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Enema Story

I resisted, of course, but it was no use. I pleaded incompetence, insanity and indifference but it made no difference. There was an orphan in the extended family and I had plenty of room in my house to accommodate him whilst everyone else did not have any space at all.

So my comfortable, self-indulgent divorced middle-age was rudely shattered by the arrival of Alan, my sixteen year old relative - a second cousin once removed, whatever that might be. Since my last experience of children had ceased when I left school and went to college, and since things had obviously changed in the past thirty years, I had absolutely no idea of what to say or do.

He seemed a reasonable specimen of the genus Boy. He was surprisingly tall, but slim and unformed. His hair was cropped short - why is it that those who can grow a luxuriant head of hair choose to cut it off? Just to make the victims of male pattern baldness jealous?

His clothing was clean and neat and the boy himself seemed hygienic - hardly surprising since he had passed through some redoubtable female hands on his way to his final destination.

The most curious thing was that he called me "Sir" and seemed to be in some awe or even fear of me. That was odd and I certainly was not going to stand for it in my own home - I insisted that he called me Bob, something that he found surprisingly difficult until he got used to it.

Then there was the problem of getting him into a school. I knew little of them - my last contact had been at the age of eighteen - so I called several friends and discovered that the local highschools were dens of iniquity, violence and drugs. I resigned myself to following their advice and paying the ridiculous amount that a well-recommended private school charged for providing what should have been a free service.

That meant Alan and I both had to dress respectably - more a problem for him than for me - and be interviewed by the principal. I was surprised that the boy acquitted himself very well under a barrage of questions and curiously proud when they decided that he was intelligent enough to grace their establishment.

More money. They had a school uniform. I tried to simply arrange for Alan to use my credit card and do his own shopping but he said that he couldn't handle the process himself, so I had my first experience of buying clothes for, and with, a child. Fortunately the store was well aware of the requirements, but they insisted on him trying everything on - something that brought back memories of my own embarrassment when a store clerk measured me and then checked the fit of trousers while my mother sat looking on at the process. The uniform was extensive - and expensive - ranging from blazer to swimsuit and it took both of us to carry it back to the car.

I realised when we got home and unpacked the stuff that sixteen is a fragile age. Alan was obviously ill at ease during the process and I asked him what his problem was. To my horror he burst into tears, leaving me stumblingly impotent to deal with him.

"What on earth?"

"You spent all that money on me!"


"So it's not right. You're not my dad and you shouldn't have to buy me all these things."

"I can afford it."

"That's not the point. I feel like I'm just a parasite, living off somebody else."

I really didn't know how to cope. I think I was more embarrassed than he was - male tears are always unsettling. I touched his arm in a gesture of comfort and he just turned and hugged me while I waved my arms around - hugging a boy was not in my repertoire of behaviour.

Alan liked his new school from day one, despite the uniform and the amount of homework he got each night. He was enthusiastic about the standard of the education he was getting and, surprisingly for a boy, he enjoyed the challenge of academic study.

I slowly discovered, however, that his maturity was not universal. I washed my own clothes, of course, and I never noticed or thought about the condition of his until I began to notice a smell of unwashed underwear. There was nothing I could do immediately, but I decided that I would do his laundry next day while he was at school. I had never been in his room since he arrived and the smell of stale sweat and dirty underwear hit me as soon as I entered.

I gathered up what seemed to be his entire wardrobe of shirts and pants - three of each - from the floor and then turned my attention to his bed. I stripped off the duvet cover and then started to pull the sheet from the mattress. That was when the smell of semen hit me and I realised just how frequently a sixteen year old boy masturbates - the sheet was a collection of stiff patches joined by grubby fabric. I pulled it hard to remove it and in the process I dislodged several magazines that had been hidden under the mattress.

Frankly, I was shocked. They were not the innocuous Playboy that had seemed so incredibly erotic when I was his age - their pin-sharp photography left nothing to the imagination. Close up pictures of female genitals penetrated by improbably large penises, photographs in anatomical detail of both sexes in various stages of sexual excitement and positions for sexual congress that must have required several months of strict training to achieve.

I really had no idea what to do. Finally I decided to take the risk of embarrassing him and I stacked them neatly on the bedside unit below the lamp. There really was no point in pretending that I had not seen them - so I might as well send the message that I did not disapprove.

I spent the day in domesticity as I washed and ironed his clothes, then I made his bed and filled his closet with clean underwear. I waited for his return with some apprehension - he went into his room and then I heard a wail of despair when he saw the magazines in plain view. I stood in the open door as he turned an anguished face towards me.

"You found them? Oh my GOD!"

I managed an indifferent shrug.

"They aren't unusual at your age. I had plenty."

He seemed taken aback.

"You don't mind?"

"Why should I? It's your business, not mine. They're nothing to be ashamed of and you don't need to hide them."

He looked at them, then at me, and paid me the finest compliment of my life.

"You know, you're not bad - for an old guy."

"Less of the old, kid. I can still take you."

"No way! Not in a million years."

"Arm wrestling?"

We adjourned to the kitchen and I felt ludicrously proud of the fact that I won three in succession. He grinned ruefully and I chose the moment to mention the other problem.

"Alan - why don't you go take a bath and put on some of those clean things. Then we need to get you some more underwear."

This time he was willing to shop for himself - I gave him some cash and a ride to the mall and left him to it with instructions to take a cab home afterwards. It was only when I saw him fold the money and put it carefully in his pocket that it dawned on me that this was an action I had not seen before. It had simply never crossed my mind that Alan would need money.

"Alan. How have you paid bus fares? And for your lunches at school?"

His expression told me everything.

"You walked? And you didn't eat?"

"Sometimes I got a ride. I didn't like to ask you for money."

"I'm sorry - I just forgot."

He arrived home with his purchases and insisted on showing them to me for my approval. To my surprise he had bought some briefs as well as shorts - he blushed and grinned as he held them up.

"A lot of the guys at school wear these. They say that.."

Then he stopped and blushed crimson.

"What do they say, Alan?"

"They say that girls go for them."

"Oh - then you certainly are going to need them, aren't you?"

He blushed again. Surely I never did that at sixteen?

"Well... I'm kinda hoping..."

Then I remembered about money.

"Alan - I want to know what you need for a day at school. I'll give you that times five, plus an allowance. Is fifty dollars okay?"

He looked astonished.

"I don't need that much."

"I think you do - especially if there's a girl around. We'll see how it goes - maybe you may need more for special occasions. You can't get a decent meal for two for fifty bucks in this town."

He sat in silence for a while, then spoke timidly.

"Bob, fifty bucks is enough for the payment on a cheap computer. If you sign the papers for one, I'd rather have that than an allowance."

He flinched as I swore.

"It's okay, Alan, I was swearing at myself, not at you. Come on - let's go buy a computer."

All right - so I did go overboard a little. But it was worth it to see his face as we opened the boxes when we got back home. I was impressed with the way he unpacked the units and plugged them all together - and it worked when he had finished!

"Now you need to register with an ISP."

"English, please."

"An Internet Service Provider. They'll take a credit card?"

It was the query in his voice that clinched it. I was an ostrich as far as the Internet was concerned and I had heard some bad things about it, but I wasn't going to disappoint him. He surprised me again when he quickly located an ISP in the phone book and rapidly organised an account.

"Do you want it as bob or alan?"

"I don't understand."

"The ID - do you want it in your name or mine?"

"Oh - yours, of course."

I gathered that was the right answer because he beamed with delight.

"Yes - is alanmaxwell taken? Good - that's the one, then."

I was surprised when he immediately plugged in the modem and consulted notes he had written before entering them into the machine.

"Okay - here goes..."

The machine beeped and twittered and then went silent. I watched with concern.

"Is it broken?"

"No - we're in! What do you want to know about?"


"Too easy - watch this."

He could certainly handle the machine. Words and pictures flowed at his command and I was stunned at the amount of information available.

"Okay - ask me another. Harder."

An old memory returned of a battered vinyl record with a hand painted sleeve.

"Try Mordecai's Sheep Shaggers."

He stared at me, then typed it in. I was delighted when there was no information available. Alan looked suspicious.

"Was that a real question?"

"Oh yes - they were a small Australian band. They only ever made one record and only about fifty copies of it were sold."

"Jeez! How did you know that?"

"Because I've got one of them - up in the attic somewhere."

"Jeez! I didn't think you were into that sort of thing!"

He shut the system down and then he looked at me hopefully.

"Does this mean I get to stay here?"

"Of course - as long as you want. Why do you ask?"

"Well - you're the sixth one. All the others passed me on."

I hadn't realised it, but he had been moved around the family for almost two years - at one stage he had even been put into the care of social services. No wonder he hadn't asked me for any money! I felt really sorry for him as he told the story and I finally held up my hand to stop him.

"Alan. You live here now. Whatever happens, this will always be your home for as long as you wish."

Then he embarrassed me by bursting into tears again.

He was a good instructor and I quickly mastered the skills required to get a connection and to use a search engine - I could hardly believe that this was a free service! I managed to conceal my impatience until he left for school the next day, then I started it up, got my connection and typed ENEMA into the search engine. I clicked the button and held my breath...

That requires some explanation. It went back to when I was thirteen years old and somehow allowed myself to become horribly constipated. I waited for several days in the hope that the problem would sort itself out, but I finally had to tell my mother of my situation.

She listened to my story and then questioned me until she finally worked out that it was ten days since my last BM. Then she made me stand straight while she felt my tummy - I could detect the shape of the mass inside of me by the feelings that her fingers produced. Then she sighed.

"Bobby, this is way beyond medicine - you should have told me a week ago. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to give you an enema to sort this out."

I vividly remember the terror that her announcement produced. I'd never had an enema in my life and I reckoned that it just had to be a painful process. She paid no attention to my protests and disregarded my pleas for medicine and I had to watch while she produced an enema bag - I hadn't known that we had one in the house - and filled it to the brim with hot, soapy water.

It was horribly embarrassing to have to strip naked in front of her. I had gradually eased out of that process over a period of three years and my newly acquired pubic hair and larger genitals were a matter of extreme sensitivity. She was calm but very firm about it - whether I wanted it or not, I was going to get an enema and that meant taking my clothes off.

I finally stood before her with tears in my eyes at the supreme humiliation of my mother seeing me naked. Then it got a thousand times worse because she spread a towel on the floor and made me kneel down with my head resting on my folded arms and my butt sticking up in the air. Then I felt the enema tip being pushed into my asshole and I just wanted to die, right there and then.

The enema *was* painful - in fact I begged her to stop after a very short time. Then the pain subsided but when I tried to poop, nothing happened - even the water had somehow disappeared. Mom said that was only to be expected - and made me get back into position for some more.

I guess she got about a pint of liquid up my ass before I simply could not take any more - it squirted back out again in a thin stream but there was still no sign of a BM and I started to get real scared. Mom consoled me and let me put a bathrobe on and we waited for an hour or so before she said that it was time to try again.

By this stage I was terrified - I really didn't want her to do it again, but at the same time I was beginning to think that maybe they would need to cut me open to get the stuff out. This time mom spread the towel on my bed and made me lie on my side while she put the pipe back into my asshole. The enema took more than half an hour - I know, because the TV was on and I watched a whole episode of some show while she ran the water really slow into my butt. It didn't hurt that time and maybe the previous enemas had softened things up, because I managed to produce a truly awesome BM.

I thought it was all over. I put on my robe again and had milk and cookies - and then mom told me that I had to have one more enema to make sure everything was out. So I went back to my room again and lay down with my knees up to my chest, resigned to my fate.

Maybe it was because I had gotten past the stage of being embarrassed, but that fourth and final enema turned into something very different from its predecessors. It tormented me with its slow, sensual stimulation, the feel of the pipe lodged in my asshole produced an erection which was fortunately concealed by my position, and the whole process provided me with a unique pleasure unlike anything I had ever experienced.

I tried several times to get another one, but my mother simply made me eat buckets of All Bran and enough vegetables to give me long ears and buck teeth. I never forgot it though and over the years it remained a stimulating memory. When I finally left home and got old enough to lose my shyness, I bought my own enema bag and relived my teenage experience many times, but always as a lone and lonely ritual.....

The results of my search amazed me. Several thousand hits! With trembling fingers I managed to invoke some of them - they varied from hospital advice notes through strange pornographic sites that I did not dare subscribe to. Finally though, I hit the mother lode - www.enemaheaven.net

Page after page, each leading to dozens of stories, every one with the sort of illustration that I had often created in my mind but never imagined that I would actually see. I read a couple of them and then decided to add to the stimulation. I fetched my enema bag on its home- made stand and filled it with warm water. Then I stripped and pulled the computer in front of the couch so that I could lie down. I slipped the greased nozzle into position, opened the clip a fraction and settled down for a couple of hours of reading. The slow infusion of liquid into my rectum allowed me to be part of the stories and I needed no physical stimulation beyond the gradual distension of my insides to bring me to the most profound and most glorious orgasm that I could remember.

When Alan returned that evening, I suggested that maybe it would be a good thing to relocate the computer into the spare bedroom, so that he could work on it without disturbing me or being disturbed by me. He agreed immediately and we moved everything on to the desk that I had bought for the system. I was delighted when he demonstrated that the machine could print things - not just text, but pictures - in colour! I made a note of the ink cartridges that it apparently ate in some quantity - I had a very definite premonition that it would need to be fed on a regular basis.

That was the start of an increasingly comfortable relationship between Alan and myself. He gradually became less jumpy and more settled and I realised that he was a boy of immense potential - his school reports rapidly became glowing in their estimation of his progress and, whilst he did not star in any sport he seemed to be reasonably good at most physical activity. I was punctilious in respecting his privacy - I even gave him notice when I was going to launder his sheets, something that always triggered a grin from him. He didn't hide his magazines again though - in fact they changed from time to time, something that reminded me of the way in which we had traded the only sources of full-frontal nudity available at the time - naturist magazines and National Geographic pictures.

Finally, after a few months, Alan shyly asked me if it was okay to bring a friend home. He blushed again and nodded when I asked him if the friend just happened to be female and his grin split his face when I told him that he should feel free to invite anyone he chose to his home.

So I met Justine. A petite young lady with Mediterranean looks - olive skin and jet black hair - who was both very pretty and initially extremely shy. However, it also meant that I had to invite her mother to come to supper with us for the statutory female seal of approval on their relationship. Her mother, Marie, was a more mature version of the girl - full figured, curvaceous and very attractive. She was also very divorced.

Alan actually cooked the supper - I had gradually managed to teach him that life contained more then grilled circles of compressed ground beef - assisted by Justine. I sat with a gin and tonic in my hand, feeling ridiculously nervous in the unfamiliar situation, whilst whoops of laughter and shouts of triumph came from the youngsters in the kitchen. Fortunately you can't really spoil veal and supper was a triumph for Alan who basked in the praise heaped on him for his culinary skills.

Justine became a regular visit after that and I found myself slightly envious of the blossoming of young love. Alan hinted strongly that he would appreciate it if he was not disturbed when he went to his room with Justine and I naturally agreed that I would not suddenly start to invade his privacy. Each time they finally emerged, somewhat dishevelled and reeking of sweat and sex, I have to admit that old emotions stirred within myself and my comfortable celibacy began to crumble.

I made it my business to purchase a large box of rubbers and this produced the first real embarrassment between Alan and me. I gave them to him and suggested that it was the responsible thing to make sure that an unwanted pregnancy was avoided if and when he and Justine decided to make love. He went crimson to the roots of his hair.

"It's okay, Bob. I don't need them."

"Take them anyway - sometimes things just happen and it's good policy to be prepared."

"I don't need them."

"But you might."

Then he took a deep breath.

"Bob, I really don't. We've been sleeping together for ages - Justine takes the pill. I thought you would be angry."

He still had the capacity to surprise me, and I was embarrassed that I had forced an admission which he had clearly felt difficult to make. Then he bowed his head and looked like a bashful twelve year old.

"Now that you know, is it all right if we take a shower? Justine doesn't like going home all sweaty."

"Hell - it's your private bathroom there. Shower all you want."

Their next visit was noisier and longer and Justine emerged from the bedroom wearing Alan's robe and with a towel wound round her hair. To my total astonishment she gave me a hug and a kiss on my cheek - and then asked if I had a hair dryer she could use. Fortunately I managed to find a late-night store which had one in stock.

I hadn't thought at all about vacationing. I had got out of the habit over the years and it came as a surprise when Alan gloomily announced that Justine would be away for the rest of his life - two whole weeks of separation while she took an Easter break with her mother.

He moped around in total misery for a few days, eating little and playing interminable games of patience on the computer. It cramped my activities too - I had become used to spending time reading a story and enjoying a totally erotic enema while he was safely at school. I rationed myself to no more then one new story per day - that way I had three months supply yet to be used.

Finally Alan announced that he was not feeling very well. I panicked, of course - the prospect of the boy becoming ill had never really crossed my mind, although I had naturally made sure that he was covered for any medical treatment when he first arrived.

"What's wrong, Alan? Are you in pain?"

"A little. To tell you the truth, I haven't been eating properly and I'm pretty stuffed. It's more uncomfortable that painful."

"Oh. I'll go to the pharmacy and get you something for it."

He shook his head and coloured.

"I can't take laxatives. They make me throw up. I think I need an enema - have you got the stuff to do one?"

I was totally shocked to hear those words - I could feel the blood draining from my head and I sat down before I fell over. The tables were turned and it was my privacy which was being threatened now. I wondered if I should deny all knowledge, then I decided that since he had never lied to me then I could not possibly start lying to him.

"Well... I do happen to have an enema bag. Have you taken enemas before?"

He nodded and I resigned myself to the inevitable.

"All right - you can use it if it is necessary."

"It is."

I got it out of my closet and carried the bag on its stand into his bedroom. I wasn't sure if he knew the correct solution to use, so I mixed up some warm soapy water and filled the bag, making sure that the air was out of the hose. Alan watched the procedure and asked about temperature and the amount of soap, so I guessed that it was right to prepare the enema for him. I spread a couple of towels on his bed and put a jar of vaseline ready for his use. Then I walked towards the door.

"Take it slow and easy, Alan."

"Hey - I can't do it myself!"

His words hit me with almost physical force. He wanted *me* to give him an enema? I guess things would have been different if I didn't find them so sensual and erotic and if I had not often wondered just what it would be like to administer one. No - more than that - I had always *wanted* to give someone an enema. In my imagination it was a female someone, but that made little difference to the way I felt at that precise moment.

"I think you should do it yourself, Alan."

"Why? What's so terrible about giving your boy an enema when he needs one?"

I could hardly accuse myself of forcing him to take one. And he *was* sixteen, of legal age, so there was nothing illegal involved. Most of all, why should I impose my fetish on him if he regarded taking an enema as being simply a minor medical procedure?

"All right, Alan, if that's what you want. I'll do your enema."

He smiled and then slid out of his clothes. I had never seen him naked before and I had to admire his body. Smooth skinned with developed musculature, not an ounce of fat anywhere, a neat uncircumcised penis protruding from a dense bush of pubic hair which was extending a central tendril towards his navel. He was totally self-possessed about his nudity - he made no attempt to hide it and simply walked to the bed, spread the towel to its full extent, lay down and bent his legs.

He may not have been affected, but my hand was shaking and my heart was pounding as I greased the long, tapered plastic tip. His skin felt like silk as I eased his cheeks apart and exposed a small, neat asshole surrounded by a few curled hairs.

"Okay, Alan. Here it comes."

I inserted the pipe with great care because the very last thing I wanted was to hurt this incredibly trusting boy. I was still holding his cheek at this stage and I felt it get rock hard in my hand at the same time as the muscles of his thighs stood out from his legs. Worst of all, the shaft of his penis showed through the skin behind his balls - he had an erection. He sighed deeply - and I recognised the sound as one of pleasure.

What could I do? The best that I could come up with was to simply ignore his state of sexual arousal and carry on with his enema. Maybe that was the wrong decision, because he got more and more excited as the bag slowly deflated - and finally he went into the throes of a prolonged and obviously highly pleasant orgasm. I extracted the nozzle immediately - from long experience I knew he needed the bathroom urgently at that point!

I left his room while he was still emptying his bowels and poured myself a stiff drink. I had absolutely no idea what to say or do, but I felt that at least I had to say something.

Alan proved me wrong. He just bounced into the room, full of energy.

"Thanks Bob. That really did the trick."

I took the easy way out and ignored it as well. Until he asked again the following week, the night before Justine was due to return. This time I decided almost immediately to go along with his pretence that nothing unusual was happening - we each got our separate pleasure from the encounter but in different compartments as it were. I enjoyed the sight of his young body, I loved the way in which he submitted his ass to my ministrations and I empathised with his pleasure as I watched him slowly move towards his orgasm. He just enjoyed an enema. Life is simpler when you are young.

Justine and her mother arrived next day in time to take tea with us. They greeted each other with total joy and much noise - I had already come to realise that kids live their lives at fast forward with the volume switch at maximum. Alan was delighted to receive a multitude of small gifts and I was embarrassed that Marie had brought me one as well - a Panama hat that she judged would suit me well. I had gotten to know Marie quite well over the previous months and I was touched that she had thought to buy something for me.

"You must let me take you and Justine for a meal sometime soon."

Justine snorted.

"Leave Alan and me out of it - unless the meal is junk food. I hate those posh restaurants."

"All right - Alan can take you somewhere and we'll go for a proper meal."

"When? Why don't you go tonight?"

"Your mother isn't dressed for it. Some other time."

"No - take her home and she can dress up to go out for a meal. You'll really enjoy that."

"Justine, honey, there's no hurry."

Marie burst into laughter.

"I think we're getting a strong hint that our presence isn't exactly needed here. You get changed then you can take me home and we'll leave these two to catch up on things."

I finally realised that the kids wanted us out of the way and I was surprised at Marie's acceptance of the fact that as soon as we left they were going to make passionate love for several hours. I got it completely wrong of course.

Marie invited me in while she changed. As she closed the door behind us, she smiled at me and feelings which had been slowly growing suddenly burst into flames of urgent desire.

"We don't *have* to go out, do we?"

I remember thinking that maybe adolescence was infectious as we kissed and explored each others body with our hands and our relationship changed from acquaintance to passion. I won't bore you with the details - we made love in an entirely satisfactory manner. As we gradually recovered from our exertions, Marie started to laugh.

"If only they knew! Those two are probably in exactly the same situation, but they probably think that we're far too old to have any interest in sex!"

That gave me the opportunity to ask her about her attitude.

"Marie, you're pretty laid back about your daughter sleeping with Alan."

"Well, I decided a long time ago that there was no point in trying to prevent Justine from having sex when she got into her teens. It seemed to me that the best thing was to make sure she wasn't going to get pregnant and to make it possible for us to talk about it. You can't do that if you act the heavy parent - we have a good relationship and we can talk frankly about it. I was actually glad when she chose Alan as the boy she was going to lose her virginity with - he's a fine young man."

There was nothing I could say in the face of such logic - it made sense even if it slightly shocked me. Marie sat up.

"I could do with a drink. I brought a couple of bottles of tequila back - the real stuff. Want some?"

I wasn't really very fond of the stuff, but I accepted the offer. We got out of bed and Marie put on a robe whilst I had to content myself with my shorts to cover me. Their bags were still lying in the hall and she grabbed a couple.

"Just give me a moment to find it."

She pulled out handfuls of clothing and I stooped to pick up a package than had fallen on the floor. I was embarrassed when I discovered that it was one of those disposable enema kits - the ones with the clear plastic tubing and a translucent bag for the liquid. I laid it on the table without comment and Marie saw what it was.

"Part of my emergency kit, Bob. Justine has what I call sensitive bowels - she either gets the runs or she becomes constipated whenever we go away from home. This time it was the runs!"

I should have just kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't.

"You give her enemas?"

"I know they're old-fashioned, but they're the best thing for children if you're staying in a hotel and moving around a strange city. Laxatives have a nasty habit of causing nasty accidents if they kick in at the wrong time."

I decided to change the subject.

"Well, at least she didn't need one this time - not if she had diarrhoea."

Marie snorted.

"That's where you're wrong! The very best thing for loose bowels is a nice, cool, plain water enema. It washes out the irritants and it helps to rehydrate you."

I looked sceptical and she continued.

"Oh - I thought it was ridiculous as well. I found out different when I was 18 and I went hiking with my ex-husband. I was really in a bad way with diarrhoea and he suddenly produced an enema bag and told me what he intended to do with it! I was so ill that I actually let him give me an enema - well, three of them in fact - and I could hardly believe it when they worked. Our whole holiday could have been wrecked when Justine went down with the runs, but a couple of enemas and she was fighting fit again!"

It was all getting too much for me. Ten years of celibacy had suddenly ended and, despite my determination to avoid any deep involvement with another woman, I was as stupidly in love as any teenage boy. Now she was casually talking about a subject that had been my private obsession for many years as though it was an everyday matter. My carefully constructed walls that insulated me from love had been blasted down and my emotions were shredded. I guess it must have shown on my face, because Marie suddenly looked concerned.

"Are you all right, Bob? You've gone pale."

"I'm okay. I think I should go home."

"You aren't going anywhere looking like that!"

She picked up the phone, dialled and then waited a while before it was answered.

"Alan? Bob's not feeling too well, so I'm keeping him here. I guess you and Justine will be okay on your own?"

She smiled as he replied.

"I thought so. See you in the morning."

She put the phone down and turned her attention to me.

"Bed for you. Right now."

It was oddly pleasant to let somebody else make the decisions for me. She put me to bed and then produced a box of assorted first-aid items.

"Let's get your temperature."

She dug into the box, produced a thermometer and then laughed.

"I guess you won't want this one! It's Justine's baby thermometer and it doesn't go in your mouth!"

I could hardly speak as I saw it. Larger than an ordinary thermometer, its bulb a bright red colour to mark it out from an oral type. I hadn't even been aware of their existence until a couple of the www.enemaheaven.net stories had informed me and since that time I had always wondered....

"Oh, that's okay. It's more accurate anyway, isn't it?"

"Well... If you really don't mind, then roll over."

I watched over my shoulder as she took the top of a pot of vaseline and plunged the thermometer bulb into it. When she withdrew it, it was covered with opalescent grease and it looked just lovely. She pulled back the sheets and yanked down my shorts - then she paused.

"Better take them right off, Bob."

I let her pull them down my legs and over my feet, then I got back into position for her. I felt the cold, greasy tip of the thermometer enter my asshole and slide deep inside, leaving the incredibly erotic sensation of a thin, rigid glass rod being held in position. I got an immediate half-erection and I just lay there savouring the nearness of Marie and the touch of her hand on my butt as she held the thermometer in place. After what seemed like hours, she extracted it and grimaced.

"A degree over, but that's hardly significant. Let's see if you're constipated."

She re-inserted the thermometer and then used it to probe my rectum for solid matter while I felt my toes curling with the sensations it was producing.

"Yes - there seems to be a lot in there. It's an enema for you, Bob."

I lay, shivering with anticipation as she prepared the enema in the bathroom. She returned with an ordinary rubber bag and hung it on a coat hook which had obviously been placed for that purpose.

"You'll feel much better after this. Roll over."

She proceeded to administer a large enema - not nearly large enough to cause my rectum to experience any discomfort - it was used to much larger volumes! I found the whole experience wonderfully sensual but very difficult. The problem was that Marie gave no sign that she regarded giving an enema as even remotely sexual - and I certainly didn't have the courage to make the first move.

At least she wasn't repelled by the process. I had never mentioned enemas to my ex-wife until after we were married and even then I presented them as something that I occasionally needed to relieve constipation. She had been totally revolted by the whole idea and announced that if I *did* need an enema, then she certainly did not want to know and I could only do it when she was out of the house. I guess that was part of the reason why we got divorced and I certainly was not going to risk making Marie think I was some sort of pervert.

It did, however, revive my appetite for sex....

We did the swap next morning - Marie took Justine home at the same time I returned. Alan was looking... satisfied, I suppose is the best word. He grinned lazily at me as I rustled up some breakfast - we were both very hungry. After we ate, I sat down to read the morning paper but Alan wanted to talk.

"Well - did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Have sex with Marie, of course."

I was about to tell him to mind his own damn business when I realised that he was treating me like a boy of his own age - a close friend - and not like an adult. But friendship comes with a price - you can't be buddies one minute and then play the heavy later.

"Yes, Alan. We made love - but that's between you and me. I don't want you to mention it to Justine."

"Yeah - I see what you mean. Okay, it's between you and me. What is she like?"

"It's hard to say. We both enjoyed ourselves."

He giggled.

"So did Justine and me!"

"Justine and *I*, Alan."

"You screwed her as well?"

Then he started to laugh and I joined in as I got the joke. I didn't mention the enema, of course.

We didn't see much of Marie and Justine for the next few days because they were making visits to relatives to hand out gifts they had brought back with them. I could see that Alan was getting frustrated again - he accompanied them on two visits and then swore that he was sick of being patronised by Justine's aunts. I could see it coming - and sure enough he suggested that he was in need of an enema.

I hit on what I thought was the perfect solution. I told him that I would do it later, then I called Marie and told her that Alan wasn't too well. I suggested that she might like to come round - and to bring an enema syringe with her. It would get me off an uncomfortable hook and, if I knew Justine, she would insist on accompanying her mother and on administering the enema herself. It could all work out very well and maybe Marie would get a hint about eroticism.

They arrived after about ten minutes - as I suspected, Justine had come along as well. Marie shocked me because she was just carrying the enema bag in her hand and had obviously walked up the driveway exhibiting it to anyone who was passing. She slapped it down on the table and looked at Alan.

"I hear that you're not well at all. Never mind - we'll soon fix you up real good."

He looked shocked as she hustled him out towards his room. Justine started to follow, but Marie very pointedly shut the door in her face, leaving her with me.

"Is Alan really ill? He didn't look too bad."

"No, honey, just constipated. Your mother will soon fix that."

She was angry - really angry.

"It's not fair, Bob. I told mom that I would do it and she said I was too young - she called ma a *child*"

I winced at that - I had discovered that sixteen year olds really hate being described as children.

"I'm sure she meant well, honey. What if you hurt him or did some damage inside? You would never forgive yourself."

Justine sniffed.

"I wouldn't have hurt him if I used the colon tube - that's all soft and rounded."

It took me a few moments to realise she *had* said 'colon tube'. I had to know but I didn't want to ask her straight out - I needed to dissemble.

"Colon tube? What's that?"

She held her hands apart.

"It's a rubber tube this long and it goes way up into your colon. That's how it got its name."

"Really? Why would anyone want to do that?"

She shrugged.

"I don't really know, but sometimes mom says that I need it. I don't much like it though."

"Why? Does it hurt?"

"Oh no - but you have to lie on your back for it. I don't like that - it makes me feel embarrassed. I didn't mean that Alan should get a colonic - just that you could use the tube for an ordinary enema."

"Maybe another time, eh?"


Marie eventually emerged, followed by Alan a few minutes later. He didn't look very happy and he was really subdued for the half hour until Justine and her mother left. The moment the door shut behind them, he rounded on me.

"That was a real bastard trick to play on me!"

"Whoa! What trick?"

"Getting Marie to give me an enema! It was just incredibly embarrassing - I had to insist on staying under the sheets while she did it and think of algebra formulas to keep from... you know..."

Oh hell.

"Alan, I thought you would prefer it if she did it - and I was hoping that she would let Justine give you the enema. That would have been good, wouldn't it?"

He stared at me.

"No way! They wouldn't understand! They would think I was some sort of maniac."

"Because you get excited?"


"But - you don't care if I do it."

"That's because I knew you understood!"

"But how? Hang on a minute - your mother gave you enemas, didn't she?"


"But you knew all about them. How come?"

"It was before I came to live here - everybody was going on vacation and nobody wanted to take me so they got social services to put me in care. When I got there, this nurse asked me dozens of questions - like if I'd had mumps or measles and if they had given me an anti- tetanus shot. I just kept saying 'I don't know' and I guess one of the questions must have been about when I last moved my bowels. Next thing she took me into a room and pulled my pants down and then she stuck this pipe up my ass - I didn't even know it was called an enema. But it felt real good and I though about getting another one. Once I knew you understood, I didn't mind what happened."

"Understood? How on earth did you work that out?"

He blushed.

"You didn't clear the history file. Everybody knows you have to do that otherwise anybody can see where you've been in the Internet."

I went cold with shock.

"You spied on me?"

"Aw, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, but you even made www.enemaheaven.net a favourite, so I saw it straightaway. All the kids at school erase their tracks - one boy didn't and his dad found out that he was looking at gay sites. Because he *was* gay - but he didn't want to come out. His dad half-killed him."

"So you thought I would understand?"

"I *knew* you would understand, but I still don't know about Marie or Justine so I had to hide it, didn't I?"

I sighed.

"Alan, I'm sorry - I should have known because I felt just the same when she gave me an enema."

He stared at me, then he giggled.

"She gave *you* an enema?"

"Yes - she said I looked like I needed one and so she just did."

He laughed.

"Jeez - I can't imagine you lying there with a tube up your ass! She really gave you an enema?"

"Yes. And I didn't enjoy it much either."

We didn't say any more. We understood each other - and that didn't make it easy for me to ever give him another enema.

It was sheer frustration that made me decide to try to bring matters to a head. Marie obviously had no problem about administering an enema to anyone who would stand still long enough, but that was not enough - I had to know if she was prepared to combine that with more overtly sexual behaviour.

There was no problem in organising a repeat night at Marie's house - I think we both wanted it very much. Alan looked puzzled when I left the enema bag hanging up in his bathroom.

"What's going on?"

"It's just a hint for Justine."

A slow smile spread over his face.

"You reckon...?"

"I don't know. You'll never find out if you don't try."

We left them to their own devices and when Marie and I had the house to ourselves I casually mentioned that I intended to book an appointment for a colonic.

"There's a good clinic in town - you know, you should try it too. The occasional colonic really does help towards good health."

Her reaction was immediate.

"Don't waste your money, Bob. You can have a colonic right here - right now. No charge."

"You do them?"

"I certainly do. Justine doesn't like them much, but they really do help her skin tone - whenever I think she's starting to get greasy skin or spots, I give her a deep enema to clean her system."

"Marie, you never fail to surprise me. You've got the equipment?"

"I've got a colon tube - that's all you really need. I'll go get things ready."

I had never actually had a colonic and the sheer dimensions of the colon tube were daunting. To my amazement she fetched the equipment into the kitchen, cleared the table and covered it with a clean cloth.

"Marie? What's going on?"

"You need a flat surface for this. Beds are just too soft."

I looked to make sure that the windows were covered and then I undressed in their kitchen - the unfamiliar surroundings made it a surprisingly erotic process. Marie had me lie on my back on the table and then told me to hold my legs high and wide so that she could insert the tube.

There was no way I could conceal my state of arousal in that position. To my relief, she did not react badly - instead she gave my erection an affectionate tickle before she moved into position at the end of the table.

I went completely rigid as she positioned the greased tube and pushed a few inches of it into my rectum. The larger dimensions of the pipe really increased the stimulation compared to the ordinary nozzle that I had always used.

"You can lower your legs now."

She laughed at the sight of my erection.

"I hope you don't behave like that in the clinic!"

"I would if you were doing my colonic!"

She chuckled and tickled it again, then she started the water flowing. It felt like an ordinary enema at first, but then she started easing the tube deeper into my intestines. It took her a while before she finally rose from her task.

"Okay - it's in position now. You won't really feel the water - but you know all about it, don't you?"

Then she opened the clip and started a slow infusion of liquid. I could not suppress a moan of sheer pleasure - I *could* feel it and it was different but very exciting. She started to rub my stomach to spread the liquid around, then, to my amazement and total delight, she bent forward and took me in her mouth. I thought that I knew about sex and sexual pleasure, but the combination was totally fantastic. She kept on sucking and teasing as the colonic proceeded - I tried to warn her when I was approaching orgasm but she paid no heed and just took it in her mouth. She rose from her task and grinned.

"They say it makes your boobs bigger!"

It took me quite a while to rid myself of all of the liquid and when I returned Marie was clearing the stuff away. I put the cloth back on the table and she looked puzzled.

"Your turn now, Marie."

There was a moment of suspense, then she started to undress while I refilled the bag. It sounds odd, but I had never really had the opportunity to study the female genitalia close up and in the light and the view as she pulled her legs up was really very erotic indeed.

The tube went in without any difficulty - her asshole was obviously well used to the process. I could see her clitoris clearly - another new experience to me. The smell of woman in heat filled my nostrils and encouraged me to another new experience - my ex-wife had not liked any sex apart from missionary position screwing. I used my tongue to stimulate her clit and the way she grabbed my head and forced it towards her told me clearly that she enjoyed what I was doing.

I lost track of her enema - I was more concerned with getting oxygen into my lungs - and she took over the control of the bag. By the time she had completed a marathon set of climaxes there was no doubt that she fully understood the erotic enema!

Alan and I were both exhausted when I got back home next morning. He sighed happily.

"Boy, that was one incredible night! She gave me the best enema ever, and then she went crazy when it was her turn - I didn't know that girls went that way."

I smiled.

"I had a great night too. And I'll tell you something for free - you needn't have pretended not to be turned on when Marie did your enema. She understands."

Then we both giggled like small boys. Alan stretched and yawned.

"When it gets to Summer vacation, maybe we could all go together?"


Boy - that would be something! Then he laughed.

"Hey, Bob, why don't you write this all up for www.enemaheaven.net? After all, it started the whole thing..."
- the end -

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