Home Alone

By: CIT146@aol.com

A True and Accurate Account from Christine Trexler


The following is a true account of how some of my Monday mornings go.  Until recently when my daughter went away to college, I've been a stay-at-home mom who also had a small part-time human resources consulting practice.  It was the best of all worlds because I could self-actualize as well as be home when my daughter needed me most.  Nevertheless, life in these fast-paced times can get very hectic, especially over the weekends.

Now to just explain, I grew up in one of those households where my Mom considered two aspirin and an enema to be the basic line of defense for everyone's health.  Her red combination syringe was frequently put to good use and I remember those events like it was yesterday.  Although there had been a lapse beginning with my second year in high school, it wasn't until I was a college sophomore that a sorority sister reintroduced me to enemas.  She convinced me that it was a good way to combat PMS, which oddly enough didn't start to bother me until I got to college and stopped being much of an issue after I had my daughter.  Like my mother; however, I also believe that every home needs to have an enema bag because you just never know when it might be needed.

It was a Monday morning in early November a couple of years ago.  The weekend had been its totally expected hectic time.  My husband had projects going around the house and was seeing if he could break the record for the most trips to Home Depot in one day.  I had done the grocery shopping in the morning, done laundry at mid day, and had gone to the mall in the afternoon.  Both Saturday and Sunday I'd also played Mom's Taxi taking my daughter here and there on demand.

After getting up at 6:00 and getting some semblance of breakfast together for everyone, I kissed my husband goodbye at 7:30.  My daughter was going through one of her typical teenager "I don't know what I want to wear today" routines and wound up missing her school bus.  Mom's Taxi was back on call and I quickly threw a light jacket on over my sweats.  The jacket wasn't so much because of a chill in the air, but because I wasn't wearing any underwear and wouldn't know what to do if I either met someone or had to get out of the car.

Some mornings just don't go right.  I knew from the start that this would be one of them when about a mile from home I wound up behind a school bus that seemed to stop every block.  "Why couldn't my daughter's bus have been late this morning?" I asked.  Then once downtown I got every red light.  When we finally stopped in front of the school and I went to give my daughter lunch money it turned out that I only had a $20 bill which I gave to her, but meaning that I was now penniless.  When I stopped at the ATM on the way home, it not only rejected my card, but kept it.  I'm still not sure why, but it just did.

When I got home I poured myself another cup of coffee.  I must have turned the coffeemaker off at some point before heading for the school because it was only lukewarm.  A minute in the microwave fixed that, but it was clearly one of those days.  Going into the den I turned on the computer with the intent of checking e-mail.  Would you believe that the computer crashed and I couldn't get it restarted?  By this point I was well past that point that everyone refers to as "tense".

"Let's start this day over, Christine," I said to myself.  "What else could have gone wrong?  It's only 8:30!"

As I sat back in the desk chair I took a sip of the hot coffee.  It tasted great and I could feel the caffeine work its way to every nerve in my body.  With no TV on, no husband and no daughter home, the house was very quiet.  It was just so peaceful.  

That's when inspiration struck!  I put the cup of coffee down and got up from the desk.  Heading upstairs I proceeded directly to the hall linen closet.  After opening the doors I took out a stack of bath towels on the second shelf.  Behind the towels is where I stored the red combination hot water bottle and syringe just like Mom did.  Ours is just like hers except that the hose is white instead of red and the nozzles are white and not black.  But the differences didn't seem to affect the quality of the enemas that the bag had delivered—I've never known an enema that failed to work!  Over the years that was two for my husband, maybe seven or eight for my daughter and countless ones for me.

I took the syringe to the bathroom where I ran the water, but in the meantime was confronted with an important decision: Ivory soap or baking soda?  Although the only enemas Mom had given were Ivory, I'd learned years ago that baking soda made a nice, soothing enema.  While not being particularly constipated, it seemed that I was more in need of pampering this morning, so baking soda it was.  I got the box out from under the sink and added two teaspoonsful.  By then the water was just the right temperature to the touch and I filled the bag completely after which I screwed in the stopper connected to the hose.  Attached to the other end was the rectal nozzle.  While I might have many quirks, one of them is that the idea of taking an enema with a vaginal nozzle is just foreign to me.  I also have a folding syringe with a vaginal nozzle—have had it since college—but to me vaginal nozzles are for vaginas and rectal nozzles are for rectums.

After opening the clamp to bleed the air from the hose, I hung the bag from the hook that holds the shower curtain tied back when not in use.  When people post messages referring to bulging bags, this is exactly what they must mean.  I was now just about ready to give myself, as Mom would have said, a nice warm enema or a good cleaning out.  Even when doing this solo, which is to say most of the time, the idea still excites me.  I spread a couple of large bath towels on the rug and finally things were ready.

As I mentioned earlier, I was only wearing sweats—no underwear, no bra, no nothing underneath.  While sweats aren't the sexiest things to wear to bed, I've worn them during the colder months ever since I was in college.  You might say it's just a thing with me.  Anyway, I kept the sweatshirt on, but stepped out of the pants.  Reaching again under the sink I took out the jar of Vaseline.  While I do have KY jelly in the house, I've found that it is far too slippery for enema nozzles.  I took a generous amount on the end of my index finger and proceeded to lube my rectal opening.  You might say that this is where the excitement starts for me because I know what happens next in rapid succession.

At this point I layed down on the floor on my left side, drew my right leg nearly up to my chest, took the nozzle in my right hand, beared down with my sphincter muscles, and easily inserted it.  The feeling was wonderful—I've grown to like the feeling of a nozzle in me ready to deliver a nice, warm enema.  Reaching down with my right hand I released the clamp and as soon as the enema started to flow I closed the clamp about half way.  The enema slowed down, I breathed normally, and I almost never cramp doing this.  I did; however, feel a small sense of warmth as the enema flowed into me.  I took my time: there was no hurry.  I now started to really relax.

Normally, it will take somewhere between eight and ten minutes to take a full bag.  Without getting into too much personal detail, the way that I passed the time was to massage myself.  It was very relaxing and when doing so I didn't keep track of the time.  It's only after a while that I remembered to look at the bag and was surprised to see it hanging there empty.  Not rushing to do anything, after a few minutes I closed the clamp.  A few minutes after that I removed the nozzle and slowly made my way to the toilet.  On my way I looked at myself in the wall mirror and couldn't help but notice that my tummy seemed a little distended.  I lifted the band of the sweatshirt and saw that it was more than just a little distended—it was what I remembered looking like going into my second trimester of pregnancy.  I could certainly tell that there were two quarts of enema down there that would soon want to get out.

It might have been the upright position, but the enema that I thought I could hold for several minutes was now alerting me that it wanted to be expelled.  As I sat down I released my muscles and a torrent of warm water was the first to come out.  While I've never had an enema that failed to work, I always start to believe that that might be the case.  This time, like the others, I was wrong and I sensed the small pieces that were then expelled.  Everything stopped for a minute, but I knew that I wasn't done.  Another urge hit me and a viscous substance that seemed neither solid nor liquid drained from me.  As I said before, I wasn't constipated, but the enema was giving me an unbelievable feeling of well-being.

After cleaning myself up, I ran the water into our Jacuzzi tub and added a capful of bubble bath.  While waiting for the tub to fill, I took the enema bag from the hook, rinsed it out and hung it in the shower to dry.  After removing my sweatshirt, I climbed into the Jacuzzi and slid my body into the warm bubbly bath.  If the enema hadn't relaxed me, this certainly did.  I watched as my breasts submerged just slightly beneath the surface and then put my head back on the edge of the tub.  As the warm water caressed every part of my body, I closed my eyes.  I have no idea if I slept for a few minutes or not, but it must have been like an out-of-body experience because I had no sense of time.

After a while, the bath water started to cool down and I decided to get out and dry off.  Back in my bedroom I took clean undies and a new soft cup bra from my dresser—although I like push up underwire bras because they're really sexy, by doctor doesn't want me to wear them because they cut circulation to my breasts.  Besides, the soft cup ones really are more comfortable anyway.  After putting on a pair of jeans and cotton V-neck sweater, one of my favorite and most comfortable combinations, I was really extremely pleased with the events of the morning.  

Upon leaving my bedroom, I glanced towards the clock on the nightstand.  I couldn't believe that it was 10:30.  But, you know what?  I didn't care because after such a bad start to a day I was now feeling terrific.  If anyone truly doubts what I'm saying, the next time you need pampering try a nice slow enema and a bubble bath.

As for me, I, on occasion, like to be "home alone!"