I got my first enema one summer when I was still in grammar school. It was a hot August day and I spent the morning playing outside with my friends, looking forward to the Magic Show my Dad had promised to take me to that night.
After lunch, when Mom left the table to tend to my baby brother, Dad and I talked about the Magic Show and my anticipation built. Dad asked me if I’d had a B.M. today. When I said I hadn’t, he told me I had to have a good B.M. before we went to the Magic Show that night so I wouldn’t have to go during the show. I probably needed something to help me have a B.M. “Would you rather take a laxative or an enema?” he asked.
I knew what a laxative was so I asked, “What’s an enema?”
“An enema’s water that’s put in your rear end,” he said.
I’d had many spoonfuls of Phillips Milk of Magnesia put in my mouth before. But I couldn’t imagine anything being put in my rear end and so, although I really hated the awful chalky taste, I said I’d rather take a laxative. “Well, we’ll see. A laxative might take too long to work,” said Dad, but he let me go back outside to join the other girls and boys.
We were playing in a backyard several houses down from mine when I heard Mom calling me. Thinking it was time for the afternoon nap that I still took at that age, I obediently ran to our house. Mom met me at the back door and led me toward the big downstairs bathroom, saying “Your baby brother’s asleep now and it’s time for your enema.”
When we entered the bathroom, I saw Dad at the lavatory with a big red rubber thing that I at first thought was the hot-water bottle that was used when I had an earache or chills from a fever. But this bottle had a red rubber hose coming out of the bottom and going back up into the open top that Dad was holding under the tap. Mom explained that Dad was “filling the enema bag” and led me to a large white bath towel that was spread on the floor next to the tub.
Mom sat on the floor beside me and removed my loose-fitting summer outfit. As she did, I could see that Dad was running the water into the “enema bag” over a big bar of Ivory soap. I couldn’t figure out how the soap would work from inside the bottle, but thought he was just cleaning it out. “Your enema’s almost ready, dear,” said Mom as she slid my panties off, leaving me standing there naked. I wasn’t embarrassed since this was similar to my nightly bath routine. However, the tub was empty and the water was going into the thing at the lavatory.
Dad shut off the tap and brought the budging red enema bag over to us. He got down beside Mom as she had me get down on my hands and knees with my naked rear toward them. I looked back over my shoulder to see what was going on. Mom was unscrewing the lid from a big blue jar of cold cream and Dad was taking the red hose out of the top of the bag. I saw a strange-looking black thing at the end of the hose. “What’s that?” I asked. Mom said, “It’s the enema nozzle.” Dad dipped the black enema nozzle into the cold cream and handed it to Mom, taking the jar and putting it on the tub. Mom smeared the cold cream all over the black nozzle with a finger. I could see Dad raise the bag up several feet above me, but couldn’t see what Mom was doing. She further spread my buttocks apart and begin to gently but firmly rub cold cream on my anus with her finger. I was enjoying the anal probing when her soft, warm finger was replaced by the hard, cool enema nozzle. The nozzle began to gently push against my tightly puckered opening. It didn’t hurt, but it did feel quite strange. I must’ve flinched because Mom said, “Relax, dear. It’s OK! I’m just inserting the enema nozzle. It won’t hurt. Just let it slip in.”
I’d never had anything pushed against my behind like this before, but Mom’s gentle tones must’ve reassured me enough so that I relaxed my anus. I could feel the nozzle begin to relentlessly push in, pause for a moment, and then slowly slide in deeper and deeper until it was completely buried in my bottom. Mom released my spread buttocks, allowing them to close on the red tube. I really didn’t understand what was going on, but I decided that if this was what an enema was like it was definitely much better than having to swallow several spoonfuls of vile-tasting laxative!
“We’re going to start the enema now,” said Dad. “Tell us when you feel full.” I heard a metallic click, felt the tube between my buttocks move and could feel the big nozzle inside me wiggle in an oddly wonderful way, but nothing else. I enjoyed the new feeling of the thing in my bottom for some time before Mom asked, “Can you feel the enema water?” I wasn’t sure what “enema water” was supposed to feel like, so I said, “I can feel something but I don’t know if it’s the enema water.” We all waited for several minutes before Dad said, “I don’t think you’re getting any soapsuds. The enema nozzle’s probably stopped up. “I again heard the click and felt the delicious wiggle between my buttocks and inside my rectum.
“Squeeze down so the enema doesn’t come out,” said my Mom. Despite my efforts to hold it in, she gently pulled the enema nozzle out of me. It felt even better coming out than when she put it in.
I sat back up on my heels and watched as Dad used a toothpick to clean out the hole in the black nozzle. Mom pointed the nozzle toward the towel and clicked open the clamp. I saw a stream of soapy water spurt from the end of the nozzle and began to realize that my parents meant to squirt that same soapy water up inside me. Now I knew how water could be put into my behind. Not with a spoon like the laxative, but with the enema bag and nozzle. I still didn’t know what the enema water would feel like, but I soon found out.
This time I was ready when Mom gently slid the enema nozzle back into me. This time, when the clamp clicked open, I could not only feel the tube and nozzle wiggle, but could feel something warm squirting inside me. I said “Yes” when Dad asked if I could feel the enema water now. It was a very strange sensation but I relished it. “Let us know if it hurts,” said Mom. “It doesn’t,” I said. “Well, tell us when you feel full,” Dad said.
There was no pain during the entire enema. I felt an enjoyable pressure build slowly up for what seemed like a long time. I remember thinking to myself how much better this was than that horrible Milk of Magnesia. Finally, I began to feel uncomfortable and said I’d had enough. The clamp was clicked shut and, after another caution to squeeze down and not let the enema come out, I felt the nozzle being pulled from my tightly closed rear.
“You can get up and sit on the toilet,” Mom said, “but don’t let the water out. Try to hold the enema in as long as you can.”
As I sat on the toilet holding in my very first enema, I watched Dad hang the big red enema bag on the shower curtain rod. He let the hose dangle down into the tub and opened the clamp to drain the remaining soapsuds from the enema bag. I remember thinking how much I’d enjoyed that stream of water squirting up my behind.
I began to have trouble holding in the enema as the urge to move my bowels increased. “Can I let the water out now?” I pleaded. “Yes Dear,” Mom said. “You’ve been very good about taking this enema and you’ve held the soapsuds in long enough.”
I let go with relief, deciding that an enema was a lot better going in than coming out. After quite a number of evacuations, I was taken off the toilet, cleaned and put to bed for an afternoon nap. As I fell asleep, I remember hoping we’d do an enema again soon.
I enjoyed the Magic Show that Dad and I saw that night, but not as much as I loved the “Magic Soapsuds Enema” I’d had that afternoon.