by Tom
My life came a bit unstuck at that point. I missed Jennie like hell, but the worst thing was that I suddenly discovered that Robbie and I were going to different schools after the vacation - his mom had wangled him a place in an up-market junior high, leaving me to follow the crowd.
I was intensely lonely for a while. My mother was okay - she was sticking to her resolution to stay off the bottle, but she was pretty distant, preoccupied with her job and spending little time with me. At least that's how I saw it in those days - in actual fact she was working all the hours she could to provide me with the things that I needed.
I did write to Jennie, and to my surprise she replied with a long, emotional letter full of her experiences at her new school and the thing that made me chuckle - her mom and dad had started acting like highschool kids in love for the first time.
Life was pretty routine - I didn't have much time for any activities out of school because I had to get home and start cooking dinner for when mom finally arrived home, more dead than alive. I suppose it was my enforced time alone that started me studying just to kill the boredom. I already felt superior to the rest of the kids - as I saw it, I was a man and they were barely out of diapers - and, to my surprise, I found myself excelling in my studies as well, clocking up grades that had seemed to be out of my grasp in elementary school.
My sex life, of course, came to an abrupt halt. Even I realized that what had happened between Jennie and me was a freak occurrence, but it spoiled me in terms of the girls in my class - they just looked like giggly little kids.
I became quite fixated on the subject of enemas. They featured prominently in my fantasy world where I replayed the scene with Jennie, only this time it was just the two of us and it was her hand that slid the tube into my asshole and gently inflated me with warm liquid.
I recalled the incident with the paintbrush that Maria had described and hunted around until I found one that looked like it would do the job - it was about an inch wide and the handle was coated with a thick layer of smooth varnish. I greased it and smuggled it into my bedroom, then started the replay of my fantasy, sliding the handle into my ass as I pictured Jennie wielding the enema tube. It felt fantastic - my anus closed around the constriction in the brush handle, holding it firmly into position. I found that by clenching my cheeks and tightening my asshole muscles I could increase the sensation to a considerable degree while I pumped like crazy until I achieved an enormous orgasm - I was making more and more stuff as I got older.
I fantasized while I watched TV movies, imagining the leading lady bent over and waiting for her enema. I wondered just how many kids had their bowels flushed - maybe the kids who featured in the children's' programs on TV had a nurse waiting off screen, just like the one in the home, her enema bag always kept full for instant use.
It was more difficult to gather real information about other kids. I couldn't exactly go up to one of my friends and ask him the last time his mother poked a nozzle up his asshole, could I? Eventually I concocted a story about a boy that I had met on vacation who had been given several enemas when he got stuffed - that gave me the excuse to see the reaction from the listeners.
Mostly they pulled faces and made puking noises - then eventually I struck lucky. A boy called Art heard the tale and nodded.
"Yeah - I know."
"What? You had an enema?"
"Yeah. I got appendicitis and they rushed me to the hospital. The first thing they did was to shave me."
"Huh? You're not old enough to shave."
"Not my face, idiot. They shaved my pubes."
"What? I don't believe you."
"It's true. They said that hair is full of germs, so it all had to go before they could do the surgery. Then a doctor came along and stuck his finger right up my asshole and felt around inside - and there was a nurse just standing there and watching!"
I shivered, trying to imagine what it must have felt like. It was scary, and at the same time it turned me on just thinking about it - it would be like the paintbrush, but more so. I filed it away for future fantasies.
"Then the doctor went away and the nurse took me to this special room that they used for treatments. I didn't really understand when she told me what she was going to do, but I was hurting too much to object. She had everything ready - she just rammed a pipe into my asshole and poured a gallon of water into me. I never shit so much in all my life!"
"Jeez - was that the only one you got?"
I held my breath, praying that it wasn't. Art did not disappoint me.
"Like hell it was. They kept me in the hospital for ten days, and I got an enema every day."
"Honest?"
"Honest. Every morning I had to go to the treatment room, take my pants off and lie on the couch while a nurse filled me up with soapsuds. There was one that...."
"That what?"
"Aw, I think she just loved giving enemas. The others just got it over fast, but she really took her time about it. She used to give me the finger as well - she took forever to do it and I just had to grit my teeth while she poked around inside my ass. Then she would do my enema real slow, and afterwards..."
He stopped again, this time blushing furiously. I needed to know.
"What about afterwards?"
"Aw, heck, it's embarrassing. I don't want to talk about it."
I invoked my imaginary friend again.
"This boy told me that he got a hard on when she gave him his enemas."
Art's face cleared, and he looked relieved.
"Did he? Jeez - I thought it was just me! That's what I was trying to say - the others didn't bother, but that particular nurse always used to take me to the toilet and just stand there watching - she always got a good look at my dick."
I made sympathetic noises about the maltreatment he had received. It made me momentarily embarrassed too when I remembered how unconcerned I had been at revealing my erection to several females - adolescent shyness had descended on me by now. I asked him if that was all.
"Well - almost all. When I got back home, mom wanted to take a good look at my scar and everything - I had to drop my pants while she had a good look at it. She even laughed at where they had shaved me - said it made me look like a plucked chicken. I know it didn't embarrass her, but I was pretty sensitive about losing that hair! Then she told me that I still had to have some help with my bowels in case I tore the stitches inside me by straining. She put such a scare into me that I almost begged her for a Fleet."
That was a new word.
"What's a Fleet?"
"A disposable enema. I think it's made out of nitroglycerine - I'm sure she said that - or maybe just glycerin. It comes in this little bottle with a pipe sticking out of the top - mom squirted it up my ass and it sort of exploded in my guts - I shat for ages afterwards."
That brought back memories. The boys at the home and their distilled water bottle. It got me wondering where I could get hold of something like that.
My searches drew a blank - the best I could find was a bottle that had held some sort of skin lotion. It was oval and had a small hole in the top, and, while it wouldn't actually go into my asshole, it resulted in the discovery of a new sort of stimulation. I would lie in the bathtub and fill the bottle up to the brim, then push the top against my hole and squeeze - the liquid then forced itself inside of me. Bathtime took longer and longer as I alternately squirted and jerked, feeling the need for expelling the liquid growing to almost unbearable intensity until I was eventually forced to jump out of the tub and expel the water in a series of decreasing volumes until I was left limp and panting with a cold wet butt.
I tried to get Art to talk about it again, but he just gave me a funny look and wandered off. It was getting around that I was asking about enemas, and I was starting to get tagged as a queer - time to keep an even lower profile I reckoned. Even more time for study.
By the end of the semester, I had risen to be the star student. That pleased mom, the teachers and the social worker who still made occasional visits to check up on mom, but it did absolutely nothing for my popularity - as far as my classmates were concerned I was that most pathetic of beings - a nerd. Okay then - I determined that I was going to be the biggest nerd ever, with a record set of marks in my studies.
The next vacation was the loneliest ever. I knew that I wasn't going to be invited to spend it with Robbie - being in different schools was as distant as being on different planets. Jennie wrote that she and Maria had bust up as friends - her reasons seemed totally trivial, but I was beginning to learn that girls can be like that from observing the kids at school. I was consumed with envy to think how Robbie and Maria would be together, screwing like demented ferrets, while I was reduced to the five fingered widow.
Mom helped a bit - she got me some totally illegal work at the market. It was slave labor, shifting boxes around out of sight of the customers for a few bucks in cash, but it had the merit of keeping me from dwelling too much on being alone and friendless. I spent the rest of my time reading the books that we would be using the following semester - despite the cat- calls that I had gotten when the other kids saw the teachers give them to me.
Back at school, I was miles ahead. Strangely, I had actually gotten to like studying - I soaked up knowledge like a sponge. Then the great surprise. The social worker was visiting us one time, and she wanted me to try for a scholarship - if I got it then I could spend the next four years in a boarding school for clever kids. My first reaction was to refuse, but she painted such a glowing picture of how much I would enjoy being with the same sort of boys as myself that I started to weaken. Mom finally persuaded me to try - she wouldn't be lonesome, she said, because of all the good friends she had made at AA.
The social worker had brought some exam papers from previous years with her - she seemed to be very certain that I would agree - and my heart sank at the difficulty of the questions. That started me on the most intense period of study in my entire life - the teachers at school all knew what I was doing and they coached me after school until I thought that my brain would burst like a ripe tomato. Two whole months where I ate, slept and studied to the exclusion of all else.
I had to go to the state capital to take the test - there were dozens of boys trying for the scholarships, arrayed in ranks of sweating bodies as we ploughed through one paper after another. My hopes gradually faded as we talked together - they seemed to me to be immeasurably more knowledgeable than me and to have a sophistication that made me feel like a country cousin.
I downplayed things at school the following day, convinced that I had no chance of a scholarship. I was also conscious of a leaden feeling in my guts, and I suddenly realized that I had no recollection of that last time I took a dump. Once I became aware of the problem, it magnified itself until I could scarcely walk.
I sought out the school nurse and explained my situation. She looked at me with astonishment.
"My dear boy, I don't deal with constipation. That's a matter for your parents and your family doctor, not for the school nurse."
Suddenly, all of the tension of my studies and of the certainty that I must have failed came to a head. I simply started to cry. I was terminally ashamed of behaving like a baby, but I simply could not stop. I sat in her office and sobbed until I was too exhausted to carry on. Nurse Rogers sat beside me and held me tight until I subsided, then gently wiped my face with a damp cloth and dried my tears away.
"You poor boy! No daddy at home?"
"No. Just my mother. And she works till ten."
She was thinking hard.
"Listen, Andrew, if you really want me to sort this out, we can do it after school at my house, but I'm afraid it will mean an enema. Do you know what that is?"
I nodded.
"You've had one before?"
I nodded again.
"And you're willing for me to give you one?"
I felt a surge of gratitude.
"Oh, yes please!"
Then an awful thought struck me.
"I can't pay you though. We don't have any money."
She burst into laughter.
"That's all right - you can have this one on the house."
She drove me to her home after school. I was impressed - it was a large house with a lot of land, surrounded by high hedges. I reckoned that school nurses must make a lot of money if she could afford to live in a place like that.
Inside it was even more surprising - it was all leather and chrome, with a huge bar and an incredible array of bottles of liquor. She ushered me down a short corridor and into a room that looked like it had been transplanted from a major hospital. Except for one thing. All of the walls were covered in mirrors. Nurse Rogers saw my amazement.
"Oh - I have a few patients who come here for treatments. Now, shall we get undressed?"
It was the medical 'we' of course. She busied herself preparing my enema - to my surprise she didn't use a rubber bag, instead she filled a stainless steel can with warm water and then added a couple of squirts of something that smelled incredibly soapy. I shed my clothes - it was real strange to see myself every way I looked. Then she reached up and hung the can on the wall, and selected the longest tube I had ever seen in all of my life and attached it to the spigot.
By this time, my hormones had reacted to the prospect of having an enema. I was erect, and to my surprise I didn't give a damn - all I could think about was that incredible length of rubber tube.
Nurse Rogers turned round and lifted her eyebrows as she smiled at me.
"Ah. I see you understand things, Andrew. Well, that makes it all a lot easier, doesn't it. Hop on the couch now.
Then she did something to the couch and it sort of folded up on itself - the middle rose up in an inverted vee shape with a gap at the top, leaving a platform to kneel on. I draped myself over it - it was very comfortable, and the gap was in just exactly the right position. I watched in the mirror as she reached into a box and then pulled on a pair of thin rubber gloves. My mind went back to my conversation with Art, and a thrill of anticipation shot through me.
"Are you going to put your finger into...."
I faded out. You couldn't say 'asshole' to a nurse.
She looked surprised.
"All right then, if that's what you want."
I felt a fool then as I realized that she had put the gloves on just to cover her hands. Jeez - the mirrors were useful - I could watch her without turning round, I could even see my own asshole in them! She uncapped a tube and smeared a thick coating of some clear stuff over her fingers.
It was awesome - I could see everything. I watched and felt as she rubbed some of the stuff around my asshole, then I had the weird experience of feeling her finger slide smoothly inside me at the same time as I watched it happen.
It felt incredible. I could not keep quiet as she pushed hard, probing deeply into my rectum, producing a whole new set of sensations as her finger pushed and rotated in my asshole.
"My god! You *are* constipated! It's like a lump of concrete!"
She withdrew her finger and stepped back to get something out of a drawer. I yelled in terror - it looked like she was going to give me the biggest shot in the universe.
"Calm down, Andrew. There's no needle."
She displayed the wide, blunt tube that protruded from the syringe.
"All I'm going to do is put some oil in there - it will make everything slippery and easy to pass."
She filled the thing from a large bottle, and then I felt the cold metal tube slide home and jumped as a slug of something cool shot into my ass.
"Now let's get on with it, shall we?"
She was good, was Nurse Rogers. She slowly injected the hot liquid and used the end of the tube to poke around the mass inside me to break it up. The side effect was to send me almost into a trance as stimulus heaped on top of stimulation, transporting me to a plane of ecstasy that was interrupted only by the biggest and best orgasm of my entire life - I just came and came, not caring who saw or heard my writhing and yelling as it seemed to go on for ever.
When my vision cleared I could see her in the mirrors. She was grinning in a most un-adult fashion - she looked more like a girl than a grown up nurse. When she spoke, there was laughter in her voice.
"Well now, Andrew, that was really something! I hope your girlfriend appreciates you properly. Now it's all done - the toilet is through that door there."
Hell, even the toilet wall was covered in mirrors. I saw a disheveled young boy, covered in sweat and watched his face screw up with effort as he strained to expel the contents of his bowels. Then it was all heavenly music and sweet relief as the log jam collapsed under the strain and I bent double with the sweet relief of emptying myself.
The nurse made me take a shower afterwards and then gave me a ride home. As the car drew up at our apartment, she kissed me gently on the cheek and winked at me.
"Our little secret, eh?"
"Yeah. Sure. Thanks a million...."
I was real innocent in those days.
When the letter arrived it was actually addressed to me - I had never had one that said "Mr. Andrew Maxwell" before. I didn't dare open it, of course. I handed it to mom and stood miserably waiting for her to tell me that I had been rejected. She looked at it, then yelled with joy.
"You're in! My clever son has got a scholarship!"
The social service lady arrived shortly afterwards and reduced me to blushing adolescent awkwardness by hugging me and planting a huge wet kiss on my cheek. Actually, it was a good thing she came, because mom had changed from joy to worrying about what she would do when her baby boy wasn't there any more and I was beginning to feel quite guilty about the whole thing. Before I knew what was happening, mom had been taken into the other room and, when she emerged, she signed the forms without any protest and the lady stamped them with a little gadget she took from her purse and signed them as well.
Shortly afterwards I found out about something they called "discretionary disbursements". What it meant to me was that the lady took me shopping and I ended up with more clothing, books and things that I had owned in my entire life. I couldn't understand mom's attitude - she kept on grumbling about charity - until I told her that I didn't care where they came from and that I had no intention of giving them back like she wanted me to do. If this was charity, I was all in favor of it!
Mom stayed at home - the lady drove me to the school. It was sure impressive - an old building and a brand new one, surrounded by playing fields way out in the country. There were less than 200 boys in the whole school - they took in fifty each year, and only forty or so stayed the whole course.
Nothing was like I had expected. My classmates back home had reckoned that there would be initiation ceremonies and painful hazing, but apart from a few practical jokes there was no attempt to humiliate us freshmen. They had predicted that it would be strict, that they would probably paddle me if I didn't come up to standard, but the teachers were real nice people and we were actually told to address them by their given names - it was difficult at first, but we soon got used to it.
I had expected some sort of physical, probably from a nurse with a handy length of rubber tubing. The actual nurse dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, she looked after the laundry and supervised the kitchens, and her speech to us was brief.
"Hi. I'm Barbara, and I'm the nurse amongst my other jobs. Come and see me any time if you have a problem."
Then she just sat down again.
My roommate was called Raymond, but answered only to Ray. He came from New Orleans and was immensely proud of his French ancestry. We got on really well together and he coaxed me into learning French from him so that we had a private language - mixed with Creole, it was totally incomprehensible to the rest of the kids.
At first, he gave the impression that he was the sort of guy whose house had a long line of nubile females outside, all clamoring for his services. Eventually we got around to telling the truth and admitting that each of us had had one rather unsatisfactory experience - still, I was prepared to bet that put us one ahead of most of the new intake!
I avoided the subject of enemas. Although I was intensely curious to know whether he had experience one, I was only too aware that I was going to have to live with him for the next four years, and I had no intention of making him wonder about me. After about six weeks, Ray looked uncomfortable.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"Aw, I'm stuffed. I hate it when this happens."
Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone.
"Why don't you go and see the nurse? She will give you something to make you go."
He thought for a few moments, then nodded.
"Yeah - think I will."
I waited for his return while imagining what might be happening - the look on his face when Barbara hauled a length of slithery rubber tubing out of a cupboard and told him that he had to have it for his own good, the sight of him lying on a couch with a long, red tail...
To my surprise, he returned after about ten minutes, holding two bullet shaped, translucent jelly-like objects in his hand and with an expression of incredulity on his face.
"She gave me these. She told me to dip them in warm water and then push them up my asshole! Said they would fix me up real fast."
We both looked at the objects for a while. Then he shrugged and ran some water into the basin in the corner of our room before taking his pants off and following her instructions. What happened had us both reduced to helpless laughter - the things became so slippery as to be unmanageable. Every time he tried to insert one, it would escape and shoot from his hand and land on the floor. Eventually he gave up.
"Hell, Andrew, this is impossible! I don't suppose you could help me out?"
I was struck dumb at the prospect - my roomy was actually begging me to shove something up his asshole? I managed to say that it would be okay, and took the now-slimy objects from him. Ray stood with his legs apart, then bent forward and planted his hands on the bed.
"Er...she said to be sure that they went right in..."
The blood was pounding in my temples and I felt the onset of dizziness as I gingerly prized his butt cheeks apart to reveal his asshole, glistening with the dissolved stuff. I grasped the thing firmly and positioned its blunt end centrally on the pink, crinkled flesh then sort of squeezed it between my fingers until it was most of the way in. Then I put my finger squarely on the pale yellow end of the thing and pushed.
To my astonishment, it shot straight inside him, followed by my finger which slid effortlessly through the lubricated passage. Ray shot upright.
"Jee-sus Ker-ist! That sure went all of the way!"
I adopted a firm tone.
"One down, one to go. Come on - adopt the position."
He gingerly bent forward again. This time I knew what to expect - and so did he! It felt so strange inside there - as soft as an eyelid, but warm and elastic as it gripped my finger. I didn't prolong my investigation - just pulled my finger back out and concealed my excitement and the bulge in my pants by turning round and washing my hands.
Ray pulled his pants back on and sat down. His face first looked puzzled, as if to say "So what?", then it changed to pain and then desperation as the things started to work inside him. Finally he could take no more - he ran out of the room towards the bathroom and stayed there for quite a while before returning.
"Jeez, Andrew, I don't know what they put in those things, but they sure worked! Thanks, buddy - I owe you one."
"Any time."
I meant that most sincerely. It was the very first time I had even seen an asshole up close - the memory, transposed to Jennie, would keep me in good jerks for months! Ray squirmed a bit, then started to relax.
"Well, at least it's quick - I was a bit scared that I was going to get an enema."
"Oh - you've had one of them, have you?"
"Yeah. What about you?"
"I've had a couple."
He seemed to relax when I admitted that I was no stranger to enemas. I wanted to ask him more about his experiences, but I was still wary of broaching the subject.
I got more and more nostalgic over the next couple of weeks. I would lie in bed at night, jerking off as quietly as I could, imagining Jennie and me in a variety of activities as the desire to feel something slide into my asshole grew to an almost unbearable level.
The solution eventually dawned on me. I went to see Barbara, complained of constipation, and collected a couple of the things - the name on the box said that they were glycerin suppositories. I went back to our room and handed them to Ray.
"You said you owed me one."
For one awful moment I thought he was going to refuse - then I recognized the look on his face and saw him shift position to relieve the pressure in his underwear. He was searching for words.
"Er...look...two of these are pretty drastic - I reckon you only need one. Thing is, I kinda need one myself, but I reckoned that it was too soon to ask her. What say we share these? Then next time I can get another two...."
The human mind is capable of almost infinite self-delusion. We each of us knew deep down that all we really wanted to do was to mess around with each other's asshole and to experience the strange pleasure of having an object inserted back there. But we had an excuse now - it wasn't because we wanted to enjoy it, it was a medical necessity. Then I almost passed out as I remembered the strange setup that Nurse Rogers had in her house - all those mirrors, the special couch.... I wasn't the only guy in the world that felt this way!
By unspoken agreement, we ignored the fact that we were both erect. Hard-ons were not all that rare in a school full of adolescent boys, and nobody called attention to them anyway, but these weren't just the result of full bladders or surging hormones.
I went first, adopting the same spread-legged position as Roy had chosen. I could feel the tip of my erection poking into my belly, adding to the suppressed sexuality of the occasion. Then the familiar pressure against my anus, followed by a sort of explosion as Roy rammed suppository and finger home.
He didn't pull it out immediately. I could feel the tip of his finger investigating the inside of my rectum, then it pulled back a bit and contacted something that produced a shift in sexual stimulation by several orders of magnitude. I couldn't hold myself back - my balls exploded, sending a spatter of semen over the sheets. Then the finger withdrew.
Roy was grinning. I could not believe it. I was annoyed at his superior smile.
"You bastard - you knew that would happen!"
"I read about it in a book. I didn't quite believe it until now. There's a special gland in there that is linked to your penis - I always wanted to try it."
I grabbed the second suppository.
"In that case...."
It was weird. He was impaled on my finger as I poked around until I found the right place and pushed hard against it. Then I felt him go tense - I recognized what was happening. One more probe sent him into convulsions as his semen mixed with min on the sheets.
We never got into any overt homosexual behavior, Roy and I. But every couple of weeks one or other of us had a problem that meant a visit to Nurse Barbara and the excuse of a practical anatomical investigation to produce the desired result. It got simpler after Christmas - when we returned to school Roy produced his own box of suppositories. I looked at the in awe.
"Where did you get these?"
"I just went into a drugstore and asked for them. The clerk didn't bat
an eye - just asked what size of box I wanted. I got the biggest one, of
course...."
After Christmas, the pace of our studies picked up well beyond anything I had imagined possible. The policy of the school was to encourage its students to graduate at seventeen or even sixteen - the principal had explained just how important the extra year of salary was to our eventual financial status and the advantage of starting early in the promotion stakes. It suited me fine - I regularly daydreamed about my first salary check, of presenting it to mom and taking us out of the third-rate rented accommodation and into our very own house with a lawn and a garden.
When I went home at Easter, mom looked more alive than she had been for years. It didn't take me long to make a fair guess at the cause - an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, a pack of disposable razors and a vague smell of man greeted me. I mentally wished her luck and prayed that this guy, whoever he was, didn't mess her up like the last one. I would have liked to meet him, but mom didn't mention anyone in her life and I was too shy to ask her straight out - she would tell me in her own good time if anything serious was going down.
Back at school, I had no time for anything except study. Poor Roy was floundering - he was absolutely brilliant at languages but physics and math were real hard for him. I coached him as best I could, but he still made slow progress. Paradoxically, I surged ahead - there is nothing like explaining something to make you really understand it.
With a couple of weeks to go, the principal sent for me. When I entered his office, my heart sank - he was sitting behind his desk, and the chair in front of the window was occupied by the lady from social services with the sort of expression that tells you in advance that the news is bad. I felt a rising tide of panic.
"What's wrong? Is it mom?"
She stood up, looking sad.
"Don't panic, Andrew. As far as we know, she's fine."
"What do you mean? Where is she?"
The lady sighed.
"That's the problem. We have no idea. All we have is this letter addressed to you - I'm sorry, we had to open it because we were afraid of what might have happened."
She handed me an envelope with the top neatly slit open. I retrieved the single sheet of paper and began to read.
It was a rambling apology. She had, it said, met a guy and fallen in love with him. Now that I had my own life, she hoped that I would understand that she needed to be with him, and I surely would not begrudge her this last chance at happiness. So she was going away with him. She loved me, but she needed to do it.
By the time I had finished reading it, I was crying like a baby. The scene in my dreams where mom looked at me in gratitude for providing us with a new home seemed to mock me now - she didn't care about me, she only wanted me out from under her feet. I turned gratefully to accept a hug from the lady - it made me feel less insecure to know that there was at least one person looking out for me.
"I'm sorry, Andrew. I'm real sorry."
"But what happens to me now? Where will I go? What will I do?"
"Hush now. It's all taken care of."
"I don't want to go back to that children's home."
"There's no need. We'll pay your board and lodging to stay right here through summer vacation."
The principal cleared his throat.
"Actually, I've got an alternative suggestion. This year we've hired out the whole place to the hockey organization for a summer school. Trouble is, it's just happened, and some of the domestic staff are committed to specific holiday dates."
I looked blankly at him. He continued.
"One of them is our janitor. How would you like to take his place?"
"ME? A janitor? What?"
"Oh - there's nothing to it. Some cleaning work - scrubbing out locker rooms and so on - and minor repairs. Are you any good at fixing things?"
I nodded.
"Sure - the super in our apartments doesn't do a thing - I can unblock drains, things like that."
He smiled.
"Sounds like we might have a deal. You can be apprentice janitor for two weeks, then take over for the rest of the vacation. How does one-fifty strike you?"
I had no idea what he was talking about. He smiled.
"One hundred and fifty dollars a week, plus board and lodging."
I forgot all about my distress. I had never had a hundred bucks in one lump in all of my life - and the rate he was quoting would mean well over a thousand by the end of the vacation. I could only manage to gasp sounds that meant I accepted.
The end of the semester arrived, and suddenly the school was empty. I moved down to a room in the basement - it was small, and once there was a bed in it, it got a lot smaller. The janitor seemed glad to have me - he fixed me up with some overalls, then set me to work on all of the dirty jobs. Actually, I didn't mind very much - even scrubbing the showers out with disinfectant and cleaning toilets was bearable when I was earning money for doing it.
Eventually he assigned me to the nurse's office, and told me that the whole place had to be made spotless.
Just about everything had been removed from the room apart from the furnishings and fittings. I started to drag the dusty contents from out of the cupboards prior to scrubbing them with hot water and more disinfectant - and that's when I found them.
My first discovery was a book, covered in the dust of years, but not as old as it looked. I glanced through it curiously, then my eyes opened wide - it was an illustrated textbook of nursing procedures. I got as far as the page which showed pictures of enema apparatus before I gave in and slid it under my overalls, then made for the toilets to feast my eyes on it - there were actual pictures of people being given enemas in it!
One frantic jerkoff later, and then I stashed it in my room - it contained enough material to keep me masturbating for months! When I returned to my task, I almost fainted when a grimy box proved to contain a complete kit for giving enemas - a bag that looked to be a hundred years old, several yards of rubber tubing and four exchangeable nozzles. I felt guilty as it joined the book in my room, but I reassured myself that I was, after all, only borrowing it and, from all appearances, it hadn't been actually used for several years.
That night, alone in my basement lodgings, I opened the box and examined the equipment more closely. The nozzles intrigued me - I could identify the rectal and infant rectal ones, but what on earth was a 'fluted irrigator' - and why would anyone want a 'bent vaginal' nozzle.
Then it all came back to me. The children's home and Chuck laughing as he told me that the girls got it up both holes when they arrived. This must be the thing they used to wash them out! My fingers followed its contours, feeling the smooth black substance - some unknown plastic maybe - wondering if it had ever been actually used inside a girl.
Eventually, I could stand it no longer. I hammered a nail into the wall, filled the bag and attached the rectal nozzle to the tubing. I knelt on the floor and draped my body over my bed, then reached back and searched for my asshole with the greased tip of the nozzle.
It popped into position without any effort, and my anus closed round its smooth contours - it seemed to be cleverly designed to hold itself in place. I opened the book and turned to the section on the digestive system, then struggled with the multiple tasks of page turning, jerking off and controlling the flow of liquid into my asshole.
It was an incredible session. For the first time in my life there was no inhibitory adult presence - just me and the source of my pleasure. The position was too awkward, so I climbed on to the bed with the nozzle still firmly embedded in my asshole and propped myself up with pillows. That was much better - much easier to read and jerk at the same time and, with the tube fed between my legs and the metal clip strategically situated much simpler to administer a shot of liquid whenever I wished.
I don't know how long it took. Even when the bag was empty, the nozzle acted as a plug to enable me to resist the growing stabs of discomfort as my rectum started to protest at the volume of liquid which was inflating it, small pains that were transformed into a stimulation that made my prick feel like it was going to explode. Eventually I could prolong it no longer - even though I was using the slowest and gentlest of strokes on my erection, I could not resist the huge wave of intense pleasure that threatened to overwhelm me and sent a jet of semen right over the bed to produce a sticky glob on the wall that slowly slimed its way downwards.
The book scared me a little, though. It had warnings about the bad effects of too-frequent enemas and advised that one per week was the maximum. Still - it didn't say there was any problem with just inserting the nozzle and enjoying its presence whilst I extended my education and exercised my right arm.
The departure of the janitor and my assuming command came just before
several cars drew up at the school and disgorged a bunch of
muscular...women! That's when I realized that hockey is played by both
boys and girls - and this summer school was obviously for females.
The principal was there to welcome them, but I was grabbed by a burly and aggressive woman.
"Hey, you. Where's the nurse's office?"
I looked blank, disconcerted by her appearance.
"I asked you a question. Where's my office?"
I suddenly felt a great sympathy for the students. This woman scared the shit out of me - and I was only the janitor. She handed me a couple of large, heavy suitcases.
"Take these. Lead the way."
She sniffed when she saw the room. I could tell she was looking for something to criticize and I smiled to myself - I had done a real good job and everything was sparkling clean and shining with the odor of disinfectant still lingering.
"Well...I suppose this will have to do. There are two more bags in my car."
By the time I had struggled in with them, she had started to unpack. I blanched when I saw a pile of boxes labeled "Gloves, surgical, latex, large" stacked on the bench with the largest tube of that gel stuff that I had ever seen in my life. Those girls were going to have real sore assholes if she got through that lot!
"This sterilizer doesn't work."
I looked at it without much hope of knowing what was wrong, until I saw the cable just hanging down. I plugged it into a wall socket and, to my relief, the front panel burst into life. She gave me the sort of look that made me feel that I had actually done something wrong by fixing it so easily.
"Don't just stand there - put some water in it. Do you want it to burn out?"
I found a jug and started to fill the big square tank, while she pulled out a roll of white cloth that clanked ominously and then proceeded to drop a whole bunch of metal instruments into the water. I suddenly recognized them from the pictures in the book - they were speculums. Duck bill speculums. There was a picture that made me feel real uncomfortable in that book - it showed a special table that held a girls' legs apart, and there was one of those things buried deeply into her sex organs. This time I really shuddered as I realized from the number of instruments that she intended to employ them on several, if not all, of the girls when they arrived.
"That's all. You can go now."
Dismissed, I returned to the front of the building and began to carry luggage inside. The staff were occupying the second floor of the dorm block, one to a room, while the students were accommodated on the upper floors. To my surprise, most of them actually gave me a buck or two as a tip - this janitoring business was proving even more lucrative than I had imagined!
The girls arrived the next day. They were all fourteen or fifteen, all athletic and ranging from the frankly ugly to absolute stunners. I had the job of directing cars to parking places and then indicating the front entrance where the students had to register. Even for this trivial set of tasks, I collected tips without asking - mostly quarters, but a nice sprinkling of dollars as well. I retired to my room and counted the loot - without saying a word, I had amassed seventy bucks! My career aspirations took a dive - maybe it would be much more lucrative to be a doorman at a hotel than study for years for a salaried job.
After lunch, I discovered another interesting fact. Like Father Brown's postman, janitors are invisible. I was pushing my cart, loaded with a bucket, mop and the usual pile of indescribably filthy rags and I had completely forgotten that my path lay past the nurse's office. As I turned the corner, I came on the sight of half a dozen girls sitting on the long bench in the corridor, wearing only bras and pants, and obviously waiting to go in. Had I been dressed in ordinary clothes, they would have jumped up, screamed and grabbed for covering, but my overalls rendered me as insignificant as the bench they were occupying. Instead they completely ignored me while they continued with their animated discussion on the subject of what was going to happen in their physicals. I resisted the twin temptations to burst into laughter and to tell them that it was going to be infinitely worse than they could imagine, and continued on my journey to make the locker rooms smell nice. Not before I had registered the scene for future use, though!
The rest of the day was interesting but frustrating. Word obviously spread around, and the girls who were waiting for their physicals congregated in groups, expressions of horror on their faces as they waited for their names to be called. Those who had been through the ordeal displayed a variety of emotions - some put on an expression of unconcern, some looked angry and many had tears in their eyes. One thing was common though - none of them were comfortable. They kept on pulling at the front of their garments and walking around with their legs stiffly apart.
When I cleaned up in the nurse's office that evening, the garbage bag was crammed with used gloves, all stuck together with the gooey lubricant and the instruments were laid out on a roll of absorbent paper. I momentarily wondered if one of them would actually go up an asshole, but abandoned that idea when I saw just how big they were. Instead, I added my own slimy contribution to the garbage as I fingered each instrument in turn and pictured just where they had been.
I was missing female contact now. It was a whole year since Jennie - we were still writing to each other, but it was getting less frequent. The sight, sound and smell of wall to wall girls made me long for some contact with them, as did the sight of female undergarments hanging up to dry when I cleaned their washrooms while they were outside wielding sticks in a lethal manner.
The other thing was the food. The cooks grumbled at the stuff they had to prepare - it was some sort of health food - and took it to heart when the girls complained at the small quantities and the unappetizing tastes. At least I didn't have to eat the muck - I dined with the cooks in the kitchen on things like bacon and eggs, burgers and French fries - "proper food" in the minds of the cooks.
Only once did the nurse try it on with them - she came into the kitchen, saw what we were eating and launched into a lecture on the damage it would do to us. The cooks rose from their seats and advanced on her.
"And who are you, madam, to tell us what is good food?"
"I'm a qualified nurse - I know what a good diet consists of."
"Good diet? I wouldn't soil my garbage can with that rubbish. How many children have you raised?"
"None - not that it's any business of yours."
"Well, madam, I've raised five healthy boys on good nourishing food. Now kindly take yourself out of my kitchen."
The nurse opened her mouth to say something at the same time as the cook picked up the largest ladle in the place. I almost choked as I watched the nurse actually run out of the room. Score one for the cooks!
The major annoyance in my life was the high incidence of backed-up toilets in the girls' dorm area. I simply could not understand it - they had been in continuous use by boys for a whole year without any problem yet blockages started up as soon as they were used by girls. It seemed about the hundredth time as I applied my rubber cup to the bowl in the end stall and pumped to dislodge whatever was jamming the pipe. It was mid-morning and I didn't expect anyone to be around, so I froze into immobility as I heard the door crash open and two sets of footsteps as someone ran into the room.
This was hellish embarrassing. I had a large notice that I was supposed to put outside the door to warn any females that there was a male janitor working inside, but I had forgotten. Maybe if I just kept quiet until they left?
I heard two sets of groans, punctuated by splashing of liquid. I knew that noise only too well. I held my breath as the groans reached a crescendo.
"Jeez, Anne, I think my innards are hanging out!"
"Same here. That bitch really scalded my ass with that stuff."
"Did you see how much soap she put in it? My butt hole is burning!"
"It's not fair. All we did was share a bar of chocolate. There was no reason for her to give us enemas."
"I reckon she enjoyed it. Her and that butch head coach. Oh jeez - here it comes again."
There was another groan of agony and a small splash of liquid. I was turned on like crazy, of course, but I kept as still as I could. Then the blockage chose to give way, producing a set of horrible slurps as it dragged air along with it.
There was total silence, then the rustle of clothing and the opening of doors.
"Who's there?"
Two female faces peered into the stall where I was still holding the rubber tool and wishing that I could follow the blockage down the pipe. They screamed.
"It's the JANITOR! Oh god - how embarrassing. He must have hear everything!"
I tried to make a conciliatory gesture, but it turned out to be a spray of liquid from the rubber cup. They screamed again and backed up.
"Call the director! He's a peeping tom!"
Now it was my turn to be terrified. I rushed after them.
"Don't do that - I was only clearing a blockage when you came in. I wasn't trying to see anything."
They stopped. Ann looked sharply at me, then reached out and removed my cap.
"Why - you're only a boy! You're not old enough to be a janitor."
"I am too. It's my vacation job."
"Just how old are you?"
I had to tell them.
"Nearly fifteen. I go to school here and they pay me to be relief janitor when Mr. Williams is away."
They were calming down fast. A boy their own age was not the same sort of threat as an adult man. Ann managed a weak grin.
"I'm Ann, and this is Paula. Just how much did you hear in there?"
I felt myself turning crimson. Ann groaned.
"I suppose you're going to tell everybody?"
"Of course not. I would have to admit where I was, and that would probably get me canned."
"Promise? We're going to pretend that she just gave us a laxative."
"Cross my heart."
I saw a spasm of pain cross her face.
"OK. Now just go away - we've got things to do."
I fled as they both ran back into the washroom.
I was settling down for the night, sitting in front of the TV and browsing through the nursing book, looking forward to a major jerk when somebody tapped on my door. I hastily closed the book, then went to see who was there. To my amazement, it was Ann and Paula, looking pale and miserable.
"Huh? What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?"
"We're desperate - that bitch of a nurse made us go without any food all day. We asked one of the ladies as she was leaving where we could find you."
"But..."
"Like I said, we're desperate. Have you got anything to eat?"
My male ego, which had been almost imagining that they were desperate for something else, deflated with a sad hiss. All they wanted was food! I couldn't resist, of course - they looked as though they were about to collapse on the spot.
I had been given the run of the kitchens and permission to help myself to supper or a snack. I could stretch that a bit.
"Come with me."
The serving hatch was closed and bolted - we were secure from prying eyes. The girls groaned in unison as I opened the big refrigerator.
"Oh god - ham...cheese...bread...pickle...milk..."
I cut short the hymn of praise to the gods of food.
"What do you want?
"Ham sandwiches. With real butter. And potato chips. And mayonnaise. And is that cheesecake at the back?"
I stood back as they cut enormous sandwiches, piled them with potato chips and smothered them with mayonnaise and then proceeded to tear into them. They wolfed down hunks of cheesecake and washed the whole lot down with chocolate milk. Ann burped happily.
"Gee, Andrew, thanks. We would have died in the night but for this. It was real cruel of her - I always get ravenous after an enema. So it was twice as bad as if she had just not let us eat."
She dug into her pocket and produced two five dollar bills.
"That's to pay for what we've eaten."
"Aw, you don't have to do that."
"We do - it's not right to steal food. We have to pay."
"OK. I'll give it to the head cook tomorrow."
"You won't say where it came from? She might tell the nurse."
I burst out laughing and told them how she had chased the nurse out of the kitchen and threatened her with a ladle. That both reassured and amused the girls - I even got a peck on the cheek from each of them before they left.
When I entered the kitchen for breakfast the following morning, I was surprised to receive a round of applause from the cooks.
"Good night, Andy?"
"You must have some hidden attraction to get *two* good-looking girls asking where your room is!"
"I know where he hides it too!"
Oh shit. Ann would have to ask one of the cooks - they were an earthy bunch to say the least. I dug out the ten bucks and laid them on the table.
"They were just hungry - the nurse wouldn't let them have anything apart from breakfast. They made some sandwiches and ate some other stuff. They left this to pay for it."
There was a stunned silence. The cooks took food and eating very seriously.
"That dyke - she must have fallen out with her friend. Give the girls their money back, honey - they're welcome to eat here any time."
"What's a dyke?"
I realized immediately that I had stumbled into something awkward. The cooks looked at each other. Then the head cook took my hand.
"Some women - they love other women, not men."
"She's a lesbian?"
I saw a look of relief on her face.
"Oh - you know about it. A dyke is another name for that.
I remembered what the girls had called her.
"Is that the same as butch?"
"Kind of. She's butch all right - that means she acts like a man when they...you know...."
I nodded. I didn't know, but I had learned enough for one day.
I suppose it sort of sensitized me because I watched things more closely. Now that I was looking for it, it wasn't hard to find the other half of the partnership. The head coach was indeed like a man - she had a gruff voice and, to my disgust I saw that she didn't shave her armpits. So that was butch, was it? And that was why I often saw the two of them disappear into the nurse's office and the red light come on over the door.
To my delight, the girls appeared again the following evening. I handed the cash back, and told them what the cooks had said about them being allowed to help themselves. It became a regular meeting - they would sneak down after supper, consume whatever was going, then spend a while watching TV with me before they had to go to bed. It was an easy-going and very frustrating relationship from the point of view of an adolescent male whose hormones were demanding more than talk.
The summer school was nearing its end when Ann arrived on her own one evening. She had been kinda off-color for a few days and now she looked even worse.
"Where's Paula?"
"I told her not to come. I want to ask you a favor."
"Huh? Sure - anything."
"Can I borrow your enema bag?"
I was shattered and embarrassed.
"What makes you think that I've got one of them?"
"I saw the box, first night we came here. It's the same as the one we have at home. Where have you put it? Can I use it?"
"Why? What's wrong with you? Why don't you go and see the nurse...oh...I see why you don't want to do that."
"It's to do with my period."
I started to blush. Things like that weren't spoken about in public. Ann didn't seem to care.
"I get water retention - my whole body swells up. Then it all goes away when afterwards - too much of it. I get real constipated and I need to take an enema to get rid of the stuff. Come on, lend it to me. Please."
It was like the atmosphere in the room was charged with electricity. I could hardly breathe as I retrieved the box from its hiding place and opened it up. It was almost exactly a year since I had last had an enema, and a surge of longing welled up in me. I summoned up all of my adolescent courage.
"You want some help with it?"
Ann froze. My hope was replaced with despair - I had blown it. Then she smiled.
"Only if I can do the same for you."
There was a small washroom in the basement - just about big enough for two. I watched hungrily as Ann removed her clothes. ALL of her clothes. Then she grinned at me.
"I think you're a bit over-dressed, Andrew."
Then she did the most delightful thing that I had ever experienced. She made me stand completely still while she undressed me, one garment after another, her naked flesh brushing against mine as she delicately peeled each one from me until I was as naked as her. Her fingers danced up and down my erection, making me shiver with the sheer pleasure of the sensation.
"Who's going first?"
I grabbed the bag.
"You are. Get ready."
It was a whole year since I had smelled the musky odor of a naked girl. I knew a whole lot more about what was going on - I now realized that those lips swelled when a girl was excited, and Mike's instruction was more understandable with the passage of time and innumerable boy conversations.
Her asshole was a thing of beauty, inviting me to...
She squealed in surprise as I pushed my face into her butt and savored that wonderful aroma before gently kissing her most personal place. She was shivering all over as I gently eased the nozzle into position and took my time slowly administering a large, warm enema, punctuated with gentle rubbing of the whole area.
Then it was my turn. I knelt down, feeling the muscles of my thighs trembling, hearing the pounding of my heart and the rushing of blood in my ears. I willed her to return my kiss - and then I felt her warm breath and the gentle touch of her lips. I winced as she pushed the nozzle in, but kept quiet - no way was I going to break the magic spell that was cast over the pair of us. She whispered words as she slowly filled me up with liquid - words that would have been obscene in any other context but which simply served to increase my sexual intoxication as the familiar electric discharges in my intestines grew in strength and power.
We walked slowly back to my room, our clothing gathered into rough bundles. No word was said - it was like something external was controlling us. She lay on my bed and pulled her legs high and wide, opening the gate to pleasure.
I don't smoke. I've never smoked. So I don't know where this incredible desire to have a cigarette came from as we lay together afterwards, exhausted, sweaty and blissfully happy.
That's when the door crashed open. The nurse stood outlined against the lights in the basement corridor, her face a mask of rage, her voice like the clap of doom.
"YOU FILTHY LITTLE SWINE! You, madam, are coming to see the course director right now, just as you are - we'll see what your parents have to say about this."
She turned to me and her voice rose to a scream.
"And as for you, you dirty little degenerate, I'll see you fired for this!"
It was just too much for me to take. How dare she call me that? I screamed right back at her.
"You're the degenerate here - you think I don't know what you and your butch friend get up to every night in your office? Maybe Ann's parents would be interested in just why a couple of lesbians poked around inside their daughter! We'll see who gets fired around here!"
"You little blackmailing bastard. I'll see you in hell first!"
"But you'll be closer to the fire, you fucking dyke!"
Then the fight all went out of her. She stepped back as though I had struck her.
"You wouldn't. Would you?"
I looked at Ann.
"What do you think? You don't tell your parents, and she forgets about this?"
Ann nodded.
"OK. It's a deal. I swear I won't tell my parents if you get out of here right now."
"It's past your bedtime."
Ann smiled. A pussy cat smile.
"You're right. See you in the morning."
And she just slammed the door in the nurse's face.
We had a wonderful night of love. We were powerful, we had slain the dragon, we could do anything. I suppose it was malignant fate that kept taking me to the peak and then separating me from my love, but tomorrow was the day they went home.
I decided to make a statement. I hugged Ann and kissed her as her parents arrived. There seemed to be a general stirring around us, sharp looks - but not directed at us. Parents were getting red and angry, staring at the nurse and the coach.
Ann grinned happily.
"I kept my bargain. I didn't tell my parents. I didn't say I wouldn't tell the other girls, though. Did I?"
I could see a group of angry adults forming and panic on the face of the nurse and the coach. I grinned as well.
"That's true. You didn't say that....."
