Europe on 5 Enemas a Day - Part 3

Chapter 8

The next morning Sandi, Nancy and I took leave of Marlee and Kari. As much as I would have liked to linger on and enjoy Mar’s company neither of us thought it very prudent. Her husband was due today, probably in the afternoon and I didn’t really feel like hanging around, caught in a three way deception.

And that was even without taking Mad Madame Ernestine’s overactive sex drive into consideration. I had the feeling that she was lurking around in the fields, just waiting for an opportunity to pounce and take advantage of me again. Not that the pouncing had been all that disagreeably unpleasant. It was just that I liked being treated as something more than a sex object. Ha ha.

So with no regrets for what had had happened but with plenty for the leave taking all five of us gathered out in the farm house courtyard for a last round of farewells and kisses. The girls exchanged addresses and promises of welcomes in Canada should Kari ever get there. Mar and I embraced fondly : that is, aside from a little tongue tickling we engaged in some discreet and tender fondling. Out of the corner of my eye I was half certain that I saw Sandi and Kari do the same. I held on to Mar a bit longer so she wouldn’t notice.

After all combinations of embracing had been gone through the girls and I stepped into the van and waving goodbye, I pulled out into the road. At the village I took the turn-off for the main highway and we were soon back into the stream of traffic heading for Périgeux and other points south. We drove around here and there the next day, stopping at several particularly nice looking little towns or chateaux, but in the main I kept our primary goal in sight : the Pyrenees.

I like to think of them as the Enchanted Mountains. Even though they are the second largest and second highest mountain range in Europe (the Caucasus is sometimes considered to be in Europe, but that is just a polite fiction in my mind), the Pyrenees are not really all that well known.

They are a border chain, and form the frontier between France and Spain. Near the Atlantic and the Med, they are low and not much more than a series of hills and gentle valleys. But the center of the range rises to 3400 meters, with majestically wild and desolate peaks towering over glaciers, waterfalls and semi-arid wind-swept deserts of rock and snow. The tree line stops at 1700 meters, and consequently most hiking and climbing is done in a dry and rocky region devoid of vegetation.

The northern slopes lie in France and are as a rule more thickly wooded and populated than the southern Spanish part. There are numerous villages and small towns in the French Pyrenees, many orientated to tourism in all it’s many aspects. The weather can be somewhat unpredictable and when the clouds gather overhead and hide the mountain tops from view, it can rain cats and dogs for days on end. But there is always something to do, even if it is just driving around or visiting a café or restaurant.

I wanted to show the girls something of the mountains, and even though my ultimate objective was to go south of the border to Spain, I thought it appropriate that we spend several days driving around the French part.

For a first time visitor there is no way to avoid Lourdes. It’s pretty tacky as pilgrimage sites go and appears at times to be quite the gay, colorful and prosperous tourist center it actually is. I suppose one can buy hundreds if not thousands of different religious souvenirs, each in worse taste than the next, but it’s all done in such a light hearted and mercenary manner that you can feel yourself transported back into a simpler age when belief in miracles was just about axiomatic.

From there on we drove around the higher part of the chain, over passes that are famous for the grueling effort put into crossing them each year by the cyclists in the Tour de France. But without going into travelogue mode let’s just say that we did as all tourists do and took in the sights.

One fine hot and sunny day we came to the small town of Eaux Bonnes and decided to pitch tent in the camping grounds just aside the main road, a few minutes walk from the central square. In French the name means ‘good waters’ and of course referred to the many mineral springs in the vicinity. It is no wonder that the town boasted an ‘Etablissement Thermal’ or health spa and treatment center, though from what I remembered of previous visits, its days of glory were long gone.

Eaux Bonnes had however in the several years since my last passing through, turned into quite the lively and bustling mountain resort town it must have been during the 19th century. The town square was freshly landscaped, with myriads of brightly blooming flowers set among the trimmed grass and pathways. An old fashioned bandstand under the plane trees had been refurbished and tastefully painted and was obviously being put back to use for open air concerts. There were certainly more tourists around than I remembered and it seemed that everything had a lively bounce about it, as if the town had been given a new start or people had discovered something pleasant and attractive about the place.

The girls and I were certainly taken in by the atmosphere and spent time entering and looking around the many new and stylish shops and restaurants around the Place de la République and side streets. There were several other small parks or squares up near the hillside and following a colonnaded gallery of boutiques we came upon the old building housing the mineral springs of Eaux Bonnes.

But instead of the old, half dilapidated establishment I remembered, this too had been extensively restored to a state of stylish and ornate grandeur, such as must have been intended by it’s builders. The old inset brass lettering of ‘Etablissement Thermal’ gleamed above the entrance. Not only were the windows polished and sparkling, the facade cleaned up and the wood and iron work painted, but the building was also festively garlanded with large ribbons, banners and numerous French tricolors and seals of the Republic. On a small lawn outside the main entrance more than a dozen flagpoles flew banners of the Union members as well as the Stars and Stripes. It was all very tasteful and I was quite taken aback in pleasant surprise. This was not the place I remembered. It had changed and for once for the better.

There were numerous posters pinned to placards or set behind advertising displays. I was curious and went up to read one.

Grande Ouverture !!

It read in bold fancy turn of the century lettering.

Grand Opening !! L’Etablissment des Eaux et de la Santé opens it’s doors (tomorrow) and all and sundry are invited to the opening festivities and attractions. Tonight there will be a lecture and slide show by an eminent specialist from the US for this festive occasion. Entrance is free and the commentary will be in French, English and German.

My curiosity was roused. I had never been inside one of these places before and aside from purely architectural interest I had always been intrigued by these establishments. What went on inside ? What kind of treatments were given ? By whom ? As a child I had always thought of these places as being similar to hospitals or clinics, but that was obviously too simple a generalization.

“Well Alex ?” It was Sandra leaning over my shoulder, “ Anything of interest ? Is this place the local Folies Bergères or what ?”

Always ready for a joke.

“Does this look like a dance hall to you ?”

“I dunno. Looks pretty impressive though. What’s going on ?”

I explained that this was the building that housed the natural mineral springs and that it was due to re-open tomorrow. Tonight there would be a lecture and slide show.

“From the look in your eyes I’d say this is something right up your alley, right ?” Sandra looked at Nancy. “What do you say ?”

“Sure, why not ?”

And so it was agreed.

After dinner I rummaged around in the van, trying to find a set of halfway presentable clothes. I found clean trousers and a white polo shirt without any of those cute alligator or sailboat patches sewn on. It was hardly the epitome of sartorial elegance but the best I could do under the circumstances. The girls always managed to look delectable, no matter what they were wearing. I have never been able to figure out how they do it.

We set off into town. The street lanterns were lit and many people were out for an evening stroll or drink at a favorite café. We followed the small park to the Etablissement Thermal. The building was all a glitter with light and quite an amount of people were headed inside, up the front granite stairway. A smiling hostess handed us programs as we stepped inside the main hallway. The crystal chandeliers reflected light to the ceiling and marble floor. From a side room came the sounds of a small chamber orchestra.

We followed the flow and entered another large room. This was clearly meant to be used as auditorium for tonight’s lecture. Many seats were already taken and we had to sit up close to the screen. I looked at the program we had been given.

It was just a short text, printed in several languages welcoming us all to this evening’s lecture on the history of Eaux Bonnes’ mineral springs. There were several pictures of the building, one or two taken from old postcards. In addition there was a small bio on tonight’s speaker : Doctor Sigrid Kitzsler. Born in Germany, educated in France and currently head of staff at the Kitzsler Clinic in the USA. She was a renowned specialist in many branches of medicine and also an authority on the history of ‘la médicine thermal’, a rather wide field encompassing the use of water as a healing agent in various types of medical treatments.

Soon almost all the seats were taken and it was time to start the evening’s lecture. The lights dimmed and a man walked up to the lecture stand. He welcomed us here tonight, expressed his gratitude at the large audience and introduced this evening’s speaker, Sigrid Kitzsler.

The doctor was a stunning looking woman, dressed conservatively in a double pieced beige jacket and skirt, cut to just under the knees. Her black hair was done in a shortish pageboy style in a rather old fashioned manner. I had trouble guessing her age, for though I could see no obvious signs of being made up, she was clearly older than I was, very good looking and confident of herself.

She started, “Mesdames et Messieurs, Ladies and Gentlemen, Meine Damen und Herren. Soyez le Bienvenus, Welcome, Wilkommen.”

I grinned at first, thinking that she was going to start into a version of Cabaret, but soon realized that she could effortlessly change between languages, spoke all three fluently and would for the rest of the lecture and slide show use them for the convenience of this no doubt international audience. I was impressed and not only by her command of language, but also by her poise, style, lack of self-consciousness and the ease with which she talked about this evening’s subject without prepared notes. She was clearly confident, an authority on the subject and quite used to speaking in public.

As soon as she started, the lights dimmed further and a side projector whirred on. Glancing at the images on the screen from time to time Doctor Kitzsler began the lecture.

Eaux Bonnes boasted several mineral springs and mud baths. Undoubtedly these had been known and used in prehistoric times, but it was during the Roman era that first mention was made of their healing qualities. A small town was founded by Legion veterans, buildings were built to house the springs and collect the waters for use. The town remained small and relatively unknown throughout the Middle Ages. Eaux Bonnes was too remote and inaccessible for it to gain any fame or reputation as a mineral springs until a rail line was built in the 1870s, following Napoleon III’s ambitious plan of creating a chain of thermal stations across the breadth of the French Pyrenees. Attracting numerous clients from all over France, the town prospered as never before and expanded dramatically in a very short period.

Hotels, some very grand and ornate in design, a Casino and other places of entertainment were built along with many fine houses and of course the ‘Etablissement Thermal’, housing the mineral springs and other medical buildings.

Treatments for all sorts of ills, serious and less so, were offered, as were general health cures. While it was true that in those golden days of the Belle Epoque visits to health spas were often just an excuse to go on vacation and get away from it all while engaging in a bit of innocent coquettish flirtation, it was equally true that the mineral waters had a beneficent and healing quality to them.

The era before the Great War saw health spas such as Eaux Bonnes at the peak of their popularity. But as the European conflict dragged on after 1914, the hospitals and wards of the thermal establishments were put to use tending the uncountable numbers of wounded and convalescents. This was of course a sad time, but ironically it may have been in this period that more healing was accomplished than ever before.

For a time it seemed as if the carefree days of the nineteenth century would return, but first a world wide depression and then another European War, greater in scope than the first, dashed those illusions. Health spas became less popular in the ‘50s and ‘60s, and while not fading entirely into obscurity, they lingered on, attracting less and less clientele each year.

After the historical part, she elaborated on the medical aspect. She stressed the obvious hygienic and sanitary advantages of regular cleaning and hydro therapy, listed a disturbing number of diseases and afflictions which could be treated more or less successfully, she advised that prevention is worth it’s weight in gold and also mentioned the purely physical and cosmetic advantages and pleasure of following certain types of treatment. In an aside she mentioned a few intriguing theories on the boons of regular internal cleansing, referred to Dr. Kellogg, whom she reminded the audience amid chuckles of laughter, was not just the inventor of cornflakes but a serious physician in his own right. She also tantalizingly hinted at similar treatments and therapies that were routinely given at Etablissements Thermals throughout Europe in previous times.

Then there followed what was essentially a modest PR and advertising pitch. She summarized which treatments and therapies were available at the newly opened Etablissement, gave an idea of the price scale and urged us all to take advantage of the opening week promotions and offerings.

The lecture was finished, the lights were turned on and a very smug looking man with a tricolor sash around his fat waist (the mayor no doubt), came up to the stand, thanked the doctor and mumbled some terribly unimportant dribble. The audience applauded, in appreciation I hope at the doctor’s very well done lecture and thankful that the mayor kept his remarks short.

I for one was wonderfully impressed and intrigued at the same time. It was a very entertaining performance the doctor had given. I was delighted at how she flitted back and forth among English, French and German, not showing the slightest trace of an accent in either three. She knew her subject matter inside out and I was sure she was trying to say more about the treatments than most folks in the audience would have thought. It was all horribly fascinating. And if that were not enough, she was also very good looking and attractive as well. What more could one want ?

Sandra looked at me with a half smile on her face as we got up from our seats and walked back into the main hall. Apparently we were to be treated to a modest reception, for drinks had been served and placed on a long table. There were also several stands with books and pamphlets. After grabbing a glass of fruit juice I headed to the nearest.

There were folders outlining what services were provided at the Etablissement, price lists and other promotional material. One could also sign up for the opening week’s special offers and I could not help being extremely tempted. Family rates were even more enticing and I was half of a mind to sign up as Gracier and nieces.

At another stand, books, mainly of a medical or historical nature were for sale. There were several histories of Eaux Bonnes, thin volumes indeed, a few more on European Spas, several on general health and medical issues. One book immediately attracted my attention. It was called ‘Les Instruments et Appareils Anciens de Médicine Thermal’ and was written by Doctor Kitzsler herself.

It was obviously a specialist publication from the looks of it. It had no eye-catching front cover or hard binding, but it was quite thick and printed on good quality glossy paper. Best of all though, it was profusely illustrated. I picked it up and browsed through.

All sorts of antiquated devices and instruments were depicted along with a short description and history. Most were more or less normal looking plumbing fixtures of a vaguely medical nature : hoses, water heating equipment, baths and showers, spigots, pools and enameled rooms, pressure gauges, manometers and other various things.

But as I continued browsing my heart suddenly skipped a beat as I caught a flash of a photo. Quickly I turned back hardly believing what I saw. I had no trouble at all recognizing several types of enema nozzles, canisters for holding water and most curiously of all, a photo of almost the same type of clyster syringe the girls had bought in Sarlat several days ago.

I looked up the chapter. It was aptly titled ‘Instruments for Internal Irrigation’. Flipping through the pages one by one, I saw numerous illustrations of what were indeed internal irrigation devices : enemas, fountain and canister syringes, bulb syringes, clyster pumps, a multitude of nozzle types and several intimidating looking large instruments with rubber hosing and whatnot attached.

I could not believe what I was seeing. This wasn’t quite ‘The Whole Enema Catalogue’, but it was just about the nearest thing I had come across yet. I looked at the price, sighed once and decided that it was time to dip into the contingency fund. Looking the book over once again just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, I then hurriedly paid for it and moved over to the edge of the crowd to give it another quick look through.

“Hey, Alex. What did you buy ? Let me take a look.” It was Sandra. She too flipped through the book giving it at first but a cursory look, until something caught her eye as well. “Well how about that ! What a coincidence. Did you see this yet?” she asked me. It was typical of her to have noticed the photo of the old clyster syringe.

But before I could reply someone in back of us spoke. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve purchased my book.”

I turned around and to my surprise saw that it was the guest speaker, Doctor Kitzsler. “I hope you don’t mind, but I overheard that my book has elicited a bit of interest. I’m gratified.” She held out her hand, needlessly introducing herself, “Sigrid Kitzsler.”

“Ahhh…” I mumbled, a bit surprised, “Delighted to make your ahh.. acquaintance.” I was never very good at observing protocol and rituals at social functions.

“Not many people are interested in such a work as this, I’m afraid. So it’s very satisfying whenever someone is. I just wanted to thank you Mr. …..?” She arched her eyebrows waiting for me to reply.

“Gracier, ahh… Alex Gracier ma’am.” We shook hands and I introduced my two ‘nieces’ from the US. We made a bit of small talk, establishing nationalities, professions and such.

“You know, I hope you don’t mind me being so straightforward,” Doctor Kitzsler said, “But I did overhear something about a coincidence. Does it have anything to do with my book ?”

“More or less…” I said not wanting to get into any explanations but Sandra cut in.

“Actually, we found an instrument a few days ago just like in one of the photos.”

“Oh really ?” the doctor said, “Which one would that be ?”

Sandra still held the book and opened it at the appropriate page, holding it for doctor Kitzsler to see. “We found one of these pumps in an antique shop. The owner didn’t even know what it was. He thought it was for decorating pastry and cakes.”

She smiled knowingly. “Ah yes, a clyster syringe. Hardly an appropriate instrument for a chef I would think. I suppose there are still quite a few around, though I guess not everyone would know their original function. A shame, there was a time when nearly every household had one. Did you find any identification or manufacturer’s marks on the device ?”

“If I’m not mistaken I believe there was some engraved lettering. It said Frères Petitrou and something or other, made in Paris ?” I said.

“Hmmm,” she said nodding in agreement. “No doubt a mid 19th century syringe. They were quite well made. That company was a major manufacturer of medical instruments. Was it still in good condition ?”

“Oh sure,” said Sandra giving me a sideways glance, “Alex used it on all of us.”

I wanted to kick her in the shins. She was doing this on purpose, I just knew it.

“Ahh…? On both of his nieces ?” Doctor Kitzsler mockingly asked, a repressed smile on her face.

“Oh no, there were four of us. A friend of ours and her mother too.” Sandi just couldn’t shut up.

“Well now, this is a pleasant surprise. Obviously you are a fervent adherent ?”

“Hardly, …it’ just an interest of mine…more or less.” I replied.

“And a quite commendable one at that. I see we have something in common.” She looked behind me and made a face. “Oh dear, alas I see the mayor has finally spotted me. I suppose I shall have to go and spend some time with him.”

She held out her hand. “It would be interesting to meet again. Have you by any chance inscribed to any of the treatments at the Etablissement this week ?”

“No, we haven’t.” I said.

“I would recommend you do so. They are quite pleasant and beneficial in their own right. And maybe I might be able to show you a thing or too that’s not included in the normal tour. I’m looking forward to seeing you. Yes ?”

“Well, we’ll see how things work out.” I replied.

She grinned. “I’m not trying to scare up custom you know. Think of it as an offer you can’t refuse. I am sure you would be more than interested.” She paused. “Well, I must go now I’m afraid. Duty calls. Good evening, it’s been a pleasure.” The doctor shook our hands and went over to the mayor.

I didn’t say anything. Sandra spoke first. “Well…?”

“Well what ?”

“Well, are we going to follow one of these treatments or what ?”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon Alex, aren’t you curious about what that lady doctor was talking about ?”

I was, terribly so even, but I wasn’t going to give Sandra the satisfaction. She didn’t give up though.

“Let’s go see what’s on offer.” Both girls went over to a stand and studied the brochures. Of course I couldn’t keep on pretending to be monumentally indifferent, so after a decent interval I joined them.

The treatments were indeed surprisingly cheap, especially at ‘family rates’. All in all, it would hardly cost more than the price of a halfway decent meal in a restaurant. We looked through the offerings and finally compromised on what was called a ‘German Forfeit’ : mud-bath, sauna, vaporium, mineral and thermal bath and use of exercise room and solarium. We booked a morning session the next day under ‘Gracier and family’, getting a discount rate and a knowing smile from the young lady behind the counter. We paid and received a voucher.

I felt vaguely satisfied with myself for some reason, though I knew that Sandra had once again deftly maneuvered me into doing this.

We left shortly afterwards and headed back to the camping grounds. It was a crystal clear evening so we sat outside for a while watching the stars. Nancy and Sandra retired to their tent soon afterwards. I remained outside for a while longer wondering whatever was going to happen tomorrow at the Etablissement. The doctor intrigued me and had it not been so dark, I would have surely started on her book. As it was, I could just ponder what she had been hinting at.

The next morning after a typical improvised breakfast on the grass, we prepared ourselves and set out for the Etablissement des Eaux et de la Santé. The town was already bustling with early morning activity, deliveries were being made and shoppers were already out and getting their purchases in for the day.

We entered the large building and went over to the reception desk where I presented our voucher. The receptionist logged us into the computer and asked us to wait a few moments : an attendant would be by shortly to show us the way. There were other couples already about, clearly customers as well, but of course there was nowhere near the number of people as last night.

I looked around and marveled at the clean and bright airy impression the building made. There were a number of attendants or nurses about, almost all female and young from what I could make of it. Presently one came to the reception desk and was given a print-out. She turned around : “La famille Gracier ?” she inquired.

“That’s us,” I said standing up.

“Ah bon,” she replied eyeing Sandi and Nancy and probably wondering where ‘Mrs.’ Gracier was. “Would you follow me please.”

We went into a side door, down a hall and a small flight of stairs. The attendant pointed to several doors. “Here are the dressing rooms. You can change and leave your clothes and valuables inside the lockers. Keys to your locker are attached to wrist bracelets you can wear during your treatment. All right ?”

We nodded. The attendant ushered me into a room and the girls into another. “I’ll be here to escort you after you’ve changed.”

On entering I saw a white gown hanging from a peg on the wall, which answered at least one question I had been ruminating over : what were we expected to wear during the sessions ? Bathing suits ? Bath robes ? Hospital gowns ? Nothing ?

I undressed, taking everything off. Like most people I suppose, I debated keeping on my briefs, but could hardly see the point of it if we were going to take a mud-bath and sauna. Besides, I could just picture it now : Mr. Gracier sheds his gown in a dignified manner before stepping into the bath and is called back by a nurse and told to take off his underpants. The humiliation of it.

So I locked every stitch of clothing in the locker, put the key around my wrist and took the gown off the wall. Thankfully it wasn’t an actual hospital gown, one of those monstrosities that close in the back, still stay halfway open and only come down to one’s groin.

This one looked vaguely old-fashioned and if I thought about it too long, disturbingly feminine as well. There were small frills of lace or something around the hems, nothing large or obvious or ornate, but still present nonetheless. It had short sleeves and an open button collar down the back, but what I found oddest of all was the length. I had to pull it over my head to get it on which was something else I wasn’t used to in clothing. When I had wriggled my way into it, the hemline came to below my knees. I had to reach behind to button up in back. That was something I had no dexterity for at all.

The garment covered me quite adequately, in fact more so than I would have deemed necessary. It was quite volumous below the hips and I was convinced that if it were not an outright ladies night gown or something, it was at least a way out of date night shift or old fashioned frock.

Whatever it was, I felt obscurely ill at ease wearing it and half wished to just dispense with the thing and walk around nude.

I didn’t though, so feeling the fool, I stepped outside to find Nancy and Sandra, similarly attired, waiting for me. Sandra looked at me and clapped her hands in delight. “Oh my, aren’t we dressed smartly for the occasion !”

“Ha ha.” I said without any conviction.

“Isn’t he just so becoming, Nancy ?” The other girl nodded, smiling.

The young attendant didn’t say anything, but I did make out the beginnings of a satisfied smirk on her lips. She asked us to follow her.

We went through a few more doors and came to another waiting room of sorts. There were banks and couches and she motioned us to have a seat. “A doctor will see you for your check-up in just a second. It shouldn’t be long.”

I looked at her in surprise. “Excuse me, do you have the right papers ? I believe we just came for the ‘German Forfeit’ treatments ? You know, mud-bath, sauna, that sort of thing ?”

“There’s no mistake, Mr. Gracier. An abbreviated medical check-up is mandatory prior to any treatment at a thermal establishment. A sauna for example can be quite strenuous for someone with a heart condition,” she said pleasantly. “It’s hardly more than a necessary formality in your case. You all look quite healthy.”

“Oh, I see…” I said, though I didn’t. I wondered what happened if you were unfit ? Surely you would get a refund ?

But I didn’t have long to think about it since several seconds later a door opened and a doctor asked who was next. Gallantly I gestured for one of the girls to go first. Nancy stood up and entered the doctor’s room. A minute or two afterwards, another door opened and the next person was asked in. I indicated that Sandra go ahead of me.

Apparently there were only two doctors in attendance for the check-ups. I waited alone for several minutes and then heard someone come in from a side door. It was Doctor Kitzsler. She was accompanied by a female nurse or assistant. Today she was dressed in a white lab coat and looked every bit the physician she undoubtedly was.

Giving the nurse some papers and instructions she noticed me waiting. “Ah, good morning ! I’m pleased to see that you’ve followed my advice.”

I stood up feeling ridiculous in the gown. “It was a rather tempting offer indeed.”

“Did your nieces accompany you or have they passed ?”

“No no, they’re inside for the ah… check-up.”

“Good. I’m afraid we only have two physicians in attendance right now. Opening week and all that. Have you been waiting long ?”

“Not really, a few minutes.”

She clucked in mock annoyance. “That will never do. This is not a doctor’s waiting room or a health insurance plan. The customers here should get prompt attention.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right really…”

“Things should be up to speed after the first day or so,” she said. She looked around and gave me a pensive look. “You know Mr. Gracier, there’s an empty examination room or two. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll take care of your check-up ?”

“Oh I couldn’t…”

“Nonsense, it will only take a minute of my time. Come along,” she insisted. She had already taken hold of my upper arm and was guiding me along with her. She choose an empty room and opened up the door. She flipped a switch and the overhead lights flickered on.

It was a rather bare room, with a small desk and chair, a simple flat examination table and a metal and glass cabinet containing a few instruments. In a corner stood an old fashioned looking combined scales and measuring device.

“I know it seems superfluous, but the national health insurance insists that we give everyone a cursory look over. We wouldn’t want anyone passing on during their sauna, now would we ?” Doctor Kitzsler confided.

I agreed that would be bad for custom. She smiled politely.

“Why don’t you take a seat up on the table here,” she patted the surface, “and we’ll get this out of the way.”

While I sat down, the doctor went over to the cabinet, took several instruments and came back to me with a stethoscope around her neck and a blood pressure cuff in her hands. “This is usually the most unpleasant aspect so we’ll get that done first. Just rest your left arm on the table.” She hooked up the cuff, pumped up the pressure and took my reading.

“Hmmm…very good…” She unhooked the cuff and set it away. “Now let’s listen to your heart and lungs, shall we ?”

She reached behind me to loosen the buttons then she lowered the gown down over my shoulders and arms, uncovering my upper torso. The gown lay bunched up in my lap.

“A bit inconvenient, aren’t they ?” she said as if reading my mind. “These are still the original gowns from when the establishment was first opened in the 1870s. They’re copies of course, but the model is still the same.”

“I see..”

“I suppose they are impractical for males to a degree, but we did want to create a certain historic atmosphere, a fin-de-siècle feeling for the clients. What do you think ? As an antique dealer I would think you’d appreciate the effort.”

“Oh I do, now that you mention it. They are a bit frilly though, aren’t they ?” I said ruffling the gown.

“A matter of opinion surely. They are a bit gender-ambiguous, which was the intention I believe. “

Doctor Kitzsler placed the cold metal part of the stethoscope to my chest in several places, listened, asked me to cough, breathe deeply etc. The same for my back. She also thumped me here and there, listening and apparently approving what she heard.

“That sounds fine. Now let’s take your pulse before we get you up on the scales.” She took my wrist in her hand, looked at her watch and noted her findings.

“Hmmm…a bit high. Not nervous are we ?” she asked, probably knowing that I most certainly was.

“A little I suppose.” I grinned apologetically.

“There’s no need to be. You’re here to relax and compose yourself.”

“Yes, I suppose it’s just this setting ..”

“The doctor’s office ? I presume that’s understandable, though this is hardly an intrusive examination. Or much of an office either.”

She went over to the desk and noted her findings. She also consulted the printout I had been given at the reception. “Hmmm…exercise room….All right, you can get up now,” she said.

I wanted to pull the gown back up around my shoulders but the doctor told me it wasn’t necessary.

“Just step out of the gown.”

“Ahhh…sorry I didn’t quite catch….?” I said, though I heard all too clearly.

“Just let the gown slip off. You’re booked for the exercise room and I have to check for hernias.”

I felt myself redden and blush, even though I knew it was foolish of me to do so. “I do pretty strenuous work at home and I’m really quite all right…”

“Come now, there’s no reason to be shy. You’ll be in the nude quite often this morning. How else did you expect to take a mud bath ? Off we go now, drop the gown and step out, please.”

Of course she was right, it’s just that I was taken by surprise. So smiling gamely, I writhed out of the garment, pushing and pulling it down over my hips. Thankfully I wasn’t erect (yet), but I felt the beginnings of a good one coming on. I thought of neutral things, like tax audits and VAT rates.

“Hold your hand against your mouth and cough please,” Doctor Kitzsler asked. She palpated my lower abdomen quickly and pressed the back of her hand into my groin while she asked me to cough again. She brushed up against my prick and discretely fingered my testicles, inasmuch as that is possible. I could feel myself stiffening, though by a supreme effort I kept it at half mast. I suppose that looked even sillier than being fully erect. Doctor Kitzsler pretended not to notice.

“Well now, that appears to be in order.” she said straightening up. “I must confess that I could not help noticing you have very little pubic hair. Is that natural or do you trim it yourself ?”

I would have thought it obvious. “No, it’s by choice.”

“Any special reason ?”

“Just a personal preference, actually.”

“Quite commendable from a hygienic and esthetic point of view. You know, I advise my patients to do likewise, though very few males follow my advice I’m afraid.”

I just nodded, “Well …good advice is seldom heeded…”

She nodded and looked pensive, studying me, head slightly askance. “Ahhh…How true…but don’t get me started. Not now. Let’s finish this exam so we can get you on your way.”

She had me step up on the scales, weighed and measured me. Then she had a quick look into my ears and eyes for heavens knows what purpose.

“There we are, just one last thing now. Let me get your temperature. The sauna and vaporium can be quite hot you know.”

Good, I thought and bent over to pick up the gown, while the doctor went to the old glass cabinet for a thermometer. I was going to slip the garment back on but the doctor told me to wait.

“Not so fast, I still have to take your temperature.”

Only that. I shrugged. “Shall I sit down meanwhile ?”

“Good heavens no,” she chuckled, “It would be rather difficult to insert the instrument that way.”

I didn’t understand until I saw the thick device she was holding. It was a rectal thermometer. “Don’t you have a normal one ?” I asked.

She looked at the instrument in feigned puzzlement. “It looks quite normal to me. Come now, we’re trying to keep this experience as authentically historical as possible. These rectal thermometers have been in use here since Napoleon was emperor. Now just lie down on the examination table or bend over if you prefer.”

She was exaggerating about the age and I wondered if she wasn’t having me on about the rest as well. Surely it would have been faster and more efficient to use a strip reading ? Still, just to show I was willing to enter into the ‘spirit of things’, I turned about and modestly bent over.

I felt her hand on my shoulder, pressing me lower still until I was almost bent 90 degrees at the waist. “That’s the spirit. Now I’ll just slip on a rubber finger cot and rub in some lubricating jelly.” I heard a light snapping noise as the doctor worked the rubber covering over her index finger, then there was the sound of a jar being unscrewed.

Doctor Kitzsler parted my buttocks and pressed her finger up against my anus, rubbing in the cream. She applied it quite liberally, more than I would have thought necessary, and surprised me even more by suddenly slipping her finger entirely up my sphincter and into my rectum. My half erect prick shot up straight and I tensed from surprise.

“There there, just relax. We must make sure you’re thoroughly greased up before insertion. We don’t want to cause you any discomfort.”

She withdrew her digit and still keeping my bottom distended, she then deftly stuck the thermometer into my anus. The doctor wriggled it about slowly, up and down and in and out until it was placed to her satisfaction, if not mine.

“Now just a few minutes wait and we’ll be done. I’m sure your nieces are waiting for you to join them.”

I had forgotten about them, but now that the doctor mentioned it I couldn’t help thinking in glee at their examination. I wonder if they had to have anything ‘extra’ checked or not. That made for some pleasant thinking, though it did nothing in shrinking the size of my member.

She kept her hand on my lower back, just above the crack of my buttocks and made some polite talk, asking me what line of antiques I did business in, how custom was lately etc. “There is usually a wealth of old discarded and unused out-of-date instruments, books, furniture and what not in establishments such as this one. Perhaps after your treatment you would like a look ?”

I was in a very difficult position to carry on a conversation but said that I would be delighted. The doctor withdrew the thermometer and noted the reading. Apparently all was well.

I was straightening up when she told me to wait a moment while she wiped off the excess lubrication with a paper tissue. “It can feel rather uncomfortably squishy walking around with a dollop of lotion being worked around your anus you know,” she unnecessarily confided. Oddly her wiping me was the most disconcerting part of this exam. Finished, she discreetly patted me on the behind and said I could stand up now and put the gown back on.

She wrote something on the papers in front of her and then looked up as I was fussing around, trying to get the garment back on over my head. I wasn’t going to try and pull it back up over my hips and over my stiff prick. As it was I felt silly enough with my penis sticking straight out and revealing it’s erect state even through the relatively volumous gown. I fidgeted around trying to rearrange things but to no avail. Anyone looking at me could see my erection.

“The male apparatus can be annoyingly difficult to conceal at times, is it not ?” she remarked not even trying to suppress a smile.

I tried to shrug philosophically, a man of the world.

She went over to the door and opened it. “I shouldn’t worry. All our nurses are trained to ignore any potentially embarrassing conditions such as yours.” She stopped and held a finger in the air as if correcting herself. “ Tsk, tsk. I’m afraid I’ve used the wrong choice of words. One should hardly be embarrassed of one’s genitals, whatever condition they are in. But I’m sure you know what I mean.”

I just waved it away and shook my head.

“Ah, I see nurse Marie-Christine is already waiting with your nieces. Come along now.” Doctor Kitzsler took me by the arm into the hallway and gave the nurse several papers and some instructions which I could not make out. As I stood waiting, both Sandra and Nancy studied my bulging gown with knowing and gleeful eyes. They said nothing, just grinned and arched their eyebrows. I shook my head, indicating this was nothing important.

Sandra mouthed something like : ‘Sure, I bet,’ and grinned even more.

I ignored them.

“Well now,” Doctor Kitzsler said, “I’ll be leaving you in Nurse’s capable hands. I still have a lot to do and must be on my way. If possible I shall try and get back to you after you’ve finished your treatments. Have a pleasant time and enjoy yourself.”

She left us.

“Bon, Mademoiselles, Monsieur Gracier,” nurse Marie-Christine said while discreetly letting her gaze stray to below my waist, “if you will please follow me, I will show you the way.

We went down the corridor and into another, through a door or two until I had no idea where we were. “Voila, we shall start with the mud-bath. First however, you are to be showered and soaped. There are separate stalls for each of you. You can hang your gowns on the racks here. There are towels over there when you are finished.” She pointed to a stack lying on a shelf. Nurse went over to a shelf and came back with three small plastic bottles. “This is special disinfecting shower gel. It is to be rubbed in thoroughly over the body before showering. All right ?”

We nodded. Sandra and Nancy had their garments off in a jiffy, being female they had more experience with these type of clothes I suppose. The nurse gave them each a flacon of soap and they scuttled off into the shower stalls. I was still fooling around, trying to get the blasted frock over my head without contorting myself into an impossibly painful position.

“Let me help you, monsieur,” the nurse said grabbing the bottom of the garment. She pulled upwards to my waist, and then told me to hold my arms up while she slipped the gown over my head.

Good grief, I wondered, did women always have to go through so much trouble just to get dressed ?

“There we are. Perhaps it will be easier if I apply the gel. Turn around please.” I turned away, and she commenced rubbing in my back and buttocks. The soap felt cool and slippery, with a light flowery fragrance. Nurse Marie-Christine worked fast and diligently. She asked me to turn around.

Her hands went everywhere, covering me with the gel completely, from head to toe. She completely ignored the stiff condition of my prick and anointed it as thoroughly as the rest of my body. She had me lift up a leg to get under my testicles and inner thighs. But oddly when she rubbed the soap over my face I felt the most distinct stirring of desire. It was unbelievingly sensuous as she told me to close my eyes. She began applying the lotion to my cheeks and forehead, working it in and getting it to lather slightly.

“All done. Come monsieur, give me your hand and I will guide you into the stall.”

Inside were large knobs which one pressed to start the water flowing. In a few minutes I was rinsed off, feeling sparkling clean. I really wondered at the justification for washing before a mud-bath. Surely the sequence should be reversed ?

Probably anticipating my question the nurse told us that the mud-baths were optimal if maintained at a specific ph. Bacterial build-up could upset the balance, so all patients were given a good washing beforehand.

Another little disconcerting procedure had to be taken care of as well. Diplomatically stating that ‘accidents can always happen,’ nurse Marie-Christine required of all of us that we empty our bladders. She showed us to a convenience, one of the original commodes built in the 1880s.

It was a squatter type of toilet, what the French call a ‘Turkish toilet’ and what the rest of the world calls a French toilet. Even Nancy and Sandra, who up to now had been so cavalier and jaunty, looked a little peeved as they tip-toed in, crouched down and urinated under the nurse’s gaze.

When it was my turn, I unconcernedly remained standing in the toilet and made to use it like a normal urinal. This was however against procedures.

“Monsieur please, I must ask you to assume the same position as the mademoiselles. Standing up you will splash all around and certainly soil your feet and legs.”

The embarrassment I thought I felt during the examination by Doctor Kitzsler was nothing compared to this. I was mortified by this remark, but realized that the nurse was correct. Mumbling inaudible fulminations I too squatted down and tried to imagine myself alone without these prying female eyes. I barely succeeded. Concentrating I managed to loose a pitiful small stream of urine.

“It’s different girlie style, isn’t it Alex ?” a grinning Sandra said as I came back into the hall.

I mumbled something like ‘big deal’.

All of the preliminaries were out of the way. It looked like we were finally going to proceed with our first treatment of the day.

She led us through another door and as soon as we entered the hallway I noticed a smell like that of wet earth and muck. There was a row of large cubicles, each separated by opaque glass partitions. In each was a sizeable concrete pool containing a blackish gooey looking mixture that was obviously mud.

I am not a squeamish or overly fastidious person, but I have always wondered what the attraction was of sitting in a heap of wet dirt. I hesitated a bit thinking I was an idiot for doing this, but the girls and I lowered ourselves into the bath. It was not very deep and sitting down we were barely covered to the midriff. The mud was an agreeable temperature, thank goodness and had a gooey feeling to it.

The nurse instructed us to stretch out and lay down, resting our heads on the side of the pool. We immerged ourselves up to the neck while Marie-Christine rubbed the muck into our faces. We were told just to relax and lay still until she came to get us in about 20 minutes.

The time passed rather quickly, neither of us saying much except for Sandra who asked me several times if I could manage to get my prick submerged all the way. I told her to stuff it, but she was right all the same. It wasn’t until my erection subsided that all of me was covered by the mud.

I heard several other groups of people being escorted to their cubicles at the other end of the hall, but none passed in front of ours, much to my chagrin. I was curious how they were dressed or undressed, whatever the case, and aside from that I just wanted to get a glimpse of another naked female or two.

Nurse came for us when the time was up and asked us to step up out of the mud. We were all covered from head to toe and I for one felt uncomfortably slimy and icky. We waited until most of the mud oozed off of us and then we were allowed to step out of the pool. The nurse had laid out the rubber beach slippers for us and suggested that we step into them in order not to slip and fall on the hard floor.

We trooped off to another shower stall and one by one were rinsed clean of the goo. I watched as the black dirt was washed away from Sandra and Nancy and swirled down the drain. In a little aftermath of cleaning both girls were asked to open their legs so that a jet of water from a hand held nozzle could rinse away any residue from their genitals. I got the same treatment only to a lesser degree.

We dried ourselves off and were then told to keep the large bath towels and cover ourselves with them if we liked. In any case we would be using them later on.

After the mud-bath, nurse Marie-Christine took us to the vaporium for a sort of steam-bath using various herbs and leaves, then followed a cooling dip in the mineral waters. These were lightly carbonated and tingling fresh. Afterwards we got a classic, if very hot and intense sauna followed by a swim in yet another type of mineral springs.

It was all very pleasing and relaxing and I am sure the girls enjoyed the treatments every much as I did. We were very thirsty from all the sweating and heat, so we paused at a beautifully carved fountain in a hallway for a drink from yet another natural springs that had been diverted into the building. The nurse urged us to drink several glasses of water.

By now it was almost noon and time for the afternoon break. Like most French, I suppose that Marie-Christine and the rest of the staff still took the main meal of the day at noon. I was busy on my fourth glass when I noticed Doctor Kitzsler approaching down the hallway. I had the large towel around my shoulders, draped modestly if rather inelegantly in these circumstances.

“I see you’ve just about completed the regimen for the day. It was pleasant I trust ?” she asked.

We all nodded in agreement.

“Good, if you like, you girls may pass the rest of your visit in the exercise room or solarium, but I would like to borrow your uncle and show him something of interest. Would you mind ?”

It took us a moment to realize that I was the ‘uncle’ she was referring to. Amused, the girls agreed.

“Good. Marie-Christine,” she said addressing the nurse, “Escort the young ladies to the solarium and also have someone from the cafeteria come over and take their orders for lunch. Put it on my account.”

“Oui docteur,” nurse replied.

Doctor Kitzsler looked at me. “I trust I still have your interest ? There are some very fascinating things I would like to show you.”

“Fine with me.” I said. “But shouldn’t I change back into my clothes first ?”

“Oh heavens me, why bother ? There are so many people about attired like you. Or would you like another one of our antique gowns ?” She smiled as she said this, knowing full well what I thought about those things.

“On second thought, I suppose you’re right.”

I told the girls I would meet them in the solarium and then accompanied Doctor Kitzsler down the hallway.

Chapter 9

She unlocked a door and held it open for me. “This part of the Etablissement is normally closed to the public. But as you’ll see, this is where some very interesting therapies were carried out. I would like to try and incorporate some of those into what is already on offer, but I fear that the board of directors is a tad too conservative.”

“Oh, I thought you had the run of the place ? Aren’t you head physician ?” I said.

“Oh no. Whatever gave you that idea ? I have my own clinic to look after in the US.” she replied waving away the idea, while she locked the door behind us. “I’m just here as a favor for a friend, doing some consulting and advising.”

We climbed a series of stairs, heading to the upper floors of the building. The air grew stuffier and warmer. It was quite clear that not many people frequented this section. And even though it was not dirty or overly neglected, I could see straight off that this part of the building had not been refurbished. The walls were painted shades of darkened beige and institution green and the woodwork and doors had not been re-varnished either.

We finally came to a door that had the words ‘Thérapie Hydratique’ painted across the frosted glass pane. Once again Doctor Kitzsler took a key and unlocked it.

We entered a rather sizable white enameled room, vintage 19th century. Along one wall was a row of cupboards, closets and cabinets, some in glass and metal frame, others made in wood. There was a large marble counter and several sink and faucet sets, and from what I could remark, all in working order. There were several rows of overhead neon lights on low hanging metal rods, which gave the locale an institutional and impersonal feeling.

What impressed me even more was that there were several stalls along the far wall, in each of which was a toilet or commode convenience. I noted that the stalls had no doors. Aside from the lavatories there were also several padded tables on wheels and a very sturdy looking examination table, obviously constructed of iron and polished wood and leather. It was a very daunting looking contraption, with large hand screws, levers, ratchets, and of course the ever present stirrups and foot rests.

“This room has a certain atmosphere, don’t you think Mr. Gracier ?” Doctor Kitzsler asked .

I had to admit she was right. Had I been a patient I would have felt quite flustered and apprehensive upon entering such a place. I told her so.

She smiled. “Quite so, though I doubt that was the primary intention at the time. More likely it was to impress upon the patient the doctor’s quasi-omnipotence.” The doctor slowly walked around the room. “Can you imagine what it must have felt like for someone from say, a small provincial town in the 1890s to be ushered in here ? Physicians didn’t waste much time explaining treatments, they were far too busy for that. I expect our poor patient would have been extremely apprehensive and uneasy.”

I nodded in sympathy. “I thought people took mineral cures for their pleasure.”

“Too a large degree I concur, but serious and unpleasant afflictions were treated. Some patients might have a series of treatments ordered for them by their personal physician though it would all depend on the malady of course. Take this treatment room for example : Hydro Therapy. One would hardly guess that many gastro-intestinal ailments were treated. Here.”

“Really ?” I had had no intention of hazarding a guess in the first place, but didn’t say so.

“Oh yes. Diets were atrociously unbalanced and unhealthy and those who could afford it, stuffed themselves like pigs. Gluttony was a very actual sin in those days.” She chuckled in amusement. “Chronic constipation and digestive disorders were a common result. It was not all that uncommon for a doctor to prescribe a purge of the digestive tract, but a far more effective method was of course a series of intestinal lavages, clysters and enemas. It wasn’t advertised as such, but mineral spas were quite renowned for their internal irrigation treatments.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I know. But when someone was sent off ‘to take the waters’ he or she very often quite literally was cleansed inside out.” Doctor Kitzsler opened a drawer in one of the cabinets. “I think you would be interested in this. Why don’t you come take a look.”

It was Christmas in July. There must have been some two dozen different type of enema nozzles all neatly laid out and sorted by size in hand-worked wooden trays. This first drawer contained a set manufactured in black Bakelite, all in excellent condition. I know that my mouth must have drooped open in surprise. I just hoped that I wasn’t drooling with envy.

She opened up several other drawers in the same cabinet and each contained more nozzles and appendages. Most were designed for rectal irrigation and ranged in size from extremely small and short infant size to unbelievably large and long adult models and all combinations in between. Most were bulbous at the tip, others were designed with several protuberances along the shaft, some were straight and others curved, sometimes to a large degree. Though the majority were made of hard black Bakelite plastic, others were fabricated in metal or of more pliable red rubber. I believe there were even several in polished and varnished hardwood.

Doctor Kitzsler picked up one metal nozzle and handed it to me. “Hold it and give me your impression.”

“Well,” I said hefting it and admiring the device. “It certainly is light weight.”

“Quite so. It belongs to a set constructed of aluminum in the 1880s. At the time, aluminum was a very precious and expensive metal, more so than silver. This is quite a unique model.” She set it back in place. “It is not on par with Napoleon III’s famous aluminum dinner service, but in my opinion is not far off.”

“I am certainly impressed beyond words.” And I was, though not expressly because of anything to do with fobbish French emperors.

Doctor Kitzsler opened another drawer and displayed a set of a dozen vaginal nozzles, large, wide, purse-slanted contraptions with double and even triple liquid injection tubing.

Aside from nozzles, other drawers contained colonic and rectal tubes, various attachments, spigots, valves, manometers and clips. A cabinet to one side was stocked with several canisters, both simple metal and enameled models, ranging in size from half liter to two liter contents. There were also several rubber enema bags, though as a rule I knew that canisters were the preferred type of container in France.

Yet another cabinet contained all manner and size of squeeze bulbs, much like my own preferred model. Once again they sported a multitude of nozzles and tips, some were flaired and others not. Also included were several sizes of Higginson surge syringes, which interestingly enough were called ‘énémas’ in French. Also included were several glass bottle and squeeze bulb contraptions, similar in concept to the Higginson syringe but looking more like atomizers. One ingenious model boasted three separate bulbs and solution holders.

As if all of this wasn’t enough, in another cabinet Doctor Kitzsler let me admire a ‘clysto pompe,’ a hand clyster pump, which was kept in a handsome polished wooden travelling case. I also admired several very large metal and glass container type of syringes. These were beautifully manufactured, with copper or brass casing, holding a cylindrical glass receptacle with plunger. Doctor Kitzsler informed me that that such instruments were generally used to inject oil, glycerin or herbal solutions into the rectum, a procedure that was often necessary considering the degree of impaction many patients exhibited.

“My goodness. I never thought there were so many different types of enema devices, “ I truthfully told the doctor. “What a bewildering array. How could a physician ever choose what to use ?”

“A very good question, though I would surmise that several types were used on any one patient. I should suspect it would all be a matter of personal preference. I am sure that the physicians carefully considered which type to be most beneficial for his patients. I would also imagine that he try out different sizes as well before choosing a particular model.”

I looked around trying not to be overcome by conflicting emotions of admiration, interest and envy. As if all this wasn’t enough, she showed me another cabinet which contained auxiliary devices often employed in the administration of clysters such as various types of clamps, depressors and retractors, vaginal and rectal speculums, anoscopes, lotion and suppository applicators and other bewildering instruments.

“This is certainly quite an extensive collection. It’s a wonder it has remained intact all these years.” I said.

“Well, yes and no. I’ve seen more extended sets than this with odd and rare instruments. But generally they end up scattered and lost more from neglect than anything else.”

“I would think one would be tempted to discreetly ‘appropriate’ a device or two for a home collection. Wouldn’t you be ?”

“What a silly question,” she laughed. “Of course. But I make it a point to be allowed to choose from any old devices as part of my fee for consulting work. Or else I purchase them outright. Many hospital boards are not even interested in irrigation devices and are quite happy to be rid of them. I have amassed a sizeable collection throughout the years. Have you looked through my book ? I’ve used many of my prized pieces as illustrations.”

“It was too dark and late last night, and this morning I had no time, I’m afraid.” I said.

“Ah well, you will see what I mean.”

“Just out of curiosity,” I ventured, “Did you find anything extraordinary here at the Etablissement ?”

She seemed genuinely pleased that I had asked. “Why yes. There was a set of 5 exquisitely hand-carved clyster nozzles in ivory. They were of a normal type and shape, but I could not resist admiring the workmanship. Also I picked out several rather large sized enema nozzles, constructed in metal. The tips were screwed on the shafts and contained a quite ingenious mechanism that produced twirling and rotating jets of water. One even allowed for two separate liquids to be sprayed simultaneously, a soap and rinsing solution I would imagine. I haven’t had time to try it out yet, I’m afraid.”

She looked me straight in the eyes as she said this. I wondered if she meant more than she said, somehow half hoping she did and half fearing so. I just politely smiled back, seemingly sympathizing with the lack of time imposed upon us by this modern age.

“Well now, as much as I’m sure you’d like to stay here and study the appliances, there is something else I’d like to show you.”

She took hold of my arm, a regular habit of hers apparently, and lead me out into the hallway. A few doors down she took out her keys and unlocked another door. There was no sign or lettering to indicate what was in the room.

This was essentially a duplicate of the hydro therapy room insofar as construction and looks went. It did contain quite different types of equipment. One of the first things I noticed was a rather nasty looking and rigidly built high backed wooden chair. There were restraints on the arm rests and along the front legs and what seemed to be a mesh of wires connected to a set of switches.

“Well, here we are. What do you think ?” the doctor asked me.

“Death Row ? The electric chair ? Ha ha.” My laugh wasn’t very gay.

Doctor Kitzsler nodded. “Ah, you Americans, always making with the jokes. I wouldn’t put it so dramatically though. This was the Electro Therapy room, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. And far from being an instrument of retribution, this chair has been instrumental in many cures and healing. Of course I understand your first reaction, but don’t let appearances deceive you.”

Of course I wasn’t deceived since I knew that until recently the French still preferred the good old trusty and efficacious guillotine. But maybe this had been a Gestapo interrogation room during the war, I joked.

“Hardly, cellars were the preferred locales, as I’m sure you’ve learned from Hollywood movies.” She seemed rather touchy about that. I agreed that my joke was in poor taste. It was just that I was rather taken aback.

“There’s no reason to be you know. Electro therapy can be very beneficial in treating all manners of otherwise difficult to treat disorders. Muscular and nervous complaints are obvious examples. During the Great War many paralyzed soldiers were greatly aided by treatments given with such devices. They regained control over damaged limbs and other bodily functions for example.”

“I had no idea.”

“Oh yes. My father performed many such treatments during his day, both during and after the War.”

“Ah…your father ?” I asked.

“Yes. He was rather old when I was born, I suppose. But he told me quite a lot about his time at the front. He was just out of medical school when he volunteered for the Kaiser’s army. I think he spent most of the war around Ypres, in Flanders fields….”

“…where the poppies blow.” I finished.

“Quite so.” She seemed pleased that I recognized the poem.

She looked at me. “Would you like a demonstration ?”

“Of an electrical treatment ? I’m rather well coordinated on the muscles front, I think and not paralyzed anywhere that I am aware of.”

“No, no, of course not. I didn’t mean to suggest so. But, wouldn’t you like to give it a try, just for experimentation’s sake ? Say as a sort of historical re-enactment ? The wounded poilu getting treated by one of the Roses of No Man’s Land ?” (*)

Now that was a novel thought. I had had a grand time in Colonial Williamsburg once, enlisting in the King’s Militia, marching around like a fool and being chewed out by a Sergeant at Arms. This seemed somewhat different.

“Oh, hardly so. Aren’t you just the slightest bit intrigued ?”

Of course I was.

She took me over to the counter where other box-like devices were kept. Most were just devices constructed to monitor and control the amount of electricity used in a treatment. Many were quite daunting looking, with all types of gauges, levers and knobs, some even had gleaming copper wire spooled around cylinders and other mad-scientist like looking attachments. However their appearance, she assured me all were quite harmless. As a matter of fact, she proposed to use a device that produced it’s own weak electric current by cranking a shaft, much like an old Victrola.

To demonstrate she turned the handle several times and then held two wires to her hand. She said she felt nothing much and then did the same to me. I felt nothing but a very slight tingling sensation, not at all unpleasant.

“Well, Mr. Gracier ? Do not prove me wrong in my assessment of your character and interests. Are you game ?” she asked.

Well, my wife always tells me that I am still an immature teenager no matter how old I think I really am. Doctor Kitzsler had just called me ‘chicken.’ There was no way I could refuse now.

“I suppose so. What harm is there in it ?”

“Harm ?” the doctor asked mockingly. “Why hardly any inconvenience at all either, if even that. Just a pleasurable experience that could help you understand a few things about the past. Shall we get started then ?”

She fetched several items from a cupboard and placed them on the counter.

I still had the large bath towel draped around my shoulders. It wasn’t very effectual covering as far as modesty went, but did give me the illusion of being clothed. Doctor Kitzsler told me to just take it off since it would be a hindrance.

I had figured that was bound to happen, since by now I too had developed a rudimentary assessment of her character and interests. I put the towel on the counter and stood nude, awaiting further instructions.

“Very good. Now I think I shall use a metal mesh conductor for the electricity, that way a greater area is stimulated.”

I just nodded, accepting her expertise.

“For that I shall need an area devoid of body hair.” She studied me from back and front. “Hmmm….you have a bit more growth on the legs than I first thought. Let’s remove that before I attach the conductors, shall we ?”

“If you say so…” I thought she was going to clip away a little bit of hair in a discrete place, say the back of my lower leg. Instead she told me to spread my legs a bit wider. She must have quickly donned a pair of rubber gloves behind my back, since before I knew what was happening, she unscrewed a tube of lotion and began rubbing it over my legs, front and back. I wondered what she was doing, then recognized the sharp tart smell of a depilatory cream.

I should have known. “You didn’t tell me you were going to use a depilatory all over.” I reproached.

“Would you rather I have shaved you with a razor ? A lotion is much faster and handier.”

“I thought you were only going to remove a small bit ?”

“That would be so unsightly, don’t you think ? It’s much better to be evenhanded and do both legs. While we’re at it, why not finish the job and do your thighs as well ?”

I sighed.

“Oh come now, Mr. Gracier. Surely someone who shaves his pubic hair shouldn’t mind having his legs done as well ? I would wager that you’ve just never tried it, though you’d like to.”

“I don’t suppose it really matters much one way or the other.”

“Good, you’ll look so much better afterwards.” With that she coated my thighs as well.

The depilatory cream felt cool and slippery, but as usual had a vaguely unpleasing smell about it. After a minute or two the doctor took me over to a stall. There was a small stone drain and water fixtures with faucets and shower head attachments. She rinsed me off and I watched the water swirl down the drain carrying strands of hair mixed with lotion residue.

When I stepped out my legs and thighs were bare and clean. Doctor dried them off and ran her hand up and down the smooth skin. “There, doesn’t that feel ever so much softer ? You look more attractive as well, if I may say so.”

It did feel smoother, but I just commented circumspectly.

“Now I would like you to sit down in the chair please.” I lowered myself onto the hard wooden seat. “There we are. We shall refrain from using any restraints. I don’t think you will run off, will you ? Just stay relaxed and calm.”

I nodded.

“Good.” Doctor Kitzsler showed me a copper wire mesh which she would put over part of my lower leg. She daubed the back of my leg with a conducting gel and held the wire gauze up against it. To keep it in place, she took a sort of cylindrical elastic bandage, rolled it up over my foot and leg and placed the wire mesh underneath it. My right arm got the same set-up.

She attached connecting wires to the conductors on my leg and arm, and hooked them up to the regulator which she then cranked up. “No reprieve from the governor I’m afraid. Any last words ?” she joked and turned a knob.

I felt the current zipping along the wires. At first it was no more than a slight tingling sensation in my right leg and arm, almost like an interior itch. Then it intensified causing small contractions of the muscles, nothing unpleasant mind you, but totally involuntary nonetheless. This unbalanced stimulation of my right extremities had me tilted to one side, lower on the left, with my stimulated side trembling gently.

Th doctor turned off the current for several seconds, asked if I was fine and then gave me a second charge. She must have intensified the current for this time my leg muscles contracted swiftly, and I was soon twitching my leg up and down rapidly. It was like having ‘sewing machine’ knees. My fingers began an involuntary trembling as well and oddly I felt a tingling in my teeth which I hoped was not a precursor to a tooth ache.

But oddest and most unexpected on my part was the condition of my penis. It had begun to stiffen after the second charge of electricity and was soon ramrod straight and stiff, hard as steel. I hadn’t expected this to happen, but would have bet the bank that Doctor Kitzsler did.

Just as with my examination a few hours ago, she pretended to take no notice of my erection. It was unaccompanied by desire as such, much like when having a morning hard-on, but on the other hand, it was not so uncomfortable as the last either when the bladder is full and needs emptying.

Doctor Kitzsler turned off the current and my twitchings and tremblings gradually ceased. What did not subside however was my organ. It remained upright and true, pointing to the sky.

She allowed me a few moments rest to compose myself and asked me what I thought of the experience. Truthfully I replied that it had been rather pleasant, all things considered, and not as daunting as I had expected. I felt relaxed and still had a tingling residue of energy in my leg and arm.

“Good, that is the purpose of the treatment. But,” she said looking down into my lap as she unhooked the wires, “I see that another part of you also appears to be full of energy.”

“Ahh… sorry…I think it’s involuntary…”

She smiled in indulgence. “I’m quite sure. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I should have anticipated this reaction.”

“What could you have done ?” I asked.

“In textbooks published at the time, some authorities, the more broadminded I’m sure, recommended ejaculation immediately before the treatment, either self induced or manually assisted by a member of the staff when the patient was incapacitated or overly embarrassed. Others prescribe a counter charged current to be introduced onto, around or even into the penis and genitals to counteract the ‘disturbing side-effects’ of this type of electro therapy. Another school extolled the usage of anal counter-stimulation. I suspect it was all just personal prejudice and inclination in any case.”

I made a face. “Electrical current into the penis ?”

“Via a conducting catheter or sound. Hardly very invasive all things considered. It’s done for males with bladder problems. For females too, though they usually receive intra-vaginal stimulation.”

Apparently, one’s never too old to learn. Still, here I was with a hell of a stiffie.

She finished disconnecting everything and cleaning me off. “Hmmm…you’re still just as erect as ever. I think I should take a closer look.”

Doctor Kitzsler had me slide down the chair a ways, so that my penis and testicles were hanging free. She palpated my prick up and down the shaft, squeezing all over, sticking a finger here and there and giving it a good feel. She did the same for my balls which seemed to be retracted high up into my abdomen, the sac taut and stretched hard. She then poked around even lower still, feeling my groin and perineum. The base of my prick seemed to interest her most though and her fingers probed inwards as far as they could go. And if that were not enough, she also pulled my foreskin downwards, gently feeling along the tip of my prick. Finally done she stood up.

“Hmmmm…I’ve never encountered this before. I think this is a case of electrically induced constrictive priapism.”

I waited for the translation into lay terms. I just hoped the remedy wasn’t amputation. Ha ha.

“Oh, it’s hardly anything serious at all, just somewhat embarrassing in certain social contexts. It will probably gradually and spontaneously recede in several hours or so, but in the meantime you will sport quite a whopper.” She smiled. “It’s a shame we couldn’t get you an impromptu part in a blue movie right now. You’d be a director’s dream.”

I gave her a look. She couldn’t be serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m not serious of course. Though I must say it is quite a handsome and virile looking erection, sturdy and straight. Luckily the nurses are out to lunch.” She chuckled.

She was having me on, so I just pretended not to notice. “I can’t very well go back through the building like this.”

“No, I suppose not. Otherwise every male would want a similar treatment.” She grinned mischievously. “Even with a gown on, it would be glaringly obvious. I suppose I shall have to give you a counter-acting electrical de-constricting treatment.”

She saw the look on my face and reassured me. “Good heavens, Mr. Gracier ! It is nothing to be concerned about, just a reversed charge current applied to the appropriate parts of your anatomy. And no, not to worry, your precious organ won’t be hooked up. That’s not necessary.”

Good news.

“No, this procedure calls for a rectally applied charge to be induced internally. It is described in the literature as being quite pleasant.”

“No wires in my penis or bladder ?”

“No no. Not at all. Such types of treatments were only performed on excessive masturbators as a rule. In previous times parents could be quite dramatically and unnecessarily concerned about the effects of uncontrolled or un-supervised onanism.”

I wondered if I had heard correctly : ‘un-supervised onanism’ ?

“Shall we get on with it then ?” she asked.

I acceded. What else could I do ?

“Fine, but I think we shall have to move to another locale. Not all of the necessary equipment is present here. I shall take what I need along, it’s not much.” She took a metal trolley and put several items on it. The most obvious was the electrical current applicator. The other things I could not really make out since she covered them with a small towel. She also folded my own larger towel and laid it on the trolley.

“Shall we ?” Doctor Kitzsler opened the door. I stood up and followed her out into the hallway, my iron stiff prick waggling to and fro. I was half of a mind to take hold of it to steady it somewhat, but decided she might mistake me for an onanist and give me some kind of treatment ‘for my own good’. Nothing would surprise me anymore.

She rolled the laden trolley with her until we came back to the Hydro Therapy room. “It’s still unlocked. Just enter,” she told me.

“Why don’t you sit down on one of the examination tables while I prepare things.” She motioned to one of the simple leather padded models. I watched as she went from one cabinet to another, opening drawers and setting things out for use. Apparently ready to begin, she asked me to lay down on my left side, facing away from her. She placed a pillow under my head while positioning my legs to her specifications : left leg pulled up to my chest, right leg placed over the left and somewhat higher. It was a comfortable position in itself but I did feel quite exposed laying with my buttocks spread open to her view. Laying thus, my prick and testicles were somehow below my legs and very easily accessible from the rear.

“Comfortable ?” she asked. “This is called Sim’s position, after the 19th century physician who researched many of the foundations of modern gynecology, instrument design and positioning. Now before I apply the intra-anal electrical current, it’s necessary than you be cleaned out first. Internal stimulation of this sort will certainly provoke a colonic response of some sort, and we wouldn’t want a distressing accident to happen, would we ?”

It looked like I was going to become intimately acquainted with some of Doctor Kitzsler’s prized colonic collection. I should have known it would come to this, though I must confess I didn’t really find it all that distressing. She had been hinting and making none too subtle allusions ever since last night. How she had pegged me just on the strength of buying a copy of her book I shall never know. But right she was in her assessment of my little predilection. Well, I suppose it would be nice to be on the receiving end for a change.

“To keep with the historical theme we’ve been following, I’d like to propose a specific type of cleansing that I came across while researching the Etablissement’s past history. One of the resident doctors in thermal medicine developed it just before the turn of the century. It’s very relaxing, effective and simple to prepare and administer. Rather than receiving one injection of solution, several different smaller ones are given. The effective components are not activated until all have been introduced into the rectum and colon. I suppose one could consider it a sort of binary enema.”

I only knew about binary numbers and binary nerve gases. I hoped there was no connection between either.

Without really waiting for my opinion Doctor Kitzsler began her preparations. I heard water running and the sound of instruments being readied and prepared.

Holding the device so I could admire it, she showed me a very handsome large sized metal and glass cylinder plunger type syringe. It held some 200 cc of liquid and was already filled. It had but a smallish rounded tip, not too long in length. I noticed that it had already been lubricated.

“This is primarily a glycerin and oil of herbal extracts solution. Lavender, lemon, hyssop, and thyme essentially. Mixed in is a small amount of liquid soap as well.”

I nodded in what I hoped was an appreciative manner. It sounded like quite a sophisticated mixture.

“The French had quite a penchant for using glycerin, even more so in the form of suppositories. Have you ever had any experience with those ?” she asked.

“A little,” I politely fibbed. “I believe my aunt gave me an occasional glycerin suppo when I was very young. At least I think so. I can’t really remember exactly. Only that they burned and hurt.”

“Oh ? Was that in the US ?”

“No, in Belgium when I’d come over on vacation with my parents.”

“Hmmm….That would have been normal practice then. If you had been living in Great Britain, I daresay you would have gotten a ginger suppository. Now those, I have been told, are quite exceptionally irritating.”

She had meanwhile applied a little bit of lubrication to my anus and started rubbing it in. In my position, it wasn’t strictly necessary for her to part my buttocks, so using two hands to guide the syringe she inserted the tip into my hole until the main cylinder was all the way up against my bumhole. I could feel her exerting pressure and sliding the plunger down, thereby forcing the solution into my rectum.

It was a pleasurable sensation, feeling the cool viscous liquid work it’s way inside of me, filling up my lower tract. I hardly felt any irritation, just a slight internal prickling. Doctor withdrew the syringe delicately and gave my behind a proprietary pat. “There we are, now just hold still while I go and get the water for the next step. You won’t feel anything since it takes several minutes to begin working, even for those with a virgin anus. So no squirming.”

I heard water running and a container being filled. Doctor Kitzsler had her equipment ready : she was going to use a Higginson syringe, a sort of rubber squeeze bulb with tubing attached to both ends. One end was put into a receptacle with fluid, the other into the anus. By pumping the bulb by hand, the liquid was injected into the colon. A quite simple and efficacious method of clystering when done by a third party, but rather difficult to do solo. I was therefor curious to the sensation.

“Have you ever used a Higginson before ?” she asked.

“No, I don’t believe so,” I politely said.

“Good, then this will be another first for you today. Essentially it’s the same as a bulb syringe, except that the nozzle is kept in place instead of inserted and retracted for refilling. I’ve attached a nice adult size tip for you, bulbous and curved inwards. Is that all right ?”

I wondered what she would have done had I said no. Of course I just nodded.

“That’s the spirit. Now I will use about 2 liters of water, rather warm with no additives. We don’t want to rush things at this stage so just relax.” She primed the Higginson a few times, building up a store of water in the main bulb by blocking off the end nozzle. When it was full with no residual air inside, she pressed the leaking tip against my asshole and gave it a sturdy shove inwards. The doctor wriggled it around, probably just on general principle rather than from any need to place it properly. When it was to her satisfaction she started squeezing the bulb, forcing water up into my bowels.

The sensation was not unlike that of an everyday bulb syringe, though a regular and soothing rhythm could be built up and maintained until all the water was injected. I felt gentle surges as she forced the water up into me. It was quite warm at first though, just bearable without any real discomfort. From time to time she halted to feel my abdomen, pressing at certain places and rubbing in circles. En passant she would give my hard-on a good squeeze, either for good measure or just to reassure herself that I was still erect.

When about half had been given she asked me to roll over on my back and pull up my legs. This was a horribly deliciously exposed position and one compounded by the tube pumping water up my behind. By moving around the already injected water shifted around, making room for more. I could feel it gurgling and trickling it’s merry way into my upper colon. Soon that was done and doctor withdrew the nozzle.

“Not too much discomfort ?” she asked. “No urgent need to expel ?”

I was of course feeling full, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I shook my head.

“Good, I see you’ve had more practice with these little procedures than an average patient. You have no idea how gratifying that is. Otherwise I must spend so much time in allaying their apprehensions.”

She went over to the counter and came back with several items.

“Now this is something rather novel that I’m sure you will appreciate. I came across a recipe for an extraordinary type of suppository. Upon immersion in water and glycerin, it dissolves quite rapidly and releases an active cleansing element throughout the liquid. It looks and acts like an effervescent substance, but without releasing gas. It forms a sort of soapy frothy foam and it is quite effective in evoking an intestinal response.”

She held open a box. Inside were quite large cylindrical suppos, each easily as large as a finger if not more so. They were a yellowish white color and appeared to be custom made.

“I have to get one of these up inside your rectum a ways, further than I can push in with my finger alone, so the use of an applicator is indicated. Have you ever used one ?”

“Not that I know of.” I replied.

“Well, there should be no trouble at all. Other than being inserted deeper than a nozzle or dildo, you should hardly even feel it.”

She attached the suppo to the end of an applicator, a 30 cm long rod-like device which had a cup-like end tip. When the applicator was in place, an interior wire spring was pulled down, ejecting the suppo. Before inserting the apparatus she dipped the suppository into a jar of liquid lubricant.

“Pull your knees up a bit, with your feet on the table.” Doctor Kitzsler guided me with her hands. “Now, just hold still and don’t squirm around.”

She parted my buttocks and stuck the object into my asshole. It was thoroughly greased and quite slippery and entered easily, though some liquid leaked out as the torpedo-shaped suppo and applicator was going in. She pressed it inwards as far as it would go, though I did not feel much since the applicator stem was so thin.

The suppo was ejected by pulling on the ejector wire. Doctor Kitzsler then retracted the applicator and told me to wait for the cleaning substances to begin their work. I didn’t have long to wait, for after no more than a minute the first of a series of ever increasing cramps began rippling through my intestines. A mere rumbling and gurgling at first, I could feel the spasms radiate along my colon and cause an unbelievably powerful urge to expel. Seldom have I experienced so strong a reflex. Had my rectum been injected full of pure liquid soap, I doubt the sensations would have been so urgent.

I grimaced and pressed down on my abdomen. “Wow…ohhhh, good grief……this is soooo hard to restrain….” I whispered.

“Try and hold it back please. An absolute minimum of ten minutes is required. I’m sure you can manage.”

Luckily, internal contractions of this sort come in waves, building up and subsiding for a while before returning again, usually in intensity. I rode out the first series, just barely able to retain the liquid solution in me.

“Would you care for an anal plug to help you ?” the doctor asked me as I lay breathing heavily.

I shook my head. “No, if you stuck anything inside me, I don’t think I would be able to hold back…”

“I’m sure you could manage somehow….but maybe you should sit up, that way you should be better able to ride out the urges.” She went and got something. “But let me first apply a little aid against leakage.” She pressed something in between my buttocks before I sat up. “There we go, just press your behind tight together. That sanitary pad should absorb any little accidents, though I should be surprised if a person of your experience would let that happen.”

I had no time to complain or think of a clever answer. The next wave of contractions built up and I had to rock back and forth to ride them out. I really believe I moaned and groaned a bit, closing my eyes and grimacing. I would think my guts about to burst and then feel a lessening of the pressure as liquid worked it’s way higher up into me, apparently dislodging waste matter and cleaning me out. Sometimes I believed I could audibly hear the flow of water inside of me.

The ten minutes seemed like an hour and by the time they were past and the latest series of contractions had passed, I was weak and covered with perspiration from the effort of holding back.

“Are you ready for the pot now ?” Doctor Kitzsler asked.

“Oh no, no ways….no pot ..please.” That was a humiliation I would not undergo.

“Tsk tsk. Always the same response. I never understand why. Well, you shall have to make your way to a stall on your own then, I’m afraid.” She pointed to a nearby cubicle with, thankfully, a normal looking toilet.

I hurriedly slid off the table, and quickly, but un-elegantly waggled over to the convenience. I turned about-face while sitting down and peeled the sanitary pad off my perspiration wet behind. I discarded it in a small waste can.

“Don’t start expelling on your own now, Mr. Gracier,” Doctor Kitzsler advised. “Wait until the urge returns naturally and follow the flow.”

Good advice indeed. I didn’t have long to wait until my bowels started straining from the effort of excreting the watery cleansing solution and other residue of waste matter. It not only flowed outwards ‘naturally’ but spurted and gushed in a long never-ending cascade. I had had what I thought was a normal bowel movement this morning, but there still followed an amount of muck that left me amazed.

The expulsion also came in surges, not all at once. I could still feel my intestines working and contracting, pushing and straining, gurgling from time to time and then ready for another load. By the time I was finally finished I was even more covered in sweat and exhausted than after the first electro treatment. My knees jittered up and down and I felt just slightly nauseous.

Doctor Kitzsler gave me a towel to put around my shoulders while I sat recovering on the toilet. Finally composing myself I was able to get up and clean myself and flush the whole mess down the drain.

I should have been horribly flustered by the whole process, embarrassed at the intimate nature of it all, but by now I hardly cared. Oddly I didn’t notice much of a smell either, one of the more disagreeable aspects of enemas. Rather a lemony flowery soapy scent hung in the air.

I suppose Doctor Kitzsler must have observed me sniffing, be it ever so discretely. “Yes, it’s quite an effective formula all in all for a cleansing, don’t you think ? Rapid and thorough expulsion of waste matter with hardly any odor due to the mixture of herbal essences added to the glycerin. It neutralizes it all quite well. There should certainly be a widespread demand for such a method.”

Later, when I was rested up and more relaxed, I of course agreed. Now, I was too fatigued to care. I wearily sat down on a table. But however exhausted my body as a whole was, one evident part of my anatomy decided that it wasn’t time to repose yet. My prick was still just as stiff and hard as ever. Doctor Kitzsler gave it a quick look over and several strategically placed squeezes.

“Hmmm… still erect. I had half expected the clyster to ease up the penile constriction but it doesn’t seem to have helped in that regard. Well, no matter, we’ll just proceed as planned with the electro treatment.”

She finished putting the last of the enema equipment away. “Are you feeling well enough to get on ?”

I nodded, having recovered from the forceful expulsions of several minutes previously. Now I felt rather light-headed and empty inside, and realized that I was also quite hungry.

“Good, now for this last remedial treatment I would like you to take place on the main examination table.” She indicated the large and intricate looking gynecological table. I must have made a face. “No need to be concerned. It’s just another piece of medical equipment, though one which females are far better acquainted with. Just climb on up, please, it’s not half as uncomfortable as you’d think.”

Uncomfortable or not, it was something I did not relish. I mounted the dark-leather padded table and reluctantly lay down. Doctor Kitzsler guided my ankles into the stirrups one at a time, positioning them so I was resting on my back, legs wide open and spread back. She fiddled around with several ratchets or levers and I felt my buttocks being raised upwards a bit.

I lay waiting as the doctor prepared the electro therapy applicator, attaching a large sized anal probe and lubricating the shaft. This was placed on a trolley and pushed up against the table.

My anus received a generous dollop of lotion as well, with Doctor Kitzsler’s delectable finger finding it’s way inside of me yet again, ostensibly to better prepare me for the coming treatment. Well no matter, since I had been opened up several times already in the course of the morning and I would have been surprised if she passed up an opportunity to do some more probing around.

I was shown the little apparatus, to admire no doubt and dutifully nodded in appreciation. “Just a few more minutes and we’ll have you ready to mingle with normal company again.” Her idea of a little witticism.

All was ready and she quickly inserted the probe up into my rectum. It slipped in easily and lay nested, flange up against my skin and wire trailing over towards the regulator box. Doctor Kitzsler cranked up the device.

“Are you ready now ?” she asked.

“I suppose so…” I answered.

She turned a knob and once again I felt the beginnings of a tingling, itching sensation. This time it came from inside of me, and traveled upwards along my inner organs I surmise, causing a gush of prickling warmth in my abdomen. Little spasms caused my asshole to twitch and pulse around the electrical probe. I felt it deeper inside of me as well, my sphincter muscles relaxing and pushing outwards in turn. There was a pleasant warmth inside that seemed to radiate towards the inner base of my penis, causing it as well to pulsate and throb in sympathy with the electrical current flowing from the doctor’s little device.

My legs were attached to the stirrups and strapped in by bindings, or I would have surely began wriggling around from the stimulation. As it was I could not contain myself from rhythmically thrusting upwards with my buttocks in an effort to relieve myself of the pressure and near-pleasurable stimulation by the probe. Shamefully I realized that I was pantomiming sexual coupling with an imaginary partner and tried to force myself to lay still. I could not help moaning from time to time and moving to and fro.

I felt on the verge of passing over an edge, of letting go, but couldn’t quite make it on my own. Doctor Kitzsler was prepared for this I surmise. I felt her moist pre-lubricated hand grab my penis and in two or three professional strokes, uncover the tip and slip my foreskin lower. She then commenced a calm but purposeful and enjoyable pumping of my organ. With her other hand, she pressed into the immediate area just above my anus, in tune with her rubbing of my penis.

That last addition of sensations got me over the edge. I felt a warm rushing flood come from deep in me and gush up through my prick. I spurt a stream of white semen from my organ onto my chest. Several more emissions followed in lessening intensity until I could release no more. So intense was the orgasm that I grimaced, almost as if in pain and shook all along my body.

Judging my climax to have run it’s course, the doctor thankfully shut off the electrical stimulation. The throbbing and tingling finally subsided and I left out a long sigh of relief and exhaustion. Gently she pulled out the probe and set it away.

“There now, I want you to rest a bit now. I see the treatment was successful even if somewhat strenuous.”

The doctor was correct. Already I could sense my penis softening and shrinking back to a flaccid state. I wanted to say something and get up, but Doctor Kitzsler placed a semen stained finger over my lips. “Don’t say anything just yet. Rest a bit first.” She rubbed her finger over my mouth, gently like someone transferring a kiss. I could taste my sperm, faintly salty and smelling of bread dough. She then covered my eyes and forehead with a damp cloth. I sunk back into myself and rested.

I do not think I dozed off too deeply, though I do have a typical male propensity to feel weary and drained after orgasming. It is just a biological imperative I hope.

Whatever the cause, when Doctor Kitzsler took away the washcloth covering my eyes, I was momentarily at a loss. Where was I ? Taking a deep breath I looked around bringing things into focus. Then I noticed my legs were still strapped into the examination stirrups. The doctor unhooked the straps and helped me back up into a sitting position before standing up.

She showed me to a small sink where I washed off the thickening globs of semen and sweat that had accumulated on my chest and belly. When that was done she gave me a going over lower down, first having me crouch over a bidet and then cleaning prick and wiping excess lubricant from my anus. By now I was so used to her intimate handling of my body that I thought nothing of it and assumed whatever position she thought best. Using the bidet was particularly pleasant I had to admit, legs spread open wide as I straddled the bowl. Afterwards I was again given a large towel to wrap myself in.

Finally everything was ready, I was cleaned and dried off, though she did suggest I take a dip or two in the mineral baths before leaving the building.

All the equipment was stored neatly away. The doctor gave the room one more look over before turning off the lights and locking up behind her.

We went back down the stairs, through passageways and doors until we came back into the public area. There were customers about, some escorted by nurses or attendants, a very few on their own. All of them, I was grateful to see had some sort of towel draped around themselves as I had, though a few females were less than fully covered.

We entered the solarium, a bright sunlit area with lounge chairs, small tables and lots of large potted plants. Here the ladies partook of the sun in that most civilized of European manners : unconcernedly topless. I had to keep my eyes ahead of me since I could not help but being distracted, man of the world that I nonetheless was.

We found the girls reclining in a more secluded corner, drinks and empty plates on a nearby table, towels completely discarded. They had gone one step farther and decided to sun in the nude.

“Well girls, here is your uncle back, safe and sound,” Doctor Kitzsler joked. “Did you enjoy yourselves in the meantime ?”

“Sure, it’s ever so heavenly here. I could do this every day,” Sandi replied sleepily, stretching out her arms above her and accentuating the captivating curves of her body. She looked at me, “Hey Uncle Alex, you look like the cat who ate the canary. I bet you had a good time.”

“Hmmm…it was very…interesting. …To say the least.”

She looked me up and down and gave me a look that said : who do you think you’re fooling ?

I grinned back at my ‘niece’. “You ought to try it sometime. It’s quite an experience.”

Doctor Kitzsler interrupted. “Why that’s an excellent idea.” She looked at her watch. “It’s much earlier than I thought. Why don’t I take the girls on a tour while you have lunch ?”

We did the ‘oh no I possibly couldn’t’ and the ‘oh but I insist’ two-step until both Sandra and Nancy were trundled off with Doctor Kitzsler for an upstairs tour. I noticed that they didn’t bother to take along their towels and from what I knew of my ‘nieces’ I was sure they were going to have a fascinating time with the good doctor.

I watched them leave. the doctor flanked on each side by a lovely beautiful wiggling bare bottom. I think just about every head in the solarium turned as they passed by, male and female alike. Letting out a sigh of contentment I sat down and stretched out. I was sure the girls and I were going to have a lot of fun comparing notes after they got back. But in the meantime I was ravenously hungry and looked around for someone to give my lunch order to….

Notes : on the redeeming social qualities of this chapter

What’s behind the mixture of fact and fiction this time ? Obviously there are no Thermal Establishments such as the one described here, neither in the Pyrenees, Alps or other places.

There are numerous real health spas in the Pyrenees, both in France and Spain, Eaux Bonnes being but one of several cities and towns boasting such establishments. Places such as Biarritz, Eaux Chaudes, Cauterets, Bareges, Ax-les-Thermes being but several of other numerous sites. Natural springs and thermal sources abound in the Pyrenees, some 500 are known on the French side alone and of those some 140 are exploited economically, as health spas, thermal medical establishments and the like. There are various types of sources and water in these natural springs : hot thermal springs, sulfur, alkaline, carbonized, diuretic water and even radioactive sources.

By and large Doctor Kitzsler’s little lecture on the history of Eaux Bonnes is factual and could be representative for any other town with a Health Spa. The town of Eaux Bonnes does exist and I have tried to describe it as accurately as possible while just marginally exaggerating it’s qualities and size. Sadly it’s Etablissement Thermal hasn’t been renovated yet and it doesn’t seem likely it will be. There is still a doctor of thermal medicine in attendance in the town, a female one at that, though hardly one of Doctor Sigrid Kitzsler’s caliber or inclination I fear.

The treatments I have described are not all fictitious, though I daresay Doctor Kitzsler’s intentions for giving them are. Anyone looking through (French) medical textbooks of the beginning of the century up till the 1930s cannot help but be fascinated and astounded at the diversity and almost sheer quackery of many of the electrical treatments and devices described. They were meant to cure many ills and afflictions, sometimes with the best of intentions in mind, though I am sure with not much base in scientific fact. Be that as it may, many of the treatments prescribed against onanism and other perceived sexual aberrations for instance, bordered on the perverse. Sometimes I have the impression that they were nothing but medically supervised masturbation sessions at best or pure tomfoolery at worst. They do make for interesting and thought provoking reading though and are a boon for people trying to come up with some outlandish but titillating medical fantasies. (Like me.)

Enemas in health spas ? I would hardly doubt it. I am sure they were given plentifully and regularly. After all, regularizing dysfunctional digestive tracts was undoubtedly a routine task for physicians. And what better way to do so than with a series of cleansings, irrigations and flushings ?

What in the world is a ‘German Forfeit’ ? It’s nothing I came up with myself, but is a series of treatments much like I described, a package deal if you will, which is on offer at an establishment in the Spanish Pyrenees, a charming little town high in the mountains called Balneario de Panticosa. Here, the facilities have been modestly renovated and set among the splendors of snow capped peaks and crystal clear lakes one can ‘take the waters’ in 19th century style. It does seem that the facility has re-orientated it’s offerings to attract a larger clientele. Beauty and cosmetic treatments (sauna, massage, facials etc.) are the main fare now, but even so a prior medical check-up is still obligatory.

Chapter 10

An hour or so later, my ‘nieces’ returned from their little upstairs tour accompanied by a nurse. They didn’t say much as they sat down, but both had a relaxed and pleasantly fatigued look on their faces, which said more than was necessary about the nature of Doctor Kitzsler’s outing. I suspected they had received the female equivalent of my excursion down the paths of hydro/electro-therapeutic history.

We lay about for a while. After half an hour we decided that it was time to leave so we headed back to the locker rooms. Upon departing the establishment the attendant at the reception desk handed me an envelope. Opening it, I saw it contained a short note from the doctor, thanking me for the interest I had shown in ‘her work’. Also included were two business cards : one with the address of the Kitzsler Clinic in the US, another with an address in Paris, which the doctor wrote, I would find ‘interesting and useful’. I was invited to visit if ever in the neighborhood. I put both safely away.

Well, the rest of the day we spent lounging around, not doing much. We had some drinks at an outdoor café, all of us still quite thirsty, we walked around a bit, shopped for provisions and finally returned to the camping grounds to lay down in the shade. It didn’t seem like any of us was brimming with energy. I was sure doctor Kitzsler had zapped it all right out of us.

I took her book on medical instruments and started reading. It made for interesting fare to say the least. Curiously, the girls and I never did compare notes on exactly what the doctor did to us, though the hints, allusions and jokes were more than enough to go on.

Much as I was tempted to look up the doctor after working hours I refrained from doing so. Nor did I think it appropriate to go back for another set of treatments. Maybe on the way back home in several weeks time, I told myself, but then I realized that Doctor Kitzsler would probably be long gone by then. I doubt if she had trained anyone else to take her place and even if she had, I felt it wouldn’t be the same.

So the girls and I went back to playing tourists, riding here and there along the narrow and winding mountain roads, visiting a town, a picturesque valley or some place of interest. The fine weather broke, as is inevitable everywhere, but even more so in the mountains. Thick clouds covered the peaks and blanketed the valleys, temperatures dropped and we all put on warmer clothes and rain gear.

It was time to move on southwards and cross into Spain. The weather would certainly be warmer and there was always markedly less rain. Sometimes upon crossing the border it seemed as if clouds just dried up and dissipated into blue sunny skies. I couldn’t wait to leave France behind.

But before leaving la douce France there was a little errand I had to perform.

A day or two after our sessions at the Etablissement, the girls and I were talking about this and that. Sandi asked me if I could do them a favor.

I was always ready for just about anything, the last Boy Scout. I hoped it was something smutty. “Sure, who’s first ?” I joked.

She pretended not to hear. “You know, we’ve really learned to appreciate all that squirting with water and stuff you do so well.”

“Enemas, clysters ? Use the correct words.”

“Yeah, you know what I mean,” she said. “It’s just that we don’t have any of our own. No squeeze thing to use.”

That was true. I of course had mine but wasn’t hoggish with it. In fact I just loved lending a helping hand. “You can always use my syringe you know.”

“That’s not the same. I think it would be better if we had our own,” said Sandi.

“Wouldn’t it be more hygienic too ?” Nancy chimed in.

The ultimate argument, but correct of course. I pretended to think it over. “Hmmm…I guess you’re right. But the trouble is, I don’t think there are any sex shops in this area, so we’ll have to wait till we come to a large city.”

“Is that all you ever think about ? Sex ?” Sandi sighed exasperated. “Can’t you buy those things in a drug store or something ?”

She had me there. She was right on both counts. Leave it to me not to think of the obvious. Just to save face I told her there were no drugstores as such in France, only pharmacies. ‘Le Drugstore’ was a sort of café/soda fountain.

“I don’t care what they call them over here. Let’s just go to the next one we see, OK ?”

“Sure, no problem,” I ceded.

Just to show my good will, I suggested that now was as good time as any to do our daily shopping. We were sure to find a pharmacy in a nearby village.

The nearest village worth it’s name was called Dizy-le-Broud. We got there a little after 11 a.m. with just enough time to do our shopping before the shops closed for the afternoon break at noon. We bought bread at a small bakery and other items at the local Contact, a dinghy little chain-store with delusions of grandeur, pretending to be a mini supermarket.

I noticed the distinctive green cross neon-light advertising a pharmacy in a side street and told the girls that they could go there to buy a syringe bulb or whatever it was they wanted.

“Oh come on Alex, we don’t speak French well enough to go there on our own.” Sandi fished out several French franc notes. “Why don’t you be a dear and buy them for us. We’ll take the groceries back to the van and wait for you at a café.”

This I had not expected. “You speak French well enough to flirt with all the jerks we see at almost every camping.”

“Oh silly, we hardly ever ‘talk’ to anybody. And besides, we’re not flirting, we’re just hanging around,”

“Uh huh, well you seem to make yourselves understood quite well, I’d think.”

“Just body language, Alex.” She kissed me on the forehead. “Come on, if you buy the squeeze things for us, we’ll let you try them out on us first. OK ?”

An offer I couldn’t refuse. I knew I was going to end up doing what they wanted anyway so I took them up on the deal. I gave them the keys to the van and said I’d meet them at a café on the church square in 10 minutes or so.

Off they went with the groceries while I tried to figure out how I was going to go about asking for and buying two clyster syringes in a French pharmacy. Sure I could get by more than adequately, but I would have been somewhat uneasy about going into a Belgian pharmacy just as well. It wasn’t just the language part that had me fidgety.

Oh what the hell, I figured, just step inside and ask for what you want. They weren’t very well likely to bite my head off, now were they ?

I should have known better. After all we were in rural France and a pharmacist occupies a social position only slightly lower than that of the mayor or local pastor. Pharmacists are also vastly more affluent as a rule and can at times put on airs snobbier than anything you can imagine. It must have something to do with their wearing white lab coats.

Outside the gleaming and shiny store front window I stopped for a look inside. Maybe with a bit of luck, they might have a clyster syringe displayed and all I would have to do was point at it and hold up two fingers. But it didn’t work out that way. The store front had the usual glittery and antiseptic display of pain killers, herbal remedies, bandages, snake venom kits and overpriced cosmetic aids, lotions, creams and shampoos.

I noticed the pharmacist’s name painted on the store window : Mme Dénise Mescouilles. I peered inside. A somewhat older looking lady in an open lab coat with glasses was standing behind the counter, helping a customer. So, it seemed we had a female pharmacist in Dizy-le-Broud. Well, I guess it figured.

She must have been quite a sharp eyed lady for she had already spied me dawdling about and was following me out of the corner of her eye. I couldn’t just go away and come back later now that she had spotted me, so there was nothing else left but to just enter her store.

The door made quite a loud ringing noise as I entered. The customer, an old fogy, turned around and with a disdainful look gave me the once over. Apparently I wasn’t a local and maybe even a foreigner, so with a dismissive snort he turned back and continued with his purchase or conversation, I couldn’t really tell the difference. The pharmacist looked me over as well and then went back to her business, which at the moment consisted of attentively listening to the old fart’s monologue.

Meanwhile I was trying to think of a dignified way of asking for a clyster syringe. There are any number of words for an enema device in French : une clystére, un syringe pour lavements, une énéma, une douche intime, une poire, etc. I thought it best to use a somewhat neutral word and opted for une poire (a pear/pear shaped bulb) hygiénique. Which translates into something like a personal hygiene squeeze bulb.

I mentally repeated the words to myself, rehearsing what I wanted to say.

Finally it looked like the customer was about to complete his business. Sometimes making a purchase in rural France can be a long drawn out affair, after all what else is there to occupy the time with ? He paid and got change, checked it carefully and finally shuffled to the door. I politely held it open and received another sneer for my trouble. I was about to close it when another old villager, a lady this time, appeared in the door opening. Of course I let her in and ignoring me she immediately hailed the pharmacist in a loud scratchy voice. She resolutely strode over to the counter and stated her business. Both ladies acted as if I were not present and started a running conversation.

I like to believe I have been brought up to be a polite and courteous person, kind and considerate to children, old people and to mankind in general. But this morning my beliefs were being sorely taxed. I think I heard the old lady’s life story in between a notable amount of village gossip, minute explanations of her current malady and details of her pitiful financial situation. Somewhere, lost in the rambling babbling and calumnious chatter she handed the pharmacist a prescription for medication. Mme. la pharmacienne finally got the old lady her medication, explained it’s use and wrapped it up. After an interminable search for money in a threadbare purse, the old lady paid and was finally up to what I hoped was the last act.

I think at least 20 minutes had passed if not more and uncharacteristic as it may seem, I was slowly approaching a slow boil. I had already pointedly coughed several times, looked at my watch and been shuffling around, staring uninterestedly at the stands of cosmetics and herbal teas. I suppose my actions were counter-productive but I couldn’t help it.

Finally on the half hour mark, the old lady turned around and made for the door. I was half of a mind to trip her up or let the door slam shut in her face, but of course didn’t do any such thing. Ignoring me just as pointedly as when she had entered she finally disappeared out the door.

I turned around and approached the counter. Of course the pharmacist had some rearranging of items to do before she deigned to look up at me. “Bonjour Monsieur, comment puis-je vous aider ?”

How could she help me ? I wondered if she even wanted to.

I was flustered by now, still apprehensive and in a hurry to boot. A perfect set of circumstances to start stuttering. “Je voudrais…aahh…aahh…acheter une poire…hy-….” She didn’t let me finish saying I wanted to buy a pear shaped….

“Mais Monsieur, pour une poire il faut aller a l’épicier… Monsieur, if you want a pear you should go to a grocery store,” she said arching her eyebrows at my apparent stupidity.

“No, no. Excuse me. Je veux acheter une poire hygiénique.” I finally got out, emphasizing the last three words.

She gave me a disdainful look and deliberately misunderstood me. “A hygienic pear ? But Monsieur, all the grocer’s pears can be eaten safely, I suppose. You should wash them first but surely now….”

“No, no. You don’t understand. I mean a pear shaped bulb for personal hygiene.”

She looked at me without saying anything.

“It’s not very complicated. Une poire hygiénique ? You know what I mean ? It’s what ladies use…. Une clystére ? A clyster bulb ?”

She pretended to finally understand. “Ah bon, une clystère…..for ladies…?”

I nodded.

“Whatever do you need that for, Monsieur ?”

I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see her and tried to concentrate. I was going to try it one more time and if that didn’t work, just walk out. Then the door opened behind me and the bell rang. I was ready to give whoever had entered a withering look, a punch in the face or both when I heard a familiar voice.

“Alex, what’s keeping you for goodness sakes ? You’ve been gone for more than half an hour.” It was Sandra and Nancy. My anger dissipated somewhat.

I held my hand over my face in exasperation. “Don’t ask. I was ready to commit justifiable manslaughter.”

“I don’t understand….”

“Never mind. It’s all right. Let me try one more time. I think the lady is just being an obstinate jerk.”

I turned around again to the pharmacist, but she interrupted me. “Are you with this ‘gentleman’ mademoiselles ?” she said addressing a bewildered Sandi and Nancy.

“I’m sorry…?” Sandi replied in English. “Alex, what’s going on ?”

“Don’t you understand French ?” the pharmacist asked Sandi.

“Elle vient du Canada,” I quickly replied. “She’s Canadian, the accent is somewhat different you know…”

Those seemed to be the magic words. The pharmacist’s rudeness suddenly disappeared and she became the epitome of solicitude. “Le Canada ? Ah Monsieur, but you should have said so!.”

She addressed the girls, “Eh bien, mes petites Canadiennes, how can I help you ?”

Sandi said a few words in French and then faltered. “Alex, can’t you tell her what we want ? I can’t do this in French.”

“If she hasn’t understood by now, it’s not from lack of trying on my part.”

I muttered something to the lady about the French language being horribly oppressed in Canada. The girls did their best but the schools refuse to teach the language. She nodded in sympathy. It was indeed shameful. I poured it on. My nieces were in la France to look for their roots, learn more of the language, the inimitable culture, history, gastronomy….

More understanding and nods. “Oh, Monsieur. But you must forgive me,” she said. “I thought you were a troublemaker, a foreigner….How can I be of assistance ?”

Was she having me on ? Weren’t Canadians foreigners ? First a total ignoring of my presence and now this fawning patronizing ? What I really wanted to do was tell her to stick it up hers. I didn’t though, I’m just not that kind of fellow. Instead I just counted to ten very slowly, forced my mouth into a semi-smile and explained that my nieces needed to buy an item of personal hygiene and were somewhat shy about doing it themselves.

“Ah Monsieur, how gallant of you. I am sure they are in good hands. Now, what do they wish to purchase ?”

I told her they each wished to buy a clyster bulb, ‘une poire hygiénique’. I emphasized the words.

“But of course. Why didn’t you say so ?” she exclaimed, suddenly suffering convenient amnesia. “An item a young lady should never be without. I stock several models. Do they have any preference in mind ?”

I cleared my throat. “Well, maybe something for multi-purpose use ? Ahh…”

She beamed. “I think I understand. Les mademoiselles veulent une clystère pour le cul et pour la chatte. They want a clyster for their asshole and pussy. C’est ça ?”

I was taken aback by her vulgar language. This I had not expected from a pharmacist. “Well yes, I suppose you could put it like that….an anal-vaginal model….if you have anything in that nature…?”

“But of course, Monsieur. This is not Paris, but we are not peasants you know.”

I was ready to give odds on the last part.

Madame Mescouilles went to a back room and came back with several boxes. She laid them on the counter for us to see. I translated. “Voila, we have a very basic model called Mon Premier Clysto, low in price but limited in application. It comes with one small sized nozzle. I usually recommend this for children.” She smiled at us. “As we can see, les mademoiselles have clearly outgrown this one.” She set the box aside.

“Now, somewhat better is La Trompête de Molière, a good quality red rubber bulb with two tips, one for anal usage, the other of course for the female organs. This is a good beginner’s device. ideal for youngsters.” She looked at us for a sign of approval or interest. I pursed my lips, a decision held in abeyance.

“I can see you are used to quality merchandize. Perhaps then Le KK-2000 is more to your taste ? A frivolous name for such a product, but what can one expect nowadays ?”

What indeed ? I looked at Sandi and Nancy with upturned eyebrows. Was this to their liking ? They examined the packaging while Madame la phamacienne described the article. “Essentially this is a large capacity clyster. It also comes with two nozzles and is manufactured in futuristic black composite rubber. It is 100 % bio-degradable and contains no pollutants, irritants or toxic material. Ecologically very sound.”

The girls pursed their lips, shaking their heads in mild disapproval. This sounded too politically correct for our tastes. I hoped she had something else on offer.

“I hesitate to show you this last model, Monsieur, but it is an absolute top quality and very versatile set : le Grand Dudouche. It is in classic red rubber and comes with no less than 5 different nozzle types. It can also be transformed into an ‘énéma’, a continuous pumping device with a set of tubing and stopper, both included.” I explained to the girls that she meant it could be made into a Higginson syringe.

“Oh Sandi,” Nancy said, “that’s the thing doctor Kitzsler used on us the second time we had to….”

“I know, never mind,” Sandi shushed her friend up. She looked at the clyster set. “Hmmmm, interesting. May we take a closer look ?”

“But of course.” The lady opened the box and proudly displayed the merchandise. “I would recommend this for the discriminating user, the connoisseur and experienced adept. I doubt there is any cleansing task it is not capable of fulfilling. It is useful for routine daily hygiene, for giving treatments for contumacious constipation, stubborn impaction, simple cleansing lavages or for personal and private leisure activities. Why, it can even be used for the removal of ear stoppages and for sinal-nasal irrigations if necessary.” She leaned conspiratorially closer. “Once in an emergency the village doctor even rigged one up as a stomach pump.”

I acted impressed. “Mais non ? Really ?”

She assumed a grave air, nodding her head weightily. “Si, si,” she insisted. “It was quite ingenious, but alas, didn’t save the patient in the end. Poisonous mushrooms. A very long drawn out affair, tsk, tsk.”

I decided not to translate this last part for the girls.

The nozzles were very nicely shaped and of a useful variety. There was a longish normal ribbed nozzle, standard vaginal size with side-tipped perforations, another with a larger curved bulbous tip, one with a torsed curvature along the shaft, still one more that looked vaguely penis shaped and a last one was manufactured in metal, the better to conduct warmth from heated solutions. There was two lengths of rubber tubing coiled up in the box, some thingamajigs and a plastic 125 cc plunger syringe as well as several packets and plastic vials.

“Ah yes, of course. How could I forget ?” the pharmacist apologized. “Included is a small syringe for injecting glycerin or soap concentrate if desired. Also useful for anally introducing liquid medication or small amounts of oil, herbal extracts, wine, coffee, tea, pastis or digestifs.”

I was suitably impressed, though not by her summation of possible enemetic ingredients. Le Grand Dudouche looked like it contained just about anything you would need for a pleasant evening at home or to resolve a serious bout of constipation. Sandi and Nancy looked interested as well.

“It comes with a nicely illustrated booklet. Look,” Madame Dénise removed the Styrofoam packing and took a pamphlet from underneath. It was titled ‘So You’re Going to Take a Clyster’ in French. “Perhaps you are already well versed in the art of giving and taking water, but it does contain several tips and recipes,” she explained.

She passed the booklet to me first. It was short, but there were several nicely executed line drawings of males and females in different clystering positions. I leafed through and made approving remarks. Then I let the girls take a look.

“What do you think Alex ?” Nancy asked.

“Looks like quite an all-round kit. Seems like this box includes about everything you’re looking for.”

“Huh, huh. I was thinking along the same lines. What does it cost ?” she whispered.

I asked and Madame Mescouilles stated the price. It wasn’t cheap.

“Hmmmm…. I dunno, Alex. This looks pretty neat and all. What do you think ?”

“You’d pay just as much for everything separately.” I pointed out.

“If you say so…”

We conferred back and forth for a while but I knew they were going to buy this set.

Madame Mescouilles was trying to follow our conversation. Now however inept in English she was, she knew how to help a wavering customer make up their mind. “I see that you are sorely tempted but are perhaps a bit put off by the price. That is entirely reasonable but perhaps if you allow me to give a little demonstration you will see for yourselves that this is the best buy in the end. Ha ha.” She laughed politely at her little pun.

A demonstration ? I shrugged indicating ‘why not ?’ I figured she was going to fill up a syringe with water, attach a nozzle and show us how nicely the water squirt out. Or maybe she would hook up the Higginson attachments.

But I was wrong.

“Bon, I will be right back. Just a moment please.” Madame Dénise left us for a moment and went to the back of her store, opening up a door. She called in a loud voice : “Cathérine !! Viens, j’ai besoin de toi ! Vite ! Come here, I need you. Hurry now.”

I wondered whom she was calling. I heard a reply but couldn’t make out what was said.

Madame smiled at us. “My niece will be here in just a moment.”

She must have noticed my questioning look. “Oui, oui, Monsieur. My niece helps out when necessary. You see, I understand how admirable it is for you to concern yourself with the young ladies’ physical and hygienic welfare. I am well aware of the responsibilities older relatives have in regard to their younger kin.”

I heard footsteps and a young long haired girl appeared in the back doorway. Her hair was parted in the middle and she wore a rather skimpy looking floral patterned dress. I guessed her to be in her late teens, a bit younger than Sandi or Nancy though I wasn’t sure. She smiled shyly at us but gave a rather bored and resentful look at her aunt the pharmacist.

“Cathérine, these are customers all the way from le Canada.”

Cathérine nodded to us with upturned mouth and shrugged : big deal, so what ?

“C’est pour ‘une petite démonstration.’ I need for you for ‘a little demonstration.’”

The girl’s face fell. “Ah, non !! Not again. Please Tante Dénise “

“Tais-toi ! Hush now. Do as you’re told.”

“Tante Dénise, not now please. It’s almost time for dinner.”

The older lady looked at her watch. “Hmmm… well that will just have to wait for once. But I do think it best if I closed up. We don’t want anyone disturbing us during the demonstration, do we Cathérine ?”

“Non, tante,” the girl looked resigned.

“Uh, look,” I said. “Maybe we had better come back later, after lunch ? We don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Nonsense,” the pharmacist said quickly turning the door sign to ‘Closed’, locking up and pulling the shades down. “I insist. Why, Monsieur, had I known what you were here for, I would have shown those two old simpletons the door much sooner.”

So, she had noticed me after all. It didn’t seem so at the time.

“You have no idea what nonsense one must listen to in a village like this in order to make a living.” She sighed and threw up her hands in mock exasperation.

“This however shall be a pleasure.” She turned to her sullen looking niece. “Come now, Cathérine, quit your sulking and let us get on with it. You know what to do and where to go.”

The girl looked at me and then at Nancy and Sandi. She gave a wry smile to the girls and rolled her eyes upwards. “Ah merde alors. Zut, j’y vais. Ah, hell, I’m going…”

“Monsieur,” the pharmacist said to me, “I beg your pardon for her rudeness, but what can one expect from youngsters nowadays ?”

What indeed ?

This was turning into a curious shopping trip. As young Cathérine reluctantly turned around and went to prepare herself for whatever was expected of her, the girls and I gave each other genuinely mystified looks. Mouthing ‘I don’t know what this about either,’ we followed the pharmacist into a back room. She closed the door behind us.

We were in a place that seemed to be a cross between a storage area and a medically equipped room. There was an overhead neon light and an entire wall of shelves piled high with merchandise and goods. Another wall however was lined with small white hospital cabinets, some with glass windows. Set into the metal counter atop the lower row of cabinets was a sink with several faucets. In one corner was a stall which I guessed contained a toilet. What attracted my attention almost immediately however was a linen covered examination table lined up against one of the walls. Maybe the pharmacy doubled as a sort of first aid dispensary ?

The lady rolled the table into the middle of the room, under the neon lights. “Allez, ta culotte ! Your panties !! You know what to do,” she told her niece. “Hurry up now.”

The young girl blushed and turned her back towards us. She lifted her dress in the front and slid her panties down around her ankles and stepped out of them. As quickly as she could she stuffed them in a pocket.

Of course by know I had more than just an inkling to what kind of ‘little demonstration’ we were going to be treated. I was stupefied and astonished at how this was shaping up. Was the pharmacist going to show off the efficacy of her wares by clystering her young niece ? It looked so and though on the one hand I was all for it, I wondered what it would all lead up to.

Meanwhile the pharmacist had fetched several items from a cabinet and showed them to us. “Voila, as you can see, these are a set of display articles similar to those in the Grand Dudouche Package.” She held up a rubber clyster syringe with the large curved and bulbous tip, a length of tubing and a small plunger syringe for us to inspect.

We nodded and the lady went back to the counter to prepare them for use. She fiddled around with several tubes and jars. Finished, she brought the syringe back to the examination table. “Don’t just stand there, Cathérine, up onto the table with you. Come now, hurry.”

Young Cathérine climbed up onto the linen covered table and lay down on her side, facing away from us. Madame Dénise gently slapped her niece’s thighs and bottom to get them into the position she wanted. “Allez, this is not the first time. You should know by now how this is done.” Growing slightly impatient the lady pulled the dress up over Cathérine’s hips, made her pull up her knees to the chest and turn over a quarter turn on her stomach. Of course this bared the girl’s lovely bottom completely. I daresay a gentleman would have averted his eyes until absolutely necessary. I didn’t.

Neither did Nancy or Sandra for that matter. From what I could see they had no scruples either ogling the pharmacist’s niece in her exposed position. Besides, as we all knew by now, things would get even more intimate before Madame la pharmacienne finished putting on her demonstration.

As the lady was positioning her young charge, I noticed something darkish in color protruding from between her buttocks. I hoped we wouldn’t be embarrassing the young girl even more by being privy to a unfortunate accident she might have had, but upon looking closer, (yes I couldn’t resist !), I saw that this was no stain but rather an object lodged in her cleft.

The pharmacist confided. “I see you have noticed the godemiche. I have Cathérine wear an anal dildo several hours a day.” She lifted the girls buttocks open and gingerly grasped the object between two fingers. Swiveling to and fro she extracted the cylindrical dildo and held it to the light up for inspection. “Hmmm… at least she is still clean.” She then laid it on the counter for cleaning afterwards.

The girls and I gave each other a wide eyed look, curious and baffled. The pharmacist noticed our questioning looks. “A timely precaution, Monsieur. There is really no way of curtailing an adolescent’s sexual urges. This way the anus is both stimulated and widened, preparing the female for anal activity. It is much safer to encourage the occasional bout of buggery before marriage than trying to enforce total abstinence. Don’t you agree ?”

Truly I was at a loss for words.

“It s a method that has proven itself in practice. My niece is still a virgin.” She smiled at my unbelieving expression. “You don’t believe me, but I will be happy to let you verify this…”

I declined the offer, however unexpectedly titillating it was. Had my own ‘nieces’ not been present then maybe I would have been glad to inspect Cathérine, but not in these circumstances.

“As you wish…” I think she was enjoying our uneasiness. Madame Dénise went jauntily about her preparations, clearly enthused and enjoying herself now that she was into stride.

“Now before injecting any liquid solution, I have found it best to prepare the rectum with an initializing irritating substance. Glycerin, soap or herbal suppositories come to mind : ginger, pepper, mustard, eucalyptus extract, lemon concentrate and tiger balsam being some of the more common. These require time to properly dissolve and spread along the inner intestinal lining, so quite often it is indicated to use an already liquid or viscous substance. Once again glycerin, liquid soap, and vegetable oils being the most preferred. These can injected singly or in combination with each other. Practice will show which mixture is most beneficial.”

She removed the plunger from the small 125 cc syringe and squirt three generous doses from a flask of liquid soap into the instrument. Holding it upside down, she inserted the plunger and purged the air out. She then opened a jar of liquid glycerin and sucked up an amount into the syringe until it was filled up. The soap slowly mixed with the thick yellowish colored glycerin in strands of white dissolving globs. It looked wickedly delicious and nasty.

Now instead of directly squirting this solution deep into her niece’s bowels as I would have done, she calmly put a stopper on the syringe tip and set it aside on a small towel for the moment.

“Bon, we take great care in lubricating the anal opening of course. In this case, Cathérine is still sufficiently oiled from wearing her little device. But normally a generous amount of lotion, cream or gel is rubbed onto the anus and into the opening itself, preferably into the rectum.” She dipped her finger into a jar. “If you are fastidious a rubber glove may be worn, but between relatives and intimates such a precaution is not necessarily indicated.”

Parting her niece’s buttocks again, the lady rubbed her finger along the young girl’s anal ring, spreading the lubricating cream all around until her brownish rosette glistened with lubrication. Brusquely she then shoved her index finger up into the girl’s bowels, pushing it up to the hilt and wriggling around in all directions. She took her time and explained that this was an excellent occasion to feel for any interior irregularities : hemorrhoids, lumps, fissures etc.

I noticed Cathérine tense the muscles along her thighs and legs as she was being lubricated. I would have liked to view her facial expression to get an idea if her tenseness was due to discomfort or sexual excitation, but that was impossible from where I was standing.

Madame Dénise withdrew her finger just as quickly as she had inserted it and it could have been my imagination I suppose, but I think I heard a faint ‘flop’ noise as her digit slid out. She patted her niece’s bottom and then gave her finger a discreet sniff, ‘to check out the interior condition’ as she told us unconcernedly. She must not have found anything untoward for she made no further comment. She did however wash her hands under the faucet.

“Good, now we are ready.” She took the small plastic syringe with soap and glycerin solution. “This will be injected first. It takes several minutes to begin it’s irritating effect so in the meanwhile there is ample time to prepare the main water solution.”

Getting a very small sized plastic nozzle she attached it to the syringe. Again she deftly parted Cathérine’s buttocks and stuck the tip into her bottom. Madame Dénise pushed the plunger down. Fascinated I watched the milky colored liquid disappear into the girl’s bowels. She smiled at all three of us. “Voila, that was quite simple, n’est-ce pas ?”

It certainly was. I wondered how long it would take for Cathérine to start feeling an urge to expel.

Smiling at us, Madame Dénise went back to the counter and let water run from the faucet. She collected an amount in a plastic canister. Tearing open a packet she poured the contents into the water and stirred. Then she squirt something else into the container and mixed everything once again. I could smell the fragrance of a herbal soap.

“Now we are ready to use the main instrument, la clystère. It has of course been cleaned out and washed previously.” She attached the large curved nozzle to the plastic bulb and dipped the tip into the jar of lubricant. Squeezing air out of the bulb, she held it upside down and sucked up water from the plastic canister. She purged the air out and once again dipped the tip of the clyster syringe into the canister of hot soapy water until it was filled.

“I will inject the first dose now. Please note how easily the nozzle slips into the asshole.” And indeed she was right. The tip disappeared into Cathérine’s bottom. Pushing the bulb up into the hilt the pharmacist gave the bulb a good hard squeeze. “To prevent leakage upon retraction, it is best to firmly press down on the outer anal sphincter to each side of the nozzle shaft as it is withdrawn.” She placed her fingers as she had described. “Eh, voila ! The first portion is in place and beginning it’s cleansing effect. Quite simple, n’est-ce pas ?”

We all nodded.

“Have the mademoiselle’s much experience with the administration of lavages ?”

I cleared my throat. “Ahhh…not extensively…no. They are familiar with the basics though…”

“Ah bon. Well perhaps they would like to try out the syringe right now ? See how it feels ?” she suggested.

“I don’t think they would be prepared to ahh…receive one right just now…”

“You misunderstand me, Monsieur. I meant would they like to administer a dosage to my niece ? Just to try out the device of course…”

“Oh…of course.”

The pharmacist held out the clyster towards Sandra. “Voulez-vous ? Avec Cathérine ?” There was no mistaking her meaning.

Sandi looked at me. “Alex, does she want me to do it to her niece ?”

“I think so. She wants to let you try out the syringe. But don’t worry, I’ll find a way to politely decline.”

“You would, wouldn’t you ? Come on ding dong, tell her to give me that thing. This is going to be my pleasure.” Sandi’s smiling expression was all the answer Madame Dénise needed. She handed the clyster to Sandi.

Madame Dénise coached Sandi in how to purge and fill up the syringe, not that my randy little ‘niece’ needed it. She was just playacting the young innocent, a role eminently suited to her. Actually, I think they were both hamming it up, the pharmacist was fawning over Sandi, touching her here and there amicably, guiding her through the motions, standing behind her or sliding up to her.

Madame Dénise indicated that Nancy come stand next to the examination table and help open Cathérine’s bottom. She took Nancy’s hands in her own and placed them firmly on her niece’s buttocks, near the crack of her ass.

“Voila, now pull her behind open, while the other Mademoiselle inserts the nozzle.” The girls didn’t need much translating from me. They managed quite well, if a little shakily. Madame Dénise attributed that to inexperience, while I was sure it had more to do with the girl’s sexual arousal.

Whatever the case, the pharmacist urged Sandi to give another dose, and then she had the girls trade places : Nancy squirt the water while Sandi pried open the hapless young Cathérine’s bottom.

Oh how I am sure they enjoyed that immensely, all the while putting on an innocent air of dedicated concentration. Maybe they were fooling Madame Dénise, but not me. I knew better.

Not that I was going to give them away, mind you. Far from it. This was turning into more fun than I had expected.

“Eh bien mes petites Canadiennes, what do you think of this device ? Easy to use, isn’t it ? Very efficacious. You should have no trouble at all using it yourselves.” Madame Dénise beamed a storekeeper’s smile.

The girls nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps I should show you how to use the énéma’ attachment, it is somewhat more difficult to set up properly but very pleasant to administer and receive. Would you like to see that ?” she asked the girls.

What a stupid question. Of course they did.

I asked Madame Dénise about her own niece.

“What about her ? This will certainly not be the first time she has gotten a good cleaning out. It will do her no harm.”

“I’m sure, but isn’t she full enough for the moment ?”

“I think not. She has hardly more than one liter in her. Another one or two will not hurt.”

The object of our conversation meanwhile just lay still, not moving or otherwise indicating any discomfort, embarrassment or even pleasure in the proceedings. I wondered what she thought about all of this. Then again, from her earlier remarks I got the impression that this wasn’t the first time she had been drafted as a ‘volunteer’ for a ‘little demonstration’. Clearly, more went on in these French village pharmacies than met the eye.

Madame Dénise attached the Higginson fixtures to the clyster bulb and explained how it worked. The end of the rubber tube was placed in the canister and the clyster bulb squeezed, purging air out of the end. Then when the bulb was released, one had to block off the nozzle so that liquid solution instead of air would be sucked into the main bulb. It was a bit tricky to explain to the girls, but after several try-outs they got the hang of it.

“Voila les filles, you see that it is not all that difficult. Now you can try it out on Cathérine. But first maybe we should prepare some fresh water. The solution in the canister is too cold I think. Come, I will give you a few tips as well.”

The pharmacist took the girls over to the counter and showed them various packets, bottles, tubes and jars. She let them smell several of the items, the odor so strong that I too could remark the scents : sweet, flowery, soapy, herbal and medicinal, it was an enticing mixture.

Together they mixed up a nice smelling, and doubtlessly a very strong irritating solution. Madame Dénise disassembled the Higginson attachments and let first Sandi and then Nancy reassemble it back together. When everything appeared to be in order the pharmacist motioned to Sandi that she administer a series of bulbfulls to Cathérine. “Just so you get the hang of it.”

I had the feeling that Sandi just couldn’t wait, I could see the expression in her eyes. But before letting Sandi start the lady explained that it would be better to have Cathérine in another position for this type of clystering.

“Cathérine, tourne-toi au dos, turn over on your back please,” she told her niece. She took a towel and rolled it up. This she placed under the girl’s lower back, in effect raising her bottom higher into the air. The young girl was more exposed in this position and for the first time I could clearly make out that most of her pubic hair was shaven off or else cropped very short. I discreetly inched forward a bit so I could get a better look. I must have been leering a bit too overtly for as the pharmacist turned around she noticed me looking.

“Do come closer under the lights, Monsieur, by all means. I surmise that you will be supervising your nieces during their stay in France ?”

I nodded and shrugged non-committedly, which could mean just about anything.

“It would be a good idea for you to pay close attention now.”

She placed Nancy next to the examination table and told her to take hold of Cathérine’s ankles, lift them up and keep them spread. Now it was quite easy to get a leisurely and detailed look at the French girl’s genitals. They were pleasingly clean shaven lower down, around the labia and anus. Her lips were quite taunt and rounded, almost prepubescent in a manner. Higher up her slit there was a smaller secondary fold of lips encasing her clitoris. Lower down I could just make out the slightly protruding pinkish lips of her inner labia. Everything was stretched quite taunt due to the position she was in. I noticed just a hint of moisture oozing from her maiden cunny and had to restrain myself from running my fingertips along her little cleft.

Nancy couldn’t avert her gaze any better than I could and I caught her staring quite avidly at Cathérine’s cunny. Sandi was occupied with the syringe and canister, placing everything in a satisfactory and convenient manner.

Soon she too was ready and having lubricated the nozzle she eagerly pressed it up into Cathérine’s rectum. Sandi placed two fingers around the girl’s asshole and spread it open wide while she inserted the bulbous clyster tip. It slid in easily and once inserted, Sandi began to squeeze the rubber syringe, forcing jets of warm water into Cathérine’s bowels.

Madame Dénise let Sandi inject about half a canister of solution into her niece. She felt the girl’s abdomen with her hand and fingers and had Sandi do the same.

Next it was Nancy’s turn. Sandi eagerly took hold of the girl’s ankles and spread them high and wide. I noticed that she kept her gaze fixed on Cathérine’s nether region, staring keenly at the French girl’s exposed cunny. Nancy delicately inserted the lubricated nozzle into Cathérine’s asshole and pumped the rest of the canister into the girl’s bowels. Altogether she must have gotten about 2 liters of water by now, a not negligible amount by any means.

Cathérine’s abdomen was quite rigid and markedly distended and I could see her tensing her muscles from time to time, presumably to ride out a series of intestinal contractions. Her expression betrayed the urge to expel she was no doubt strongly experiencing by now. I looked at her tightly closed eyes and mouth. She would clench her lips together in a grimace and move her head from left to right, while breathing deeply through her nose.

As Nancy retracted the nozzle, a small dribble of water escaped from Cathérine’s anus and trickled down along her crease. That was a sure sign that the girl was ready to expel. Madame Dénise noticed this. “It is always best to let the solution work it’s way into all the nooks and crannies of the enemee’s bowels. This can take several minutes at the very minimum and if possible should be protracted to up to half an hour or more. Sometimes the subject will need to be aided in holding up the solution. An anal plug can be inserted.” She held up a small cylindrical object.

“It is not included with the set I’m afraid,” she smiled. “Otherwise a finger up the ass works just as well and has the advantage of allowing direct physical contact with rectal and anal muscles. This permits the active person to gauge the strength of intestinal contractions.” She pointed to Sandi, “You can try first. Dip your finger in a jar of oil. Or would you prefer a plastic glove to put on first ?”

Sandi shook her head. Madame Dénise held out a jar of lubricant. I watched Sandi dunk a quivering digit into the slimy stuff.

“You must not be overly cautious at this stage. It is best to quickly plunge the finger into the opening.” Sandi did just that, turning and twisting as she pushed her index finger into Cathérine’s asshole. “You can hold it like that for as long as necessary although between spasms it is not strictly necessary to keep the anus plugged up.”

Madame Dénise put her hand on her niece’s abdomen. “You should be able to feel the anal muscles contracting and regularly flexing around your finger, no ?”

Sandi nodded.

“Good, when the spasms cease, you may withdraw your finger. Then the other young lady can take her turn.”

Nancy also penetrated Cathérine’s lovely little quivering bottom for several minutes and stood just as transfixed and wide eyed as Sandi. By this time poor Cathérine’s demonstration had lasted upwards of 20 minutes, more than enough time for the irritating soapy solution to have primed her intestines to a state of acute discomfort. It was more than apparent to me that the girl could not hold back much longer.

Madame Dénise decided the same. She let Cathérine get up and hobble over to the toilet stall. We could hear the audible gush of water spurting from the girl’s bowels along with other accompanying sounds. I am sure I heard a few soft ‘oh mon Dieu’s !!’ and several other invectives as Cathérine let go.

The toilet finally flushed and the young girl stepped out, looking a bit tired but otherwise just as passively silent as during her treatment. The pharmacist washed her pubic and anal region with a damp cloth and then bade the girl to lay down again.

“Clystering is a somewhat strenuous, if pleasing activity and one shouldn’t just rush off back into the daily routine. It is best to lay down for a short while. This is also an ideal time for a routine inspection and examination of the genitalia, due to their being co-axially stimulated and aroused by the process. A manual self examination can be done though a supplementary visual inspection should be preformed as well.” She nodded towards me. “For you two girls it would be indicated that a more experienced person such as your uncle carry out that task. I do the same for my niece of course.”

Wonderful advice indeed. I hoped my ‘nieces’ heeded it well.

“As a final point I have found it extremely beneficial to either allow supervised masturbation of a brief duration or else to administer a therapeutic orgasm for purposes of relaxation. This according to the situation.” Madame Dénise looked at me. “Perhaps Monsieur would care to demonstrate ? After all, I am sure he will be fulfilling this task in regard to his nieces.”

Ahem, well yes indeed. This was turning into a Jim Dandy sales pitch. I wondered if all her customers for clysters got a similar presentation ? Whatever the case I politely declined.

“Chicken,” Sandi taunted me, suddenly understanding French quite well. “I’ll do it if you don’t dare.”

“It’s not a question of daring. I think you’ve seen enough to make up your minds by now. What’s it going to be girls ?”

They didn’t need much time to decide. Both opted for the versatile Le Grand Dudouche clyster set. I informed the pharmacist that the demonstration had been extremely helpful in making up their minds and that my nieces were satisfied that the set contained everything they needed. They would each buy one.

Well of course she beamed at making a good sale, as all storekeepers would. But she seemed a little disappointed that I didn’t take up administering to Cathérine.

Pleading a lack of time I thanked both for all the trouble they had gone to. I bundled my ‘nieces’ back into the shop where they each paid for a ‘Grand Dudouche’. Madame Dénise wrapped up the large boxes as best she could, the girls paid and we left the shop, the girls carrying the sets.

Come evening we retired to the relative privacy of the girl’s tent and explored the myriad delights of their new toys. It was a bit cramped and we had to come up with some contortionist positions, but all things considered, we managed quite well.