My Fantasies and Realities

Most of my fantasies involve nurses. It must be an oedipal thing because Mom was an RN and the first person to ever give me an enema, which also was the first stirrings of my sexuality.

I like the idea of the old style starched white uniform, the dress type not the pants suit, with white hose and a hat. She’s very proper with hair up in a bun maybe a pair of glasses. Her demeanor is very business-like as she gives the instructions to strip and get up on the table. Maybe it’s a pre-exam cleansing. First I’m told to get on hands and knees with head down. She dons her gloves and takes a small dollop of white petroleum jelly and applies it to my anus. Then taking a rather large squeeze bulb with a medium length pipe, she deftly but firmly inserts it, waits a moment, then slowly but forcefully gives it a squeeze sending a long continuous stream of warm liquid laxative deep into my lower rectal tract. She then tells me to hold that position as long as possible and when I’m ready, go to the adjoining restroom.

At this point she leaves me and my embarrassingly large erection alone while she goes to prepare the next part of this multiphase treatment. The warm fluid seeps lower and lower with the help of gravity and the laxative’s irritating effect begins to stir the beginnings of peristalsis, just a slight urge to defecate at this stage. As time goes by the urge gets stronger and stronger until it is more than just an urge. Then it begins to develop into cramps, mild at first, then stronger and harder until it’s imperative that I expel immediately. I get out of my position struggling to retain the fluid. I scamper for the restroom making it just in time to forcefully expel wave after wave of fecal matter and when I think it’s just about over, it starts again until I think there can’t possibly be any more.

Finally enough time passes between expulsions that I’m resonantly sure that it’s over. Then I wipe and go out to the exam room again. I sit on the exam table and wait a very short time before the nurse comes back in with a medium size steel can unit with a regular pipe attachment. She gives me a brief knowing smile and asks if I’m doing OK. I sheepishly say yes, at which point she assures me that the next step will be a bit more gentle. I’m instructed to lay on my left side and pull my right knee up to my chest.

While she is saying this she is hanging the can on an IV pole and putting a coating of lube on the 4 inch black nozzle. I do as I’m told and she touches my buttocks with her left hand and inserts the nozzle with her right hand all in one fluid motion. She holds the nozzle in place and informs me she is about to start the flow. The tube gives a slight tug as she grabs the clamp and I hear a snap as it is released. I feel nothing for a second or two, then the odd sensation of the water flowing across my mostly emptied rectum, cool at first as the water in the hose goes by and then warm. I can smell the distinctive smell of Castile soap and feel the water flowing into me. The jet plays across my prostate giving me a raging hard on which fortunately is hidden from view. I can feel the coolness of her slender fingers against my buttocks, gentle and almost caressing as she steadies the nozzle. She asks if everything is OK and I say, “Uh Hu.” I can hear the can against the pole as she checks the fluid level. “Almost done,” she says, “just a couple more ounces.”

Again I feel that familiar urge building up, a combination of pressure and cramping. I decide to tough it out, it has become almost a matter of pride. “There we go,” she says as the nozzle is deftly removed from my now puckering anus. I’m really glad I’m on my side as my erection is now a raging hard on that would be impossible to hide or pass off. The pressure, the stimulation of my anus, the erotic brushing of her hand against my buttocks, all combine in this moment. She is an icon of womanhood, cool, in control, all sexual yet nonsexual and if the possible results of the offer didn’t frighten me, I would offer her my body to do with as would please her. I have relinquished control of even my most private bodily functions to this woman and I wonder if she can fathom the psychological implications of that much surrender. All of this is going through my brain as she hangs the hose over the hook on the IV stand and presses a wad of tissue against my anus which is spasming ever faster and faster in response to the pressure, cramps and sexual anticipation. “Let’s see how long you can hold that while I prepare part three,” she says. (Part three?!!!) How far is this going to go on, I think.

She leaves the room again and I wait and wait, the solution is much milder and the cramps much less intense but the volume of water is almost ten times as much and retaining it all is not the easiest thing to do. After waiting what feels like an eternity but is really 3 to 5 minutes, I get up and scurry crossed legged to the bathroom where I sit down with a heavy sigh of relief and begin to masturbate as I expel. I just can’t resist and I think of my cool, haughty beauty of a nurse in an erotic and somewhat compromising position and state of undress. The pressure on my prostate along with the water rushing past my anus and the thoughts of the Naughty Nurse Nancy of my dreams combine to have me splashing semen against the wall across the room in an embarrassingly short time. I milk my penis for all it’ll give and then panic a bit about the mess I just made, and what if it were discovered suddenly?

My innermost kinkiest thoughts and desires made public and lying guiltily on the floor in an incriminating pool of semen. God, I’ve got to wipe it up; I’ve got to wipe me up; can she smell it on me? But all these thoughts are useless for I am tied to the toilet by the prospect that another explosive outburst of my enema will come ripping from my anus at any moment almost without warning. I am still powerless and she is still in control even without knowing it or even being in the room.

After finally finishing I hurriedly wipe myself and then the floor and lastly try to sop up the sticky white fluid clinging to those short curly hairs like the canary’s feathers hanging from the mouth of some unrepentant old tomcat. I draw warm water in the sink and soap up and rinse off knowing that it can’t possibly be adequate to the task at hand (so to speak). I can hear her out there already quietly humming as she hangs the equipment, she seems to be enjoying all this I think, but in the next thought pass it off to my imagination and wishful thinking.

“Are you almost done?” I hear her call out as she hears me stirring.

“Almost,” I say and reach to flush the almost overflowing commode. Good God what can she be preparing next. I finish looking myself over for any signs of incriminating evidence and then steel myself to go out and face the music. What I find is the object of my dreams, a huge bag of soapy Castile water hung high and what has to be 50 inches of large bore colon tube (a 40 Fr. at least), and connecting it all together, a long length of gum amber hose.

“We’re down to the final stretch”, she says, “this and one more plain water to rinse should do it.”

I am placed on the table in the Sims position for a start and watch as she lubes the first 6 inches of the tube. This is going to be the legendary “Three H enema,” I think to myself, high hot and hell of a lot.

“Now try to relax,” she says, “it will make the whole thing much easier to insert.”

“The whole thing?” I say.

“Now, now,” she says, “I’m very good at this, you’ll hardly notice it after the first four inches. Let’s begin.”

With these words she again spreads my cheeks with one hand and smoothly inserts those first four inches with the other. I hear the snap of the clamp and she then tells me what she is doing step by step. The object it seems is to go over every inch of my colon, upper and lower, so she is going to insert the hose slowly with the water flowing the whole time.

While she is saying this, I feel the hose being slowly eased into me deeper and deeper. It is a marvelous sensation both the slow sliding of the well lubricated tube slithering past my anus and the warm water that is flowing into my bowels coming into me ever higher and higher in my rectum then my lower colon. A quick look over my shoulder tells me that at least 12 inches have already disappeared into me, but the movement cause the nurse to say, “Now, none of that. Just close your eyes and relax and let me worry how much farther we have to go.”

I do as I’m told and feel that wonderful flow as it goes higher and higher and she stealthily eases more and more hose into me. “We’re at a bend now,” she says, “and I want you to relax and take a deep breath and let it out slowly, OK.” I do as instructed and while I am, I feel her give a steady push on the tube as she rotates it at the same time negotiating the right angle turn at the top of the colon with ease.

“OK, we’re past that now,” she says and the tube is pushed farther and farther along. I am feeling full by now and only the fact that the point of injection is farther and farther along the route keeps us from having to stop the flow to adjust to it.

“Now,” she says, “I want you to turn on to your other side.” This is somewhat of a start to me because this will of course expose my now raging erection, but she is already starting to turn me in the direction she wants, first to my stomach and then over, taking care all the time to not tangle or disconnect the hose. I see a small knowing smile cross her lips as my hard on bobs up and down and it is the first crack I have seen in the armor of her cool demeanor, but in her most professional manner she pretends that the object of her amusement does not exist.

But it’s too late to keep from me the knowledge that beneath that cool demeanor does exist a smoldering sexual being, and I can envision her as a tiger, a real man eater, a take charge kind of woman. And this of course, makes me even harder than before, it is almost purple with turgidity. During the turn I also note that better than two feet of the tube has gone in and only 1/2 of the length is left. The next foot and a half go in almost unnoticed and she lets the water flow at the terminus for a minute. Then much more slowly than it went in, I feel the tube being withdrawn. Millimeter by millimeter it is withdrawn slowly as the water continues to flow the whole time.

I am positively bulging by now and the feelings are intensifying by the minute, when suddenly something happens that has never occurred before and spontaneously and without warning I begin to ejaculate all over the exam table. “Don’t worry,” she says, “that sometimes happens” and goes to wipe me off with her gloved hand which has the effect of making me spurt even more. I say I’m sorry, to which she says not to be silly, as I have no real control over it. She then suggests helping me expel the last of it and the problem will be done with. Not waiting for an answer, she takes some KY in her gloved hand and expertly massages the end of my penis in a manner that says she is no stranger to the art.

I am writhing now in an attempt to not scream out or otherwise make a fool of myself and finally she is done and I realize that all the time this has been going on she has been sneaking the rest of the hose out of me and that the full bag or what must have been more than a gallon has been deflated. She clamps off the hose, leaves the last 6 or so inches in me, and says she had better accompany me to the toilet this time. Holding the hose in place as a sort of plug, she carries the bag and seats me on the commode and only then pulls the hose from my anus to the torrent of water that she knows is following. “This will take quite a while to expel properly,” she tells me and not to get up right away when I think I am done.

“Thank you,” I say and in reply she pats my shoulder silently as if to say it’s just between us, dear boy. When I come out this time the table has been set up with the stirrups they use for women’s pelvic exams and this time she tells me to lay on my back with me buttocks at the edge of the table and then she helps me put my feet in the stirrups. She explains that this is going to be a saline lavage and that there should be no pressure build up and therefore, no discomfort. I am taken aback for I see the hose connected to a 15 gallon clear plastic Jerry can by a stopcock type nozzle. I know it’s 15 gallons because it says so right on the side of the container!

There is a long somewhat thin tube attached to the can (18 Fr. or so) and on a tray are laid out another 48 Fr. long colon tube and some lubricant. She picks up the large colon tube and inserts the smaller catheter into the lateral eye just below the tip so that it is riding piggy back inside and along the larger tube. She then lubricates both of the tubes as one along their first 6 inches and then puts a dab on my now rather sensitive rosebud. Then she begins inserting both of the hoses at once using the larger one to carry the smaller one past my anal sphincter. As soon as they are well placed she takes the larger colon tube and places the other end well inside a sort of dentist’s style sink and secures it in place to ensure the waste won’t end up anywhere else. Then she turns on the constantly running flow of water just like in the dentist’s office.

She then turns the flow on from the huge vat of water on the table above the exam table and as the first wave of water begins, she starts to snake the large bore tube up my colon again leaving the small bore one in place for the moment. The pressure begins to build until it finds the end of the longer larger colon tube and then it starts to trickle out into the drain on the sink. Meanwhile she has reached the end of the colon with the large tube and now is snaking back the small one to meet it. Once they are both seated as far in as they can go she stars to slowly pull them back out as if as one. This all takes a good 30 minutes or more and as it ends, I see that the water coming out the end of the tube is as clear as the water going in. She lets the water flow for a while until most of the vat has been used up and then clamps and removes the hoses and cleans me up saying that that should do it and that I am now as clean inside as any newborn, and maybe cleaner. I note to her that though tired I feel remarkably well and ask if this could be attributed to the cleansing.

She says, “Yes, that is very possible.”

I then ask if the treatment could be used as a tonic and not just for exam purposes and she remarks that she has indeed heard of such practices, all the while getting the equipment stowed away for cleaning and sterilizing.

“Well,” I ask her, “would you ever be available for any private duty for such a thing?” and a sly smile passes her lips.

She says, “I think something could be arranged.”

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