by Richard Trexler
(with editing by Christine Trexler)
In the mid 1980s I returned to grad school with the intention of getting a doctorate and then pursuing a career in university teaching. It was early in the Fall semester of my second year when I took the required statistics course. Fortunately, statistics came easy to me and I was able to spend class time ogling an attractive young student with strawberry blond hair and a very pretty face. She had a very nice figure and I was always happy to observe her whether she was in jeans and a sweatshirt or in a skirt and blouse. Michelle, as I soon learned, was a new MBA student who was 3-4 years younger that I was.
After several weeks we took our first exam. Not surprisingly I did very well and got the highest grade in the class. Michelle was not as fortunate and approached the professor for tutoring. Not wanting to do it himself, the professor suggested that I, being the top student, might make an appropriate tutor.
Michelle and I began with several meetings in the library and soon I was sure that she was starting to understand. The results of the second exam were happily better than the first, but it looked like she’d only be able to earn a “C” in the course, but that was not acceptable in grad school. We decided that we’d need to intensely work on problems for the third exam meaning that we’d meet at Michelle’s apartment later in the week.
The day before we were to meet I stopped at the supermarket on my way home from campus. I wasn’t ever certain what I’d have for dinner, but like many other days I would just stop by and see what would looked really good to me. As I stepped out of my car, Michelle was just emerging from the store with two brown paper bags. She looked terrific in a gray college sweatshirt over black tights. I yelled a “hello,” waved and walked over to her. But I sensed that something was wrong when she didn’t seem overly pleased to see me. Nevertheless as I said “goodbye” out of the corner of my eye I couldn’t help but notice in one of the bags a large flat box plainly marked “Comfy combination syringe” and then realized why the encounter was less than enthusiastic.
For the next couple of days all I could think about was what it must be like to see the hose from that enema bag going up her cute little bottom. The next day after my last class I drove to Michelle’s apartment. It was located in a series of apartment units that obviously were occupied mostly by graduate students. Michelle came to the door looking like she’d just come from the gym dressed in a white T- shirt, navy blue shorts and bright blue tights. I could make out every curve and even could see the silhouette of the stitching of her bra. She let me in asking, “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding me.”
“No, your directions were fine,” I said. Getting immediately down to business, I headed for the kitchen table and exclaimed, “We need to cover a lot of material if you are to be prepared for this exam.”
“Oh, there is just so much to remember. I can’t believe I’m doing this badly, but parts of this make no sense to me. I’ve never had this much trouble with any course. I’m spending a lot of time and getting no where. So much that it’s even making me physically sick. I’m getting so worked up over it.”
“Like how?” I inquired. “Like are you sick to your stomach or headaches?”
“Well, kind of. I guess some of both of those. But that’s not all. It’s well, ah more than that.”
“Like what? What’s wrong?”
“Well, I’m getting ah, how do I put this, ah, very constipated, too.”
“Oh. So what are you doing about this?” I figured I’d continue the line of inquiry.
“I’ve already been to the University Health Services twice. The first time they gave me a prescription to calm me down. Then they also told me to take Metamucil every night before bed. The prescription seems to be working, but the Metamucil hasn’t had any effect even after five days.”
“Five days?”
“I went to Health Services again yesterday and they wanted me to have, well, ah er, oh gosh, OK, I’ll just say it, an enema. I haven’t had one of those for over ten years and always hated them. They’re just so embarrassing. The nurse was really very nice and told me that they could give me one there or if I wanted I could do one on my own. I decided to do that and so I bought an enema bag on the way home yesterday. That’s when I saw you.”
“I guess that’s one thing that women can do that guys can’t. You can buy things like this and not have everyone wonder about what you’re doing.”
“Well, not quite. Just so everyone in the supermarket wouldn’t think that I bought the syringe to give myself and enema, I also bought a bottle of liquid douche.”
It was all coming together now. But I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d tried it, so I asked, “So last night you took care of the problem when you got home.” Again those visions came back to me of the hose leading up to her sweet little bottom. What thoughts!
“Well, not really. I decided to give the Metamucil another day to work, but it didn’t.”
“So it’s enema time? Do you remember enough to be able to give yourself one?” I asked.
“Maybe I should give the Metamucil one more day to see if it will work.”
“And if it doesn’t, then you’re over at Health Services tomorrow asking them for an enema? That just doesn’t sound like a plan to me.”
“Maybe you’re right. But . . “
“But do you remember enough to give yourself one?” I asked pressing the point.
“I don’t know. When I was younger I just wanted to get it over with and so I didn’t pay that much attention to what Mom was doing. But it can’t be that difficult.”
“I could tutor you, if you want,” I offered.
“No, you’re doing enough tutoring me with statistics. I couldn’t ask you to do that, too. Besides it is embarrassing enough to even talk about it. Maybe the best thing to do is to take Metamucil for just one more night and hope that things will be better in the morning.”
“And it they’re not, then you’re back at Health Services asking them to give you an enema?” I said knowing that the idea was not a favored one.
“Well, maybe you’re right.”
“It’s OK. I think I remember enough. Show me what kind of bag you bought,” I instructed.
Michelle disappeared into her bathroom and seconds later re- emerged with the box I’d seen yesterday. It was still wrapped in cellophane. I peeled the wrapping off and opened the lid. The smell of new rubber immediately permeated the room. What I saw was the very familiar red rubber combination syringe and hot water bottle. It was exactly like my mom had at home and what was to be used by so many other families.
“Can you remember how it goes?” she asked.
“Sure. This will be no problem,” I said confidently. “Why don’t you go spread some towels down on your bed and I’ll go get this ready.”
Much to my surprise, Michelle didn’t say a word and headed off to take care of the towels. I went into the bathroom and ran the water at the sink. While waiting for the water to get warm I opened the door to the small linen closet hoping to find some kind of lubricant. As expected the linen closet contained all the usual items. There was a large partially used box of Tampax regulars, a box of Kotex minipads, lots of stuff for hair care, and various items for contact lenses. Without being too much of a voyeur, I also found a little pink pouch, which upon opening revealed a compact expandable douche syringe. Fortunately there was also a small jar of Vaseline.
Taking the jar from the closet my attention returned to the sink. I held the bar of soap in the stream of running water and filled the syringe bag half way. After securing the stopper end of the hose in the neck of the bag, I attached the rectal pipe to the other end, and holding the bag up and opening the clamp let the air from the hose. I was finally ready and was about to leave the bathroom when Michelle returned. “What’s next?” she asked.
“We need to go into your bedroom where you will have to take off the tights and shorts,” I explained. Michelle flushed but didn’t say anything. When we got to her bedroom she carefully kept her back towards me, took down her shorts and peeled off the tights. Then placing her thumbs in the waistband of her bikinis, worked them to the floor too. Her bare little bottom was cuter than I could ever imagine and I could feel an erection starting to rage in my pants. Michelle laid down on the bed.
I opened the jar of Vaseline, took a generous amount on my index finger, and inserted it in her tight little rosebud. Michelle flinched and tensed immediately.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Relax, it’s just a little Vaseline,” I said wiggling my finger around a little and sensing her ease up a little as the orifice dilated. I wondered if she’d actually started to enjoy the feeling. After a couple of seconds I removed my finger and inserted the rectal nozzle. “Does this feel OK?” I asked.
“I guess it doesn’t feel bad. It’s just like it doesn’t belong there, that’s all.”
“OK, here goes, but let me know if it’s uncomfortable,” I said clicking open the clamp and letting the enema flow. To make certain that the pressure would me minimal I held the bag no higher than three feet off the bed.”
“I can feel the warmth,” Michelle said in almost a purring tone. “It’s no where near as bad as I thought it would be.” I couldn’t see Michelle’s face, but somehow suspected that at this point she might even be smiling.
After several minutes the bag was flat. “You did fine. You took it all, but just to give it time to work, I’ll leave the nozzle in for a couple of minutes.” To pass the time I gently rubber her back.
Deciding that she was ready to expel, I removed the nozzle and without any encouragement Michelle got up off the bed, went into the bathroom and closed the door. After several minutes I heard the toilet flush and the door open. When I got to the bathroom still holding the red enema bag, Michelle was standing at the sink washing her hands. “That really worked pretty well,” she confessed. “But it might not hurt if you gave me another one just to make sure. I wouldn’t want to have to go to the Health Center for a follow-up.”
I couldn’t believe my ears, but was I lucky or what? Michelle managed to get back to her bedroom without ever exposing anything other than her back to me. Back in the bathroom I refilled the bag all the way with plain warm water and returned to the bedroom. Michelle was already lying on the bed waiting for me.
Like the first, the second enema went without incident and Michelle managed to take the whole bag without the slightest complaint or protest although she did not know that it was nearly double the quantity of the first enema. Also just like the first one she unceremoniously walked to the bathroom, again closed the door and spent several minutes expelling. This time when she emerged, there was a noticeable change. Still dressed in just the T-shirt Michelle seemed to have lost any sense of embarrassment and walked directly towards me. It was immediately apparent that she was a natural strawberry blond. The erection in my pants returned now stronger than ever. Michelle had to have noticed, but didn’t say a word nor show any reaction whatsoever.
“You did really well. Feeling any better?” I asked.
Michelle came over, put her arms around my neck and gave me a very sisterly kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for being such a good tutor,” she whispered in my ear. “You can come over and give me an enema any time. It was nothing at all like I used to get from Mom.” We hugged and I knew that she had to have sensed the erection this time, but she still gave no indication.
“Oh, it was nothing,” I stammered almost not able to gain control of my voice.
Michelle pulled on her bikinis and shorts. She looked up and gave me a glowing smile and said, “Come on we have a lot of statistics to cover yet tonight. I’ve got to do well on that exam.” We left her bedroom and returned to the kitchen where we went over statistics problems for several hours. Unfortunately from this moment on I had totally lost all concentration. The only thing that could occupy my brain was the sight of Michelle’s bottom and that enema bag.
The next day we took the exam. It was really very difficult. What shocked me most was that a couple of days later when the grades were posted Michelle had earned an “A-” and I had only gotten a straight “B.” My ego was shattered, but I was also startled at how well Michelle had done. I expressed the disbelief of my grade.
“It must have been the tutoring. After that last tutoring session I knew I had a good grade in the bag,” she said with an impish smile and her face perhaps flushing just a little bit.
After a moment I sort of got the double entendre and we both had a good laugh. “Maybe I need someone good to tutor me I joked. Now that my “A” is in jeopardy.”
“I’d be happy to help however I can,” she volunteered. “It’s never too soon to start. Why don’t you come over tonight and I’ll see what we can do. Besides, I really have to repay you for all the help you gave me.”
“OK, I’ll see you later,” I stuttered with a little sense of apprehension. I now had a new understanding of the value of statistics, but it was one that I was certain the professor had never intended.
In the mid 1980s I returned to grad school with the intention of getting a doctorate and then pursuing a career in university teaching. I wound up taking a statistics course and along the way tutored a drop dead good looking girl named Michelle. As things had turned out Michelle was getting herself so upset over doing poorly in the course that she had been to the University Health Center several times, the last of which they wanted to give her an enema for the resulting constipation. However, she refused insisting she'd prefer to take one on her own. At about the same time I was tutoring her for the next exam, but one thing led to another and before I knew it I was giving her that enema on her own bed. Afterwards, she scored better than I did and perhaps with a bit of humor asked if I wanted her to tutor me. This is where the story picks up.
Ever since I saw Michelle earlier when we found out our exam grades and she teased me about needing tutoring, I hadn't been able to get the thoughts of her out of my mind. It was about 6:30 when I got to her apartment and when she let me in her beautiful beaming smile just filled the room. Even dressed in just some old sweats she looked just great to me.
"Hi," she said. "Ready to study some more stat?"
"I better be. That grade on the exam puts my "A" in this course at risk. Any ideas for how we should approach this?"
"I don't think you're concentrating properly," she said flashing me another "to die for" smile. "You seem just, well you know, perhaps a bit distracted. Do you feel OK?"
"I'm just fine," I assured her. "I'm not sure how you come to the conclusion that I'm not concentrating fully. I've always been a very focused kind of guy." All the while I'm thinking that the only time I lose concentration is when I'm thinking about her. Like maybe right now.
"Well, what I've been thinking is that I was so distracted about my health that I wasn't concentrating on stat. The last time you were here, you really helped me a lot when you gave me those two enemas, I immediately felt better and was able to concentrate. Now I think you might be suffering from the same problem that I had. If you want proof of that, how do you explain the low exam grade?"
"Oh, so you think that an enema would help me? Interesting concept," I replied my mind racing at the thought of this good looking woman who was now very seriously wanting to give me an enema. "Maybe you're right."
"I know I'm right. Besides I thought everyone might need a little help sometime. Are you sure you're man enough to let me do this to you? After all I had the courage to let you give them to me. Besides, I think turnabout is only fair."
"Well, the idea will take a bit getting used to, but come to think of it, you were really very brave to let me give them to you the last time." I have no idea how those words came from my mouth, but this was going to turn very interesting very soon.
"OK, then it's settled. I sort of knew that you'd go along with this so I sort of have everything ready," she said getting up, taking me by the hand and leading me back to her bedroom. The towels were already spread out on the bed for me. "You get out of those jeans and I'll be right back with that nice warm, soapy enema for you." I didn't know what was the actual cause of my quickly forming erection, Michelle's sexy smile or the thought of what she was about to do to me.
Moments later Michelle returned with her combination syringe and a jar of Vaseline. She had apparently made a full two quarts and the bag was really bulging. She had clearly been paying attention last week when I gave her the two enemas. "Are you going to stand around all day or are you going to be good and let me give this to you?" she asked somewhat sternly. "Now get those jeans and briefs off."
I decided that the only way I could find out where all this was going to lead was to do what I was told. So I unzipped the jeans and slid them off. Then I pulled down my briefs trying to keep my back to Michelle lest she see my incredible erection, but when I laid down on the bed she couldn't help but notice. "Now what do we have here? Richard, you're not excited about this at all?" she asked giggling.
"Well, I," I started to say feeling more than just a little embarrassed, "It's just that I haven't had one as an adult. And you're also a lot different than my mother."
"I should hope so," she replied. "Besides I wasn't aware that you'd ever given your mother an enema. At least not like the ones you've given me. Now it's my turn," she said putting the bag down on the bed and opening the jar of Vaseline. She took a huge glob on her finger and gently inserted it in my rosebud. I think I flinched a little, but soon dilated as she inserted her finger way past her second knuckleófar enough to gently massage my prostate. "I wonder where she learned about that?" I thought to myself.
My erection was now so stiff that it ached. A few seconds later Michelle removed her finger and inserted the nozzle of the syringe. It had been years since I'd had an enema, but none of those could be compared to this experience. Michelle sat down on the edge of the bed, held up the enema bag with one hand and snapped open the clamp with the other. She then began massaging my back and I inhaled deeply. As the enema flowed into my insides I could sense that Michelle had gotten it at exactly the right temperature and it all felt so wonderful that I lost complete track of time.
"OK, big boy. You took the whole bag," she finally said shutting the clamp and removing the nozzle. It had been years since I had had an enema, but I remembered how fast acting they could be and headed straight to the bathroom, shut the door, and sat on the toilet. It wasn't a moment too soon because the minute I sat down the warm water just cascaded out of me. It had been a very good enema because it took nearly ten minutes to expel all of it. It was a real experience, but I was glad to be rid of it too.
After cleaning myself up it dawn on me that I was only wearing my T-shirt and that all of my other clothes were in Michelle's bedroom. Eventually, I worked up the courage to leave the bathroom in my half-naked condition, but I also had never fully lost the erection. I walked the few steps to her bedroom and Michelle looked up when I walked in. Spying the source of my embarrassment she immediately came over to me and grasped it. "Tell me, aren't you feeling much better now?" she asked. I didn't know if she meant after having the enema or that she was now grasping my manhood. Either way was the same answer, "Much."
"I think I know how you feel because I felt much better, too," she cooed. Leaning over to gently kiss my neck Michelle pressed her bosom into my chest and I was immediately aware that she wasn't wearing a bra. Through her sweatshirt and my T-shirt I could feel the softness of her breasts and my erection went back into the achingly stiff mode, her hand still firmly grasping it.
"I feel wonderful," I responded sounding almost like an all time understatement as I reached around to grasp Michelle's bottom. When I did so I realized that she also wasn't wearing any panties either. My mind ran into overdrive. No panties and no bra! There's absolutely nothing on under her sweats! Michelle didn't seem the least surprised by my grope on her bottom. The sexy little move that she gave her hips even suggested that it was most welcome and was inviting me to do more. I didn't need much encouragement and moments later my hands were inside the waistband of her sweatpants where I squeezed her tender bare cheeks with both hands. Michelle cooed some more and nibbled at my neck. This was a lot more than just a statistics study session, but then again, so was my last visit to her apartment.
"I bet you never calculated this probability," she teased flexing the muscles in her buttocks. It wasn't a big move for me to just grasp the waistband of her sweats and pull them to the floor. The triangular patch of strawberry blond hair guarding her womanhood contrasted nicely with her peaches and cream complexion. We resumed our embrace except now my firm erection was pressing against that most delicate, sensitive and intimate part of her anatomy.
"You're right I never did calculate the probability of this, but I always thought it would be infinitely small."
"You're not infinitely small right now," she teased with a naughty little giggle while at the same time flashing me the most innocent of smiles. We both had a little nervous chuckle as we first sat down on the bed and then rolled back still in our embrace. "So what are you waiting for?" she teased me some more. Even before I moved my hand around to her crotch and noticed how wet she was, the delightful odor of an aroused woman wafted through the air like the sweetest perfume. My middle finger entered her and I used my thumb to massage her clitoris. Only then did I realize that Michelle was far more aroused than I had assumed. She moaned slightly, spread her legs and murmured "I really can't wait any longer. I want you now!"
I removed my finger, grasped my penis and rubbed it against her clitoris for a few moments before starting to slowly enter her moist vagina. She was deliciously tight and the feeling was indescribable as I slipped myself further and further into her waiting warm vagina.
As much of a breast man that I had always considered myself to be, it is hard to believe that it was only now that I finally worked my hands up under Michelle's sweatshirt to fondle her. She might have been considered a somewhat small-breasted woman, but after just seconds her nipples were just so hard and erect, She was now so excited that her hips were in a constant state of motion pivoting about my inserted penis. She quietly moaned with pleasure.. If she was that close to an orgasm I was not waiting any longer and gave several deep thrusts. When I came, it felt like my penis literally exploded with multiple spasms each releasing its own torrent of warm semen inside of her. It went on for so long I not only wondered where it was all coming from, but whether it would stop. We collapsed into one another's arms and just layed there for several minutes.
Finally, it was Michelle who said, "You were terrific. And you know what?"
"No, what?"
"Can you believe that I really wanted you to do that last week after you gave me that second enema? You have no idea how horny you made me that day. I even walked naked in front of you. Remember?" she said with a naughty giggle.
But now I was both pleased as well as starting to worry. I had just had unprotected sex with a beautiful woman. What would happen if I had just knocked her up. "Oh, gosh. I'm sorry," I said to her.
"Sorry? Sorry for what?"
"Well, it's just that we didn't use any protection and I hope I haven't made you pregnant. When do you think your period is due?" I inquired.
"If you have to know, my period is due at the end of the week, but I don't think it's very likely that I'm pregnant. I've been on the pill for almost two years."
I felt better getting that news, but wasn't sure that after the enema and now the lovemaking that I'd be able to concentrate on statistics ever again. I pulled out of Michelle, got up off the bed and put my briefs back on.
"We'd better get some statistics done tonight," she said getting up off the bed and heading towards the bathroom, "But I need to clean myself up a bit first. You were awesome."
This time Michelle didn't even bother to close the bathroom door, but I guess after what we'd just done that hardly mattered anymore. I heard water running and decided to look in on her. She was standing at the sink, had just added a capful of concentrate to the compact syringe and was now filling it with warm water. She looked up and said, "If I don't do this now, little gooey memories of you will be draining from me all night. And then I really wouldn't be able to concentrate on statistics either." At that Michelle sat down on the toilet, spread the lips of her vagina, inserted the douche nozzle and proceeded to rinse out the obvious result of our lovemaking..
After we both got dressed we went to the kitchen, got some Cokes out of the fridge and sat down to do some studying. While on the one hand I was a lot more relaxed than I think I had ever been, my mind was clouded with the wonderous thoughts of the evening's prior activities. It was the beginning of a wonderful year. We shared many enemas after that evening and had great sex even more often than that. Sometimes we'd work both into the same event. There'll be more to tell in future stories, however.
Of course I have never told my wife about my times with Michelle, but every now and then there are little things that remind me of them. Sometimes it's a pretty girl with strawberry blond hair, while other times it's the sight of a red combination syringe enema bag. After all these years those thoughts still make me twitch just a little. Well, maybe more than a little, but don't tell Chris.
-End-
