant. Apart from the medicinal smell it was quite effective. And even that I had come to associate with my private little sessions. “Put some of this onto the nozzle. Don’t be stingy.”

Nancy turned around and leaned against the sink, holding the syringe up so I could clearly see her coat the shaft with the yellowish colored salve. Finished with the nozzle she held up a greased finger. “Shouldn’t I put some on you too ? Into your little hole ?”

“Normally, yes…but if you don’t care to….”

“Silly, c’mon and bend over. Or would you like to lay down on the bath rug ?”

If I had a choice I would have loved to lay down across her lap, bottoms up. But I didn’t dare ask. I just shrugged.

“How do they do it in those medical books ?”

Now there was a face-saver. “Oh…. Well, a much used position was perfected by a Doctor Simm’s. He practiced on slaves before the American Civil War.”

“Egad. Sounds like a nice guy……” Nancy made a disapproving face. I wonder what she would have thought about his research in gynecology. “How does it go ?”

“You lay down on your left side…”

“Lay down then. Is it OK here in the bathroom ?”

I nodded and spread out an extra towel before laying down. Turning over slightly towards my stomach, I pulled up my right leg to my chest. “You can get at me from behind now….” I needlessly said.

“That’s what I thought. OK, ready Alex ?”

I could feel her hands trembling slightly as she parted my buttocks and pressed her lubricated finger up against my anus. She rubbed it around and along the cleft. “Hmmm….no hair here either. Nice.” She used two fingers to feel the rim of my sphincter. “And clean….maybe I should do this too….”

“Want a hand ? I’d be more than willing ?” I joked half in earnest.

“I’m sure you would be. But not now in any case. Just lie still…” Nancy poked me and pushed her finger up my anus, not quite breaching the gate. She wiggled it around and pulled out again. I looked behind me and saw her squeezing some more ointment on her finger.

“In we go….” Indeed, in it went her finger, up my bumhole and into the rectum. Involuntarily I clenched my anal muscles and pulled away. She pushed up into me as far as she could. Nancy again moved her finger around, hooking it and twiddling to and fro. It felt wonderful. I slowly began to move to and fro with my hips, small movements that caused my heart to melt in desire and my prick to twitch up and down. Had she played with my organ even for a short time, I would have come then and there, no doubt about it.

But I buried my head in the crook of my arm, trying to keep control. I know I groaned from pleasure. What I wouldn’t have given to be kissing Nancy on the lips or nuzzling her no doubt ample breasts. Better still to be locked face between her thighs, kissing and inhaling the scent of her cunny. I could imagine it already.

She pulled out and I heard her take a towel and wipe her fingers. “I guess I should fill the thing now, Alex ?” she asked.

“Yes, now is fine….” I managed to get out. My heart was still pounding. Was it from love, desire or plain over-stimulation ? I longed to give my prick a good squeeze or two while Nancy was at it with the clyster bulb, but I refrained, thinking it best to see how things would proceed. I could of course envision multiple possibilities of further intimacies, but even if Nancy would have left it as it was and done no more, I would have been in heaven.

But I could hear merry gurgling as water was sucked up into the syringe. There was more to come.

“I filled it up as best as I could.” Nancy held the clyster in front of her. “Ready ?”

“OK….” I closed my eyes again. A few drops of warm water leaked out the tip as Nancy wiggled the thick nozzle between my buttocks and up against my asshole. She used thumb and forefinger to open up my anus and guide the nozzle in. I was well lubricated and ready. The shaft penetrated me easily and slipped right past my pulsing anal sphincter. Nancy squeezed and I felt a warm glow spread inside of me.

“Don’t let go once you’ve squeezed, Nancy.” I cautioned. “Otherwise you’ll suck the water right back out. That’s not the idea.”

She withdrew the plastic cylinder and patted my behind. I heard the clyster sucking up air as she let go. “That was easy,” Nancy said. “I’ll fill up another dose, don’t go away…”

She was eager, no doubt about that and seemed to like squirting water up into my ass. Without asking for my limit, she quickly discharged 5 additional doses of water into my bowels. It felt wonderful, of course and normally I wouldn’t have considered asking her to stop. But it was a soapy solution, however weak, and by the 6th bulb full I was experiencing the onset of an impending bowel movement. There was the usual tingling sensation in my abdomen, I could feel a cramp or contraction building and knew that soon I would have to resist the urge to expel the contents of my bowels. This I could usually manage, but not while laying on my side.

“I think that’s enough for now, Nancy.” I sat up and leaned against the bathtub.

“Can’t you take anymore ?” she asked.

Of course I could, but I wasn’t going to tell her now. 12 to 15 clysters was about my limit, some 2 and a half liters I figured. But I was never one to be obsessed by quantity. This would be just fine for now.

I wiggled around, pressing my buttocks tight together while I prepared myself for the inevitable series of cramps. Nancy put the syringe away for the while being and knelt down next to me. “How does it feel ?” she asked while looking down between my legs. My erection had subsided as it usually does at this stage. Apparently my body figured there were other priorities that took precedence. “Did I do it OK ?”

“You did great Nancy, almost like a pro. Are you sure this is your first time ?”

“For an enema it is…” she tried to make a bashful, coy face, but couldn’t pull it off and just grinned at me. She also let her hand stray lower and daintily took hold of my prick. She waggled it around. It looked like she was trying to wake it up.

“Don’t worry,” I said as I felt a series of cramps build up, “That’s normal, it always happens when I’m full. There’s nothing wrong with your charms …”

I had to rock back and forth a bit and clench my muscles to hold up the contents of my bowels. I grit my teeth together and must have made some kind of groaning noise. The spasms passed and I relaxed again.

“Wow, that looked like it was pretty urgent. How much longer do you have to wait ?”

“It all depends. If it’s for fun you can hold it for an hour or two, even longer I guess but then a lot of water will be absorbed through the intestines. If it’s just for cleaning I usually wait between 15 and 30 minutes.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do to help keep it in ?”

In enema stories, authors like to use anal dildos or plugs to keep an enemee plugged up. In real life it doesn’t work out that way. The dildo is either forced out or water leaks out around the sides anyway. No, an anal plug is just for the fun of it. I was wondering if I should bring it up when Nancy made a suggestion.

“Would it help if I put my finger back in you ?”

I had to smile. Nancy had been reading too many stories about Dutch boys with their fingers stuck in a dike. If reality were only so simple.

“Well….it can’t do much harm.” And it should feel quite nice I thought.

“It’s OK ?”

“Sure, but hurry up before I start cramping again…”

I had to rearrange myself slightly to allow Nancy easy access to my anus. I lay down lower and opened my legs up. Nancy knelt down next to me and felt around until she found my backdoor. She easily inserted her finger up into me, my anus was distended and stretched, ready for use. I could distinctly feel it pulse around her digit. Putting some conscious effort into it, I tried to move my anal sphincter as if milking her finger. Nancy felt it and pushed back and forth. What a lovely little ass fucking that was.

Then I felt the spasms build up again. I couldn’t keep from contracting my muscles and I did my absolute best not to leak any water around Nancy’s finger. With her finger up inside me, I could feel my anal sphincter pulsing and quivering.

“I can feel your inside muscles or whatever moving…” Nancy said as I was shuddering from the effort of retaining the water.

“Uh……huh……” I couldn’t say much at the moment, I had to concentrate.

This series of spasms passed as well. By now I was perspiring somewhat, and my undershirt which I still had on, was sticking to my skin. I sighed from the effort and lay my head down on Nancy’s shoulder. I wanted to kiss her but didn’t quite dare. Instead I nuzzled around her neck and hair. Unlike myself, Nancy was still fully dressed. I hadn’t really risked asking her to disrobe as well, though tradition would indicate that she strip at least to her underwear, or else wear a nurse’s uniform.

“Want me to keep my finger inside you ?” Nancy asked.

I shook my head. “No, better not. It feels much too good. Any more and I won’t be able to control myself.” I had grown good and stiff again, the results of Nancy’s rectal exploration no doubt.

She withdrew her finger and dried it off. Finished she turned back and knelt beside me, indicating that I spread my legs a bit. She felt around my genitals, fingering testicles and the area below. “You feel so soft without hair. You’re the first guy I’ve seen do this. I wish they all did.”

“How about you ?” I asked.

“Me ?”

“Yeah, do you shave yourself…” I nodded at her groin, “…down there ?”

“Oh no…..I wouldn’t …”

“Would you like to ? I could help.” I offered.

She made a face but was smiling nonetheless. “I bet you would. But not now in any case…”

“Well, the offer stands…”

The next half hour passed quite pleasantly, interspersed by a series of cramps and contractions of lessening intensity. I figured that enough time had passed and told Nancy that it was time for me to use ‘the little boy’s room’.

“Want me to come along and hold your hand ?” she joked half in earnest.

“Not really. This I prefer to do alone. But as a consolation you can give me a last clyster, a nice warm one for the road.” I stood up while Nancy filled the bulb. “No soap this time…”

When she was ready I stretched up against the sink and placed my feet apart. Nancy parted my buttocks and inserted the nozzle. She had to force the water upwards with me standing in this position. Some drops dibbled down along my legs and her hand. The water, good and hot stung my already irritated rectum. I grabbed a towel and told Nancy I wouldn’t be but a short while.

Down the hall I made it to the toilet without mishap and gratefully let go. The water flowed out, sparingly at first and then in a series of gushes and spurts. I hoped I wasn’t making too much noise. The sounds I didn’t care for but I have never figured a way around that aspect of enemas. A few minutes later I was done and stood up to wipe myself.

Without thinking I draped the towel modestly around me, from force of habit I guess. Back in the bathroom Nancy was waiting for me.

“What’s the matter Alex ? Gone all shy on me ?” She playfully pulled the towel loose.

“You know, that’s not fair,” I said. “I’m all naked and you’re not even out of your socks.”

“Want me to take them off ?”

“That’d be nice for starters…”

“Oh Alex, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I did, but just shrugged. After all, this had been great fun up to now and I didn’t want to spoil it. I went to wash myself at the sink. Nancy watched.

“What do you do afterwards ?” She looked at my half-erect prick and made a knowing face.

“I take a cold shower and read the economics section in the paper…” I tried not to laugh. “What do you think I do ?”

“Something naughty ?”

“Something relaxing…” I wiggled all five fingers of my hand. Of course I was exaggerating. I would just as well read a book or watch some TV, but I had an image to uphold.

“Boys…..always the same.” She stood next to me and stroked my penis. “Can I watch ?”

“I thought that wasn’t a good idea ?”

“No, for me to undress would not be a good idea. This is something different.”

I couldn’t really see the distinction and didn’t even try. After all, there are no ways to explain the sometimes bewildering rationalizations we make in our sex lives. If Nancy didn’t want to undress for me but on the other hand was willing to give me an enema and watch me jerk off, who was I to judge ?

“If you say so…”

Silly to say, but I would have felt ill at ease jerking off in front of Nancy. When I take time off to indulge in this universal vice, there are special rituals to go through, images and ideas to conjure up, positions to take. Even though I had let Nancy enema me, an intimate ritual if ever here was one, I had my reservations about putting on a masturbation show for her. Now if it had been a mutual event, I would have been raring to go. Instead I declined.

“Are you sure Alex ?” she asked.

“I think so. I’d much rather do something for you. Just about anything….?” I put my hand around her neck and rubbed.

She sighed and took me in her arms. “Oh Alex, Alex…what a shame we didn’t do this years ago. But now is not the right time. I just couldn’t let myself go, wouldn’t dare. Don’t be mad at me. I hope you understand ?”

I did and didn’t, but didn’t want to spoil the evening. I held on to her some more, nuzzled and kissed a bit and then let go. “Of course I do. Why don’t you go downstairs and pour us another drink ? I’ll get dressed and be right down. OK ?”

Nancy nodded. She gave me a last hug and left me to dress.

Down in the kitchen she was waiting for me, a little subdued, maybe wondering if I was going to be resentful for her not joining in the activities more fully. I smiled and did my best to show that far from being put out, I had had an unforgettable evening.

We talked a bit more and finished our drinks. It was getting late and it was time for Nancy to leave. I offered to escort her home, the whole 200 meters down the street, but she asked me not to come along. In any case I kissed her goodbye on the street corner and watched until she turned into her portal, waving a small greeting.

Well, that had certainly been fun, no doubt about that. I wondered if there was ever going to be a repeat performance or if Nancy would like to be the star of the show next time. Wistfully I contemplated the possibilities and tried to figure out how many more days my wife was going to be away.

I sauntered back to my door, hands in my pocket, looking up at the night sky. I wondered how many of my neighbors had had this kind of fun tonight. Or any kind of sex at all for that matter. I let my eyes roam over the curtained windows of my neighbor’s homes, but they were all dark and still.

I was about to close the door behind me when I turned around and saw movement behind my across-the-street teenage neighbor’s curtains. Had she been watching me and Nancy kiss goodbye in the street ? God, I certainly hoped so.

With a broad smile on my face, I went back inside my house, but not before blowing my neighbor an airborne kiss.



Before anyone starts getting jealous at my supposed good fortune, it’s best to say that this is a work of fiction. These events never happened and if my past life is any standard, anything similar never will happen either.

I got the idea for this story from Rubber Duck, who was surprised when I mentioned that I do my e-mailing and Newsgroup surfing at a public cybercafé. Telephone rates are exorbitantly expensive in Belgium and until we get an optic cable connection, a home Internet connection is a luxury many Belgians prefer not to pay for. So, cybercafés may not abound, but they are popular.

Duckie’s main worry however was what happened when customers wanted to browse through sexsites and other naughty areas of the Net. After all, a café is a public area. Do people comment or make disparaging remarks ? Do viewers censor themselves ?

The answer is that it is considered very bad manners to comment on what other customers are viewing. Etiquette demands a sort of hear, see and say no evil attitude. Generally everyone ignores what others are viewing.

I have never had any difficulty in that regard that I know of. Oh, maybe from time to time someone may think that I’m a weirdo and give me a funny look, but I’ve never encountered any problem at all.

Actually, I sometimes fervently wish that a delicious looking young thing would sit down next to me and make a comment about the ASE jpg on screen. Any comment would be fine for openers. But alas, no such luck.

I have though, been mentally rehearsing fictitious encounters for quite some time and the above story is a distillation of some of the more printable daydreams. I used to be a Boy Scout and my motto still is : Be Prepared. You never know.