After the very memorable trip to Atlanta, Brian had to take Metamucil for several weeks to help him stay regular. The junk food on which he had been subsisting had taken a big toll on his system, especially his butt! Every evening, Brian was presented with a full 12-ounce glass of orange juice mixed with a couple of heaping tablespoons of the gritty fiber product. It felt like sandpaper going down and always left a terrible gritty residue in his mouth and throat. After a week of this particularly unsavory treatment, Brian, when presented with the brimming glass, would take a few sips while his mother or father was watching. As soon as they turned their backs, he would pour the remaining juice down the kitchen sink. In any case, reasoned Brian, it wasn't working anyway. Every morning he sat down on the commode and waited for some semblance of a normal bowel movement. After grunting and straining every muscle in his body, a small sickly dry log, at best, would plop into the bowl. What Brian didn't know was that if Metamucil was not taken in the right amount or regularly, it could escalate the constipation to the next level which in Brian's case resulted in his inability to pass anything at all.
After three days of expelling nothing but a bathroom full of malodorous flatulence, Brian was unable to move the contents of his bowels. In other words, his farts stank like hell and he was unable to shit because his ass was locked up tighter than a drum!
On the fourth morning, Brian's father heard him sitting on the bowl grunting and groaning in an attempt to pass some semblance of fecal material. Without a word, his father appeared in the bathroom and proceeded to set up an enema bag of soapy water. Luckily, he still only used a quart of water. However Brian had graduated to a soap solution as his father correctly surmised he was extremely blocked up as evidenced by the sounds he was emitting. The next minute found Brian in the all fours position on the bathroom floor. Turning his head, he glanced up at the towel rack from which hung the red rubber enema bag his father had bought in Atlanta. The sight of its slightly bulging sides charmed his penis into rising like a cobra from a basket. Brian was once again relieved that his father hadn't noticed. His erection was forgotten, however, when the warm soapy water penetrated his rectum and flowed northward. Although the soapsuds were beginning to stimulate his colon into slight spasms, the sensations that the warm solution stimulated in his nether regions was well worth the discomfort. When the enema bag had emptied, Brian's father told him he could get up and sit on the commode. As he had added a good deal of Ivory soap to the water, he reasoned that the irritating effects of the mixture would cleanse Brian's bowels adequately without his having to hold it. More to the point, he didn't want to have to clean up a bathroom floor full of shit and soapy water.
Sitting on the commode, Brian massaged his lower abdomen with both hands in an attempt to relieve some of the fairly griping cramps and jets of warm soapy water and hard dry stool began to spurt out of his burning anus. He was beginning to relive the burning caused by the soap suppository but the burning gradually subsided when the soapy bursts of water became fewer and far between. Throughout the process, Brian had flushed the toilet 3 times, not so much for fear of it overflowing but in an attempt to eliminate some of the fetid fumes he was producing. He noticed his father place his hand over his nose a couple of times when a particularly potent nebula assailed his nostrils. His father quickly finished cleaning the enema bag and hanging it on the shower curtain rod to dry, left the bathroom.
As after the saltwater enema in Atlanta, Brian felt completely worn out as if he had run a marathon. Additionally, the cramps caused by the soap alternately mounted and subsided in his lower abdomen. Walking slowly down the upstairs hallway, Brian went to his room and curled up in a ball on his bed. Several minutes later, Doug came down the hall and popped his head into Brian's room, "How is my little enema bag belly brother doing?" As it was Saturday, Doug was headed off to football practice and laughed like a loon as he went downstairs. Brian didn't respond and turned over to face the wall. Hoping against hope that he would one day have the upper hand with his merciless older brother, he jumped off the bed as another brace of cramps gripped his intestines. After relieving himself of the remaining enema water, Brian returned to his room and drifted off into a fitful sleep in which he dreamed of large red rubber enema bags replete with red hoses, metal clamps and shiny black rectal pipes calling him invitingly to taste the soapy paradise they contained. He didn't know it but he maintained a large erection throughout his dreams.
As the old adage says, 'everything that goes around, comes around." And so it did for Doug. On the verge of turning 18, he was a senior in high school and the undisputed star of the football team. As you know, summers in the Deep South can be hellishly hot with the added misery of high humidity. Oblivious to everything but his own ego and self-gratification, Doug was not properly hydrating himself during and after practices and as a result, his "tough as nails" jock bowels became more plugged up than Brian's ever had been. In a last ditch attempt to move his disabled bowels, Doug drank glass after glass of water until his belly was visibly bulging. Before very long, however, his belly would be bulging for another reason. Brian reached the heights of ecstasy only achieved in his dreams when he saw Doug enter the upstairs bathroom with a look of intense concentration on his chiseled features. Brian could imagine his brother's thoughts as Doug ruminated over ways to move his locked bowels. Brian had walked down that road before and he had been alone. He certainly wasn't going to commiserate with Doug at this point. Smiling gleefully, he stood outside the bathroom door and was scintillated by the sound of Doug's heavy breathing as he attempted to extricate the clogged accumulation of shit from his colon. As he had hoped, Doug was unsuccessful as evidenced by his not even flushing the toilet. When Doug came out of the bathroom, he didn't take any shots at Brian which was a first. Just think, Brian reflected, the king of the world brought to his knees (or all fours, eventually) by constipation.
Doug finally told his parents about his dilemma and his father immediately called the doctor. Brian stood near the kitchen door and caught only bits and pieces of the conversation. However, he was able to glean enough to draw his own conclusion. Good old Doc Simpson! Apparently, it was too late for laxatives or even stimulant suppositories, so he recommended a series of two soapsuds enemas of at least two quarts each and larger if possible. While this amount of fluid would undoubtedly be uncomfortable to retain, Doug was a big guy and needed a big enema. The doctor stressed the fact that the enemas had to be given immediately to avoid the chance of an impaction. Brian fairly floated on air as his father said "Yes, Doctor we have an enema bag." His father told his mother to take Sam to the park where they wouldn't have to witness poor Dougie's constipation treatment. Brian's mother couldn't bear to see her eldest son in such discomfort, and applying the corner of a tissue to the corner of her eye, she and Sam left the house. At this point, Brian didn't want his father to know he was in the house, for fear of his making him leave, so he raced upstairs and hid in the corner of his darkened room. This was the chance of a lifetime and he couldn't chance botching it up.
Safely ensconced in his room, Brian heard his father go into Doug's room next door and sit on the bed next to his oldest boy. Brian flattened up against the wall and heard the words, "constipation," "impacted," "relief" and then the big one "enema bag!" Brian jumped back from the wall as Doug hurled himself off the bed and started yelling at the top of his voice, "I'm not taking any damned enema! You're not going to shove that friggin' pipe up my ass! No way, man!" Standing stock still, Brian listened as his father spoke in a very authoritative voice, a voice he had never heard him use before, at least not with Doug. "Now, listen young man," he said firmly. "We are not taking any chances with your health. Your only other option is to go to the doctor's office where they will manually disimpact you. Just thing of how embarrassed you would be if one of your friends were in the office and knew what was happening." Brian had to give his father credit. He certainly did know his son as he continued to appeal to his vanity. After another 5 minutes of remonstrating from Doug, his father said the matter was settled. He was going into the bathroom to prepare the enema bag for the first enema and told Doug to take off everything but his undershirt. He would call him into the bathroom when the preparations had been made.
Brian could hardly believe the turn of events. His father was at that very moment preparing a 2-quart soap water enema for his dear older brother. Who was the enema bag belly now? Brian could hear Doug disrobing in the next room and his brother accentuated every movement with a string of profanities. Doug's D-Day had arrived, or E-Day as Brian mused, and he was there to witness it. At that particular moment, life was good, very good. It wasn't long before Brian's father called Doug to the bathroom. Brian felt as though he would be rendered unconscious as a result of the strong sensations pulsating throughout his body. Realizing he must get control of himself, as he didn't want to miss a second of the unfolding drama, he took several deep breaths to steady himself. Realizing this was the manner in which he breathed when he was in the clutches of the soap-induced cramps after an enema, he almost fell victim to another spell. Doug's moans and little boy whining only intensified his mounting excitement. When Doug said, "But Daddy, I don't want you to use the enema bag on me," Brian thought he would fall out for sure.
Brian was brought back to full awareness when he heard his father say sternly, "Now, that's enough, young man. The enemas are for your own good and I want you to take them like a southern gentleman." Brian pondered how a southern gentleman would take an enema but was interrupted as his father went back into Doug's room, apparently taking him by the arm and literally dragging him into the bathroom where the freshly prepared enema bag awaited. When Brian heard the bathroom door close, he quietly emerged from his room and made his way silently down the carpeted hall. When he reached the door, he thanked his lucky stars for the architect who had designed the house some 50 years ago during the period where all doors sported large keyholes, even the bathroom. Bending over, Brian applied his eye to the keyhole and carefully studied the scene laid out before him. First of all, he saw the well-muscled Doug, naked from the waist down, standing near the tub where a large bath towel was spread on the floor. His flaccid member dangled limply down in front of him. Brian wondered if the warm surge of enema water in his bowels would have the same effect on Doug's penis as it had on his. Standing next to the towel rack, his father adjusted the bulging enema bag which hung from the rack on the plastic hook. Brian caught his breath and then placed a hand over his mouth at the sight of the teeming bag. It was at least twice as full as when he received enemas and the sides of the bag were virtually pregnant with warm soapy enema water.
Brian's eye darted back and forth across the room attempting to assimilate everything before him. On the counter, next to the sink, was a large jar of Vaseline from which his father scooped out a healthy dollop with his index finger. Also on the counter was a plastic pitcher which appeared to hold about 2 quarts. Slight tendrils of smoke wafted up from the top indicating that it was filled with hot water. Brian correctly assumed that this solution was for Doug's second enema and that the solution would cool to a comfortably warm level by the time it was placed in the bag. Frothy soapsuds floated on the top of the water which appeared as white as milk through the plastic pitcher. Brian knew that his last enema was pretty soapy but it looked as though his father had melted an entire bar of Ivory in this water! Doug continued to stand near the tub with a stupefied expression on his face. His eyes seemed ready to pop out of his head. After all, he was about to be treated to an enema bag full of cramp-inducing soapy water, to two of them to be more precise.
When Brian's eye reverted to his father, his eye almost popped out. His father was thoroughly lubricating the pipe attached to the end of the white enema hose. However, it wasn't the small rectal pipe Brian was used to having inserted up his anus. This was the six-inch pipe with all the holes around it. Well, Doug was a big guy, thought Brian, and he needed a big pipe. When Doug saw the glistening pipe in his father's hand, he choked back a sob. "Please, Daddy, don't put that pipe in me." Brian realized that Doug was beginning to sound more and more like Sam. Expecting Doug to ask what that "wed bag" was next, Brian looked back to his father who put a hand on Doug's shoulder. "I know you are concerned, son, but Dr. Simpson said you must have the enemas or you could get really sick. Now, we don't want that to happen, do we?" Doug sniffled and shook his head. Brian's father continued as he finished lubricating the pipe. "Dr. Simpson said we should use the douche pipe for your enemas as we need to get the water as far up as possible into your bowels." Turning the pipe around in a semi-circle, he referred to the holes which were intermittently located around the sides of the pipe. "The multiple holes will allow the water to cleanse the sides of your intestines more effectively."
"What's a douche pipe?" asked Doug in that little boy's voice. It seemed to Brian that Doug was reverting to some state in his childhood because he knew that Doug was well aware of what "douche" meant. In addition to "enema bag belly" his next favorite sobriquet for Brian was "douche bag." At this juncture, Brian's father instructed Doug to get down on the towel on all fours, all the while comforting him and speaking coaxingly as if to a small child. Brian shook his head back and forth at the realization that his father was talking Doug through the enema a lot better than he ever had with him. These thoughts were dispelled from Brian's mind as he watched his father approach Doug's backside with the long pipe as if he were about to plug a cord into a wall socket. The white enema hose snaked down seductively from, and in juxtaposition to the red bag, turned in on itself on the floor and rose up again a couple of feet to the pipe at its terminus. Brian felt he would succumb at any moment to the rapidly mounting sensations coursing throughout his body. The moment of truth was at hand. In just another moment, Doug would be experiencing the same thing over which Brian had been made the butt (another pun!) of jokes so many times. Brian found it necessary to steady himself with both hands against the walls next to the bathroom door as overpowering emotions flowed through all parts of his being. The airplane was about to enter the hanger as he watched his father slowly part Doug's firm buttocks. In only a few seconds, Doug would be at the point of no return when the warm soapy enema water would begin to course rapidly into his intestines.
The pipe found it's mark easily and Brian's knees felt weak as he watched his father slowly inching the pipe into his brother's fecal-ridden rectum. His father must have come across some of the fecal material for he slowly withdrew the pipe somewhat and then, slightly rotating it, continued the insertion. Doug saw that he sides of the pipe were now slightly brown. At this point, Doug moaned dejectedly and reared his head back toward the ceiling. His father asked him if he was all right and Doug just nodded. The next moment, Brian heard the sound for which he had waited most of his life, the distinct snap of the clamp as his father released the initial surge of water down the hose. It sounded exactly like someone snapping his fingers. The bag had not rid itself of more than 8 ounces of milky solution when Doug began crying, " Stop it! Stop it! It hurts! My guts are gonna burst!" he continued to bawl and his entire back and both legs were bucking like a bronco. "Pull it out! Please pull it out!" Doug continued to bellow. Brian's father opened and closed the clamp at a furious pace as he tried to keep up with Doug's wild gyrations. It was at this moment that Brian saw his brother's inflated penis sticking straight up against his slowly filling belly. With each renewed surge of the soapy solution, his member flattened up tightly against his horizontal stomach muscles and then relaxed slightly as his father clamped the hose. Brian was breathing shallowly and tried not to blink so he would not miss a split second of the unfolding scenario.
With the bag now approximately half emptied, Doug began yelling in a disturbingly falsetto voice, "The cramps! The cramps! I'm dying! I can't stand anymore!" As Doug continued his high-pitched litany, Brian turned his one-eyed keyhole gaze toward his father who suddenly said, "Ah, shit!" Brian switched his gaze to his brother's bolting backside, the revolutions of which were now reminiscent of a mechanical bull, and expected to see a load of shit floating out on a river of hot soapy water. Realizing this was not the case, Brian saw his father take the enema bag down from the towel rack and lower it to a point where it was lower than the pipe inserted in Doug's rectum. He knelt down on the floor next to his son with his other hand pressed firmly against Doug's buttocks thus enabling the white pipe, which was still securely inserted in Doug's rectum, to be held immovable between his index and middle fingers. Apparently, the cheap plastic clamp on the hose of the Rexall bag had broken from the constant manipulation and Brian's father was not able to close it. Therefore, he had lowered the bag to stop the flow.
Brian jerked back from the door when his father called out loudly, "Brian are you up here? Come into the bathroom, I need you now!" Brian doubted that his father knew he was playing the voyeur but just to make sure, he quickly retreated to his room and then came back. Upon opening the bathroom door, his sense of smell was permeated with the distinctive smell of Ivory soap mixed with the perspiration pouring from his brother's glistening body. His father motioned for Brian to take the enema bag and instructed him to keep it lower than Doug's rear end. By this time, Doug's cries had mellowed into a rhythmic moaning. Watching his father's actions, it dawned on him what his father was going to do. Realizing that he would not be able to get Doug to take another enema, he reached for the pitcher of soapy water, which was now comfortingly warm, and proceeded to pour about half of it into the enema bag until the point where the bag was once again bulging. It was now or never. With Brian holding the bag, his father's other hand was now free to serve as the hose clamp. Wasting no time, his father issued directives to Brian every few seconds regarding the height of the bag in the form of "up" and "down." With his father expertly manipulating the hose, Brian soon fell into rhythm with him and the two worked as one in dispatching the soapy water into Doug's bowels. As Brian lifted the bag once again, always a little higher than was necessary, at his father's command, he could not believe his good fortune. Not only was he witnessing the football star's wash out, he was helping give it to him!
After several minutes and ending too soon for Brian, the enema bag burped loudly, indicating that it had rid itself of its soapy contents and was now empty. Doug had taken about three quarts of the robust solution the effect from which were readily apparent in the form of his distended belly. As his father slowly withdrew the pipe from his brother's rectum, Brian felt "the vapors" returning and swayed on his feet. His father now helped a moaning Doug to the commode where he cried out at the first colossal discharge of fetid enema water. In the final analysis, it had proven to be too much for Brian's overwhelmed and over stimulated emotions to handle. Still holding the empty enema bag in one hand, he did fall victim to a sinking spell this time and slowly sank into oblivion on the bathroom floor.
The ensuing weeks found Brian in rare form. Although he regretted having had fallen out during the height of Doug's enema expulsion, he was more than grateful for the opportunity which fate had afforded him. Doug was a changed person. He not once called Brian "enema bag belly" and even offered to help him with his math homework on several occasions. Brian didn't really need the help but he liked the feeling of getting closer to his brother. The large enema had thoroughly purged Doug of the retained feces in his constipated bowels and also appeared to have expiated his antagonistic behavior toward Brian. In other words, he had undergone a much needed attitude adjustment. Brian now felt proud as he sat in the bleachers and cheered as his older brother scored a winning touchdown.
One night, about a month after Doug's enema, Brian lay in bed, with his
hands clasped behind his head, contemplating the patterns on the ceiling
made by the moonlight angling in through the window. The one thing which
had perplexed him about Doug's enema was why his father hadn't used the
larger enema bag on him. Prior to the Atlanta vacation and the Rexall
bag, his father had used the family-sized 3-quart red enema bag, the one
they had had for years, on Brian. That thing was made of industrial
strength rubber and sported a metal clamp on the red hose which was big
enough to choke a horse. All Brian's speculations were rendered moot as
a muffled but familiar sound reached his ears. His parents had gone on a
weekend Boy Scout hike with Sam (whom of course would return with his
poor skin all "wed" from the sun) so Brian knew that Doug was the only
one in the house. Following the sound of the slowly mounting moaning to
its source in the upstairs bathroom, Brian touched the seemingly closed
door and it slowly and silently swung open on its hinges. Lying on his
back, in flagrante delicto, with a huge erection towering above him,
Doug lay on his back on a white towel, with the large red enema bag, now
half empty, suspended majestically above him from the shower curtain
rod, and the limber red rubber hose sweeping down and coyly caressing
one of his hips before terminating in the long lubricated black pipe,
and he luxuriantly massaged his dilated anus with the pipe. Brian smiled
and knew he had found his answer. His brother was taking his enema like
a true southern gentleman.
