Emema stories

Emema Stories Inhaltsverzeichnis

Enema Stories Volume 3 continues the traditions of exciting and interesting stories about giving and receiving enemas. A student nurse experiences the power. Enema Stories (English Edition) eBook: Stonefox, T.C.: scampiforlag.se: Kindle-Shop. ISBN: This wonderful collection of enema stories covers the range of embarrassing medical procedures, to enemas being given in the home,​. Many translated example sentences containing "alle Geschichten" – English-​German dictionary and search engine for English translations. Enema-li | I love to draw, laugh and cute things. I'm very Die besten Pinnwände von Enema-li (@arteyata) | Instagram photos, videos, highlights and stories.

Emema stories

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Emema Stories Video

My first ENEMA

Emema Stories Video

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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 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. 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 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.

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 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! 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.

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 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 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 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.

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 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.

We went upstairs to my bedroom. 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.

After I shuffled the cards, I set them up side by side, with their backs toward us, along the length of the Scrabble holders. If you pick a card with money or other prize, you get that prize.

But, there are special cards, called consequence cards, too. My mother turned to him and said, "Tell him that it doesn't hurt.

The enema continued to flow. I began to cry out that I had to use the bathroom. No response; the enema continued. I don't want to be doing this again in a day or so.

I might not have all of this good help. This enema experience at the age of four or five is probably, in retrospect, my favorite episode, although at the time I still thoroughly detested receiving them.

It was a weekday morning. I was once again sitting in the living room floor playing with a toy car or truck.

I was wearing no socks, but I had on a striped T-shirt and shorts. While playing, I heard my mother telephone a neighbor.

When you get through with that, I want you to come down and help me give Bobby an enema" I, immediately, jumped up and began to cry, telling my mother "I don't need an enema; I don't want an enema.

She will not be here for awhile. If you have gone to the bathroom when she gets here, one will not be necessary. Plenty worried, I returned to play in the living room.

I was hoping she would not come for a couple of hours. I, then, heard a knock on the door; It was neighbor Louise. She hadn't waited any hour or two.

Whatever she was doing at home before arriving had only taken her five or ten minutes to finish. Immediately, Louise and my mother went into the bathroom to make the necessary preparations.

Out once again came the traditional head pillow, towel, Vaseline jar and enema equipment. I was pleading with them that I didn't need an enema; That I didn't want an enema.

Once everything was prepared and placed on the bed, my mother told Louise to remove my pants and underwear. I at this stage was stomping and crying.

What was I going to do? I, immediately, announced to my mother and Louise I had to use the bathroom.

Jerking free , naked from the waist down, I flew into the bathroom positioning myself on the toilet. To this day I remember the two of them sticking their heads through the bathroom door watching.

I remember my mother saying, "You can't go; You are all stopped up. While this verbal exchange was going on, my mother decided to try some psychology.

She stated that if I would not let Louise and her give me an enema , she was going to take me to the doctor's office to be given one. I well remember her saying, "Those nurses won't be as easy on you as Louise and I.

She then inquired whether they would do it and when she could bring me into the office. Here I was on the toilet, thinking to myself, the last place I wanted to go was the doctor's office.

They might not stop with an enema. I, immediately, jumped off the toilet seat and told my mother, "Ok, but I want Louise to do it because you hurt so bad.

I went to the bedroom where I was placed on my stomach on the towel with my head on the pillow, completely dreading what was to come.

Louise greased the enema nozzle, spread my cheeks and inserted it up my rear end. I never liked an enema nozzle being shoved into my rectum. I always cried while receiving an enema; it was always a mad, angry cry.

I screamed and pounded my fist vigorously up and down on the bed, kicking my feet into the air while wiggling from side to side. I then heard the bag lady, my mother, say: "Get it way up there, Louise.

I , however, continued to cry letting everyone know I was not a happy camper. I heard my mother ask Louise, "Does Joe," her son my age, "cry and carry on when you give him an enema?

My mother replied, "That must be so nice. We have to go through this every time with him. Even though all of my uproar, except the crying, had subsided and the chit chat had ceased, my enema continued.

I began to cry out to be allowed to use the bathroom. The enema continued on. Beside myself, I screamed that I needed to use the bathroom.

I flew to the toilet. My mother thanked Louise for her help reciting she really needed it with me. She then came into the bathroom to see how I was doing.

When I was five or six years old we moved into a larger house with a den next to the kitchen. The den was near both bathrooms. I can only remember while living there being given two enemas.

Both time they were administered at my mother's insistence for nausea. The first enema in the new house was given to me one evening by my parents.

I had thrown up all over the bathroom. My mother, after cleaning me up, ordered me to get into my bed. Bedclothes were not to be issued to me until after I had received an enema.

I, of course, protested loudly but I did go to bed naked as ordered. After the enema was prepared, I was told to come into the den. There I saw the traditional pillow, towel and Vaseline jar lying on the den floor rather than on a bed.

I was told to lie down on the floor. I cried and protested as usual. My father once again held the bag, while my mother got on her hands and knees to insert the nozzle.

I must have really given them a hard time, kicking and screaming but the enema was given anyway. My last childhood enema that I protested came as a surprise.

It was Saturday morning. I had once again thrown up. I was told to take my naked self to bed until called for my enema. I started to raise hell that I didn't want one.

A next door neighbor stuck her head in the kitchen backdoor and asked what was going on.. When informed, the neighbor laughed at my predicament but agreed to go to her house and look for a smaller enema syringe.

I always complained about the nozzles being too large even though they were normal in size. She did return with some kind of nozzle.

I don't know which my mother decided to use. My mother filled the bag up in the kitchen sink. The pillow and towel were all already in place on the den floor.

The next thing I remember was lying naked on the den floor as ordered by my father. Recalling my last enema episode, my father this time sat down in the floor to personally give me the enema.

Knowing the routine and how I resented these affairs, he literally sat across my legs pinning me securely to the floor. He then inserted the nozzle securely up my rectum.

My head and shoulders went up and down vigorously but I could not squirm away. As the enema started to flow I banged my head on the pillow with my fists pounding soundly on the floor.

I remember this scene well. As I looked around, across my back, past my rear end, I remember my mother holding the bulging red enema bag.

No matter how much I screamed and protested, I was definitely securely pinned to the floor for the duration of this one. Looks like you reacted to your mom's fanaticism over enemas exactly the same way I reacted to suppositories Save Cancel.

Various features here might not work at all. Enemas Unclassified. Views: Created: Show the Book. A Memoir By Bob Prologue My earliest childhood enema experiences are vividly implanted in my mind as if they had occurred yesterday, although those events happened in the late 's and 's.

The pattern of administration was usually as follows : The Administrators - Usually my mother and father gave them to me with my mother handling the "business end.

Position of Administration - always given on my stomach. Reason for Administration - Flue like symptoms, nausea or constipation.

Chapter Four - Family Affair This enema experience occurred when I was four, probably pushing five years of age. Chapter Five - Defiance This enema experience at the age of four or five is probably, in retrospect, my favorite episode, although at the time I still thoroughly detested receiving them.

Chapter Six - Older Childhood Enemas When I was five or six years old we moved into a larger house with a den next to the kitchen.

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Posted on April 14, By admin No comments. 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 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! 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. 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 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 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 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. 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 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. We went upstairs to my bedroom. 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.

After I shuffled the cards, I set them up side by side, with their backs toward us, along the length of the Scrabble holders. If you pick a card with money or other prize, you get that prize.

But, there are special cards, called consequence cards, too. Jonathan reached into his pocket and pulled out several quarters and gave me one.

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.

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.

But we also have to do the consequences. 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.

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. 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. 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. You will have to roll onto your left side. I unscrewed the lid on the Vaseline jar and removed the rectal thermometer from its plastic case.

Then I reached for his underwear. 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. 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. 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 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.

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. 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.

Lift your legs up a little. Now he was completely naked. Reaching up, I took down the enema tubing that I had draped over the towel bar.

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. I pressed firmly, until his tight anal muscles parted and the nozzle began sliding in.

He didn't move. 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.

He just nodded, then arched slightly forward and tightened his buttocks as the first urge hit him. I pinched the clamp shut.

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. 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 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. 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? 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. 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.

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.

I pulled off a large wad of toilet tissue and told him to bend way over. 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. I followed the same steps as with the first one, but this time, without the soap.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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