enema | Aunt Betty

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Aunt Betty

by Tom

I once saw a TV documentary about this guy who was in a mental hospital because everyone thought that he was retarded. They paid him no attention, just moved him around, fed him and put him to bed on a regular basis. It turned out that the only thing wrong with him was that they couldn't understand his speech - all the time he knew what he wanted, but he just got ignored.

That's what it felt like to be thirteen. Nobody paid any attention to what I said - the best that I could hope for was a tolerant smile, a pat on the head and to be told that I was too young. They made me go to bed when I was wide awake, they woke me up when I was exhausted, they chose my clothes and they kept me poor so that I couldn't do anything on my own.

Maybe the worst thing was that nobody seemed to think that I had any feelings or any need for privacy. It was only a year since a kid at school had been rushed into hospital and cut open because his balls hadn't dropped - rumor had it that they had been cut out and replaced with plastic ones. Well, that got all of the moms in a real panic.

The people who lived next door were Aunt Betty and her daughter, Sarah - she was the same age as me and had always been around. Aunt Betty wasn't a doctor or a nurse, but she wore a white coat and worked in a pharmacy, so she was the next best thing - she collected all the free samples of drugs that they got, and she always had something to fix you up when you were ill.

Anyway, I was lying on my bed, watching TV and minding my own business, when mom and Aunt Betty came in. Mom looked worried, and she sat down beside me and held my hands.

"Mike, you heard about Johnny Briggs?"

It was an embarrassing question to come from my mother, so I just nodded.

"Well, I'm worried in case you might have the same thing."

I shook my head vigorously.

"No, mom. Everything is fine."

That's what I mean about not listening. She just carried on as though I hadn't said a word.

"So Aunt Betty is going to check you over."

Next thing I knew, mom had left the room, my pants were down and Aunt Betty was looking at my balls - she even touched them! What a humiliation. It only took a couple of seconds, but it left me feeling really terrible - it was days before I could even look at either of them.

That was before things started to happen to me. My dick had grown a lot and my balls were hanging down nowadays - but there was something wrong. Most of the other boys had hair, and they talked about coming and jism and things. I had no hair at all, and when I tried to make sperm, nothing happened - my dick jumped about, but nothing came out of it.

The trouble with adults is that they notice things when you don't want them to. I had jerked myself sore the previous night in a vain attempt to produce some liquid - my dick was real tender. There was just me and Aunt Betty in her kitchen, and I scratched myself when I reckoned she wasn't looking.

"What's the problem, Mike?"

I felt myself going red, and I couldn't look at her.

"You haven't got what Johnny had?"

I began to panic.


"Just let me have a little look, Mike."

That's the other bad thing about being thirteen. You don't know how to say no to an adult. I felt terrible, but I just had to stand there while she unfastened my pants and pulled them down, then looked hard at me.

"Oh - nothing wrong there."

She must have seen the look on my face, because suddenly she got all tender and sat me down on their big leather couch, then gave me a hug.

"There is something wrong, isn't there? You can tell me anything, you know. I won't mind."

It was a relief to tell somebody. All of my fears came tumbling out.

"...so I think that I might be sterile or something."

She hugged me.

"Of course you aren't. Let me show you something."

She fetched a big book with lots of pictures in it. Pictures that I didn't know you could put in books without getting arrested. She showed me a page full of boys and men with no clothes on - it made me blush to the roots of my hair to look at them and to know she was watching. She pointed at them one by one.

"See - that's a little baby boy - then when you're about eleven - and that's you about now."

I stared at the picture - it was almost like I had posed for it - everything was exactly the same as my privates. I must have made some sort of noise because I was so relieved, because she hugged me again and kissed my forehead.

"OK now?"


She traced along the rest of the pictures right to a grown up man.

"And this is how you will change in the future. There's nothing that you can do to hurry it up - just let nature take its course. You'll soon start to make sperm, and then it will come out when you masturbate. That's when you will have to start to be real careful, because it means you are old enough to make babies if you have intercourse."

Then she turned the page and my eyes just about popped out of my head, because it was pictures of girls with no clothes on. She pointed to one in the middle, a girl with small breasts and a little bush of hair on her front.

"That's where Sarah is at - now see how her shape will change and her breasts and hair will grow as she grows into a woman."

Then she turned the page again, and I felt faint. It showed pictures of boys and men with their dicks standing up, and right at the bottom a great big photo of an enormous one sticking right into a woman's thing. She laughed at my expression.

"I know it seems a long way away, but that's what you will be up to in two or three years from now."

"Does it hurt? It looks like it does."

"The first time it sometimes does. After that you get to like it."

I was relieved when she put the book away. It had been interesting, I had learned one helluva lot, but it was also disturbing.

Sarah and I were real good buddies. She wasn't all silly like some of the girls that spent all of their time giggling and dressing up in frilly things - she could jump and climb better than me!

The accident happened when she got a new skateboard and challenged me to a race. I know it was stupid, but we went to the top of a long hill and set out right down the center of the road, yelling and screaming because it felt like we were flying. We saw the car back out of the driveway, and I was far enough behind to skid to a stop, but Sarah crashed right into its trunk and went flying over the top. There was a sound like a dry branch snapping, and then she screamed like I had never heard before.

I just felt so helpless. She was lying there, her screams had faded and she looked like she was about to die - she was all white and she could hardly speak. The ambulance came real fast and the paramedics strapped her to a stretcher and took her away before I could react - I had to tell a cop her name and where she lived, and he spoke into his radio, then he put me and the skateboards into his car and took me home.

Mom was frantic. She screamed at me for being so stupid, she told me I was grounded until I was eighteen and she kept calling the hospital until she got some news.

"Sarah has broken her leg, but fortunately that's all apart from some bruises. Lucky for you, young man."

"It wasn't my fault, mom."

"It was as much yours as hers. What were you thinking of? Racing down that hill? You're lucky you weren't both killed!"

She calmed down a bit after she heard that Sarah was OK, and I stopped praying.

"Can we go and see her, mom?"

"Of course not. She had to have an anaesthetic to set the leg in a cast and she will be sleeping now. You can see her tomorrow when she comes back home - and apologize to Aunt Betty at the same time."

It was actually two days before they let her out. As soon as I got back from school, I rushed to see her. She looked dreadful - her face was all scratched and bruised, her arms were purple in places and her leg was in a cast from end to end. She seemed to be OK, though - she was sitting up in bed, wearing a sort of extra-long tee shirt with the huge white plaster sticking straight out.

I remembered what mom had said, and muttered an apology to Aunt Betty. She just grinned and ruffled my hair.

"That's OK, Mike. Why don't you keep Sarah company for a little while?"

She left and we played a game of checkers on her magnetic board. Then, suddenly, Sarah's tummy rumbled. It went on and on, and she suddenly looked panicky and tried to get out of bed.

"Help me, Mike. I need the toilet right now!"

She leaned on my shoulder and half-walked, half-hopped into the bathroom which was between her room and the next as she started to make squeaking noises and jump around with the effort of keeping things in.

She started to pull her pants down and I started to get out of there.

"Help me!"

The pants had caught on her cast, and in any case she couldn't get them over her foot. She ripped at them and then I pulled them over the rough plaster.

"You need to hold my cast. Hurry!"

I cottoned on - she couldn't sit down properly because of the rigid plaster on her leg. I grabbed it and held it up while she lifted her shirt to waist level and then sat on the commode.

Everything was happening at once. Flesh and blood could not resist sneaking a look and confirming the existence of hair round her thing. At the same time, I could hear what sounded like water squirting into the bowl. Her face relaxed into a beatific smile.

"Oh god - I needed that. Some of the water must have got stuck inside me."

Then she suddenly realized that she was showing her all to me. She giggled and pulled the shirt to cover herself. I was baffled, and my face must have shown it.

"All the painkillers made me constipated, Mike. Mom had to give me an enema. Sometimes some of it gets trapped inside and comes back later. That's what just happened."

"You had an enema? That's gross."

"No it isn't. Why should it be gross?"

"Well - you know...rubber tubes and things...in your butt hole."

"I told you - it's not gross. It only takes a couple of minutes and it makes you feel much better right away. Now hand me a towel - I'm all messed up."

I had to support her while she rubbed and wiped, then we made our way back to her bedroom.

"Fresh pants - in the top drawer."

She let me work them over her cast, giving me another good view. We had known each other since we were babies, and our moms had just popped us in the bath together until we got to be about ten so I suppose she just wasn't concerned at letting me help her. I shuddered at the thought that it might have been the other way about - I was much more sensitive than she was.

Her mom came back as I was easing Sarah back into bed.

"Oh - hi mom. The enema backfired on me and Mike helped me to go to the toilet."

Aunt Betty smiled at me.

"Thank you, Mike. Now I'm going to give her some medication to help her sleep - why don't you wait in the kitchen and I'll fix you something to eat."

There was a white box on the kitchen table with the name of the pharmacy on it. It was open, showing a number of strange looking objects wrapped in foil. I was looking at the words on the package when Aunt Betty returned - strange words.

"What's suppositories, Aunt Betty?"

She took the packet from me and unwrapped one of the objects - a white, torpedo-shaped thing.

"This is a suppository, Mike. Sometimes you give medicine this way - it goes in your butt."

"That's what you gave Sarah? Gross!"

She wrapped the thing up again and then poured me a glass of milk and added strawberry flavoring. I could see from the expression on her face that I was due for another of her talks.

"Sarah told me you said the same thing about her enema. Why do you think it's so gross?"

That rather threw me. I searched for words, but none came.

"It just IS!"

She shook her head sadly.

"Maybe if your mother had taken my advice you wouldn't have this phobia. There's nothing disgusting about that part of your body - it's just an opening like any other. If things get all hard and dried out, then a little warm water is the best way to soften them up. Anyway - you'd better get used to the idea, because sooner or later you'll have to take an enema whether you like it or not."

I shuddered.

"I think I'd rather die! Like when?"

"Like if you have to go into hospital, especially if you need surgery. Or maybe if you just forget to go to the toilet - you would be amazed how many mothers of teenage boys come into the shop for enema bags or Fleet enemas when their kids get stuffed."


"I can't tell you that - it's confidential. But I've sold things to mothers of three boys in your class - I can tell you that much!"

"Maybe it wasn't for the boys."

"Oh yes it was. I know the ladies from PTA meetings, and we had a chat about it each time."

I just couldn't get the thoughts out of my head. Despite what Aunt Betty had said, the idea of an enema filled me with horror and disgust, especially since she said that it was bound to happen sooner or later. The other thing was trying to guess who the boys were - the ones whose mom's had given them enemas.

The only likely candidate amongst my friends was Paul Mitchell. He had acted strange for a week, but told everyone that there was nothing wrong with him - he just felt tired. Then he had missed a day of school, and come back cured, still maintaining that there had been nothing wrong with him. It had to be him! But how could I find out?

I put plan A into operation at school the next day.

"Hi Paul"

"Oh - hi Mike."

"I saw your mom doing some shopping."

He looked perplexed, then I fired the first salvo.

"Yeah. In the drugstore. The pharmacy part."

His face told me that I had hit the target, but he obviously wasn't going to admit anything yet. The guns were reloaded and run out.

"Yeah. She was buying something real interesting."

That hit dead on the waterline. He tried to bluster.

"Like what?"

I raised my voice.

"Hey guys, guess what Paul's mom bought."

His masts quivered and then fell into the water. He struck his flag. He put his hand over my mouth.

"Shut up, for god's sake. I don't want anybody to know about it."

Now it was my turn to annoy him.

"About what?"

"You know what."

"No. Tell me. Maybe you should tell everybody."

His proud ship slipped beneath the waves, leaving him struggling.

"OK. So I got a fucking enema. Happy now?"

"Tell me what happened."

"What's to tell? She filled a big rubber bag up with soapy water, stuck a hose up my asshole and poured it in. The whole fucking lot. And if you tell anybody else, I'll do the same to you - with a fire hose."

I wanted to ask more, but he was bigger than me, and he could be real mean when he got angry, so I backed off. I was pretty sure that he couldn't carry out his threat - but maybe he might try!

I had forgotten that the next weekend was one of mom's seminars. She actually called them brain washing sessions - every three months her company made everyone go stay in a hotel and them gave them talks and made them do silly things like standing on chairs and yelling. She said it was supposed to build team spirit, but I couldn't see how that worked.

Anyway, she ignored my claims that I was big enough to stay home and look after myself, and dumped me with Aunt Betty as usual. I didn't really mind - Aunt Betty was OK for an adult, she always made something nice for me to eat and I could spend the evenings playing with Sarah.

Sarah was mobile by now, swinging herself around the place on a pair of crutches and sporting an increasing amount of art-work on her cast. She was still pretty tired though, and Aunt Betty sent us both up to bed at eight o'clock - my room was on the other side of the bathroom with connecting doors.

I got into my pyjamas and wandered through to talk to Sarah - she was sitting up in bed with an expression of boredom on her face. I was fed up with checkers, mainly because she always won, so we started to play cards.

Then Aunt Betty came in. To my horror she was carrying an enema bag hanging from a sort of pole - it was obvious that Sarah was going to get it again. I felt myself go red and I started to leave, but Aunt Betty waved me back.

"You might as well carry on with your game - this takes ages and Sarah gets bored easily."

She arranged Sarah's pillows so that she was lying on her side with her chest supported so that we could carry on playing, then went behind her and lifted the sheet and Sarah's shirt, then she did something with the tube. I couldn't see anything directly, but Sarah's face suddenly looked like she was going to ask a question and I realized that her mom had put the tube into her asshole.

It was the weirdest game of cards ever. Aunt Betty was sitting on the other side of the bed, doing things with a metal clip on the hose, Sarah was just carrying on as though nothing was happening, even though I could see that the bag was getting smaller and smaller. Mind you, I started winning near the end because Sarah completely lost concentration - I guessed that she was feeling pretty full by then.

Aunt Betty stopped, then helped Sarah to the bathroom, and even through the door I could hear the sounds of squirting water and loud toilet-type grunts and groans from Sarah. Enemas sure worked!

After a while they came back, and Aunt Betty sent me to my room, explaining that Sarah would want to go to sleep now that she was all emptied out. Frankly, I was glad to be out of there - even if Sarah didn't seem to mind, I still found the whole thing pretty disgusting.

The door opened and Aunt Betty came in. After a couple of seconds I realized that the bag she was carrying wasn't empty any more.

"That's not for me?"

She smiled at me.

"Yes it is, Mike. You have to get rid of that phobia, or someday you'll get really ill because you're too shy to say what the trouble is."

"But I don't need an enema."

"Teenage boys always need an enema. I've never come across one that wasn't in a state of perpetual constipation."

I had to agree with that. Sometimes it absolutely killed to get the stuff out of my asshole.

"Come on, Mike, you know what to do."

It never occurred to me to refuse. I just turned on my side, pushed my PJ pants down and lay there trembling. Aunt Betty sat beside me and rubbed my back gently, soothing my fears with her words while at the same time I felt something wriggle its way into my asshole. I wasn't scared that it was going to hurt - Sarah had provided a demonstration that there was no pain involved - but I didn't realize just how peculiar it would feel.

It sort of tickled, but a different kind of tickle - a nice, intimate stimulation as the thin tube slid slowly into my rectum. Everything seemed relaxed and cozy, not embarrassing any more, as I began to enjoy the feeling.

That was nothing to the way it felt when she undid the clip and the first thin jet of hot water swirled around inside of me. It just about blew my brains through the top of my skull! It curled my toes and made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and it made my dick go hard as iron. I suddenly decided that enemas were the greatest invention ever made - my whole skin was sensitive, the slightest touch sent pulses of strangely pleasurable sensations racing through me.

Even when I got full and felt like I needed to go, it wasn't like when you got the runs. It was the first time that I realized that in the right setting, a mild pain can be transformed into something completely different, a sharp sauce on the sweetness of pleasure.

Then, when it was finished, I ran to the toilet and experienced what seemed to be the ultimate cleansing - I was totally empty, light as a feather, purged in mind as well as body. Aunt Betty was waiting when I eventually returned to my room.

"Well? Still think it's disgusting?"

"Gee - no. It was fantastic. I feel great!"

She hugged me tight, then tucked me into bed.

"Any time, Mike. Just ask."

It would be nice to be able to say that the marathon jerk that resulted when she had left the room produced my first emission, but it didn't. It was still the best one I had ever experienced, though.

By unspoken agreement, my enema was not mentioned when mom returned. My erotic fantasies had already established enemas as a major turn-on for me, my child's mind had decided that this fact was unknown to the adult world, particularly to mom and Aunt Betty. Still - I had felt that way about masturbation when I first discovered it, and I started to wonder just how Paul had felt.

It wasn't something that you could just go up to a guy and ask straight out. It meant that you were revealing something to him that he could mock if you happened to be wrong. I needed the time and the place to work slowly up to the information.

I was a conniving child, really. The solution was a sleepover at my house. The problem was something that Paul would not be able to resist when I invited him. It came to me one evening when Aunt Betty was talking to mom.

"Aunt Betty? Could I borrow that book you showed me?"

Mom looked puzzled. Aunt Betty smiled.

"I got it for Sarah - it's a sex instruction book for teenagers. Avoids having to answer awkward questions."

Mom agreed immediately. Sex was something she didn't like talking about to me, and the prospect of her parental duty being performed by a book appealed to her. She nodded enthusiastically.

"Just go and fetch it, Mike. You know where it is."

Mom had a quick look at it when I carried it in, then closed it rapidly and handed it to me, the suspicion of a blush on her cheeks.

"Er...good thing...just don't leave it lying around."

Paul could not resist the invitation when I described the book and its contents. Once we were in our pyjamas and safely ensconced in my room, I produced it and we lay side by side on my bed, taking turns in flicking over the page as we absorbed the incredible facts that it presented.

I stopped him at a cut-away drawing of the male body and pointed to the anus, making some inane statement about how there should be a tube stuck up it. I could see that I had hit the mark, because he was as red as a beetroot while he looked at it.



"When your mom gave you that enema - how did it feel?"

"Have you had an enema?"

"Sure I have."

"How did it feel for you?"

"Kinda funny."

"Yeah. Me too."

"What happened?"

"My mom had me kneeling down with my ass stuck up in the air - you know how it's done - and then I got this huge hard on when she shoved the tube up my ass. She pretended not to notice, but she must have seen it."

I grunted in sympathy with him.

"Yeah - happened to me just the same."

There was a palpable feeling of relief in the air. Being unique at thirteen is the worst thing that can happen. Sharing experiences of embarrassment helps to make them disappear. Paul cleared his throat in the way of the adolescent boy who can't find words for something intimate.

"Jeez - you too? I thought it was just me. Does it happen to everybody?"

"Reckon so. Look at this."

I pointed to the prostate gland on the drawing then showed him the writing that said how it was very sensitive and that some partners used their fingers to stimulate it. By now we were both in a state of high sexual tension and it came as little surprise when Paul pushed his hand down the back of his pants and started to poke around his asshole. I tried it too, but my finger was too short and facing the wrong way. I'm sure we both had the same idea of trying it on each other, but that was just too advanced a thing for a couple of kids. I turned over the pages to the ones of naked girls and people doing it, and we both automatically reached for our pricks and started to pump away.

We never repeated the sleepover, and Paul and I became more distant at school - the memories of that night were an invisible barrier that pushed us apart. I had to wait three months for my next experience when mom left me with Aunt Betty again.

This time it was more or less accepted that I would take an enema - if she hadn't offered, I would have asked for one. The memories of my first experience haunted me, driving me to more and more fantastical mental exertions during my nightly exercises. What I had not expected was that she would make it a communal session.

The tension grew as bedtime approached - I knew that it was going to happen. Sarah was back to normal now, the cast a dim memory and the ability to wear pyjamas fully restored. Once we were in our night clothes, Aunt Betty just breezed in with the full bag ready for action.

"Right, who's going first?"

I think we both felt a bit embarrassed, because Aunt Betty stooped and looked at us. "You two have been like brother and sister ever since you were born. You're surely not going to start worrying about a few hairs and some unscheduled bumps?"

That made us laugh and broke the tension. Sarah grinned sheepishly and stepped out of her PJ pants, making no attempt to hide anything.

"You're right, mom, me and Mike are just like brother and sister. I'll go first."

I wasn't so keen when it came to my turn. I had been sitting down with my legs crossed to conceal the fact that I had gotten the hard on of the century. Sarah burst out laughing when she saw my reluctance.

"He's got a page 47!"

I didn't understand. She laughed again.

"Anyway - it's time you returned that book."

I suddenly understood. That was the number of the page with the pictures of stiffies on it. And somehow it made it all right. I took my pants off and Sarah gazed curiously at me.

"You've only got a few hairs."

"Give him time, darling."

That enema opened new vistas of sensuality for me. It was strange - it was sexless, but sexually exciting at the same time. Maybe it was having an audience, maybe it was the general atmosphere, maybe it was all down to my prostate gland, but it was an incredible experience, culminating in me actually coming when it was just about over. And that time, there was a hint of moisture produced.

My relationship with Sarah was the strangest thing of all. We were like brother and sister - it didn't take long before all of out inhibitions vanished. We each got friends of the opposite sex and started to develop relationships, but we never felt any sexual attraction for each other. At least not until the very last time.

We were sixteen, and Aunt Betty had broken the news that they were moving away. It was actually romantic - she had met a sweetheart from her childhood who was divorced as well, and they had gone through a whirlwind courtship - they were getting married and moving east to live in his house.

We were all three in tears for that last session. It was worse for Sarah - at least I was staying there and I had a steady girlfriend, but she was leaving everything.

We took our enemas one after the other - Aunt Betty had long ago started to provide a small towel to catch my mess - no comment, just a towel. This time I was just too choked to come - I hardly even got hard. Then, when I was trying to get to sleep, Sarah crept into bed with me and we hugged and wept in mutual misery. One thing led to another, and we ended up losing our virginity to each other. She's married now - she got pregnant last year and they decided to tie the knot.

I held my breath. I had never told anyone the story before, but things had been getting not so good between Rhiannon and me, and she had demanded to know what was on my mind.

"Wow! So your enemas stopped three years ago?"

"Yeah. Once they had gone there was nobody."

"And nobody ever stuck their finger up your poor little asshole?"


I felt her turn in the bed and reach for the KY.

"You know, I've always wanted to do this. Sunny side up, Mike."

I could hardly believe it was happening. I felt her finger, coated with cool gel, poke around my asshole and then slide smoothly inside, her finger poking and probing, sending me into transports of delight at the strange feelings it was eliciting. It slowed down and then was still.

"Fair's fair. Now I'll tell you about my enemas."

My first one was when I was thirteen too. I was a leggy, pigtailed brat, flat chested and shy, and I had the worst attack of period pains that anyone could imagine.

In my case it was a real aunt. She lived across town, and she was a sort of medicine woman too, but in her case it was herbs and all sorts of alternative medicine like aromatherapy and reflexology. She had this sort of clinic where people came to get their feet massaged to cure headaches - things like that.

Anyway, I was lying on the couch, praying for death, and mom must have called her because suddenly she was in the room and my shoes and socks were off and she was rubbing my feet with oil. It helped a bit, but not much, so she turned to mom and they had one of those quiet conversations that you don't much like when you're a kid.

"I'll take her now, then. Soon have her right as rain."

I remember curling up on the back seat of her car and just crying with the pain as she drove me to her place. She took me into the room where she did the treatments and lay me down on the couch.

I didn't realize what she was doing at first - she put some dried herbs in a glass and added boiling water, then she strained them through an ordinary coffee strainer - I thought that was funny, for some reason. She mixed them up in a big jug with warm water and used a thermometer to measure the temperature. I remember vividly thinking that if she expected me to drink that lot then I just couldn't handle it.

"Won't be long now, dear. Hang in there."

That was when she got the enema bag out of a cupboard and I suddenly realized where that jug of liquid was going. I tried to object.

"No. Please. Not that."

"Don't be silly, child. It's only an enema, and it will make you feel fine. Now get undressed like a good girl."



Now I know she was a woman, she was my aunt, and she had seen me naked thousands of times over the years, but it was still hellish embarrassing to strip off in front of her, and to know that she could see the bit of string hanging out of me.

It got worse, though. She produced these two poles and attached them to the couch - I knew what they were, all right - they were the nightmare that haunted every girl. They were the things that held your legs in the air and left you exposed completely.

I didn't have a choice. She got me on the couch and my knees on those things before she produced the final horror - it was a thick rubber tube about a mile long, like an awful brown snake. Women have a thing about snakes, you know.

It was hard to get it in - I was so terrified that my asshole was clamped shut - that was how I beat you to this, because the next thing I knew she had put a glove on, dipped her finger in some sort of oil and was rubbing away at me. I don't know what it was, but it sort of tingled, like it as thinking about stinging and burning, and it made me open right up for her. Then she rubbed it round inside me - I've never felt anything like it - it was warm and tingly, sort of working its way up to an itch.

Anyway, next thing I knew, the tube was right inside me and she had turned on the tap and started a slow trickle of water into my ass. She put some more of the oil on her hand and started to rub my tummy, while her other hand kept easing more rubber into my guts.

But it worked! One minute I was on the verge of an agonizing death, then suddenly I was purring like a contented cat. I still don't know what she put in the enema or what that oily stuff was - she always just told me that they were secret remedies - but whatever they were they had me in a sort of private heaven.

You said about you coming - I did too. About a dozen times, although she never went near my sex organs. It had never happened to me before, and very rarely since that time.

I expected to have it done on a regular basis, but that didn't happen. My aunt gave me some little packets of herbs and I had to make a tea with them and drink it down as soon as I felt the first twinge of cramp. There were only a couple of times that it didn't work and she put me back on the couch for her special treatment.

By now I was groaning and squirming at the effects of her internal massage, but I was not far enough gone to hear the nostalgia in her voice.

"You enjoyed it, then?"

"It was wonderful. Do you sometimes think about enemas when we make love?"

I blushed.

"Well...not very often."

The thought that came into my mind just then made me go over the edge. I felt my asshole tighten around her finger as I came in buckets on to the sheet.

When I regained my ability to speak, I took the other risk. The first thing I had bought when I got to college was a large enema bag and all the trimmings, including a tube like the one she had described.

"Rhiannon. I've got some enema stuff. Do you want to try it? Not if you don't want to, of course."

"Where is it? Let me see."

I got it out of its hiding place and watched her face when she saw the colon tube. I chuckled.

"Just like you aunt used?"

Her voice was deep and husky.

"Yeah. Exactly the same."

I filled the bag with plain water - I was going to investigate the herb thing later. I could see from her face that I was doing the right thing.

"OK, Rhiannon. You'll have to hold your legs up yourself."

It was just so sexy to poke then end of the tube into her little asshole and hear the noises she made. Her aunt may not have touched her sex organs, but I could. I liked oral sex anyway, so I started to lick and nuzzle while I cracked the clip open by touch.

We both went sort of mad. We made passionate love - it was strange to feel the tube in one hole with my dick in the other, but it provided a curiously effective sort of friction.

I got my turn later. Much later - we were both exhausted from the first effort. Being sucked while a quart of water makes its way into your rectum is an experience I can recommend!

That just left the problem of the herbs. I contacted one of the seniors, a new-age weirdo who was into that sort of thing. He burst out laughing when I asked him what the herbs might have been.

"Ganja, my friend. Pot, grass, cannabis. Did you know that Queen Victoria used the same thing for period pains?"

"You're kidding!"

"No way. It's all true. That's why the lady wouldn't say. Works good for boys too - rectally or otherwise."

It does, you know. It works really well.....rectally.


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