These are true stories of my childhood enema experiences. There are some fill-ins, primarily to build up the story, but the events themselves, as much as I can remember, are true. The names in this story have been changed to protect the “innocents.”
The reader should be aware that the contents of this story are graphic, involve male minors, and uses language of a sexual and homosexual nature.
I dedicate this story in loving memory of my Aunt Edna, whose gentle kindness and tender love will never be forgotten! We love you and miss you!
My mom worked as a nurse and was trying to raise 4 kids by herself. My dad left us when I was about four years old. Mom had trouble dealing with dad’s leaving and developed some emotional problems. Being the youngest of the four, it was felt I would be better off living with my Aunt Edna. The other kids were old enough to stay at home and help mom out until she got better.
Anyway, I was about four when I went to live with my Aunt Edna and Uncle Irey. We were living in Ft. Worth, Texas at the time. Aunt Edna was a nurse’s aide. They had no children at home, so I was the only child living with them.
One day, I complained of having a headache. I remember it was nighttime because my uncle had already gone to bed. My bed - actually, it was a crib - was temporarily kept in the living room as they only had two bedrooms and one of them was used for storage. Aunt Edna was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine or something. When she heard me complain about my headache, she came over to my bed to check on me. I remember her feeling my head, then saying, “I better give you an enema for your headache.” She left the room, then came back a short time later, carrying a large, red enema bag, with hose attached, and laid it on the couch.
I don’t remember being frightened, and honestly don’t remember if I knew what an enema was then. I remember her picking me up out of my crib and carrying me over to the couch. She laid me on my back, then slid off my under-shorts. I was completely naked. The next thing I know, she had lifted my legs up and was slipping something cold in to my little bottom. I heard a “click” then she lifted the red bag up where I could see it. Then, I felt something flowing inside of me. That’s when I began to cry. I remember her smiling at me and saying. “Hush! You’ll wake up Uncle Irey.”
Shortly afterwards, I remember feeling the nozzle being slowly removed from my bottom. Then she pulled me up and sat me down on a bedpan. I was still crying and remember having to “poo-poo” (as we called bowel movements back then) a lot. I don’t remember what happened after that. I only know that it was the end of my first enema, and the beginning of many more to come.
Aunt Edna made good use of her enema bag while I was staying with her and Uncle Irey. She didn’t give them all the time, just when she felt I needed them. The first time was the only time I ever cried during an enema. Aunt Edna was very gentle with them. She never gave me an enema that was too hot, soapy, or held too high, at least, not that I remember. She always used her large bag, but held the bag low so the water would flow in more slowly. Sometimes she had to remove the nozzle and clean out the opening when it became blocked during the initial insertion.
For some reason - maybe it was because of the gentle manner in which she administered them - I never feared the enemas. Actually, they didn’t bother me much at all, ‘cept the cramping in my abdomen from the soap. When she told me I was getting an enema, I would instinctively begin undressing. It seemed like it was a natural thing to do. Aunt Edna was adamant about my being completely naked when getting an enema, so everything came off - shirt, sox, under-shorts, etc. Sometimes she gave my enemas to me in bed, sometimes on the couch, but it was always the same position: while laying on my back, knees toward the chest, while she sat at my posterior end, holding the bag up where I could see it. It wasn’t until I was seven, that she began having me lie on my left side, knees bent. She would pull up my right butt to expose my little pink hole, then slowly insert the black nozzle, and the enema would begin. Aunt Edna had a problem with her legs, so she could not carry me to the toilet. She would always have me use that white bedpan when I expelled the enemas. And she always gave me the enema until I was completely full, so that meant a pretty full bedpan, despite my small size.
As I said, she didn’t give them to me all the time. I would say probably about once a month anyway. Aunt Edna’s enemas continued until I was almost eight, when my mom decided to move us kids with her to upstate New York. I would not see another enema for a few years.
Mom, like her sisters in Texas, had a large red enema bag with red hose and black nozzles. She also had one of those clear, disposable enema bags kept in a box. It didn’t have a nozzle; the end of the tubing was rounded for insertion, and there was a white, plastic tab that marked the insertion stop point. The tab could be slid up and down the tube to increase or decrease the length of insertion. She also had a red infant enema syringe with a black nozzle.
Despite the impressive array of enema equipment that my mom had, I don’t recall her ever giving me an enema. Perhaps she did before I went to stay with my Aunt Edna, but I was probably too young to remember. She did offer to give me an enema one day, just before we moved to New York. I had found her enema bag, with nozzle and hose attached, and was sitting on the toilet, poking around my anus with the nozzle. I didn’t know how to use the enema, but apparently I had a fascination for the equipment. It looked just liked Aunt Edna’s. Much to my shock, mom came walking into the bathroom while I was playing with the enema equipment. She immediately saw the equipment, with the tube in my hand. I remember being extremely embarrassed as she looked down at her 7-year old son, his pants down to his ankles, playing with an enema nozzle. She asked me if I wanted an enema. I said, “No,” quickly pulled up my pants, and left the bathroom, with the enema equipment still lying on the sink. Mom didn’t press the issue, and it was left at that.
So for the next few years, I didn’t get anymore enemas. Then one day, I ran across my mom’s equipment again, quite by accident. I was ten years old at the time. We had an old-fashioned bathtub, the kind with legs, which sat along one wall of the bathroom. At the rear and almost above the tub, was a built-in medicine cabinet. At the other end, was a wood cabinet that was also used to store medical supplies, along with towels and other bath linens. The cabinet didn’t reach all the way to the ceiling, so there was a space about 12 or 14 inches between the top of the cabinet and the ceiling.
One day, when I was home alone taking a bath, I became curious about the space above the cabinet and wondered if there was anything up there. I stood on my toes on the bottom of the tub, dripping bath water, and reached up and felt around the top of the cabinet. I felt something rubbery. I knew right away what it was: It was my mom’s enema bag. Feeling around again, I found the tubing, then a small box. I took the box down and opened it. In the box were the black nozzles: an infant size rectal tube, an adult size rectal tube, and a douche tube.
Memories of my aunt’s enemas started to come back in a flood. I felt a strange sensation between my legs and, when I looked down, saw that my little circumcised penis was erect and sticking straight out. I don’t remember if I ever had that feeling before, certainly not when Aunt Edna gave me my enemas, but I knew it had something to do with the enema equipment I was holding then. I remember lying down in the bathtub, taking the adult size rectal tube, and poking around my anus with it like I did when my mom caught me that one day. Then I tried to stick in my hole, but it wouldn’t go in. Of course, I never gave it any thought that you had to lubricate it first. A little disappointed, I put the equipment away, finished my bath, and went out to play, and as I recall, with my penis still erect from the experience.
From time to time, whenever I took a bath, I would take down the box of enema nozzles and play with them, trying to get them to go inside of me, without much luck. And each time, I would get an erection and play with my penis while poking around my hole with the nozzle.
I don’t think I really knew what sex was, though I probably had a good hunch. But, I do know that whenever I thought about playing with the enema equipment, I would get an erection.
I often watched my mom put cold cream on her face at night. She kept the jar in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. One day, while looking in the cabinet for something, I ran across the cold cream. I opened it and felt the cream. It was smooth and silky and slippery. Then it dawned on me: I couldn’t get the nozzle in because it needed something slippery on it. No one was home, so I quickly took off all my clothes and climbed into the bathtub. My 10-year old dick was hard, of course, which meant I was about to do something very exciting. I reached for the box of nozzles and sat them on the floor next to the tub. Then I reached into the medicine cabinet for the jar of cold cream. I remember feeling very excited, and nervous.
I opened the jar of cold cream, then took out the adult size enema nozzle. I took a little of the cream and smeared it on the end of the tube, then laid down on my left side, like my aunt had taught me to do. I pressed the nozzle against my anus, pushed it a little harder, and much to my joy, it began to slide right in. I pushed it in slowly, as far as it would go, then laid there for awhile, on my left side, the nozzle deep in my rectum. As I lay there quietly, I began to recall the enemas Aunt Edna gave me. I pretended I could feel the water flowing inside me. I had not yet had the nerve to hook up the bag. That would come soon enough.
After a few bath sessions with the nozzle, I decided one day, to go for the real thing. Again, no one was at home, so I went in to the bathroom with the pretense of taking a bath. After stripping down, I stepped into the bathtub, I reached up and took down the box of nozzles, but this time, I also took down the bag and tubing. It didn’t take me long to figure out how it all went together, as I had watch my aunt prepare the equipment for my enemas on a number of occasions. There was also a wire coat hanger on top of the cabinet, so I took that down to hang up the bag with.
After I put the enema equipment together, I went through the usual routine of lubricating the nozzle and sliding it into my rectum. I had hung the bag on the towel rack, so it hung just the way I remember my aunt holding it. This time, I laid back down on my back so I could see the red bag hanging above my thighs. I played with my erection for a little while, staring at the bag, feeling myself getting more excited as I imagined all that water flow up my little behind.
I missed those feelings that enemas gave me when they went in, and when they went out. I wanted to feel water inside me again, to watch my belly grow and become bloated, and I wanted to feel those strong urges to poo-poo. I longed for my aunt to give me another enema. What I wanted was a REAL enema. So I decided to go for it. I took down the bag, disconnected the tubing, and then ran some water from the faucet until it was just lukewarm. I held the opening of the bag under the water and watched it fill up to over flowing. I could barely hold; it was heavy. I reconnected the tubing and hung the equipment back up on the towel rack, using the heavy coat-hanger wire. I remember feeling some real discomfort in my groin. It was coming from somewhere around my erect penis. Though I was only ten, I apparently was experiencing a very strong sexual reaction to what I was about to do.
I laid back down on my back again and looked at the bag hanging up. This time, it wasn’t flat; it was rounded from all the water it was holding, just like Aunt Edna’s bag when she was about to clean me out. By this time, my penis was hard as a rock and bright red. My hands shaking a little, I slid the lubricated nozzle all the way into my rectum. I held my breath as I slid my little fingers down to the clamp. I fumbled with the clamp until finally, with a loud “click” it popped open. I immediately felt some air go into me, followed by the warm gush of water against the walls of my rectum. I began to immediately experience the growing urge to poo-poo, just like I did when I was younger. I reached for the clamp and stopped the flow. I just laid there, breathing heavy, staring at the big, full bag hanging above me. I was overwhelmed. I had done it. I WAS GIVING MYSELF A REAL ENEMA!
I reached for the clamp as soon as the urge began to subside, and let more of the water flow into me. Whenever I felt an urge to go, I would stop the flow, wait till it passed, then start it up again. My firm, flat, muscular abdomen was now no longer flat; it was starting to expand upward as my little bowels filled with more water.
I continued the enema until my belly was completely bloated and I could no longer take anymore. The urges were now non-stop, my little anus squeezing the nozzle as tight as it possibly could. The red bag was now almost empty, though it still had a fair amount water in it. But I had a problem: there was no bedpan to be slipped under me this time, and the toilet, though it was next to the tub, looked liked it was a mile away. I held my breath and slowly pulled the nozzle out, hoping I wouldn’t lose any of the enema in the tub. As soon as I took the nozzle out, I quickly crawled out of the tub and onto the toilet. I no sooner sat down then my bottom opened up. It sounded like a volcano: the enema gushed out, along with the poo-poo, just like it used to at Aunt Edna’s. Then, suddenly, I began to experience a much stronger feeling in my groin. I shivered and shook and groaned loudly for a few seconds, the enema still gushing from my anus, and then the feeling was gone. I probably didn’t know it at the time, but I had also experienced another “first:” my first male orgasm…at the young, tender age of 10!
From that day on, self-administered enemas became a routine part of my bathing practices whenever I was home alone. That was usually quite often (every time I see the movie, “Home Alone,” it reminds me of that experience, since I was about the same age as the boy portrayed by MacCauley Culkin, and was just as handsome, if I may say so). I probably didn’t realize it at the time, but I was definitely hooked on enemas.
One day, when I was eleven, I decided to try something different. Instead of the red enema bag, I took down the infant bulb syringe. I took off the infant nozzle and slipped on the adult nozzle. I went into the kitchen and got a large metal utility bowl. I took the bowl back into the bathroom and began filling it with warm water from the bathtub faucet, since it wouldn’t fit under the sink faucet. I took bar soap and swished it around until the water was turning milky in color. Then I placed the bowl, and the rectal syringe, on the floor next to a towel I had put down for me to lay on. I stripped completely naked, laid down on my left side, and placed the bowl of soapy water, they syringe, and the cold cream in front of me. I lubricated the nozzle, then squeezed the air out of it so I could draw water into it. I slid the nozzle into my rectum, then squeezed the bulb, forcing the warm soapy water to squirt into me. I slid the nozzle out, then refilled the bulb, and squeezed more water in my rectum. I remember liking the feel of that contoured nozzle sliding in and out of my anus. The bulb provided a unique experience for a very young enema lover. While administering the enema this way, which seemed to take forever, I imagined, not my aunt, but another BOY doing that to me. It was the first time I had imagined anyone other than Aunt Edna giving me an enema. It was an exciting new thought and before I could even finish the enema, I had another orgasm.
I remember, shortly after I turned twelve years old, taking down the disposable enema kit which, obviously, was never disposed of. I had taken this bag out a few times before but, for some reason, was not really interested in using it. I liked the big red enema bag for my enemas. But this time, I decided to use it. I was more interested in the tube than the bag. The reason: because it could be inserted farther than the standard nozzle.
The box had instructions on it, along with a six-inch printed ruler. The instructions said no more than six inches should be inserted into the rectum. So, after removing my clothes, I filled the bag with soapy water and got out the Vaseline (I had since discovered the Vaseline as a more suitable lubricant, as well as the routine of holding bar soap under running water when slowly filling the enema bag).
I slid the plastic stop down the tubing, using the measurement on the side of the box, until it was six inches from the end. I lubricated the tubing, hung the bag from a towel rack, then laid down on the bathroom floor. I slowly inserted the tube, guiding it in until the stop touched my anus. The feeling of the longer tube sliding in was very erotic. It was also slightly bigger round than the black nozzle. I opened the valve and let the soapy water flow in until the bag was empty (by this time, I had little trouble taking a full two quarts, unless I had a lot of poop in me). After expelling the enema, I decided to do it again, but this time, I wanted to see HOW far I could insert the tube.
I refilled the bag and sat down on the floor. I slid the stop down the tube almost to where it connected to the bag. The tubing was flexible, about six feet long. I laid on my back, knees pulled up, and inserted the tube into my anus. I slowly pushed the tube in, feeling the constant coldness of it as it slid past my tight anus. At one point, I felt a little pressure in my insides. The tube had reached the first turn in the intestines. I pushed a little harder, but very slowly, vowing to immediately withdraw the tube if I felt any sudden pain. But there was no pain. Pushing a little harder, I felt the tube suddenly move more freely as it cleared the bend. I continued slowly inserting the tubing, adding a little more Vaseline as I went along. I was feeling somewhat like an explorer, concentrating on every movement of the tube through my colon. At one point, it felt as if it were very near my stomach.
Finally, I reached a point where I was afraid to go any further, though I was feeling no discomfort. But, at this point, the tubing went directly from my anus to the bag; there was no more tubing left to insert anyway, without taking the bag down. Moving slowly with that tubing still inside me, I reached for the plastic stop and slid it down the tubing until it just touched my anus. Then I opened the valve and let the enema flow. For the first time, I literally filled up without hardly any urges to go. When the bag was about two-thirds empty, I stopped the enema and began slowly withdrawing the tubing until I felt it clear the bend between the rectum and colon. There was a distinctive “pop” as the bent end of the tubing straightened out upon leaving the colon, with the sound being caused by the tubing slapping against the wall of my rectum. I opened the valve again, and finished the enema, filling up my rectum to capacity. Then I really had to poo-poo!
While gushing the enema water into the toilet, I looked at the tubing. I think I remember the stop being about half way between the bag and the end of the tubing, which told me that I had inserted about three feet of tubing through my intestines! I masturbated to an orgasm while expelling the enema and looking at the tubing. Although I was twelve, I had not yet reached sexual maturity, and so my orgasms where still “dry,” but felt good nonetheless.
And so ends the first Chapter on my experiences with enemas as a young boy. But the adventures were just beginning. In Chapter Two, we go from receiving to giving while, my dreams about other boys, and my first “wet” orgasm.
Before beginning Chapter Two, let me describe what I looked like back then. I was a very handsome youngster, with fiery red hair, pale skin, lots of freckles, slim and muscular. I had a beautiful, slender, choirboy-like face. We used to have a full-length hall mirror that was very narrow but tall. I remember going into the hall and standing, fully naked, in front of a mirror, my white, well-shaped body in a side view, the red enema tubing dangling from my small, but firm, well-rounded, buttocks. I remember my hairless dick sticking straight out in front of me, my testicles drawn tight against the base.
I often took a 12-inch mirror that I had found in the attic and used it to observe my anus while giving myself an enema. I was fascinated with the sight of the nozzle sliding into that small, pink hole. I watched as the anus tightened up with the urges brought on by the enema. My anal opening was just a light shade of pink. There was no bile discoloration around the anal area, as is common. A few times, I sat on the toilet, held my legs up so I could see my anus in the mirror, and watched as the hole opened up and the enema came gushing out, along with a few large stools. That was usually good for bringing on a strong orgasm afterwards, even though a few times found myself cleaning the bathroom floor when I missed the rim of the toilet.
I don’t mind bragging about how handsome I looked in my early years, though I certainly can’t say that about me now (age has its ugliness). People would often tell my mom, “What a beautiful looking son you have. He should be a model!” It was those images in the mirror that made me appreciate the looks of other boys my age. Soon, I found myself looking at the bottoms of other boys, trying to imagine what they looked like naked; more importantly, what they looked like naked AND taking an enema.
I couldn’t understand it then, but I had strange thoughts about other boys. I found them to be more attractive than girls. It would be quite a few years later before I would realize I was gay.
Though I secretly enjoyed my enemas, I began longing for the moment when I could give another boy an enema. I wanted him to feel as I did, when I got my enemas. I wanted him to have an orgasm while he sat on the toilet, gushing out his bowels, just like me.
The opportunity finally did come. But that is a whole new chapter!
(Note: The events in this story are true, though some fill has been added to give it body. The names have been changed.)
I grew up like most boys, interested in things that 12-year olds were interested in, like sports, marbles, climbing trees, and the like. I was pretty normal for my age except for one minor detail: I had an enema fetish. I was always giving myself an enema from my mom’s big red enema bag with its red tubing and black nozzles. It was a private thing for me; I didn’t share what I did with others. I gave them to myself as often as several times a week, sometimes on the bathroom floor, but mostly while laying inside the bathtub. And, I would masturbate my little member until I had unloaded a wad of sticky white stuff, usually while I was filling up with the enema, or expelling it. Sometimes I would masturbate to an orgasm several times during one enema session. But, I took care to make sure no one knew, always carefully wiping off the equipment and leaving it on top of the cabinet in a way to facilitate drying.
I remember I had a lot of boyhood friends during those pubescent years. But the one who most stood out the most in those memories was Jonathan. He was the 10-year old brother of my best friend, Gregory, who was the same age as me. The three of us used to play all kinds of games, as kids normally do, but there was one unusual game we played. We would go upstairs in Greg’s house and he and I would take turns putting on his 13-year old sister’s dresses. Then we would remove our pants and under shorts, and flip the dress so as to give one another a glimpse of our private parts. Of course, we always had a hard-on when we did that. And we would get a laugh out of it. Sometimes, we would bend way over, legs spread, and pull up the dress to expose our anuses. For some reason, Jonathan never participated in the girly games, though he was there watching and laughing.
Both boys were handsome; Greg with his dark brown hair and boyish smile, and Jonathan, with his blond locks, brilliant blue eyes and flashy smile and perfect teeth. Actually, Greg was handsome, but Jonathan was simply precocious and beautiful. He had what many would call a “choir-boy” face. He was slim, but muscular. He had pale skin that only lightly tanned. Like his brother and me, he was circumcised. In fact, I had never met a boy who was uncut until I went to high school and saw a few of the older, hairy Italian boys taking showers. I guess circumcision was far more prevalent in the Polish-Irish neighborhood where I grew up.
When I reached 12 (I had been giving myself enemas since I was 10), I began to dream about giving other boys enemas. As I laid there, a self-administered enema slowly filling my bowels, I use to wonder if Greg and Jonathan had ever experienced this. More often, though, I thought about Jonathan. Each time I began to experience a strong urge to move my bowels during the enemas, I would imagine that beautiful lad experiencing the same urges; the same feeling of warm water filling the rectum. I would imagine him lying on his side or back in the tub or on the floor, completely naked, with that black nozzle deeply buried in his little rectum.
Little by little I began to open up to Greg and Jonathan about enemas, but stopped short of telling them about my enemas. It didn’t take long for me to get the message that Greg had absolutely no interest in that sort of thing. Though he liked to show off his tight little hole when we played “girly” games, that was as far as he would let it go. Jonathan, on the other hand, expressed some interest, usually with a giggle or wide grin.
I began to hang around Jonathan more than Greg. Jonathan obviously had a liking for me, too, since he hung around me more than other boys his age. Jonathan was always pulling surprises. I remember one night, when Greg, me and Jonathan were camping out in a tent in Greg’s backyard. We had turned in and were almost off to dreamland, when I heard sudden giggling going on. Greg woke up and grabbed his flashlight and pointed toward his brother, who was on the other side of me. Jonathan was standing up, naked from the ankles up. His little dick was sticking straight out, hard as a rock; his balls drawn tight against the base of his penis. He was obviously getting a kick out of it. It was the first time I had ever seen Jonathan naked. I immediately got an erection. Greg, on the other hand, just grumbled, in a scolding voice, “Pull your pants up, Jonathan, and go to sleep. Quit playing around.” I knew then, I was hooked on Jonathan! He became the single focus of my boyhood enema fantasies.
Jonathan and I would play games and tease each other about the loser getting an enema with a bulb syringe. If you lost a marble game, for example, that meant one squirt of the bulb up the ass. Of course, it was just fantasizing. Neither one of collected on the “debt,” though I often dreamed of it, especially when I was giving myself an enema.
Jonathan and Greg lived only a few doors away, and Jonathan often came over to play. I used to watch the old TV game shows, my favorite being “Let’s Make A Deal.” I would invent games modeled after the TV shows and play them with Jonathan. I would offer things like my allowance and my models and other things I owned as prizes. Sometimes I won money from Jonathan, and sometimes he won money (or other things) from me.
One day, Jonathan played one of my games and lost, but didn’t have any money. I told him he had to give up something. Then, I thought, what about his clothes? Jonathan went along with the idea in his usual cheery manner, and began removing his clothing until all he had on was his white briefs and socks. No doubt that the game was becoming erotic for him as it was very obvious he had an erection bulging in his briefs. And he had a big grin, with a slightly flush face that told me he was a little embarrassed, but enjoying it just the same. I didn’t push him and gave him the opportunity to quit while he still had something left on. But, he insisted on playing another round of the game and, as one could expect, he lost. He looked at me and I looked at his raging hard-on. He got the message, and with a giggle, pulled his briefs down to his ankles. By this time, my own erect penis was threatening to burst the front of my pants. This time, there was no older brother around to scold Jonathan, and no one was at home; it was just me and Jonathan. I stared at Jonathan for the longest time, his beautiful body now fully exposed. I was fixated on his little, erect dick, now pink from the blood that filled it. His dick looked a lot like my own, with a nice round head and straight-as-an-arrow shank. He had small balls that were drawn up tight at the base of his penis, pretty much like mine. They didn’t sag or hang down like most boys I knew. But, I wanted to look at another side of him, so I asked him to turn around.
He had a beautiful set of smooth, white buns that were well-rounded and dimpled on the sides. I then asked him to spread his legs and reach for his ankles. He giggled some more, but did as I asked. He exposed his small, light pink hole for a moment, then stood up. I had seen enough! I told him to wait upstairs, and I made a mad dash for the bathroom, which was downstairs. I barely closed the door and got my pants open before hitting the bathroom wall with a huge wad of cum. I didn’t even have to masturbate. Just the sight of this handsome lad’s pink hole and hairless little dick was enough to cause one of the biggest orgasms I could remember.
Over the next few weeks, I would take my enemas and dream about Jonathan’s bottom and have multiple orgasms. He would still come over and play the games, and lost more often as I believe he really enjoyed taking off his clothes for me. And I, as usual, ended up in the bathroom having an orgasm. I never let Jonathan watch me jerk off, nor did I expose myself to him. I also did not touch any part of him. Just the “show and tell” was enough! But, I became more determined than ever, that I would someday give him an enema.
One day, I decided to see if I could get Jonathan to submit to an enema through one of the games, since he obviously was not shy about showing off his nude body. I invented a “Let’s Make A Deal” card game. I cut up a white poster board, that I had, into small cards, about the size of a deck of cards. On some of them, I put numbers with a dollar sign, from 25 cents, up to five dollars, and with a couple of model toys I had. Then, on several more cards, I drew pictures of thermometers (with a round end for rectal use, since we did have a rectal thermometer in the medicine cabinet) and hot-water bottles with hose and nozzles attached. After I had everything ready, I waited until my folks went out for the day. After they left, I called up Jonathan and asked if he wanted to come over and play another game. He would have to bring some quarters with him. He said, “Sure,” and, five minutes later, was ringing the doorbell. My dick was already erect when I went to let him in.
“Let’s go upstairs, I told him.”
“Ok,” he said in his little-boy voice.
We went upstairs to my bedroom. “We’re going to play a different game today,” I remember telling him (Author’s note: Though I remember the details vividly, I’m not certain about the dialog, so some of it may or may not be factual. The incidents, of course, are.)
I led him over to my dresser, where I had the game pieces. I took out my old Scrabble game and opened it up and removed the wood game piece holders, placing them end to end along the front of the dresser. Then I took the stack of made-up cards that were sitting on the dresser and, with the stack face down in my hand, began to shuffle them.
“This is a fun game with lots of prizes,” I remember telling him, “But, it also has some serious consequences.”
He just grinned and said, “Let’s play.”
After I shuffled the cards, I set them up side by side, with their backs toward us, along the length of the Scrabble holders.
“Okay, here is how the game works,” I explained. “You pay me a quarter to pick one card. If you pick a card with money or other prize, you get that prize. But, there are special cards, called consequence cards, too.”
“Oh, goody!” he said, grinning.
Jonathan reached into his pocket and pulled out several quarters and gave me one. “Do I pick a card?” he asked. “Yep,” I said, “any card.” He picked one that had a small cash prize, and I gave him the money.
He won a few more small prizes before finally picking one that had an enema on it. He laughed and, recognizing what it was, asked what to do with it. I explained to him that that was one of three consequence cards, that if the game ended with him holding that card, we would have to go to the bathroom and give him an enema or take his temperature. I told him the only way he can get rid of those type cards would be to pay me two dollars for each one. If he collected all three consequence cards, the game would be over. He didn’t quite have enough money to pay me, so he held on to it and chose to play some more. He won several of the models and one more cash prize, but also the thermometer card and the other enema card. He did not have the 6$ to pay me to take all three consequence cards back. Being the nice kid I was, I gave him a chance to give me back everything he won, keep the money he brought with him, and I would take back all of the consequence cards. Or, he could give me two or four dollars for one or two of the cards. He looked at the models and the money and, much to my shock, chose to keep all of them, knowing fully well that he would have to trade the consequence cards for what would happen in the bathroom.
“Okay, the game is over,” I told him. “The prizes are yours to keep. But we also have to do the consequences.” He just looked up at me and grinned.
“Give me the cards, and we’ll go down to the bathroom.” I remember my hands shaking as he handed me the consequence cards. He headed for the stairway, with me behind him.
We entered the bathroom and I closed the door and locked it. Before I left the bedroom, I grabbed a large, black handkerchief that was left over from a previous Halloween “Pirate” costume. Pointing to a towel on the towel rack, I told Jonathan to grab it and spread it out on the bathroom floor under the towel rack. After he put down the towel, I told him to sit down on it, which he did.
“You want me to take off my clothes?” he asked, with that ever-present wide grin. “Just your shirt and under-shirt,” I responded. After he took off his shirts, I knelt down next to him and said, “I’m going to put a blind-fold on you so you can’t see what I am doing. It will be more fun that way.” Then, he let me put the handkerchief around his eyes, and I tied it tightly behind his eyes.
“Okay, lay back,” I said, holding on to his back, “ and stretch your legs out in front of you. I will undress you” As he did so, I immediately noticed the small bulge in his pants, indicating an obvious erection. I removed his shoes and socks, then reached up and undid the snap and zipper of his pants, and spread it apart to reveal the front of his white briefs. Sure enough, he had an erection. “Lift up,” I told him, as I reached around the back and began to tug down his pants. I worked the pants off of him completely and laid them out of the way, with the rest of his clothes. He now had only his briefs remaining. He, of course, still had a grin on his face.
I got up and went to the medicine cabinet and took out the thermometer and the small jar of Vaseline. I carried them back over to Jonathan and knelt down next to him again. “One of the consequence cards had a thermometer on it,” I said. “That means I have to take your temperature. You will have to roll onto your left side.” Without hesitation, Jonathan rolled onto his left side, his legs straight out with the right leg on top of the other. I unscrewed the lid on the Vaseline jar and removed the rectal thermometer from its plastic case. Then I reached for his underwear. “Lift up for me,” I told him. He raised his hips, and I began sliding down his briefs, purposely letting my hands brush against his buttocks as I did so. His bottom felt cool to the touch, and very smooth and soft. I slid the briefs about halfway down his thighs.
“This won’t hurt,” I remember telling him, as I put the bulb end of the thermometer into the Vaseline. I withdrew the thermometer and set down the jar, then leaned toward Jonathan’s bottom. With my left hand, I lifted his upper buttock to expose the pink hole I had seen so many times during the games. His anus instinctively tightened as I placed the thermometer against it. Pointing it at his belly, I firmly pushed the thermometer until it began to slide past the anal opening. “Ooh, that’s cold,” Jonathan said as the thermometer slid past the anus, into his rectum. I continued to push the thermometer in until only about a fourth of it was sticking out of his hole, then released his buttock. Leaning back, I could barely see the thermometer sticking out from between those white buns.
“I have to do something else while waiting for your temperature,” I told him. “Lay very still, and if the thermometer starts to slide out, let me know.”
“Okay,” was his response.
I got up and went to the cabinet at the end of the tub and reached up to the top to get the enema equipment. After I took down the equipment, I looked over at Jonathan. He was still laying quietly on his left side, his back to me, with the thermometer still in place. I reached down inside the tub and turned on the hot water, letting it run until it was too hot, then turned on the cold water side and adjusted the temperature until it was just lukewarm, just as if I was preparing it for me. I took the bar soap for the dish and, while holding it under the running water, began to fill the large hot-water bottle until it overflowed.
“What are you doing,” Jonathan asked without moving. “You’ll see,” I said, turning off the water. I put the connector cap on the bag, then twisted on one end of the red tubing. Then I closed the clamp and laid the now full bag on the toilet lid. I opened the little box and took out the adult size enema nozzle and placed it in the other end of the tubing. I took another towel and dried of the bag and the toilet lid, then lifted the lid up. Pointing the nozzle inside the toilet, I opened the clamp and waited for the water to squirt out, indicating that the tubing was clear of any air. Clamping it shut, I set it on the floor next to Jonathan. I went to the cabinet, got the hanger from the top, then threaded the hook end of the hanger through the hole in the tab of the enema bag, and hung it on the towel rack, just above Jonathan’s hips.
All this time my own dick was throbbing. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was about to give the handsomest kid I had ever known an enema. There he was, on the floor, naked except for the briefs around the mid-thighs.
“Okay,” I said, “Lets see what your temperature is.” I lifted his left buttock up to expose his anus with the thermometer still firmly in place. As I touched it, he tightened up, preparing for the withdrawal. I slowly began pulling the thermometer out until the bulb end slipped out. Taking a piece of toilet tissue, I wiped the brown-stained Vaseline and pretended to check his temperature (I didn’t know at the time how to read a glass thermometer).
“Your temperature is ok,” I said. “Now comes the next step. Lift your legs up a little.” As he did so, I slid his briefs down to his feet, then off completely. Now he was completely naked.
“Bend your right leg up toward your chest,” I said, following the same routine I use when I give myself an enema. “Leave your left leg straight so that you are half on your side and half on your tummy.” He followed my instructions without hesitation.
Reaching up, I took down the enema tubing that I had draped over the towel bar. “You remember what the other consequences were?” I asked him. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You know that that means I’m going to give you an enema, right?” He nodded his head. “Don’t worry, It won’t hurt. I do this to myself all the time,” I confessed, as I lubricated the black nozzle.
My hands were now trembling. Using my left thumb and index finger, I gently spread his buttocks apart to expose the pink hole again. I placed the nozzle against his anus and he instinctively tightened up. “Relax,” I said. I pressed firmly, until his tight anal muscles parted and the nozzle began sliding in. He didn’t move.
“You’re going to hear a click, and then you’ll feel something flowing into you. It’s only water, so don’t be afraid. You’ll like it,” I said, hopefully. With my left hand on his buttocks, I used my right hand to unsnap the clamp with a loud “click.”
“Do you feel anything going in?” I asked him. He just nodded, then arched slightly forward and tightened his buttocks as the first urge hit him. I pinched the clamp shut. “I’ll let it in just a little at a time so it won’t be so hard to hold,” I said. “Try to take as much as you can.” After a few seconds, he relaxed a little as the water moved past the rectum into his bowels as I had experienced so many times. Then I opened the clamp and allowed a little more of the enema to flow in. Again, he arched forward and tightened up, a signal to stop the flow.
I continued administering the enema this way for about ten or fifteen minutes, noticing his tummy sticking further and further out. He lay there very quietly the whole time as the bag became more and more empty. Finally, he spoke up. “I don’t think I can hold anymore,” he said. Looking up at the bag, it was nearly empty. He had taken a very large enema for a kid his size. Afraid to push him too far, I said, “Okay, we’ll stop here.” I spread his now very tight buttocks apart, revealing an anus that was squeezing as hard as it could. I had to pull the nozzle firmly to get it to come out. As it cleared the hole, a little water squirted out of the nozzle on to his anus, a sign of a lot of pressure in his rectum.
“Don’t move,” I said, as I took another piece of toilet tissue and wiped the Vaseline off both the nozzle, and his anus. After a minute or so, he said he really had to go. I let him sit up, then helped him stand. He was still blind-folded so he needed help getting over to the toilet a few steps away. When he stood up, I noticed his tummy was really round and extended, as mine often was when I took the whole bag. His little dick was still just as hard as ever.
No sooner did Jonathan sit down on the toilet, than he let loose with a torrent. The enema gushed out of him, along with the “plop, plop” of large feces and an occasional fart. Once he released the pressure, the smile returned to his face, and he giggled with each squirt and with each fart.
While I was getting the bag ready for another enema (he still had one more consequence card left for an enema), he started laughing. Turning to him, I asked, “What’s so funny?”
“I have to pee and I can’t,” he said, laughing. Looking down at his penis, I realized the problem he was having. He had a firm erection and couldn’t get his penis down past the toilet seat. I laughed, too. “Wait a minute,” I said, “be right back.” I left the bathroom and hurried into the tool shed behind the house. I remembered my folks storing empty jars and cans on a shelf in there. I reached in and grabbed a large class jar, then hurried back into the house and into the bathroom.
“Hurry,” Jonathan yelled out, “I really have to pee.” I quickly rinsed the jar in the bathtub then took it over to Jonathan. I placed the open end of the jar over his penis, then lowered it until the bottom was lower than the top. I was just in the nick of time as the light yellow stream began to shoot from the slit in Jonathan’s penis. I held the jar for him as he squirted the urine against the side of the jar. I heard another stream, but that one came from Jonathan’s rear end as the last of the enema squirted out. I honestly don’t remember him complaining about the cramping that usually accompanies a soapy enema I wondered if he even had them.
After he squirted the last of the urine from his still erect penis, I set the half-filled jar down next to the toilet. “Are you finished yet,” I asked, noticing that his tummy was flat and muscular again. “I think so,” he said, starting to get up. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Your butt is probably a mess.” I remember mine always was after a large enema. I pulled off a large wad of toilet tissue and told him to bend way over. “Just lift your bottom a little so I can reach behind you.” After he bent over, I reached behind him with the toilet tissue and wiped off his rear end. It became instantly soaked with brown enema water. After several more wiping, he stood up and lifted the blindfold, then turned around and stared into the toilet bowl. I had not flushed it yet. The water was dark brown, with soap bubbles floating on top. He didn’t say a word, just stood there, his little penis still sticking straight out, staring at what used to be the contents of his bowels. Then he noticed the enema bag that I was refilling in the tub.
“You can take the blindfold off,” I told him. “You still have one more consequence card.”
“You’re going to give me another one?” he asked. “Yep,” I replied, “but this one will be much easier since you don’t have all that pooh in you.” He watched as I prepared the equipment. I followed the same steps as with the first one, but this time, without the soap. “The last one had soap in it,” I explained. “This one is just plain warm water. And you can watch it go in.”
He watched as I finished preparing the equipment and hung it back up on the towel bar. “I pointed to the towel and said, “Lay back down, on your back this time.” He got back down on the towel and laid on his back, his hard penis pointing up his abdomen. I knelt down next to him, reached for the enema tube, and lubricated it, aware that Jonathan was watching my every move, and occasionally looking at what must have seemed like an awful big bag of water hanging above him.
“Pull your knees toward your chest, but keep them spread apart,” I instructed him. He pulled his legs up, his knees almost touching his chest and his feet sticking in the air. In that position, his pink hole was fully exposed. “This is going to feel just like the first time,” I said, as I sat down and crossed my legs. I placed the nozzle against his anus and, again, he tightened up. I pushed the nozzle slowly into his anus, continuing to push until it was completely inserted. “Okay, you can put your feet down, but keep your knees bent,” I told him, while holding the tube in place.
“Watch the bag and try to take it all in this time,” I said, as I snapped open the clamp. He almost immediately tightened his anal muscles. In that position, I could watch his hole tighten with the urges and relax when they passed. I could tell the enema was more comfortable for him as he took more of it between stops. During the enema, I kept recalling the “early” days when I was Jonathan’s age and was giving myself these very same enemas in those very same positions in the very same spot. I could literally feel my own rectum tighten up with an imaginary enema while watching Jonathan take his, his belly slowly getting bloated like mine did. I told Jonathan, while he lay there, about my own enemas and told him he should start giving himself enemas. He just giggled, between grunts, of course.
I recalled seeing the bag become flat as Jonathan took the last of the enema. I slowly withdrew the nozzle and, again, a little water, that had been pushed back up the tubing by the strong urges he was now experiencing, squirted from the end of the nozzle. I wiped off the nozzle and his anus and told him to hold it for a few minutes. After doing so, he got up quickly and went to the toilet. This time, there was just the gushing of water since the larger feces had been cleaned out with the first enema. I had already emptied out the “pee” jar when I flushed the toilet earlier, so I got it ready as Jonathan still had an erection.
After Jonathan peed in the jar and wiped off his penis, I suggested he masturbate. “What’s that, he said grinning. “Just put your hand around your dick like this” (I curved my fingers around and moved my hand back and forth as if I were masturbating). He put his little hand around his penis and started sliding it back and forth. He started taking deep breaths and then let out a loud “Oh!” just as another gush of water shot from his butt. Then his penis got soft for the first time since he walked in the door. “Wow!” was all he could say, then he grinned at me. In all probability, Jonathan just had his first orgasm!
After I wiped him, he got dressed and said he better get home before his mother started looking for him. After he went out the door, I turned toward the bathroom, glancing at the clock. It had been about two and a half hours since he first walked in the door. My folks weren’t due for another couple of hours, yet. As I entered the bathroom to clean and put everything away, I became aware of a very uncomfortable wetness in my pants. After closing the door, I pulled my pants down and looked in my underwear. I was so focused on Jonathan, that I was only vaguely aware of my own throbbing dick, which I might add, was still completely hairless at that age. I was shocked by what I saw. The front of my underwear was soaked and filled with sticky cum. I was unaware during that I had had several orgasms while giving Jonathan his enemas, not to mention pre-cum!
I was panicked because I didn’t want my mom to see my underwear with all that stuff in it. I stripped down and took the bar soap and began scrubbing my underwear under the bathtub faucet. My mind apparently went from the underwear to Jonathan. Remembering that my folks were not due home for several hours yet, I figured what the heck! I draped my somewhat clean but wet underwear over the edge of the sink and grabbed the enema equipment off the towel bar. Instead of putting it away, I proceeded to refill the bag with warm, soapy water. I hung the equipment back on the towel bar and laid down on the same towel that Jonathan had just laid on. Lying on my left side, I inserted the nozzle into my own rectum, feeling every inch of the cold nozzle sliding past my anus, as Jonathan must surely have. I tried very hard to put myself in Jonathan’s place as I listened to the “click” of the clamp, then felt the warm flow against the inside walls of my rectum. I felt every urge as he did. I took my time, taking a good twenty minutes to get every drop of the enema in me. I looked at my own swollen tummy. Then, without any warning, I ejaculated, splattering large sticky wads of cum against the baseboard of the bathroom wall. I ejaculated again while expelling the enema. By this time, my little balls and my dick were sore. After cleaning up and putting everything away, I took a quick bath, then headed for my room. I was exhausted and took a long nap before mom woke me up in time for dinner.
The timing for Jonathan’s enemas couldn’t have been better. Three weeks later, his father got a promotion and a transfer. Jonathan and Greg and the rest of their family moved out of the city, and I never saw him or Greg again. I would not forget the first time I had given another boy an enema. It was not the last time, either. For only a month later, one of my aunts came to visit and left her 8-year old son, Scott, with us while she and her husband went on a “second honeymoon”.
But, that’s another chapter.