I was first given an enema when I was about eight years old. For some time I had been disobedient and my mother, in exasperation, one evening said, “Go up to your room and get undressed. I am going to give you an enema and see if that will help your disposition!”
I slowly climbed the stairs to my bedroom in fearful trepidation, not knowing what strange fate would befall me. As I disrobed, I felt a shivering wave of anxiety come over me. After a long, long, agonizing wait, my mother appeared, with a big bucket full of soapy water, a chamber pot, a rubber sheet, and a jar of Vaseline.
She spread the rubber sheet over the side of the bed and across the floor, and said: “Now I am going to give you an injection of this soapy water into your bottom. Lie down on your tummy over the edge of the bed on the rubber sheet.” Then she lifted from the bucket the enema syringe. It consisted of a red rubber tube about two feet long with a bulb in the middle, a Bakelite nozzle at the end, and some sort of metal fitting on the other.
When I saw this and realized what was going to happen to me, I was overcome with humiliation. I burst out crying and refused to comply and bend over. But my mother, a well-built woman, was very short. “Bend down this instant, “ she said. “I won’t have any more of this nonsense, and you are going to have this enema!”
With that, she pushed me down onto the rubber sheet, slapped my buttocks sharply, and held me there. Holding me down with her left hand, she dipped her right hand into the Vaseline and then worked it to and fro in my tender young anus. I still yelled, but somehow I didn’t mind the feel of her greasy finger inside of me. Next, I felt the insertion of the plastic nozzle sliding into my well-lubricated orifice and the hand was removed from my back to squeeze my buttocks together to hold it in place.
Then began the enema. Squeeze . . . I could feel the jet of warm water gushing into my rectum. Squeeze . . . Again the hard flow of warm water for two or three seconds. Squeeze . . . Once more the water flowed into my overloaded bowel. Three squeezes. Slow and steady.
“Four . . . Five . . . Six.” Relentlessly my mother counted as she went on. “Seven . . . Eight . . . Nine . . . Ten.” I was beginning to feel very full, and the soap began to sting inside me. “Eleven . . . Twelve Thirteen.”
“Stop!” I yelled. “I’m bursting.”
“No you aren’t,” she said. “You will take twenty. Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen,” she continued.
“Ooh! I can’t take any more,” I shouted, my voice trembling.
Compressing my cheeks even harder she said, “Oh yes you can. Eighteen . . . Nineteen . . . Twenty.” I was in agony. “There you are. That is all. Now get up on the bed and lie still. You must hold it until I tell you that you release, then you can go in the chamber pot.”
I pressed my buttocks together and waited. After a minute or two, a pain began in my bowels and I felt a strong urge to evacuate. I squeezed even harder and rocked back and forth. The pain mounted, and I thought that I would have to let go, but then the pain suddenly eased. I relaxed, but a minute or so later the pain and pressure returned and increased to a climax. I held again and fought the crescendo of pain and the desire to let go and my mother said: “Hold it in once more and then you can go.” The next time the pressure began to mount, I held my muscles together with all my might. The pain was unbearably intense as I hobbled over to the chamber pot.
I let it all go, and the relief was pure bliss. Soapy water and the contents of my bowel jetted from me in great spurts and farts, interspersed by periods of rest. It was twenty minutes before I felt there was no more to come.
I had stopped my crying, and I felt warm and light in my lower regions. My mother was pleased. “You took that quite well,” she said. “But next time, I don’t want any of that yelling.”
Next time . . . So there was to be a next time. My feelings were already a mixture of dismay and fascination.
There was indeed a next time, and many, many more to come. It has been a lifetime of enema experience, and my enthusiasm is as great as ever.