enema | The Colonel's Boy

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The Colonel's Boy

Author: Tom

A brief word to the Scots: I am well aware that clan tartans are not as simply derived as I describe and that there are many variants and attributions. Nor is the clan chieftain described as "The Campbell", although this form of address is used in other clans. I just wanted a Scottish theme running through the story, so please do not take offence at the inaccuracies.

I was an army brat, one of many born on a military post and brought up to the sound of boots and the smell of powder in a variety of identical quarters whose actual location was variable and not very important - each was a self-contained community.

My dad had been a lieutenant for a long time before he went off to the war in Europe and left mom with me, an eleven year old who was just beginning to realise that his daddy might not ever come back again. It was a claustrophobic existence - the US army was, and still is, an intensely moral organisation and the women left behind had to conform to a rigid code of conduct which would not have been out of place in a convent. It applied to kids too - the children of officers were expected to set a good example to those of enlisted men and to avoid fraternisation.

That meant that a small, isolated group of mothers and children came into being. Mothers played bridge or sewed, kids rode their bikes and did their homework and we all went to church on Sunday. It was an unexciting existence and the only things that really stick in my mind are the enemas. Those were the days of the "Faultless Wearever" bag and the Davol Company whose products were both highly effective and tastefully decorated. Dark red rubber embossed with detailed scrollwork picked out in black and the manufacturer's name and crest proudly displayed on the side complete with a range of pipes suitable for all sizes and capacities.

There was no attempt to conceal their existence. They hung up in bathrooms with no more ceremony than you would apply to a toothbrush or a facecloth - usually on the back of the door where the rattle of the rubber pipe when you closed it was a familiar sound, sometimes over the bath or in the shower to allow them to drain after use. It was commonplace to hear parents mention the subject, as in "I think he needs an enema" or "I gave him an enema this morning and he's fine now".

Nor was there any privacy for little boys. One of my most vivid memories is being checked for worms - I must have only been four or five at the time. There was another boy there and his mommy and they must have been talking about the subject because suddenly the enema bag appeared and we both got enemas in the kitchen and had to poop in a potty to allow the result to be inspected. The other thing that sticks in my mind was the fact that he got a hard slap for playing with his winkie when he was sitting on the potty. It surprised me because I always did that when I got an enema and my mommy never seemed to mind, but I didn't do it that time because I was scared that his mommy might slap me too.

When I called on friends, it occasionally happened that they couldn't come out because they were going to get an enema and there was one, just one, occasion when I had to wait while Billy Dawson got his enema and I just went into the bathroom and talked to him while his mommy ran the water in. I do remember that it gave me a funny feeling to watch it happen to another little boy - I was six or seven at the time.

I don't ever remember mommy using anything except an enema bag, although I was aware that other children got their enemas from rubber balls with pipes sticking out of them. Most times, mommy would unscrew the pipe on the end of the tube and replace it with the "baby pipe", a short, thin, rounded black thing that slipped into my bottom without causing any pain or resistance. Strangely, I never wondered why the tube was usually fitted with the bigger pipe or even the enormous one. It didn't register in my child's brain that I wasn't the only person in our household of two who took enemas!

I was real proud when mommy eventually decided that I was old enough for the "big boy's pipe" - after the little one slipped out in the middle of an enema and triggered an evacuation of my bowels all over the bathroom floor. I was scared at first, but when she slipped it into position I discovered that it was specially shaped to hold in and that it was much more comfortable to be able to relax and to know that it wouldn't pop out.

As I got older, my enemas got more private and became something special. It wasn't sudden, just a normal progression from baby to boy, but it coincided with a change in my attitude to enemas. They became more than just routine and changed into something special.

I always knew when an enema was coming because mom started to give me hints well in advance - if I was going to get one at bedtime, she would always mention it earlier in the day. That gave me several hours to anticipate the event, hours of a strange mixture of apprehension and anticipation that grew as time passed until I was aching for it to happen. Mom always prepared the solution and filled the bag in front of me and the ritual of swirling soap around in a sink of warm water, the adjustment of temperature and finally the scooping of the opalescent liquid into the red rubber bag raised my anticipation to fever pitch.

When she finally hung it in position, I scrambled quickly out of my clothes and got into position. Mom had a stiff back as a result of a childhood accident, so she always placed a stool in front of a small table that stood in front of the window. It was made of some sort of glass that let light through but distorted images, but if you put your eye real close then you could find a spot that allowed you to see a distorted but recognisable vision of the world outside. Then, after she inserted the pipe and started to run the soapy water in, I could see people passing by and it gave me a strange stimulation to know that I could see them but they didn't know that on the other side of the glass there was a boy getting an enema from his mother.

Mom began to use greater volumes of liquid too. At first it just tickled, then it made me feel full, but the last bit really made me want to go to the toilet, but at the same time it felt nice. When she finally eased the pipe out of my butt hole I always had to hold my cheeks together and take little steps on the way to the toilet and the wonderful relief of expelling the mass of liquid.

It was about then that I stopped playing with myself while I got my enema. I still got stiff, but I no longer wanted to touch it when mom was there so I saved it up for bedtime when I could still kinda feel the pipe sticking in my bottom and enjoy fingering my stiffy.

Then there was Alice Weston. One thing about the military life is that you never get the chance to be ill, because somebody is always checking you over. As we boys got older, we went to the post hospital by ourselves and undressed in an atmosphere of giggling naughtiness before we lined up naked for our physicals - nudity outside the privacy of bathroom or bedroom was not permitted under normal circumstances. Captain Weston, Alice's mother, was a senior nurse and a proper officer, which gave Alice a particularly high status amongst the kids. The physicals weren't particularly thorough - the doctor looked us over briefly, listened to our chests and then came the really special part - he grabbed our diminutive balls and told us to cough. That was kinda special because normally only our moms had access to those parts of our bodies.

Except for Alice. She was old - ten or eleven - and she took her rank from her mother. When she found an empty house she would select three or four boys and announce that they needed a physical. Alice's physicals were wonderful. You had to take all of your clothes off, of course, and she ignored the preliminaries and got straight down to a detailed examination of our private parts. That meant she played with you until you got a stiffy and then played with it some more while her victim writhed in ecstasy. Then she did something that was not part of a normal physical - she examined our butt holes and finally announced that we had all been naughty boys and that we needed enemas. We didn't actually get them, but Alice had acquired a black enema tip from somewhere and she greased it and then we all had to have it inserted in turn and to experience the other pleasure when she worked it around in our juvenile butt holes.

Alice was the first person to really introduce me to anal pleasure, but the job was finished by her mother some years later when I was twelve, in one of the truly embarrassing episodes of my entire life. I had been for a routine physical that day and I was surprised when Captain Weston turned up at our quarters later that evening and talked to mom for a while in a low voice while they both glanced at me from time to time. Then mom stood up.

"Honey, Captain Weston has come round to give you a special sort of enema."

My suspicions had been growing that something was going to happen that I wasn't going to enjoy. I had been growing up too - the stories about making babies had been circulating and, although I had heard them before, this time they made an impact on me. I didn't mind getting an enema, but getting it from Captain Weston was a different matter. Enemas were a special time for just mom and me and I sure didn't want a strange woman, not even a nurse, joining in. My reply was surly.

"I don't want an enema. I don't need one."

"Honey, you do. Captain Weston says that you haven't been clearing everything out and you need a special enema to help you empty your bowels. Now I don't want you to show me up in front of the captain, so let us just get this done without any more sulking. Go to your room and wait for us there."

I had to go, of course. I waited in my room and I felt both embarrassed and apprehensive - what was a 'special enema'?

I found out when they came in. Captain Weston was carrying the enema bag and it was real full - more than mom usually gave me. She reached up and tied it to the light fitting - the ceiling was low enough to reach it - and then she ordered me out of my clothes and made me lie on my back so that she could poke my skinny belly and call mom's attention to a lump in it. I felt vulnerable and exposed, the first time in my life that I was really conscious of being naked.

"You see? He needs a high enema to move that mass out."

Then she opened her bag and I saw it. A length of red rubber tube, but a lighter colour and somehow a lot stiffer then the normal stuff. I understood immediately what she intended to do with it and I jumped up and tried to run out of the room, but mom grabbed me and held me there. I was scared out of my wits because I just knew that she intended to put all of that thing into my bottom and I really didn't want that. The tears started to come as I tried to get away.

"NO! I don't want that inside of me! Please don't make me have it."

Mom held me reassuringly - and lied to me.

"Don't worry, Jason. You only get a couple of inches of it. Not much more than the usual enema tip. Now be a brave boy and lie down on your side while Captain Weston does your enema."

"I don't want an enema."

"You'll be very sick if you don't have it. What do you think your daddy would say if he knew that you were scared of a little enema?"

That did it for me. I hadn't seen my dad for a whole year and I envisaged him as a hero, killing Germans by the dozen and taking prisoners by the hundred. No way would I ever let him down. Reluctantly, I faced whatever horror was in store.

In fact it wasn't bad. It was odd to lie down for an enema, but the pipe slid in without any trouble - in fact it felt pretty nice when the extra couple of inches went in. It took ages and ages to administer that enema, and the familiar feelings surged through my groin and produced the usual stiffy. That was a problem, but I was enjoying the enema far too much to worry about the future. Captain Weston adjusted the pipe a few times but that didn't worry me. I just lay and disregarded everything except the growing pressure inside of me and the extra-special feelings that I was experiencing.

Finally the water was shut off and that was when I realised mom had lied, because just about the entire length of the pipe was inside of my butt hole. It took forever to get it out and the process had me biting my lip to staunch the incredible sensations that the process was producing.

"All done. You can stand up now."

I had forgotten that I had a stiffy until I saw Captain Weston staring at it. It produced a new emotion within me - shame. I had never before thought that being naked and having an erection was something to be ashamed of or to feel guilty about, but quite suddenly those feelings overwhelmed me. Captain Weston made it all worse by smiling at me and turning to mom to say something. I just covered my erection with my hands, ran to the bathroom and locked the door before I released the liquid - in several instalments.

Finally mom tapped on the door.

"Jason, honey, are you all right?"


"Jason, Captain Weston has gone. It's just your mommy now. Why don't you come out and get dressed - there's ice cream in the fridge."

It took a while, but eventually it dawned on me that I couldn't stay in there forever, so I unlocked the door and allowed mom to hug me tight - that made me feel a lot better. She kept her promise about the ice cream too and I think we both decided that it was best not to mention what had happened.

For a while I didn't get any more enemas, then I got really, really constipated and even I knew there was no option. I had made it worse by not saying anything and by the time I finally told mom, I was way beyond the possibility of relief except by means of an enema.

Mom was brilliant!

"Are you sure you need an enema, Jason?"

I nodded ruefully.

"Yeah. I haven't been all week and I think everything has set inside me."

She sighed.

"Well, why don't we try it a different way, now that you're growing up? Go put your pyjamas on and I'll come to your room shortly."

I was puzzled, but I didn't have a problem with putting my pyjamas on. Mom came in after a while and sat down on the bed beside me.

"Honey, I won't do this unless you say yes, but I think it would be better if I used that long pipe for your enema. You're really backed up and it's going to be difficult to get everything out. What do you say?"

"I don't mind. I was just scared when I saw it, but it was okay."

"That's good."

She fetched in the bag complete with rube and hung it up. Then she turned down the quilt on top of the bed.

"I've been thinking about this, Jason, and I've got an idea how to do this without embarrassing you. Lie down on the bed."

I did so and then she covered me with the quilt.

"Now, just push your PJ pants down and lie on your side. That way I can get at your butt without you exposing anything else."

It was a good idea. I had been dreading mom seeing my boner - it had been promoted from a stiffy now that I was thirteen - but I had been prepared to endure it as the price for relief from my constipation. She really was the best mom in the world because she had thought up this new way of giving my enema where I only had to show my butt - and butts weren't real embarrassing, not like boners.

It was all real simple. I pushed my pants down and curled up, then she folded back just a part of the quilt so that she could give the enema. The long tube was nice too - it kinda squirmed around inside of me and added to the normal nice feelings as she slowly ran in the water. When she was finished, she pulled the quilt back into position so that I could cover myself up before I went to the bathroom. The only problem was that it didn't work.

Mom sighed when I told her.

"I thought we might have problems. We'll leave it an hour, then try again."

I watched the hands on the clock as they went slowly round towards the time for my second enema. I had never had two in succession before although I dimly remembered having one or two every day when I was small and confined to bed with measles. Finally the minute hand put an end to my suspense and we returned to my room.

I guess that the first enema had taken me halfway there. The second one grabbed me in a more intense way than any previous enema and I think that was the first time that I realised that they weren't special feelings - they were just the same sexual ones that I got when I jerked off with a small change in focus. I could not stop the effects - the sensations took me along with them and did not slow until I came. I somehow managed to remain silent and not to move around - it would have been terrible if my mother had known that I was having an orgasm!

Afterwards I jerked off as I recalled that enema and previous ones which had not turned me on sexually at the time. My memory is very good and I found that I could re-run various ones and enjoy them in a new way.

One thing about being in my teens was that I did not have an early curfew any more. A military post is a safe environment anyway and mom didn't mind if I stayed with friends and then walked home in the dark. The MPs usually offered me a ride if they passed, but mainly I refused and instead raced them with the spendthrift energy of youth, playing the role of an escaping soldier, calling them Nazi swine and yelling that they would never take me alive. I rapidly learned that I could not outrace a jeep, but I could sure outmanoeuvre it. I could race over the Colonel's yard, I could vault fences and I could choose narrow passageways where they could not follow and then hide until they gave up and drove away - another victory for GI Jason!

That's how I ended up one night crouching behind the low fence that bordered Alice's house. I knew the MPs would soon tire of looking for me and I grinned to myself as they drove away on their patrol. It was only then that I saw the light on in her bathroom. I saw a figure in white - obviously Captain Weston still wearing her uniform. Then a shimmer of pink with a brown topping of hair. That had to be Alice. Naked.

Time stood still and I stayed with my eyes fixed on the window, praying that it was going to be what I thought it was. Then I saw Captain Weston hang up something red with an oblong outline. Alice was sixteen by then and she was utterly gorgeous, every teenage boy's wet dream in her tight shorts that showed off her legs and butt. And now she was getting an enema from her mother!

To be honest, I saw much more in my imagination than with my eyes. I saw Captain Weston bend down and then straighten up after Alice's outline had ducked down below window level and it gave me a real kick just to know that she got her enemas kneeling down. My imagination ran riot as I pictured the pipe - was it a long one? Probably! It would be slinking its way up Alice's ass, wriggling deep inside her body, delivering its cargo of soapsuds into that delectable butt.

The, suddenly it was all over. Captain Weston bent down and the bag shook as she extracted the pipe, then a flash of pink indicated that Alice had leapt to the toilet - it flushed some minutes later and I crept away, still excited beyond imagining.

Mom spotted my state when I got home.

"Jason? You look like you've got a fever. Come here."

She felt my forehead.

"You're drenched in sweat and it feels like you're burning up. Maybe I should call the hospital or Captain Weston?"

"No, mom, I'm not too bad. Maybe I need an enema to cool me down?"

She nodded.

"All right - we'll try that and some Tylenol, but if they don't work then I am going to call the hospital. Go get your pyjamas on."

It was turning out really well. Mom fetched the enema bag into my room, but with just the ordinary nozzle fitted.

"This is a baking soda enema - nice and cool. It will bring your temperature down."

I guess I must have had one of those before, but I had forgotten about it. I did my wriggling under the quilt, then mom bared my butt and slid the nozzle into my asshole without any fuss. The cool liquid was a bit of a shock, but she ran it in real slow and I could feel it drawing the heat out of my body and calming me down.

One excitement was replaced by another as the first small pangs of discomfort grew within me and I clenched my ass to grip the nozzle more tightly. I always liked it best at this stage because the growing need to empty my bowels was always matched by a growing sexual tension inside of me. Finally I came, in a slow, sensuous pulsing that had me once more biting my lip and clenching my fists in my attempts to suppress the signs of what was happening.

Maybe it was the enema, maybe it was just that I had calmed down, but mom was satisfied that I was all right. At least that saved me from Captain Weston.

Elementary school was within the camp, but there were only a few kids of highschool age, so we had to walk down to the main gate and catch the school bus into town. It was a hot day and, to my delight, Alice was wearing her shorts. I suppose these seem rather tame by later standards with their wide legs cut straight across and their belted high waist, but they were infinitely alluring to the gaze of a fourteen year old boy of that time. The seat was flat, due to the close fitting panties underneath and it sagged just a little to emphasise the female butt shape. I was actually surprised that Alice was allowed to wear them - most girls were only permitted skirts that came below their knees but I reckoned that since her mother was an officer she could make her own rules.

I spent the day stealing glances at Alice. She had drifted out of my circle as she got older and I had mentally classified her as almost old, but that day I reckon I fell in love with her even if she was sixteen. Okay - so it was a teenage crush, but it felt like the real thing and I was in no position to examine my feelings dispassionately. I sat behind her on the way home, lusted after her hair and neck and almost collapsed with ecstasy at the sight of the back of her bra.

When we alighted, the kids of the enlisted men turned right towards their quarters while Alice and I, as the only two officer's brats, turned left and began the long walk towards officer country. Officers did not fraternise with enlisted men and that applied to their families too. We were all equal at school, but once inside the gate we automatically switched to the army way.

At least that gave me fifteen minutes with the love of my life. We had hardly seen each other for the previous two years when Alice was at highschool and I remained in the combined elementary and junior high on the post. Speech was difficult, but I eventually managed a monosyllable.


She stared at me as though I had grown four extra legs and a carapace.

"Of course it's hot. It's the summer. It always gets hot in the summer."

I tried again, sticking to the theme.

"I think those shorts are really nice. The other girls are jealous because your mother lets you wear them."

Hey - that had an effect! She turned to face me and smoothed down the front of the garment and then tugged at the legs to straighten them.

"You like them? They're jealous?"

Wow. I had scored an accidental bull's-eye and discovered rule number one - always try flattery first. Alice turned round and peered at me over her shoulder.

"You don't think they make my butt look big? I wondered if I should put them on this morning."

Rule two. All women think that their butts are too big and all respond to reassurance.

"Of course it isn't too big. It's just right. Not too fat and not too skinny."

I was really on the ball with that. She smiled happily and I waited for her next question - but it never came and we resumed our interrupted walk. Well, maybe if I asked her about what she wanted to be when she left school?

"Oh, I'll probably be a nurse like mom."

"Yeah - you would be good at that."

She halted again and I got another glare.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, when we were kids you always had to be the nurse, didn't you?"

I poised to run as her expression changed, then she started to laugh.

"You remember about that?"

"Heck, who could forget those physicals you gave us?"

She laughed again.

"And Jason was always head of the line!"

"I wasn't!"

"You were! For a kid your age you were pretty advanced. You really enjoyed it!"

I hung my head - because it was true. Then I chanced my arm.

"You could do it again if you like."

She laughed.

"In your dreams, Jason. But I like your style even if you are only a kid. Ask me again when you're twenty one."

She was right about the dreams, but I was hurt because she had called me a kid. My life was over and I resolved never to have anything to do with girls. I would remain single and merely smile sadly if anyone asked about the photo of two small kids on my desk.

Mom was real excited when I got home. We had crossed the Elbe and General Patton was advancing on Berlin. A couple of weeks later and it was all over - Germany had surrendered. There was a huge party on post, but afterwards everybody suddenly stopped celebrating and looked real serious. Mom eventually told me what was wrong - we were still fighting Japan and they wanted at least a million men to invade their home islands. She actually broke down and cried and said that it just wasn't fair, but we both knew that didn't count in war.

Then everything changed - for her at least. She got a letter from dad and she screamed with joy.

"You father is being promoted to half-colonel! And he's got a staff job as G2. He's staying in Europe!"

"Dad? In intelligence?"

"Honey, the whole place is in chaos. He's even got us a priority - we leave for England next week! He can have his dependents over there now that the fighting is over."

It was wonderful news. I hadn't seen my father for four whole years - not since I was only eleven - and he had only been a first lieutenant then. Now he was a lieutenant-colonel, a rank that he had never imagined he would reach because in the peace time army they would probably have retired him as a captain.

One thing the army is really good at is moving people around - I guess they have had plenty of practice because nobody stays anywhere for very long. I just kept a low profile and let it all happen.

I was real excited at having my first flight. Not just my first time in an airplane, but flying right across the Atlantic Ocean. Until I discovered that military planes don't have windows, that they are noisy, dirty and that the seats in them are so uncomfortable that they must have had pain designed in. It took over 10 hours of mind numbing noise and vibration with only a box lunch and tepid coffee from a thermos plus the most alarming lavatory on the planet before we finally touched down at a military airport near London. Even the ground seemed to be vibrating as we were processed by a bored corporal who, by his own admission, didn't know nuthin about anything. Finally out of the building, mom let out a shriek and ran towards a strange man.

Was this my dad? He seemed a lot smaller and much less imposing even though he wore the silver oak leaf of a half-colonel. He sure had a lot of ribbons and maybe he was my dad, because one of them was the silver star. Finally he disentangled himself from my mother and held his hand out to me.



We shook hands and then we hugged. He was my dad even if he wasn't ten feet tall any more.

"You've grown."

"You haven't."

Then we all started to laugh. Dad had a staff car and he drove us into London where he had booked a couple of rooms in a run-down hotel - he apologised and said that all of the hotels were run down and this was the best he could find. Our rooms were next to each other with a connecting door and when I went to bed I was jerked into wakefulness by a scream - it took me a while to realise that it had come from my mother and that the doorframe was bent so that it didn't fit properly.

It was awful. I could hear every word and every movement as they made love. Several times. It was like being in there watching them and I felt horribly embarrassed at the squelching and thumping, moaning and screaming noises that I was forced to endure. Eventually it stopped and I lapsed into sleep, only to be awakened early by more of the same.

When we finally went down for breakfast, I could hardly even look at them. Not that it mattered, because they were only paying attention to each other. They didn't notice how bad the food was and they even drank the tea which was so foul that I felt like throwing up after my first taste. Later we looked around and I realised for the first time that war wasn't something to do unless you really had to - dozens of buildings had been bombed to shells or piles of rubble and everybody looked poor and thin.

Next day I got the bad news. Dad was based in Germany and mom was going to join him there. But I wasn't. I had to go to some English boarding school instead.

Dad just ignored my protests and my pleading.

"Son, Germany is no place for a boy your age. There are no schools, there are probably still some people who don't intend to stop fighting and the whole place has just about been destroyed. We'll visit with you whenever we can and maybe next year you can join us."

"Why didn't we just stay Stateside then?"

They looked at each other and I blushed because the answer was so obvious. I tried to make them take me but it was useless - they got me a pair of grey long trousers which seemed to have been made from a horse blanket, a grey jacket and some shirts and underpants and then they drove me into the country and dumped me at the school.

As soon as they left, I was surrounded by boys who looked at me with what seemed to be hostility.

"You're a Yank?"

"I'm American."

"Same thing. What are you doing here?"

"My father has to go to Germany and I have to stay in England."

"You could have stayed in Yankee Land."

"Look, I didn't ask to come here."

"Typical Yank. Turns up when it's all over."

"Where were you lot when we were being bombed?"

"Not here!"

"Was that man your father?"

"Yes. He's a colonel."

I became aware the my principal tormentor was a boy my own age with a mocking grin and an upper-class accent. He sneered at me.

"There are only three things wrong with Yanks. They're over-paid, over-sexed and over here! Who was the woman? Some floozy he bought with a pair of nylons?"

That did it. I threw a punch at him, he retaliated and then we were rolling around in the dirt trying to kill each other. Then a shadow fell across us and there was a terrible silence.

"My study. At once, if you please."

It was the head and he wasn't amused. He ushered us into a book filled room with an odour of tobacco, picked up a cane and pointed to the desk.

"You first, Campbell."

The other boy started to move towards the desk and I began to protest.

"You can't just punish us. What about finding out what was going on?"

He looked me in the eye.

"You were fighting like common street urchins. Gentlemen do not brawl, they settle their differences in a civilised fashion. That's all I know and all I need to know. Bend over please, Campbell."

He gave each of us four strokes on the seat of our pants. He was almost casual about it and the main injury was to my pride rather than my butt - the actual caning hardly even stung. Released, we eyed each other up in the corridor, then he held out his hand.

"Robbie Campbell."

"Jason Boyd."

We shook hands and he grinned.

"Hey, it was hard luck being caught by the beak. I think you have probably set a new record - nobody else has been whacked within an hour of arriving at this dump."

I grinned back. This guy was okay, even if he did talk like he had a plum in his mouth. In the way of boys, friendship was immediate and we were buddies from that moment on.

My fight had given me instant notoriety and the subsequent caning had gotten me much sympathy for what was considered particularly harsh treatment of a new boy. I was allotted a bed in a large dormitory and, to my surprise, Robbie volunteered to show me the ropes until I got settled in.

I had begun to expect little from English food, and I was not disappointed. After school we ate bread and jam - their name for jelly, a runny sweet red substance that didn't taste of fruit at all, plus mugs of sweet tea that everyone else drank with much appreciation. I asked Robbie if there was any coffee and he just laughed.

"We haven't had coffee since before the war! Drink your tea and be grateful for it."

I simply could not bring myself to even taste the brew - the smell alone made me nauseous - so I settled for water and decided to write to my dad and ask him if he could send me some coffee. Afterwards we had "prep" - which meant we all did our homework - then we were released to run off our energy before dinner. That was another culinary disaster - a stew of unidentifiable meat, vegetables and grease - but by then I was hungry enough to eat anything that didn't eat me first.

Bedtime was a surprise. I had never before lived in an all-male establishment with all the informality that resulted. We went to our dorm and Robbie instructed me in undressing - or rather in how to arrange my clothes. Trousers came off first and he showed me how to fold them and drape them over the back of a chair. My shirt had to be placed over them, followed by my coat, then underwear and socks were placed neatly on the seat. At that stage everyone was naked and I was astonished when boys grabbed towels and toilet stuff and ran out of the room, down the corridor to a large communal washroom. It wasn't that I was bashful - it was the idea of running around the place with no clothes on that was so unsettling.

I found myself the centre of attraction when we got back to the dorm.

"Are you Jewish?"

He was indicating my dick and I suddenly realised that I was the only boy there who had been circumcised.

"No, I'm not Jewish. Most American boys get cut."


I could only shrug.

"They just do. Maybe it's more hygienic."

"How do you wank without skin on the end of your willy?"

Two new words, both immediately understandable, but I chose to pretend not to know what they mean.

"Wank? What's that?"

"You know - when you do this."

I stared incredulously as one of the boys wrapped his hand round his dick, produced a boner and then slid it back and forth with every sign of enjoyment. The others actually cheered him on as he rubbed harder and finally spurted on to the floor. I was shocked. What sort of place was this where boys jerked off in public?

"Your turn - show us what you do."

"The same thing."

"Show us!"

It was a challenge and I could see in their eyes that I had to accept it. I had never let anyone see me jerk off in my life but I gritted my teeth, grabbed my dick, thought of Alice and the bathroom window and came gloriously - I had been too preoccupied to do it for more than a week, so I produced an impressive amount of stuff as well.

I understood soon afterwards just why I had been tested. Those guys in my dorm were world class masturbators. Everybody was doing it and I stared in horror at two pairs of boys who were jerking each other. Robbie saw my expression and just laughed.

"It doesn't mean anything - nobody in here is queer."

"Sure looks like it."

"It's only friction, my dear chap. Now if they were kissing, I really would start to suspect something."

It was weird, but I gradually realised that he was right. Those boys had spent their whole lives, since they were seven or eight years old, in boarding schools and they didn't even know what privacy was any more. It was worse than the army - army brats at least had moms and dads and their own quarters and they didn't have to live in a dormitory. These guys had no privacy, no secrets, nothing - in fact they had become almost one person with twenty different faces. They just did what they felt like doing and the fact that there were other boys around was irrelevant because there were always other boys around no matter what you were doing. I felt sorry for them - at least I would go back to family life when dad and mom got settled in Germany.

I had to see matron next day and I did so with resignation - nobody ever seemed to think that a bay could survive unless he had his balls felt on a regular basis. I was surprised when I knocked on her door to see that it was just an ordinary room, the sort you lived in, and that she was wearing an ordinary dress. She looked okay - fairly old but not terribly strict.


"I'm Jason Boyd. I'm a new boy."

"Come in, come in. Have some tea."

"No thank you, ma'am."

She looked at me as though I was from outer space.

"You don't like tea?"

"No, ma'am. I don't like it at all."

She seemed incapable of understanding that, but eventually it got through to her that there was at least one person on the face of the earth who actually did not like tea. She sighed and I felt almost as though I had let her down, but then she smiled again.

"Tell me about yourself, Jason. Where are you from?"

"Everywhere, ma'am. I'm an army brat."

"Oh. Are you healthy?"

"Yes ma'am."

"That's good. Well, you know where I am if you ever need me."

That was an English physical? I asked Robbie about it afterwards and he grinned at me.

"What else would she do? If you feel ill, you go to see her, she sticks her magic tube up your bum and makes you better. Or don't you ignorant colonials know about the subtle art of the enema?"

I was getting tired of Robbie and his insults and I moved to punch his lights out. He nimbly avoided the blow and held up his hands.

"Hey - do you want to got to the Beak's study again? We got off with a few love-pats last time, but the old bastard can really lay it on if he wants to."

"I'm sick of your insults. I'm not ignorant."

He put his arm round my shoulder.

"Jason, old friend, you really don't understand it, do you?"

"Understand what?"

"It wasn't an insult. Well, I suppose it was in a way. But you always insult friends. In fact, you only insult friends unless you want a fight."

"You English are crazy!"

"ENGLISH? That's fighting talk! How can I be English with a name like Campbell? I'm a Scot and proud of it."

"So? Scotland is part of England isn't it?"

He visibly shuddered.

"You may be my friend, but that's going too far. I'll tell you all about it later, after you answer my question."

"What question?"

"Do you Yanks practice the noble art of the enema on your children? Or have you been deprived of the sublime pleasure of rubber and soap?"

"If you're asking if American kids get enemas, the answer is that we do."

"I was asking rather more than that, old chap, but let it pass."

I had an idea just exactly what he wanted to know, but I wasn't ready to bare my soul to that extent.

Things moved along at a steady pace for a couple of weeks. One Saturday afternoon I was wandering round the grounds when I heard the sound of a motor bike. I turned to see it stopped beside a boy who was pointing to me - then I realised it was an army bike. It puttered to a stop beside me and the corporal gave me a suspicious look.

"You the Boyd kid?"

"Colonel Boyd is my father."

"This is from Major Morrison. You dad sent him a TWX asking him to get it for you and here it is."

He reached back and handed me a heavy parcel, then he drove away, leaving me baffled. I shook it and then I caught the smell. Coffee. Real American coffee. At last I could have something decent to drink.

Then it hit me. I couldn't, could I? Common decency meant that I would have to share it, and that meant it would hardly last a day. They would let me keep it for myself, I was sure of that, but it wouldn't be right. At the same time it would be just plain stupid to waste it on people whose taste was so feeble that they could drink the tea they served in the school.

I could only think of one recipient. I went into the school and tapped on the door of the Beak's study. He stared at the parcel when I put it on his desk.

"Well, my ears and whiskers, what have we here?"


"Alice through the Looking Glass. White rabbit."


"You want me to open this? Will it explode?"

"No Sir."

He produced a penknife and slit the wrapping to expose the five pound pack of coffee and I salivated as the delicious aroma filled the room. He stared at it.

"Oh frabjous day!"

"Alice in Wonderland, Sir?"

"Jabberwocky. Same author, different story. Can I believe my eyes? What is this treasure doing here?"

"Sir, I wrote my father and asked him to send it. It's a gift for you. To thank you."

He sat down and looked hard at me, then a little smile formed.

"I've underestimated you, Mr Boyd. You saw right through my little subterfuge, didn't you? It was cruel to cane you on your first day, but there had been mutterings about an American boy coming here and when I saw who you were fighting with, the opportunity was just too good to miss."


"Young Campbell. He's a wild Scot and he's impulsive, but he's a natural leader. If I managed to be unjust to both of you, I hoped it might unite you against the injustice. It worked rather well, I think, and I didn't exactly hurt either of you. But you had worked that out for yourself, hadn't you."

I had by then, so I just nodded. He beamed at me.

"And so I get this munificent reward! You will join me in the first brew, won't you?"

"Thank you. I'd like that."

I was surprised to see a small kitchen behind one of the doors. He lit the gas under a kettle and busied himself with a coffee pot and crockery. Finally I savoured my first - and last - cup of coffee in the school before he shook me by the hand and let me go.

I was feeling really low at the loss of my coffee and even lower because my dad hadn't even written back to me about it. Just a teleprinter message to a buddy - and he had just dumped it on one of the HQ corporals. I missed my mom too - this was the first time I'd had to cope with misery all by myself. Robbie spotted me and loped over, then looked worried.

"I say - bad news?"

"No. I just feel lousy."

He grinned.

"I know just what you need. Matron's magic rubber pipe."

"I'm not ill - just miserable."

"It cures that too. In fact, I don't feel very chipper myself. We'll both go."

Maybe it would help. An enema always made me feel better - so I just tagged along behind him. Matron answered his knock and surveyed us.

"Well now, Master Campbell, what can I do for you today?"

"My friend and I feel somewhat under the weather, Matron. We seek relief from our ills."

She laughed.

"Master Campbell, why don't you just speak English? Come to the sickbay - I know exactly what you need."

The sickbay turned out to be a large room containing two beds and one of those doctor's couches. In keeping with the usual standard of privacy, a row of chairs stood along one wall for those waiting for attention. My attention was drawn immediately to a white enamelled cylinder on a shelf above the couch, whose purpose was made clear by the coil of rubber tubing attached to a pipe at its base. Matron indicated it with her hand.

"Master Campbell - reach that down for me if you please."

Robbie bounced up on to the couch and removed it from the shelf. Matron struck a match and lit an ancient water heater above the sink which hissed and spluttered but managed to deliver a trickle of hot water. The routine was familiar - the soap, the temperature adjustment and finally the transfer of liquid into the can.

Robbie waited until she was doing that and then stripped off, revealing that he already had an erection - and not making the slightest attempt to conceal it from Matron. Nor did she appear to think that it was at all unusual - she just indicated the can again.

"I think it will take both of you to get this into place for me."

It was quite heavy and I carried it across the room while Robbie jumped back on the couch, his erection now at eye level, took it from me and placed it on the shelf. Matron beamed happily as he lay down with his butt towards us, then she picked up an enema pipe and pushed it into the end of the tube. I stared at in disbelief. It was made of the usual black material, but it was about eight inches long and the business end consisted of a rounded bulge as though it was some sort of Popsicle. She smeared it with grease, then she pushed it into Robbie's ass with a sort of rotary motion before she reached for the tap which controlled the flow.

Every enema I had ever received had been a matter of just lying quietly while the liquid did its work. Matron obviously believed that it was better to dislodge stuff directly, because she started to stir things around inside Robbie - the pipe was obviously made for that purpose. I watched and winced as she pushed it in and out, round and around as though she were a cook scraping batter from a basin before she finally slapped Robbie on the butt and told him he was done.

I had changed my mind, but it was too late, of course. Matron detached the nozzle and started to wash it in the sink.

"Won't be a moment, Master Boyd. Just get ready now."

Exposing an erection was no longer a problem for me because my dick had shrivelled up with fear. I felt the bulge push against my hole, then it opened and closed round the thin shaft. She started to move it around and the result was dramatic. My asshole reacted immediately to the stimulation and I completely lost control of my body as the intense sexual pleasure paralysed my will to resist. I lost all track of time, craving only more and more of those amazing feelings - and then the spell was broken as I went into the irresistible spasms of a prolonged and ultimately almost painful climax.

When I returned to awareness and started to get up from the couch, I saw that Robbie was standing there, wearing his underpants and clasping his shirt, frozen in the process of dressing. Embarrassment came as I squirted the soapy water out and I sheepishly returned, dressed quickly and got out as fast as I could, even though Matron seemed unaffected by my performance.

Robbie jumped me as soon as we were out of earshot, slapping me on the back and crowing with delight.

"You spunked on Matron's couch! You really did! Nobody ever did that before!"

"I couldn't help it."

"That was rather obvious, old boy. I mean, I sometimes feel like doing what you did, but I've never let myself go that way. It was incredible. I thought you Yanks were all talk, but you sure didn't just talk in there!"

He grabbed my arm and steered me towards the stairs.

"Robbie? Where are we going?"

"To the dorm - it will be empty at this time of day, and you owe me one."

When we got there, he flung himself on his bed, unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down, allowing his erection to spring free. I didn't hesitate - I just grabbed it and started to rub while he writhed and groaned and eventually went into the rigidity that precedes the climax.. I jumped back as he spurted and watched as the white goo spurted up and landed on his belly and then finally the last drops slowly ran down his deflating prick. He reached for the scrap of cloth that every boy kept somewhere near his bed and wiped himself clean, then he grinned.

"Wow! That was good! Now tell me all about your enemas - do you always spunk when you get one?"

We wandered outside and I found myself telling him about seeing Alice through her bathroom window and I guess I did exaggerate somewhat about the clarity of what I had observed. Robbie was green with envy and, however obscurely, I felt that I had scored a small victory for America.

That night, it seemed just fine for Robbie to come to my bed at lights out.....

I was really looking forward to Christmas and seeing my folks again. Then, a week before the great day, the Beak summoned me to his study and handed me a piece of paper that I recognised immediately as a routine TWX.


"I'm sorry, Boyd. Seems he can't get here."

I fled before my tears really started. Robbie found me, of course.

"I say! Someone dead?"

"No. My parents aren't coming and I have to stay here over Christmas."

"We'll see about that. Cone on - I'm going to have a word with the Beak."

We returned to the study and Robbie started his pitch.

"I say, Sir, is this true? Jason has to stay here?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, I think that's really terrible. I want to invite him to spend his Hogmanay with a real Scots family."

The Beak shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Your offer of hospitality is admirable, even if heathen, but my hands are tied."

I broke in, hope welling inside.

"Sir, why don't you call them? I'm sure they would give permission."

"My dear boy, I simply cannot telephone to Germany, let alone to an officer whose location I do not know. They only allow official calls, not chit-chat about holidays."

"Won't you even try, Sir?"

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry. It can't be very pleasant to be marooned in this place instead of spending it with your family, but this matter is now closed. The decision is made and you will just make the best of it. Is that clear?"

We both nodded and left. Robbie had one of his determined looks and dragged me to the dorm where he got his coat out.

"What's going on?"

"If he can't call Germany, I bet you know someone who can. We're going to find that Morrison guy who sent you the parcel and get him to make the call."

"Robbie! The Beak said it was settled - anyway, Major Morrison's camp is twenty miles away at least."

"Well, if you don't have the guts to even try..."

"All right. We'll try."

We sneaked out of the school grounds and luckily found a farmer who gave us a ride for the first few miles. Then we hitch-hiked and eventually an army truck stopped and the driver told us he was going to the camp and invited us to hop in. The journey took several hours, but eventually we found ourselves at the gate of the camp.

The private told us to piss off, but I demanded to see the corporal of the guard. He was dubious, but he could tell that I was an American boy and he eventually did admit that they did have a Major Morrison in the post. Finally he gave up and got us a ride to the G2 office.

Major Morrison was obviously baffled to be confronted by two boys both talking at once and demanding access to military communications. Finally I told Robbie to shut up and explained who I was and what I wanted. He refused, of course, but I continued to persuade him that one tiny TWX wouldn't destroy the entire fabric of the US Army. I was just about there when the door slammed open and the Major jumped to attention at the sight of the star.

The general looked at us and then exploded.

"So he was right! Two runaway kids in my camp. Just what the hell is going on here? Major?"

Generals are terrifying beings. They might not quite be God, but they are here and he isn't, so they act like it. Robbie opened his mouth but I shook my head vigorously and he closed it again while the Major told our story. Then there was an awful silence before the General spoke. Generals are allowed to swear and this one was no exception.

"I spend all of my time being nice to the fucking Brits, drinking that piss they call tea and telling them how we always behave like guests in this fucking miserable piece of real estate. Now I get accused of kidnapping and harbouring runaway kids and I see all my goodwill going straight down the crapper."

He turned to the MPs behind him.

"Escort these two kids to the guardroom - there will be a truck along to take them back to their school. Meanwhile, major, I'm hearing things about unauthorised signals that need some explanation."

It didn't take long before we were in the back of a truck with two armed MPs watching us as it drove us back to the Beak. They kicked us out when we got there and a grim-faced Beak marched us to his study.

"Explain yourselves."

Robbie started in on him.

"Sir, I thought that if you couldn't call Germany, we should try the Americans. They can do anything."

"So you just broke bounds, left without permission and had everyone, including the police, running all over the country looking for you?"

"Sir, it was all done to try to right an injustice. If Jason's parents had known, they would have given their permission, I'm sure."

At that point the phone wheezed into life and the Beak picked it up.

"Hello General. Yes, they got here - thank you for sending them back so quickly."

He listened for a while, then replied.

"I'm sure the officer concerned meant well and I certainly appreciate his efforts in the past. It is supremely difficult to contact the boy's father without assistance from yourselves."

He listened again.

"Well, it's kind of you to do that. I can only apologise for those wretched boys - their behaviour was totally inexcusable."

He put the phone down and I felt my knees go weak as he glared at us both.

"Well, Campbell, it appears that you have achieved the impossible. The General himself has contacted Boyd's father and he has given permission for him to spend his holiday with your family."

I somehow managed not to cheer. Then the desire faded completely as the Beak stood up and reached for his cane.

"Now there's just the matter of your outrageous conduct today. You first, Boyd - bend over please."

Robbie was right. The old bastard could really lay it on when he chose.

Two days later, the caning forgotten, Robbie and I endured hours on a filthy train which slowly clanked its way north and stopped at every station - just as well, because there were no toilet facilities on it. The country gradually became more open and more hilly until we had to have a second engine connected to help us up the gradient. Robbie cheered as we crossed a truly spectacular valley on a long bridge.

"This is the Ribble Viaduct. Next stop Carlisle and then it's Bonnie Scotland!"

We got off the train with relief at a place called Dumfries, then Robbie, who seemed to know his way around, took us on an elderly bus which headed into the middle of nowhere. We finally arrived at a tiny village and he yelled with delight as he saw a horse and trap standing there.

"He's here! He'll be in the pub - come on."

'He' turned out to be a black-haired, black-browed man who grunted what seemed to be a greeting and then turned back to his beer. To my amazement, Robbie turned to the man behind the bar.

"What about a couple of halves for two weary travellers? This man here is an American and he should sample good Scotch Ale before he dies."

"Just halves, Master Robert. And no refills - the Laird wouldn't like it if you rolled up drunk."

I could simply not believe it as the man pumped two half-pint glasses of amber coloured beer and handed them over. Robbie handed one to me and we went to a table in the corner where I cautiously sipped the liquid. It was cool and it tasted good, so I took a big swallow and then wiped the froth off my lip as Robbie grinned in triumph.

"Well? Is that not the nectar of the Gods?"

"Robbie - this must be illegal! How come he gave you beer?"

"We own the pub."

It took a while for that to sink in.

"Robbie? What's a Laird?"

"Oh, it's what they call landowners here. It isn't like a real lord."

"Your father owns land here?"

"Oh, some. It's not worth much - it's only good for grazing sheep on."

Our carrier finished his beer - it was thicker and darker than the stuff we had been given - and made for the door. Robbie and I gulped down the rest of ours and scrambled into the trap as the man completely ignored us, clucked to the horse and set off up a small track.

The beer was stronger than it looked, or maybe neither of us was used to alcohol, so we were both feeling somewhat happy when we finally drew up in front of a castle. A small castle with windows instead of arrow slits and no sign of a moat or drawbridge, but definitely a castle. Well - maybe it was just a house with a small tower at each end, but it still qualified as a castle as far as I was concerned.

A small, old lady came out of the front door and Robbie leapt out with whoops of joy, picked her up and swung her round.

"Nanny! It's good to see you again! How are you?"

"Put me down at once, Master Robert."

He lowered her to the ground and she peered at me.

"And this must be your little friend Jason."

I nodded to her. Nanny? Was this his grandmother? He enlightened me.

"Nanny has been here forever, Jason. She looked after my father and she brought me up too until I escaped from her clutches and went away to school."

"I still look after my boys when they come home, Master Robert."

"Indeed you do, nanny. And you do it very well."

She smiled happily.

"Come up to the nursery and bring your little guest. You will need to clean up after that long journey. I can smell the train on you and maybe something else?"

"Hush nanny. It's our secret."

I whispered to Robert as we went inside to a panelled hall smelling of polish.

"Nursery? We aren't babies!"

"That's what they call the children's rooms here. You live in the nursery until you become the Laird. Or have children of your own."

I felt sorry for Nanny as she painfully climbed the stairs to the top of one of the towers. The nursery turned out to be a large semi-circular room with two metal framed beds in it, freshly made with crisp white sheets and red blankets. Nanny subsided on to a chair and Robbie looked at her with concern.

"Nanny, you shouldn't have to climb up here any more. It's just too much for you."

"Oh, I live in the Dower House now, Master Robert. But I have to see to my children when they come home. Everything is ready for you and we'll soon have you nice and clean."

I was getting used to it by now. Robbie stood beside one of the beds and took his clothes off while I followed his lead while I wondered of all Brits were so casual or just the upper-class ones. Nanny had vanished through a door and Robbie ushered me in to a room which held the largest bath that I had ever seen, half full of steaming hot water. The most unusual feature was not the bath however, but the fact that there were two toilet bowls against one wall, a couple of feet apart. I was wondering why any bathroom needed two toilets, then Nanny moved to a stool beside the bath and picked up an strange object - a long red tube that bulged in the middle, fitted with a shaped nozzle at one end. She put the other end in a basin of soapy water and squeezed the bulb a few times, producing strong jets of liquid from the nozzle. It was some sort of weird device for giving enemas!

Robbie was obviously expecting it. He walked over to the bath, stood with his legs apart and bent forward to grip the rim. Nanny popped the nozzle into position and I watched as the muscles in his butt went rigid and he raised himself on tiptoe as she pumped away with a vengeance. Eventually he yelled that he had taken enough and plucked the nozzle out of his ass before he stumbled to one of the toilets and clasped his stomach as he bent forward and the liquid gushed out.

Nanny beckoned to me and I adopted the same position. The nozzle was okay - it was the same shape as the big boy's one at home, but the sudden gushes of liquid took me by surprise. I held on for dear life as she happily blaster hot water into me and I did the same as Robbie - I just couldn't stop my feet from lifting me up as the stuff scoured my insides. She seemed to be happy to go on for ever, so I too pulled the nozzle out, and it was then I realised why there were two toilets. Robbie and I sat and groaned as we slowly managed to eject the final pools of liquid that worked themselves down.

Nanny beamed.

"I'll just go and lay out your clothes. You're big enough to bath yourselves now."

We dived into the bath - it was large enough for more than two - and I began to relax as the water soaked a whole term of boarding school out of my system. Robbie chuckled.

"That's a bonus - she doesn't live up here now. We'll have some privacy!"

I didn't ask what that meant because there was the sound of a gong being struck in the distance. Robbie jumped out.

"That's the five minute warning. Time for dinner!"

We hurriedly dried ourselves as we walked back into the nursery - and then I got a major shock. Nanny had laid out clothes for us - a crisp white shirt, a tartan tie. That was fine. The rest consisted of long tartan socks, a tartan skirt and what looked like a dead rat on a chain.

Robbie hastily pulled the shirt over his head and then buckled the kilt round his waist. I shook my head.

"I'm not wearing a kilt. No way."

"Fine. Go in your shirt then."

I looked around but there was no sign of my clothes or the small bag I had brought. He guffawed.

"Nanny will have taken everything to be washed. It's the kilt or nothing."

"I'm not dressing like a girl for anybody."

I thought for a moment that he was going to kill me. Instead he spoke seriously.

"Don't ever say that again. This is a Campbell kilt - it's distinctive because it's all dark colours - and the Black Watch regiment wears it too. They're the best fighting men in the army and they wear the kilt with pride. It's quite a compliment that she laid one out for you."

I put it on before he took even more offence and then realised that something was missing.

"There are no underpants."

"Of course not. They are not worn with the kilt."

"Listen - I'll put the thing on because it obviously means a lot to you, but no way am I walking around bare-assed underneath it. A joke is a joke, but I want my underpants right now."

"I'm serious, Jason. You really don't wear anything under a kilt. Now hurry up - my father hates people being late for dinner."

I was still suspicious, but he wasn't wearing any, so I reluctantly let him fit my sporran and then we walked down to dinner - I felt stupid and vulnerable and I was going to have my trousers back as soon as I could.

We were greeted by a larger and even wilder version of Robbie, also clad in a kilt. He grabbed his son and threw him up in the air.

"Hello, you little bastard! It's good to see you."

Robbie struggled to free himself.

"Let me go, you hairy-arsed baboon! This is my friend Jason. Don't pick him up - he's a Yank and they don't like it!"

He didn't pick me up. He punched me in the chest instead and sent me flying backwards. I lay there with my kilt somewhere in the region of my navel until I realised that my genitals were on display to both him and Mrs Campbell. I hastily scrambled to my feet and tried to locate my sporran. The Laird howled with laughter.

"It's round the back! Sort your friend out, Robbie."

I summoned up what little dignity remained and shook the hand he offered.

"Glad to meet you, Mr Campbell."


I looked around for enlightenment and then he explained.

"I'm The Campbell. You call me Campbell."

Robbie's mother shook hands while I tried to work things out. She smiled.

"I'm still Mrs Campbell. The Campbell takes his clan affairs very seriously."

"Glad to meet you, Mrs Campbell. This sure is a strange country."

This time Campbell did throw me up in the air.

"You'll soon get used to civilisation, my friend. I like you, even if you are a Stewart."

"Stewart? I'm Jason Boyd."

"That's right. Boyds are a branch of the Stewarts. We'll have to see if we can get some Stewart tartan for you. A man should wear the kilt of his own clan."

"Please don't go to any trouble for me. This one is just fine."

We finally sat down to eat - proper food with real meat and potatoes that were not served as a thick white liquid. Campbell poured a glass of wine for each of us and, as I sipped it and felt the warm glow in my stomach, I began to think more kindly of the Scots. Until The Campbell suddenly let out a huge bellow, seized some sort of spear from the wall, opened the window and hurled it into the twilight. He returned to the table red-faced.

"Nearly got him that time! Whole damn place is over-run with vermin!"

I really thought that they usually used spears.

"We shoot vermin at home, Sir."

"We shoot them here as well, you little idiot! But you need shells to put in the damn shotgun, and there are just none available."

I kept a low profile, but now I had an idea.

"Campbell, where's the nearest US base?"


"Is that very far away?"

"About sixty miles by road or ten miles over the hills. Why do you ask?"

"I'd really like to send a message to my father. They can get it through for me."

"Fine. Do you ride?"


"Robbie knows the way and there are two idle ponies that need some exercise - have a stroll over there tomorrow."

There were still no trousers or underpants available. I enjoyed the ride over the hills, even if it was more ventilated than usual, and nobody seemed to find the sight of two kilted boys on ponies unusual - until we rode up to the post. The guard looked us up and down before he spoke.

"On your way, kids. This is a restricted area."

I swung down from the saddle.

"We would like to speak to the colonel, please. Will you call the orderly officer and say that Colonel Boyd's son is at the gate?"

A bemused second lieutenant turned up a few minutes later. They are easy meat - it only took a short while before we saw the adjutant and then the colonel. It turned out that I had met him before the war and that made things easier. I explained that I would really like to send a TWX to my father and he was much nicer than that general - he sent us to the signal office with instructions for them to help me. The signals sergeant asked me where my father was stationed, and when I told him that he was in Munchen Gladbach he laughed.

"No need for a teleprinter. If he's available I can get you a speech line."

He was as good as his word. I asked Robbie to give me some privacy and, after chatting to dad for a while, I raised the important matter.

"Dad, the people I'm staying with - their land is over-run with vermin and they can't get any shotgun shells. Could you ask the colonel here to get us some? It would make a great Christmas present."

There was a pause, then:

"I don't know about that, son, but I'll ask. Don't be too disappointed if he says no."

I left Robbie to look over a tank while I went back to see the colonel. I could see that I was out of luck before he spoke.

"I'd really like to help - hell we use enough of them shooting skeet - but regulations say that we can't give them to the natives."

"Aw, well, thanks anyway, Colonel. I just wanted a Christmas present for The Campbell but I guess I can find something else."

His head shot round.

"Did you say The Campbell?"

"Yes Sir. I'm staying with his family over Christmas."

"Hell, he can sure have them. He only needed to ask and he could have had as many as he wanted. He lets us exercise on his land and he won't accept a cent for it - says it's his patriotic duty. I'll get you some and a jeep to take you back.

"We came on horseback."

He laughed.

"Okay - I'll fix up some way of carrying them. Go back and stop your friend before he manages to start that M34 or figures out how to fire the cannon."

"That's Robbie Campbell - he's as wild as his dad."

"The Campbell's son? You move in exalted circles, young Boyd."

"We go to the same school - he's my best friend."

"Is he now? Go on - I think I saw the turret start to move."

The colonel came out to us after a while. He had two heavy packages wrapped in waxed paper and tied so that they could go over the pony's saddle, a lighter one for Mrs Campbell and a bag of assorted badges and unit flashes and chevrons for each of us. Wampum. Trade goods. Brilliant! He escorted us to the gate and told the guards to pass us out - one of them came running after us as we rode away.

I turned back to see what he wanted and he handed me a package.

"Son, I couldn't help noticing when you got down from your horse. Hell, I knew things were bad, but I didn't think you couldn't afford underwear. Me and the guys want you to have these from the PX. Merry Christmas."

I peered in to the bag. Six pairs of brand new, crisp, white American cotton briefs.

"Gee, corporal, that's real good of you. I really couldn't have a better Christmas present. Thank the guys for me - these are just great."

And they were all mine. I told Robbie that I needed to take a dump and I went behind a wall and put one pair on. I felt human at last. Man is not designed to live without underwear.

We hid the loot in a shed when we got home - I told Robbie that I would kill him if he said a word to anyone.

Christmas Day was a triumph. The present for Mrs Campbell worried me, because it was just a folded length of lacy stuff, but she picked me up and kissed me - it seemed to be a family custom to throw their guests in the air. The Campbell opened his packages while I slid as far under the table as possible. It didn't help. He roared with delight.

"Cartridges. A thousand bloody cartridges! Where the hell did these come from?"

And he hauled me out and threw me up in the air. I picked myself up and saw the two Campbells staring at me.

"Breeks? Did I see breeks? With a kilt? Come on Robbie - we'll have them off the Sassenach."

It developed into a game of hide and seek, but there were two of them and when Robbie went to get the dog I surrendered and removed the offending briefs. Then I got my present.

A kilt. In shades of red with thin yellow and white threads on the hatching. Stewart tartan. The Campbell roared his approval when I put it on.

"Now you're a proper Scot, wearing your clan tartan. Welcome, boy."

I didn't know what to say. They obviously regarded it as something quite special, and I appreciated it for that, but when on earth would I ever wear it? Mrs Campbell seemed to know the problem, because she pointed out that the great advantage of a kilt was that it could expand as you grew. Then the Campbell made me stand on a chair and produced a wicked looking silver-handled knife in a thin sheath.

"And here's your sgian-dhu."

He slid it inside my stocking and regarded it with approval.

"Take care of that, boy. It's three hundred years old and it has killed men. Wear it always - it might save your life some day."

Then we got the shotguns and informed the vermin that things had changed for the worse. I told The Campbell quietly where they had come from and that there were more if he ever wanted them. He nodded.

"Damn decent of the colonel. I'll have a sheep killed and send it over for Hogmanay."

I wasn't too sure how that would be received, but I kept quiet. It was the thought that counted, after all.

I thought it was all over, but then I discovered why the Beak had called it a heathen celebration. It turned out that Christmas was just a minor diversion before the real celebration of New Year, or Hogmanay as they called it, an old pagan celebration which pre-dated Christianity by thousands of years. The principal ingredients seemed to be whisky and roast mutton plus a huge bonfire built on a hill above the castle. I took Robbie's advice and we both slept very late on the morning of New Year's Eve - it was going to be a long, long night.

There were a lot of guests, but Robbie and I homed in on the only two girls - Megan, a local and her friend Moira who was, like me, a seasonal visitor. Robbie and Megan formed a couple leaving me with Moira - I reckoned that I had got the best of the bargain.

Two whole sheep were roasting outside while we started the festivities, dancing to the sound of bagpipes in what they called a reel, which was near enough to square dancing for me to manage quite well. We made whooping sounds as we twirled and spun until we were dizzy and I began to think that the kilt was really rather stylish even if Robbie had inspected me first to make sure that I wasn't wearing underpants.

There was no restriction on alcohol either and the main aim of the festivities seemed to be to get dead drunk. Everyone was merry when midnight arrived and we all clasped hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne". People kept arriving and leaving, bringing something called "Black Bun" - full of fruit and very nice, but heavy as lead in your stomach. Some of them carried flaming torches and all received a "dram" of whisky, roast mutton and often the black bun that someone else had brought.

Things quietened down after midnight and the adults slumped around the place, drinking whisky and talking in slurred voices about the way things used to be. It was our chance to sneak away with the girls, up to the nursery. They giggled and clung to us as we climbed the stairs - and I discovered the third rule, best summed up in the immortal words of Ogden Nash - "Candy is Dandy, but liquor is quicker".

We finally reached the nursery and lowered the girls on to the beds. Megan emitted a totally unladylike fart, then Moira burped and followed it up by another fart. They seemed to find it incredibly funny because they lay on their backs and waved their legs in the air while they laughed at their own gaseous emanations.

Robbie and I looked at each other, then he addressed them solemnly.

"Ladies, you have eaten not wisely but altogether too well. Doctor Campbell prescribes an enema."

That made Moira scream with laughter.

"We both had to have enemas after Christmas! We got them together!"

Megan tried to shut her up, but Moira was in full flow.

"I mean, I hadn't had one for years and then Megan's mother said we had to have them. She made us take all of our clothes off and then Megan held my legs while I got squirted. Then I held hers and I saw all her rude bits!"

She was my girl, for the evening anyway, so I asked the question.

"What do you mean about holding legs? I don't understand."

That started another surfeit of laughter, then she grabbed her knees and folded her legs right up to her chest, revealing that underpants were worn with plaid skirts. It was still the most erotic thing I had ever seen - this was the middle forties and female nudity was utterly taboo. The nearest you got was "National Geographic" with bare breasted dusky maidens smiling out of its pages. The erotic effect was rather spoiled when she farted again though. She giggled again.

"And she used this really long rubber tube! It went miles inside of us, didn't it, Megan?"

Megan nodded but didn't say anything. Then she burped and that started her giggling again. Robbie grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the bathroom, then he opened a biscuit tin which turned out to be full of various sizes and lengths of tubes.

"This is Nanny's enema box - there are some of them in here. I never got one, but I always wondered why she had them. Let's do it!"

He mixed up some warm water without the soap and then pushed one of the long tubes on to the end of the pump. We returned to find the girls had gotten worse - Megan looked pale and sweating. Robbie just started to issue his orders.

"Megan - you have to have an enema right away. Get your skirt and knickers off."


"Come on - you know you need it. You'll be very sick if you don't have it."

To my total shock and amazement, she slowly removed the garments and stood holding her stomach. It was my first sight of female pubic hair and I felt weak with the rush of sexual excitement that it produced.

"Lie down, Megan. Moira - hold her legs up."

It was a submissive age for girls, otherwise I think she would have objected, but Robbie's peremptory authority seemed to overawe the girl. I held tight to the rail at the bottom of the bed as her "rude bits" were presented for viewing. I knew the general idea, of course, but it became a lot clearer as I looked at the glistening tissues. Robbie was the professional - he greased the tube and thrust it into the small pink dimple that was her anus.

Megan squealed as he started to pump in the warm liquid, then she writhed around.

"It hurts! It hurts!"

Robbie gave one final squeeze of the bulb and then allowed her to flee into the bathroom. It sounded like a herd of startled elephants as gas erupted from her ass and her mouth - she must have been near to bursting.

Megan finally emerged looking much healthier. Robbie nodded his approval.

"Your turn Moira. Megan will hold your legs and Doctor Boyd will administer your enema."

I knew a lot more about a high enema than Robbie did. My face was within a foot of her genitals as I rotated the pipe and fed it deeper inside of her to hit that mysterious region where it broke through into a larger space. She screamed once as I hit it, then she relaxed as sounds of bubbling gas and gurgling liquid indicated that she was getting relief. She didn't even object when I went into the bathroom with her and supported her as the gas escaped.

The enemas also seemed to have reduced the effects of alcohol, because they quickly put their pants back on and became much less inebriated. They whispered and grinned - sober grins - and then announced that we boys also needed enemas.

I didn't object - in fact I removed my kilt while they were still speaking. I lay back on the bed and they stared at my nakedness - and revealed that they were not totally unaware of male anatomy. They examined my erection closely and asked why it was like that. I told them it was hygienic, and they both nodded as though they understood.

Robbie held my legs and I had my first ever supine enema, administered delicately by Moira whilst Megan supervised the process. She was pretty clumsy, but the roughness just added to the pleasure of the process - except that I didn't reach a climax. In fact, I just felt sleepy by the time it was all over. Apparently they just covered me up and tucked me into bed, because when I eventually awoke and experienced my first hangover, the girls were gone and Robbie was back to his normal self, devouring thick slabs of roast mutton and making my head ring with his noise. He told me later that he had received the best ever enema and that he had subsequently had sex with both girls. I believed the first part - but girls just didn't do it in those days. I had just enough doubt to be jealous though.

School was a total grind when we returned. It was the middle of winter, fuel was short and when it wasn't snowing, it rained. At least my parents did return at Easter, but even that wasn't much fun. Mom seemed to have lost interest in me and London is a lousy place for a vacation anyway. There was some good news - after a year, dad got home leave, so summer vacation was great. We flew back to the States and I had a whale of a time eating proper food, drinking proper coffee and talking to real people.

Then, at last, as I grew towards seventeen, I was finally reunited with my parents when dad returned to his posting in Germany. At first it was great being back in quarters, but I soon discovered that Dad was bucking for his eagle and spending all of his time brown-nosing with generals and chicken colonels. Promotion is a family affair, of course, so mom had to spend her time with the wives of generals and colonels, whilst I was given strict instructions to make myself invisible - thank heaven there wasn't a boy scout troop there, or I would have been forced to join that.

School was a farce. They had a highschool on the post, but kids and their families were moving around so fast that you rarely saw the same faces for more than a week. They didn't even have proper teachers, just junior officers who were given it as part of their duties.

After a couple of weeks, I was allowed off-post and given a map showing the areas that were safe. There were plenty of bikes available - you just picked one up at the gate when you left - so I started to explore the town. It was old, and it probably would have been attractive in better times, but then it was a sad and sullen place, populated mainly by women and children I was slow on the uptake and dad eventually told me that the men had either been killed in the war or were still in camps waiting to be processed.

For the teenage boy, boredom is the root of all evil. I abandoned school without any fear - they didn't keep many records and in the US Army, if it isn't written down, it doesn't exist. Each day I waited until dad left to kiss some general's ass and then I packed stuff for my lunch, made a thermos of coffee and set out to explore Germany on a bike. The map had green areas and large blocks of pink, emblazoned with "Out of Bounds to US Military Personnel". Well, I was a civilian and I didn't have to obey their stupid military crap. The forbidden areas were ordinary as hell, rural places dotted with small villages and people who seemed more friendly than those in the towns. My German was improving - those lessons were compulsory and given in the evenings - and I eventually managed to pass a few words with people I met.

By Christmas, I was reasonably fluent on spoken German, I was fit and tanned from my cycling and I knew my way around the back roads really well. By that time I was also totally pissed off with my father.

He lectured me for hours about the necessity to be clean, tidy, smart and, above all, inconspicuous. He bought me a tuxedo and stood over me like I was some sort of raw recruit until I had polished my shoes to his satisfaction - he even took me to the regimental barber and ordered the sort of haircut I got. The regiment always had its main party on Christmas Eve so as to leave the day itself for families, and I sat miserably in a corner sipping bug juice and waiting for time to leave. Then I saw a small disturbance near the entry as some guests entered. I recognised the tartan immediately - they were Black Watch! On their best behaviour too - they circulated for a while, drank a prodigious quantity of whiskey, saluted the general and left.

The senior US officers were invited to return the visit on New Year's Eve and dad grumbled about it for the whole week, but the general was going so my father would have died rather than be absent. He laughed at their dress and their bagpipes and told anyone who would listen that real soldiers didn't wear skirts. He also told me that I wasn't invited and that I could just stay home and keep away from the liquor cabinet.

I was just flaming mad about everything and I decided to sabotage my father's promotion prospects to get my revenge. They drove away in a staff car and I quickly unpacked my kilt and jacket from the tissue that Mrs Campbell had wrapped it in. I even left my underwear off. Their camp was only a mile from ours, so I cycled over there in my full regalia.

There was no problem entering their camp. I was just a boy in a kilt and so I gave the sentry a cheerful wave as I ducked under the pole at the gate and he waved back. Easy. It wasn't hard to find the party either - I just looked for US staff cars. My only worry had been getting in to the actual event, but there was nobody watching the door, so I just went straight in.

The silence started with the group of officers beside the door - I wasn't exactly inconspicuous with my scarlet and red kilt amongst a sea of dark blue and green. A grizzled major was the first to roar.

"What's this? What's a Stewart doing in here?"

This was my moment.

"I'm a Boyd, Sir, not a Clan Stewart. My father is Lieutenant Colonel Boyd."

I spotted the purple face staring at me.

"Hi dad! Having a good Hogmanay?"

The major was turning beyond purple, almost to black as he glowered at me.

"Is this some sort of joke? Tartan is not worn for fashion - what gives you the right to wear that cloth?"

I wanted to run, but I stood my ground.

"My name gives me the right. And the kilt was given to me by The Campbell himself."

He stopped looking murderous and I could see that he was at least puzzled. I saw him looking at my socking and I reached down.

"And he presented me with this sgian-dhu."

The major took it and examined the handle. The he whooped.

"Well, if The Campbell vouches for you, then I bid you welcome to our Hogmanay. Can you dance an eightsome reel?"

"I sure can, Major!"

That was the final proof he wanted. The piper struck up the tune, six other officers joined us and for the first time in a whole year I felt at home somewhere as I went through the figures and yelled and roared in sheer exhilaration. When we finally halted, the Major clapped me on the back.

"Ye'll have a wee dram with the regiment, Mr Boyd?"

"I will be honoured, Sir."

I knocked back the whisky in one gulp and slammed the glass down on the bar while I fought to get my breath. I grinned at the expression on my father's face - he had locked his liquor cabinet, but there was another game in town!

It was a magnificent party. I gravitated towards the young officers and I realised that they were not actually much older than me. We went into the mess and played the stupid games that British officers do, culminating in an impromptu game of rugby played with a haggis.

Then the hour approached and everyone stood still as the clock struck midnight. Then all hell broke loose as we sang Auld Lang Syne to welcome in the fresh new year.

I couldn't stay forever, and I didn't even get the chance. Dad stalked over and said that it was time to go, then he hustled me out with an expression on his face that said I was about to learn a new level of suffering for my sins. He skidded to a halt as he saw the general ahead.

"Boyd! Come over here and bring that boy of yours."

"I'm sorry, general...."

"Sorry? What the hell for? It was a brilliant idea - the Black Watch were really delighted to see an American lad who acknowledges his ancestry. I must say, young Boyd, it took a lot of courage to turn up like that. Far too many Americans make snide comments about soldiers in skirts and it made a terrific impression to see one of our own in a kilt."

Okay. I got away without any punishment. But it was my dad that came up smelling of roses. It also gave him a chance to discuss my future, if a bland assumption that I was going to follow him into the army could be called a discussion. He seemed genuinely surprised that I had even considered any alternative and when I told him that I thought I wanted to be a doctor he just laughed out loud.

I started to spend more time out of camp, even in the cold of January. That was how I met Greta. She was struggling along the road in front of me, headed for the village, and she was obviously chilled right through. She looked alarmed when I stopped beside her, then she saw that I was only a boy and about her own age and she relaxed. I indicated my thermos.


Her eyes lit up.

"Ja. Danke."

I poured her a cup and she warmed her hands while she sipped the hot liquid, then she took another one and the colour started to return to her face. I picked up her basket to carry it for her and discovered, to my surprise, that it was empty. She sighed.

"Mother sent me to try to get some meat, but when I got to the city there was none left."

"More coffee?"

She started to shiver again and pointed to an empty barn.

"In there."

It was clean inside and there were some pieces of cloth that she spread on top of the remaining small pile of hay. I unpacked my lunch box and offered her a sandwich. I knew just how she felt when she bit into it.

"Ham. Butter. Ohhhh."

I ate slowly so that she got a lot more than I did. She looked much better when she had finished and drunk another cup of coffee. When she opened the front of her coat it displayed a very clean but well-mended dress. She leaned forward.

"You are a very kind boy. What is your name?"


"Thank you for the food, Jason."

Then she kissed me. Right on the mouth, with her tongue forcing itself between my teeth and driving me wild as it explored the inside of my mouth. Her hand went to my trousers and popped the buttons open, then reached inside and wrapped itself around my erection. It had been a whole year since I was even close to a girl, let alone one who kissed like that and grabbed my dick.

It didn't take very long. My hands went to her breasts, then slid down and lifted her skirt. She moaned as my fingers went between her legs and within a few minutes she was on her back, her skirt pushed up while my trousers were round my ankles as I thrust my erection into the warm moistness and lost my virginity in spectacular fashion.

We dressed facing away from each other. I was in love again and I needed to help my beloved. The food was gone and she must be starving. I thrust my hand into my pocket and grabbed the ten dollar bill that I always carried for emergencies.

"Here. For food."

She stared at it.


Oh shit. It was strictly against regulations to trade in dollars - we used scrip, imitation dollars backed by the army, for all our purchases outside the camp. I didn't understand why they did things that way and I decided it was just one more stupid regulation - besides, she had the money in her hand.

"Yes. For food."

She kissed me again.

"Thank you, kind boy. You will come back?"

I nodded.

"Yes. Tomorrow. Here?"

"Yes. Here."

I was totally elated, of course. I had become a man and the best was yet to come. I had another ten bucks and I shopped at the PX, buying butter, coffee and other items that I knew were in short supply - I just charged them to the family tab because I knew mom never checked it.

Greta was waiting in the barn when I arrived and we fell into each other's arms and made passionate love until we were both sated. Then I gave her my gifts and basked in the joy she radiated as she opened each package.

"Oh, Jason, this is too much. You must come home with me - my mother wishes to meet our benefactor."

I wasn't too sure about that, but she insisted and so we went down toward the village and stopped outside an isolated cottage. Her mother turned out to be a happy woman who repeated the cries of joy and insisted on kissing me on both cheeks for my generosity.

"I will make some coffee! Real coffee for all of us."

I felt rather uncomfortable as I sat drinking it. After all, I had just spent the previous hour fucking her daughter until we had both become exhausted.

She smiled happily at me.

"You will come and visit with us again?"

I didn't know what to say and I felt my face starting to burn. I certainly wanted more of Greta, but I didn't want an irate mother demanding to see the commandant and complaining that an American boy had violated her daughter. She burst into laughter at my embarrassment.

"Oh, I know what you and Greta do together. It is different in Germany - we do not mind if young people take pleasure together. And that barn is cold and damp - much better when you come here."

I couldn't make it over the weekend and I thought that maybe it would become too obvious if I spent every day with Greta, so I arranged to visit with them the following Friday. I shopped in advance, of course, and I took my last ten bucks with me as well.

There were the usual expressions of gratitude for the food, then we had a cup of coffee, and finally Greta's mother gestured towards the narrow staircase. It was a small cottage with two bedrooms nestled below the eaves and a small but glistening tiled bathroom. We undressed in Grate's room, then she led me into the bathroom and I was totally surprised when Greta produced a cloth and a sliver of soap and proceeded to wash and then dry my dick. I hadn't ever imagined that anyone would do that, but it was a very sexy process and obviously very hygienic. I would need to wash again afterwards - my undershorts had gotten pretty smelly the last two times.

Sex was infinitely better on a bed. It was much more comfortable and there were no beetles or sharp lengths of straw to join in and spoil my concentration. I guess I was more relaxed too, because I didn't come so fast, but when I eventually did reach my climax it went on for what seemed like an hour.

We lay for a short while, then Greta jumped up and headed, naked, for the bathroom. I followed - my bladder was complaining - and waited my turn for the toilet. Then Greta ran some water into the sink and added a dash of what smelled like vinegar. I watched as she got a large rubber bulb out of a cupboard - one fitted with an inch thick nozzle - and filled it with the acidic liquid. The she stepped into the bath and thrust the nozzle deep into her sex and slowly squeezed the bulb. The liquid ran out again and trickled down her legs as she injected the whole bulb. My mouth must have been wide open, because she explained.

"To stop the baby. Fill for me."

She handed me the bulb. It felt sticky and the surface was covered in a crazing of hard pieces and soft bits showing through the cracks. At least I finally knew what the enormous nozzle that had puzzled me so much was for. I filled the bulb, feeling guilty that I had never even thought of Greta getting pregnant. She smiled her thanks, slid the nozzle into place and squeezed again.

There was a minor explosion and a sudden splatter of liquid and I realised that the bulb had split. Greta pulled the nozzle out and regarded the ruined rubber with horror.


Her mother came at a run, before I could even think of getting out. She too was horrified, but she grabbed the face cloth and dipped it in the weak vinegar. The she poked her finger in the centre and thrust it into Greta's sex. Greta screamed, but her mother proceeded to work the entire cloth inside of her, then she slowly pulled it out, rinsed it and repeated the process.

After rinsing it a second time she turned to me and then proceeded to clean me up. It stung like hell, but she paid no attention and simply, dispassionately, washed my genitals before she handed me a towel.

I slipped the ten bucks privately to Greta just before I left and told her to buy something for herself. She tucked it away without promising anything and I guessed that it was probably going into the general funds, but that was her choice.

By now I was short of cash, but that was no problem for a kid on an army post where the soldiers didn't have much to spend their pay on. I put on my cute kid face and offered to shift snow and clean the crud off cars and I made thirty bucks real fast. I sure wasn't going to have Greta go through that process again and that was no problem either - I just went into the enlisted quarters and filled my pocket with foil-wrapped rubbers from the large box beside the door.

Maybe they washed their things on a regular basis. I really didn't know anything about female hygiene procedures, so I bought a large enema bag in the PX - for cash - after I had found one which included four nozzles, the usual two for enemas and a two thick pipes, one straight and one bent. I got the clerk to wrap it for me - he smirked but said nothing. My father had developed an evil reputation around the post and he had the rank to ensure that any corporal could lose his stripes real fast. I bought the usual selection of goodies and headed for the cottage with a clear conscience.

Greta and her mother looked curiously at the parcel which contained the syringe. Her mother carefully untied the string and removed the brown paper without tearing it, then lifted the top of the box. I felt real good as she made noises of delight and her fingers stroked the smooth surface of the rubber bag. Greta looked puzzled and I gathered that she had never seen an enema bag before, just bulb syringes. She picked up the normal enema nozzle.

"This one is for the bottom? So small?"

I winced as I realised that the vaginal syringe must have served for both purposes - no wonder Greta was smiling as she fingered the smooth, shaped enema tip. Then she said something in German, too fast for me to understand. Her mother nodded and explained.

"It is the small food - it blocks the bottom. Poor Greta has been suffering because all we had was soap balls."

I didn't understand, so she explained.

"I roll up little balls of soap and put them in her bottom. That makes happen."

"Oh gee - that must really hurt!"

"It must be done, but it will be easier now. Greta needs it today, but she was waiting until after you went away. Now we can do it immediately."

I suddenly realised that it had been over a year since my last enema. A wave of desire swept over me as the old longing returned in full force.

"I think I need one as well."

"You are welcome. You brought the syringe after all."

Greta's mother didn't know very much about how to use an enema bag either, so I showed her how to fill it and to hang it over the bath. She clapped her hands with delight as she saw the steady stream of soapsuds from the tip of the nozzle and Greta had her clothes off and was kneeling in the tub before anyone had to suggest it.

They had some grease, although I reckoned it was animal stuff, and Greta's mother spread it over the nozzle before she inserted it. I explained about how important it was to let the water in real slow but she seemed to understand all about that. I watched as Greta took her enema and I reckoned that I must be growing up because the sight was hardly erotic at all. It was a very pleasant and intimate experience, more like my family than mom and dad had become. I didn't even get a hard on when it came to my turn in the tub - my enema was an incredibly pleasant experience but more like a gourmet meal than a hot dog.

In fact, it was more like an appetizer. When Greta and I retired to the bedroom I found that my desire had been magnified many times and my energy was greater as well. I produced the rubbers and rolled one on as Greta crowed with delight - that was hardly surprising since it was going to spare her the vinegar! We made long and very satisfying love and I discovered a new thing - wearing a rubber made me last longer and that if a boy can keep going for long enough, a girl gets a climax as well!

Afterwards we ate some of the stuff I had brought added to the potatoes which seemed to be all that they otherwise had. I produced the rest of the rubbers and Greta grabbed them and spirited them away.

Then came an awkward moment. Greta's mother looked embarrassed and she clasped her hands nervously as she spoke.

"Jason, you are so kind to us that I do not like to ask for a favour."

My heart sank. It didn't sound good.

"What favour?"

"Well, if you bring us things in the future... could you bring some soap?"

"Is that all? Of course I will get you some soap. It's no problem."

Greta tried to refuse the ten bucks as I left, but I insisted that she should take it. I felt really good about myself as she tucked it away once again.

That began six glorious months of my life. Friday was the highpoint of every week when I cycled to the cottage and presented them with my gifts. Then Greta and I took our enemas and we spent several hours in bed unless it was her time of the month - and that was when I discovered that you could get an extra special pleasure when a girl used her mouth on you. I was shocked the first time she did it, but shock changed to sheer delight as she swallowed my erection. She was real good at sex - she played with my asshole and sometimes even slid her finger inside of it and massaged me internally when I was trying to achieve my fourth erection of the afternoon. That always worked and made me fiercely erect and raring to go!

Unfortunately there had to be an end to my paradise. Dad reckoned he was a certainty for his eagle and his two-year tour was up in July. No matter how much I wanted to stay, when he left I had to leave with him. As the date of departure approached, I told Greta that I was going to have to leave soon and that my next visit would have to be my last. We both cried, but I explained that I just had no choice at all.

I wanted to make the final visit really special. I bought as many luxury items as I could and collected every cent of my remaining money - by this stage I was totally ignoring all regulations. It still was not enough though. I wanted to give her something really special, something to remember me by. I was so crazy with love that I didn't even have the slightest qualm about getting my only really valuable possession, my sgian-dhu and slipping it into my sock so that I could present it to her as a permanent memento.

It was one of those perfect late-June days as I rode my loaded bike towards the cottage. Unusually, nobody came out to greet me, but I pushed open the gate with a cheery call. It faded abruptly as two men suddenly appeared, grabbed me and started to drag me away. I yelled for help as I suddenly realised that the warnings about kidnapping and ransom were not just made-up things to scare me.

Nobody came and the door of the cottage stayed firmly shut. I yelled again and one of the guys slapped me across the face. Maybe it was that brutal slap that brought me to my senses. I fell to one knee, grabbed the sgian-dhu out of my sock and sunk it deep into the nearest thigh. It was needle pointed and still razor sharp - it went right through the fleshy part and I tore it out and stabbed at the other guy. It hit him in the chest. It hit something hard, then it slipped past and sunk in right up to the hilt.

It wasn't like it is in the movies. I pulled the dagger out and the man just collapsed into a shapeless heap. No fuss, no blood - just very, very dead.

This time the cottage door did open in response to the screams of the man I had stabbed in the thigh. Greta stood there, her face contorted with fury.

"You American bastard! What have you done to my husband?"

She ran to the younger man and helped him to his feet, then she turned to me in rage.

"Kill him! Kill the little swine!"

I ran for my life as the man seemed to recover, but my bike was facing uphill. I didn't have time to turn it - I pedalled as hard as I could, but I was tiring and he was gaining. I braced myself to jump off and run cross country, then I heard a fusillade of shots from behind.

I stopped and so did my pursuer who raised his hands high and stood still with blood soaking through his trousers. I had never been so glad to see a jeep full of MPs in all of my life. Not just ordinary MPs, but the Black Watch, wearing their bonnets with the scarlet hackles. And there was my major, as fearsome as ever.

"Just what the bloody hell is going on here? What are you doing here, laddie? This whole area is out of bounds."

I released my grip on the handlebars as it dawned on me that I was not going to die after all. The major eyed the sgian-dhu that I was still holding, then looked at the wounded man.

"You did that?"

I nodded and then burst into tears.

"I think I killed the other one. I got him in the chest."

"Fucking hell! Throw your bike in the back."

They handcuffed Greta's husband and threw him in as well without seeming to care that he was both screaming and bleeding. Then we went down to the cottage and my worst fears were realised - the guy hadn't moved and obviously was never going to move again. You're supposed to throw up - at least in the movies, but I just went cold all over and one of the squaddies had to hold me up.

They just laid me down fairly gently and then charged into the cottage, guns drawn and ready for use. They reappeared quickly and it was obvious that Greta and her mother had gone.

The major stood and surveyed the scene.

"This is a sad business, young Boyd. It will have to go to the colonel - he disna like dead bodies verra much."

We went to the Black Watch camp, the live guy was deposited in the infirmary and the body in the mortuary, then I was marched in to see the colonel. He looked deadly serious as I stood, swaying, in front of him while the major gave him a brief report.

"For god's sake sit down boy - before you fall down."

I sat down and braced myself for his anger. It came in full measure.

"So it was you at the centre of the illegal money and goods that we've been chasing for the last months? Do you not know that it is illegal to put real dollars into circulation here?"

"Yes Sir."

"Don't just 'Yes Sir' me, you young fool! Do you know what the goods on your bike are worth on the black market?"

"They were hungry, Sir."

"They have been living like kings on what they could buy for dollars and what they got from selling the contraband you have been providing! Why the hell did you do it? Do you realise that they were going to hold you for ransom? They might even have killed you!"

The major spoke.

"There was apparently a young German girl involved, colonel."

I thought the colonel was going to have me shot on the spot, then he softened a little.

"So that was it? You thought she loved you?"

I started to cry again as the magnitude of my betrayal crushed me.

"I did think she loved me. I wanted to help her and her mother. I never meant to cause any harm."

"Wait outside, boy."

I was obviously under arrest because two large MPs stood over me as I sat on a hard bench and sobbed myself dry. That was when I discovered Rule four - you can buy sex, but nothing more. I had to wait for several hours while people came and went before I was summoned back to see the colonel again. I reached my lowest point when I saw that my father was there, his lips tight with anger.

The colonel was in charge, though.

"Young Boyd, the Black Watch looks after its own, and you became ours at Hogmanay. I don't think we'll ever catch up with those women - the black marketeers will have them out of the area already. The man you killed has been buried without record and fortunately the other one is wanted in several places. We'll patch him up and ship him out to stand trial elsewhere and if he wants to avoid the hangman he will keep very quiet about what happened today. In fact, it never happened at all. Clear?"

"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir."

"I will leave the rest to your father. Take him away, Colonel Boyd."

The journey home was in total silence. We entered an empty house.

"Fortunately you mother is out at one of her junkets. She is not to hear anything of this."

"Yes Sir. Nothing at all."

"Good. I don't think it would help her to know that her beloved son has been paying for sex with a native whore for the past six months. Or that he killed a man."

"Dad, I had to kill him. It was me or him. I didn't want to, but it just happened."

To my total amazement, he turned and hugged me tight - and tears were running down his cheeks too.

"Son, you made a total fool of yourself and of me, but I'm proud that you could defend yourself. Did you know that man was wanted for murder?"

"No. Oh god!"

"He's no loss - the Brits would have hanged him anyway or just put him down quietly because it was one of the Black Watch that he killed. But you very nearly cost me my eagle! Thank god it was those Scottish barbarians who picked you up. If it had been our own MPs they wouldn't have covered it up - you would have gone to jail and I would have had to resign."

We hugged again and I realised that, miraculously, I was going to get away with everything as long as I kept my lip firmly buttoned. Dad was right, of course - our MPs would have thrown me in jail and the JAG would have thrown the book at me.

"Let me see that knife."

I had replaced the sgian-dhu in my sock and I pulled it out and handed it to dad. He drew in his breath.

"I thought this was a toy dagger - just ceremonial - not a lethal weapon."

"The Campbell said that it had killed men before and that it would save my life some day."

"He was sure right. I'm glad to see that you aren't a total fool. This needs cleaning - lets do it now before the blade gets pitted."

He washed and oiled it while I wrestled with the guilt of the fact that I had been going to give it away. I think it was then that I realised that my father was a real fighting soldier and that death was part of his skills. I felt remorse for the death, but he was proud that I had done it. Even so, I would have no part of a career that turned me into someone like him or the major. Doctors saved lives, soldiers snuffed them out.

He handed the knife back to me, much to my surprise.

"Tomorrow I'm scheduling a full physical for you - god knows what diseases that girl had."

"I used rubbers. I'm not totally stupid."

He looked surprised, then he actually smiled.

"I never noticed until now, but you aren't a boy any more, Jason. But you still have to take that physical."

I went to the post hospital the next day and I was greeted by a grinning corpsman who was very well aware that I was the son of Lieutenant Colonel Boyd.

"Okay, boy. First I need some samples."

I submitted while he drew some blood and I peed in a bottle for him. Then he produced two swabs, like long Q-tips.

"Okay boy - get those clothes off."

The first was humiliation. He made me bend over while he stuck one in my asshole and withdrew it coated in shit. Then he picked up an ordinary swab and ignored my yell of pain when he happily swabbed the end of my dick with what felt like liquid fire. That was only the start. He put on some gloves and then drove the second swab right up the hole in my dick. That lent a new dimension to the word agony and brought an even bigger smile to his face. I knew what was going on - he was getting even for something my dad had done and if he couldn't get him then his son was next in line.

"Now you have to take an enema."

I learned something. An enema is only erotic under the right circumstances. Lying on a hard couch in a military hospital while a vengeful corpsman fills your ass with strong soapsuds - and while he gets a series of grinning visitors to observe the colonel's son with a pipe stuck up his ass - is about as unerotic as having a tooth filled without anaesthetic. At least I didn't give him any sign of how much humiliation and pain he was inflicting on me - in fact when he had eventually done with me and I had emptied my ass of a gallon or two of water, I thanked him for his efforts.

The rest of the physical was an anticlimax - just routine stuff - but it had a sting in the tail. Literally. The doctor gave me two shots of penicillin, one in each side of my butt, that were so incredibly painful that I had to blink back my tears.

When I got home and saw dad, I was beyond being polite.

"You bastard - you knew what the were going to do to me, didn't you?"

He held up his hands.

"Well - yes, I did know. I asked them to do a VD screen on you. There was no point worrying you about it in advance, was there?"

"I haven't got VD. She was a clean girl and I always wore a rubber anyway."

"We'll see. I asked them for a full report."

It took four days to arrive, during which time dad got his promotion and pinned the shining silver eagles on. When he opened it he nodded.

"Fine - everything checked out real fine. This is all you will need to get into college to do a pre-med course."


"I've got my regiment - back home. And there's a good college just down the road so you can live at home and I can keep an eye on you."

"I can't get into college. I haven't graduated."

He threw me a cardboard cylinder. It contained my diploma from the US Forces school and an academic record well above a straight B average.

"Dad? What's this all about?"

"I knew you needed a diploma. Funny thing was, the school records are shit and they didn't even remember you being there. On the other hand, the principal agreed that the son of a full bull colonel would certainly get nothing less than a B in any course, so he issued those documents without a whimper. Congratulations, son."

I couldn't believe that my father could be so dishonest. Then it dawned on me that I would be going to college after the summer vacation - I would sure have to work hard to keep up, but it was better than going back to school and working towards graduation.

"Er... Thanks dad. I appreciate this."

"Start packing. We leave in two days."

Much later, they called it post-traumatic stress disorder, but at the time I just knew that the last thing I wanted was all the hassle of moving in to a new post with my dad full of his new authority as regimental commander. I wanted to get away, to empty my mind, to rebuild myself. There was one place that would do that for me.

"Dad, you can fix anything, can't you? Can I break my journey home and spend the summer with The Campbell? You'll be kicking every ass in sight and mom will be organising all the ladies and I will only be in the way. I really do need some time to get this stuff out of my system."

He picked up the phone and started barking into it. Finally he put it down.

"It's fixed. You will fly to Ayr and Colonel Pacelli will have you to stay overnight, then he will get you transport out to that wild place. He's going to call the village and get them to inform Campbell that you're arriving tomorrow morning."

"He doesn't know?"

"He has no phone at that castle of his, but he's definitely there. He won't object, will he?"

"No - he said I was welcome any time, but I should really let him know in advance. What do you mean - tomorrow morning?"

"There's only one flight and it leaves in an hour. Finish your packing."

It turned out to be the most exhilarating flight of my life, sitting in the navigator's seat of a P34. The pilot looked even younger than me and behaved in a thoroughly irresponsible way by indulging in aerobatics once we were out of sight of land. He even let me have a go at driving the plane and that was just incredible! I arrived at an airfield near Ayr and bummed a ride to the camp. Colonel Pacelli was as welcoming as before and took me to his quarters for the night.

We sat talking before I went to bed and he grinned at me.

"I hear stories about a certain Colonel's son who was sowing his wild oats with the natives and buying rather a lot of coffee in the PX."

I stared at him in horror.

"Sir, I promised my father I wouldn't talk about that."

"Hey - your dad and I were classmates at the Point. We go back a long way. Your secret is safe with me."

He didn't say any more and I went to bed soon afterwards. Next morning I dressed in my kilt and ignored the curious stares as I took breakfast in the O-club with the colonel. He sent me on my way in a jeep with a mad driver - and I discovered that it really was a long way to the castle by road. I got him to drop me in the village and went in to the pub. The bartender recognised me but looked puzzled.

"What are you doing here, boy?"

"Didn't they phone you? I've come to visit with The Campbell."

"Phone's out. Never mind - you can go up with the groceries."

That turned out to be a long journey around a dozen farms before we finally got to the castle and drew up at the kitchen door. There was a scream from the cook as she saw me.

"God save us all. The mistress said there was someone coming and bringing evil with him. That cannae be you, Master Jason?"

"She said...?"

"The Mistress has the second sight."

The carter crossed himself, then made a different sign with his fingers on top of his head. I started to speak, but the familiar bellow stopped me.

"Can it be you, young Boyd? Can it really be you? Welcome, thrice welcome."

He swept me inside and yelled for everyone to come. Robbie arrived first and yelped like an excited dog as he hugged me. Then Mrs Campbell entered and the room went silent. She stared over my head at something, then she shuddered.

"You bring an evil presence with you, Jason. It hangs over your head and it is black as night. You bring death."

I stared at her. There was no way that she could know. Was there?

"I killed a man."

"Aye. And you carry the evil of his black soul with you. Sit you down and tell us the tale."

I forgot my hunger and someone put a glass of milk into my hand as I told her what had happened. Not quite all - some parts involving Greta were just too painful to relate, but I gave her most of the story. The Campbell and Robbie discarded their normal banter and sat silent, staring at me as I confessed my stupidity and its horrible conclusion.

"Where is the knife?"

I pulled it from my stocking and handed it to her. She recoiled from it.

"It must go in the stream. Living water will drive out the dead."

"Someone might steal it."

She shook her head.

"Nobody will go near it. It holds two souls - one is evil and must go, the other is yours and will stay. That sgian-dhu will always hold the part of you that would have died if it had not saved you. It belongs to you and you belong to it. Take it to the stream and let it lie there."

It was all superstition. I knew that. But the mood was lighter once the knife was submerged in the stream. Cook brought food and smiled as though she too could feel the lightening of the gloom. Mrs Campbell gave her orders.

"Master Jason will not eat meat. He will not drink whisky or beer. You know what he needs."

Cook nodded and left. I wanted to know what was going on and Mrs Campbell told me that I was to eat only the light foods that cook brought me, because the evil had to be driven out and my body had to be purified.

I wasn't sure what she meant until the following morning when she came in to the nursery and chased Robbie away to work with the ghillie - what we would call a game warden.

I stayed in bed as instructed while cook laboured up the stairs with what turned out to be one of those enema cans and placed it on a shelf on the nursery wall. Mrs Campbell dismissed her and then made me push my bed over to the can.

"Are you going to give me an enema?"

"I am that. And it will not be the last one either. Your body must be cleansed because evil cannot dwell in a clean body."

I removed all of my clothes and she placed them in a cotton sack.

"These must be washed and rinsed in the stream. Now lie down while I start the rest of the process."

I could not have resisted even if I had wanted to. Here eyes seemed to glow and my body moved of its own accord into the enema position.

"This too is living water."

That meant it was COLD! I yelped as the first gush made my system cramp and she spoke approvingly.

"It starts. The devil cannot abide living water."

I wanted to yell at her that she was stupid - that you always got cramps if the water was too cold or too fast - but I held my peace as it warmed inside of me and the cramps subsided.

"Now, Jason, tell me the rest. The parts you left out."

It was a long enema. She was careful not to inject too much cold water each time she opened the tap a little, but I was still subjected to incipient cramps. They gradually changed from being something scary to being something rather erotic in the same way that the need to evacuate your bowels has both pain and pleasure. I slowly told her the most intimate details of what had happened, even down to Greta using her mouth on me. Finally she withdrew the nozzle and I breathed a sight of relief.

"Turn on to your back, Jason."

I did so, momentarily embarrassed at revealing my erection. She dropped a shining white cloth over it and then wrapped her hand around my penis and just masturbated me to orgasm, catching the stuff in the silk and using it to wipe up every trace.

"This I will burn. The rest you can expel yourself."

I felt light-headed and dizzy as I expelled the liquid, but I felt better too, as though the load was lifting from my spirit. Breakfast was a tasteless white broth, but at least it was hot and there was plenty of it. And I got clothes to wear - they were my own but they must have been washed overnight because they felt different. To my surprise there was no kilt - just a pair of jeans that had faded a lot since the last time I saw them.

Mrs Campbell walked me around after lunch (more broth) and I began to feel calm in the quiet of the moorland - although it may have been incipient malnutrition.

This went on for five days. Each morning a plain water enema, then a quiet walk, then more broth and bed. Each enema involved a long conversation and each one made me recall some new buried memory, and each ended with the extraction and burning of my seed. It was folk magic, primitive superstition, but it was vastly ahead of the psychiatry of the forties. Without it, the intense trauma which had been inflicted on an adolescent mind would have gradually reduced me to a real psychotic state with the only remedy of the time being electro- convulsive therapy and a poor prognosis of any sort of recovery. Instinctively, Mrs Campbell knew how to draw out the trauma and to make me face it. Today we might use hypnosis - but mild water intoxication and a low-calorie diet did much the same thing for me.

Finally, she engineered a catharsis for me. As the day turned into evening, she made me dress in a white shift and led me away to an area that I had never visited before.

"You feel it Jason? You see the stones?"

There was indeed a circle of stones in front of me. She handed me the bottle she had carried there - it contained red wine - and pointed to the circle.

"You must do this yourself. Walk to the centre of the stones and pour the wine on the ground. Then the evil will leave you for ever."

And it did. As the wine soaked into the ground I experienced a feeling of total peace and happiness. It was only good psychology and a few rocks and some wine ... at least I think that was all there was to it.

We returned home to find a blazing fire outside the house, good food and good liquor. Symbolically, it said that everyone else knew that I was fine now, that I was accepted back even by those who knew what I had done. I was forgiven, shriven, reborn.

Whatever. It worked. I was well again and I had three whole weeks to enjoy myself without any parents or disapproving military busybodies watching me. I rode and swam and shot vermin and listened to the tales of the great days as told by The Cameron. My sgian-dhu was returned, shining bright from its immersion rather than rusted and I was permitted to wear my kilt again.

Even the Black Watch major turned up one day, got uproariously drunk and told how I had gatecrashed the Hogmanay celebrations in my kilt.

"..and his father, the colonel - he looked like he had swallowed a lemon - or maybe something alive and wriggling. The laddie danced a good reel too - but he needs a tuck or three in that kilt, for he displayed his wares to the whole company."

I laughed with the rest of them - I really had grown up a lot.

"..and we saw this young laddie on his bike, pursued by a villain with death in his soul and vengeance on his mind. I almost shot the fellow, but unfortunately he put his hands in the air when he heard us. Still - they'll hang him tomorrow."

I stared at the major.

"But you said that he wouldn't hang!"

He grinned.

"Och, I lied. Vermin like him need putting down. You might say 'nice pussy' to a wildcat, but you still shoot the bugger when he's near enough."

I didn't even care. The major was right. We drunk ourselves to sleep and I felt fine next day. Before the major left, he took me to one side and produced an envelope.

"I think this belongs to you."

I opened it and saw that it was full of dollars - at least five hundred.

"Mine? How come?"

"We found it when we searched the cottage. I reckoned they must have got it from you, so I held on to it."

"I didn't give them this much!"

He shrugged.

"Well, it's yours now. I can't put it back. Think of it as repayment for all they did to you."

I counted it after he had gone. Just short of 700 bucks. And I had the bills that I had intended to give them as my parting gift - almost a thousand dollars when added to the envelope - a very substantial amount of money at the time.

Robbie was astonished when I told him about college.

"You want to be a doctor? That's a mug's game. Me - I'm going into a bank after the holidays."

"You want to be a teller?"

"No, you ignorant colonial. Not that sort of bank. The sort that invests money for its clients and makes them rich."

"What - stocks and shares, that sort of thing?"

"That sort of thing."

"Oh. I kinda need the ordinary sort of bank."

"How come?"

"I need to deposit some cash."

"How much?"

"About a thousand dollars."

His eyes glazed over, then he decided that it was too big for him to handle. The Campbell sorted it all out though - he took me into Glasgow and I deposited it in a Scottish bank and signed an authority for him to handle it in my name.

"When you get to wherever you're going, write to me and I'll just wire it to any bank you name."

I felt much lighter without the money, but Robbie had designs on it.

"We'll write to each other every month. You tell me about the latest nasty disease and I'll tell you where to invest the money."

"How will you know?"

"I'll be working in an investment bank. Somebody will know and they will tell me and I will tell you."

"I don't know. Investing is not my thing."

The Campbell broke in.

"You can't do it in your own name until you're twenty one anyway. But if you do want to invest it, I can place it for you on the American market."

"Won't I lose it?"

"Not likely. Things are starting to move on the markets and there are all these companies who are starting to build these new-fangled computing machines. Put it into IBM - they look a good bet."

I thought for a while, and decided that I had nothing to lose.

"All right. Put it into IBM."

He laughed.

"I'll ask my broker - we'll spread it over a few likely prospects for you. Nothing too risky and you should get a reasonable return."

Then it was back to the states to find that my father was already the most hated colonel in the army. The whole post was buzzing with activity as he kicked ass in all directions. I went to college and discovered that I was so far behind in my knowledge of biology and chemistry that it was going to be a major miracle if I managed to survive the year without being expelled. But if I did, then it would be the army, and as I watched my father gradually moulding two battalions into an efficient regiment I decided once and for all that I would have no part of it. Life became one long struggle as I worked every waking hour and only at the end of the year, when I knew I was able to stay, did I relax.

I had written to Robbie several times during the year, but the letter I received was special. He told me that it was a year since I had invested the money and gave me amazing news - I was now worth two thousand dollars. IBM had started to gain value and I was in at the ground floor. He recommended that I hold. Yeah. That took a lot of working out.

My second year at college was easier, or maybe I had learned how to study hard. It was easier at home too - my father had stopped his rages as things came together the way he wanted. Everything was coming together and he was at the head of a crack regiment, just like he had always planned, but he was increasingly worried as the year progressed. He wanted his star more than anything in his entire life and the way things worked was that you got hints and visits from the right people during your final year as a regimental commander - but none of them were happening.

Then he got the bad news. His new assignment was an obvious dead-end job on some malaria-filled lump of excrement in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Then the promotions list arrived and he exploded.

"Joe Pacelli is going to get his star! Brigadier general designate for pity's sake. I never understood why he suddenly got his eagles, but this is ridiculous. That does it - I won't salute that incompetent bastard. I'm putting my papers in."

I fled to my room and put my head in my hands - because I knew. He hadn't known anything really - he may have heard a rumour - but he had tricked me into letting him know that he was right and that dad had fixed things for me. That was enough to derail any further advancement for dad - and Pacelli had his reward.

Dad was in deep despond when I returned. I managed to attract his attention.

"You're right dad - he should never be a general. After all, he did break every regulation in the book when he supplied ammunition to The Campbell on a regular basis. I guess he might even be court-martialled if anybody found out. He was mighty curious about you and me that time I stayed with him."

Two could play at that game after all. If my father was going to lose out because I had given the natives a little coffee from time to time, it was only fair that Pacelli should suffer. Two could tell tales, after all.

Pacelli never did get that star. My dad still had a lot of friends and, after the Inspector General suddenly investigated irregularities in the records of the Ayr armoury, Pacelli quietly resigned from the army. So did my father, except that his retirement was not in disgrace.

He headed south to buy a car dealership with his retirement grant. And I was free for the first time in my life. I was to stay at the college, but now I could live in a dorm. No parents, no MPs, just a free and easy life with kids of my own age...

College life didn't quite turn out like that, of course. The days of long hair, free love and mind-altering drugs were more than a decade in the future and college authorities saw themselves as moral guardians of the young as well as providers of education.

Dorm life seemed to be exactly like that of an enlisted man living in a barracks. We lived a life of rules and regulations in what was still a large family with a man in charge and a housemother to make sure that we washed behind our ears. From my point of view, the worst aspect was that I had to share a room with another boy for the first time in my life.

The entire place positively reeked of suppressed adolescent sexuality - the air was saturated with testosterone and there was a palpable tension everywhere. The lack of privacy was close to intolerable and we had to play the public role of the clean-cut American boy with healthy participation in sport and absolutely no sex drive. Even the sanitary facilities offered no place for the solitary vice with rows of shining porcelain commodes where I had to perform my biological function of elimination in the company of hirsute males who grunted and farted next to me.

My roommate, Steve Gordon, was fairly inoffensive, but a mere child of eighteen away from his mother for the first time in his life. I had been celibate for two whole years, but the rest of the dorm seemed to be virgins who drooled over fully dressed girls and bragged that they had reached first or second base but would not or could not identify their partner. The girls' dorm was a sort of nunnery, supervised by female mother superiors, a forbidden land where no male foot had trod.

I found myself being forced to adopt an almost parental role towards Steve who was really incapable of making any decision or taking any initiative. He was a skinny kid, almost embarrassingly underdeveloped, who looked closer to fourteen than eighteen and who seemed unable to perform the simplest tasks. I had to show him how to use the basement laundry, but I also had to find out his need for it by the increasing smell from his underwear.

Then he told me that he had a headache. I gave him a couple of aspirin but they gave him only temporary relief. He finally managed to get to sleep and I sighed with relief as I too settled down for the night. I woke up in the early hours to find the lights on and Steve unpacking one of his cases. I opened my mouth to curse him to eternal flames, but then he pulled an enema bag from amongst the items in the case.

I sat up and sighed.

"Steve. Just what the hell are you doing?"

He looked and sounded like he was about to burst into tears.

"It's my headache. It's killing me. When I get one at home, mommy just gives me an enema and the pain just goes away."

"Your mommy isn't here."

"I know that. She showed me how to do it for myself and she packed this thing so that I could."

He stood up and headed for the door.

"Steve? Where the hell are you going?"

"To the bathroom."

"Look - if you walk around this place carrying an enema bag and if anybody sees you in the bathroom with the pipe stuck up your ass, your life won't be worth living. Go get a pitcher full of hot water and take your enema in here."

He blushed but went and did as he was told. Then he improvised a hook by driving the point of a compass into a bookshelf and filled the bag up.

It is a common saying in the army that second lieutenants are so incompetent that they cannot find their ass even with two hands, but I had never imagined that anybody could really be that inept until I saw Steve trying to stick the enema pipe in his ass. He put one foot on a chair and then bent forward until his head was touching the back, then he jabbed around at random until I feared that he was about to create a second asshole for his enema. Finally he did manage to get it into place, reached for the clip and then groaned as the pipe fell out.

I just could not take any more. I got out of bed, picked up the nozzle and pointed to his bed.

"Steve - just lie down. I'll do it for you."

He didn't raise any objection and he was obviously very familiar with the procedure, because he lay down and folded his upper leg to his chest to expose his asshole in the centre of his scrawny butt. I looked at the pipe and saw that it was one of those cheap ones with straight sides - no wonder it had fallen out. Just like the baby pipe had done with me all those years ago.

I guess I was tired and I really didn't feel anything as I opened up his asshole and slid the pipe into it. His hand came round automatically and held it in position - confirming the fact that his mother used the same sort of equipment. It was like treating a little kid - or maybe a little brother - and I just went ahead with his enema, taking it nice and slow so that I didn't hurt him.

When it was finished, he stood up and reached for his PJ pants. I was surprised to see that he didn't have any trace of an erection - I suppose that I had assumed that all boys were like Robbie or me and that they got a hard-on just thinking about taking an enema. He padded out of the room and returned ten minutes later with a smile on his face.

"Gee, thanks Jason. I'm fine now."

Then he gave me a quick hug - the first time we had ever made contact - before he rolled into bed and left me with the task of cleaning the equipment. When I got back he was sleeping like a baby, looking even more absurdly youthful with his ruffled hair on the pillow. It was hard not to like Steve - he was just so young and vulnerable that I just wanted to protect him and help him.

By then, it had become obvious that any advance in my sex life was critically dependent on owning a car. Dad had bought a Ford dealership with an associated used car lot, but he was a thousand miles away and anyway he was going to ask a lot of awkward questions about where the money had come from. My college fees were paid out of a trust fund that he had set up and paid into over many years - he said that saved him a lot of tax. But the money was doled out by a lawyer, one semester at a time, and there was no way the miserable skinflint was going to give me an advance. I cabled The Campbell and asked him if he could cash in $200 of my investments and wire the money to my bank.

It only took two days and, armed with cash money, I managed to buy an elderly but sound pickup for the $200. It wasn't exactly a sports model, but the cabin was large and had a single bench seat that would be far more comfortable than the cramped conditions in the hot rods that were all the rage. It also came with an unexpected bonus - when I collected it the dealer handed me a set of metal hoops and a canvas cover for the back, explaining that he hadn't left them fitted on the lot in case someone stole them. I scrubbed the floor clean and then managed to find an almost new carpet that someone had thrown in the garbage. Now I had something that was almost as good as a camper! Steve was like a faithful dog - he scrubbed and cleaned and painted and then just about wagged his tail with pleasure when I thanked him.

I still had a lot to learn about girls though. It would have been much more effective if I had spent the money on candy because none of them would be seen dead in an old pickup. The real killer, though, was the dorm - no female got past the entrance hall and to sneak one up to your room meant instant expulsion from the college. I grumbled about it to Steve and said that what I really wanted was a small apartment, a place where there was no secret police, where I could take a shit in decent privacy and do my laundry in a room that was not festooned with rows of jockstraps hung up to dry. There was no chance of that - the trust fund would not hand over more than the cost of the dorm plus my allowance and there was no way that I was going to dip any further into my investment - with any luck that was going to be a real help when I finally graduated as a doctor and set up my own office.

A week after the first enema, Steve asked me if I would mind giving him another one.

"You see, I've always been liable to get constipated - my kid brother is just the same - and mom always gave us enemas as soon as there was any problem. I would be real grateful if you could help me out again."

To be honest, I didn't object. He was just a kid who should really have still been at home with his mom and taking his enemas like a good boy until he grew up some more. Hell - I liked him. He was just so totally dependent that he needed a substitute for his mother if he was going to survive..

"Sure Steve. No problem - I'll go fetch some warm water and we'll soon have you feeling just fine and dandy again."

When I came back and filled the bag, he just took his PJ pants off and curled up ready for his enema. There were no sexual overtones - it was just a big guy helping his little buddy with a problem. For the rest of the semester he took an enema every week, always at his own request and always without any agenda beyond his need for constipation relief.

Christmas loomed. I considered travelling to see my folks by train and bus, but then I decided that I was going to drive. I had come by the vehicle legally, I had valid documents and insurance and if dad didn't like it then that was his problem. I was twenty one years old and it was time I took charge of my own life.

When Steve heard that I intended to drive, he smiled in delight.

"That's great - you'll pass my home on the way. We can share the cost of the gas and you can stay overnight - it will save the cost of a hotel."

I hadn't been intending to stay in hotels anyway - I had bought blankets from charity shops and a small kerosene stove so that I could sleep in back of the pickup. On the other hand a warm bed for one night would be pleasant - and Steve would probably burst into tears if I said no.

My only other decision was whether or not to take my kilt. It would really piss dad off if I wore it, but there was bound to be some Scottish association holding a Hogmanay bash in the area and they would welcome anyone wearing tartan - I was certain of that. Dad would just have to put up with it. I tried it on surreptitiously and discovered that I had grown a lot and that it no longer fit properly. It was supposed to have tucks in it, but I was damned if I could see them so I asked the housemother if there was a local tailor who did alterations. She recommended a Chinese guy who had a small shop downtown and who she reckoned was the cheapest tailor in town.

I drove to the shop in the pickup and took both the kilt and the jacket, even though I had hopelessly outgrown the latter. The guy was small, amber coloured and had wrinkles on his wrinkles, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He examined the kilt and nodded.

"See - here - where the pleating starts. There is a reverse pleat that I can let out. Very clever. But the jacket - I can do nothing with that. Do you have another black jacket that fits? I can cut it to shape and transfer the decoration from this one."

I didn't have one, but I knew a charity shop that did. Five bucks for the jacket, ten bucks for the alterations and it looked like it had come direct from the Highlands!

We set out as soon as the semester ended and Steve became steadily more excited as we approached his home. He explained that his father was a clerk and that his mom worked in a store and that they really wanted to meet me. His home was a modest house and as we drew up his mother burst out and hugged him tight. Then she turned to me and just about curtsied.

"I'm really glad to meet you, Doctor Boyd. Steven has told us so much about you and it was a relief to know that there was someone to give him his treatment."

"Ma'am, I don't know what he told you, but I'm not a doctor, just a medical student."

She waved her hands dismissively.

"Just a detail. Young students know more than old doctors anyway. Come in, doctor, and warm yourself."

I started to correct her, then I decided that it really wasn't important. I was only staying overnight and she knew I wasn't a qualified physician, so why argue?

Steve's brother turned out to be a fourteen year old replica of him, equally skinny but more cheerful, grinning all over his face as he shook hands with "Doctor" Boyd. To my horror, he addressed me as "Sir" and became totally tongue-tied when I asked him to call me "Jason". His father, when he arrived home, did use my given name but was visibly pleased that I had asked him to do so. It was all reminiscent of the military, the deference accorded by lower ranks to the person and family of a senior officer like my father. I was installed in their guest room and then we sat down to supper.

Afterwards I sat and told them about my upbringing as a military brat and things gradually thawed out. The room was cluttered with family mementoes, pictures of the kids ranging from skinny infants in bathing suits to a serious Steve in graduation robe, clutching his diploma. There were fewer photographs of the parents, but I glanced at them while I was speaking. Mrs Gordon felt cold, so young Michael was sent for something to place over her legs - it turned out to be a tartan blanket whose design I recognised from my studies of a book I had bought. The Black Watch tartan overlaid with yellow squares.

"Gordon tartan! Good lord - I never connected the name with Scotland."

Mr Gordon looked at me, happy that I had recognised it wasn't just a generic rug.

"You know tartan, Steve?"

"Oh yes - I had some great times with the guys in the Black Watch when I was in Germany and your tartan is a derivative of theirs."

He smiled happily.

"And you have Scottish connections? I can trace this family back to the old country. We keep up the traditions and there's a local chapter of the Gordon Association here."

He produced another photograph, one where he was wearing the kilt. It was in black and white, of course, but the pattern of his companion's tartan was recognisable. I pointed to him.

"The piper?"

"Why yes. How did you know?"

"That's Royal Stewart tartan. The pipers of all Scottish regiments wear it. As a Boyd, I wear Stewart myself."

He smiled happily at me and I grinned back at him. We talked about Hogmanays we had known and I was truly sorry that I had to leave next morning. Mrs Gordon gave me a whole load of stuff to eat on my journey and even Michael had relaxed enough to shake hands as I left.

Two more days (and a freezing night in the back of the pickup) saw me approaching dad's new place. I got there about six and drove up to the dealership - boy, you could tell dad owned it, because every car outside was polished until it shone and parked with millimetric precision. Even the prices on the used cars were all lined up! Surprisingly, the place was shut - I saw a couple of people drive away looking annoyed.

I didn't know where my parents currently lived, so I drove around to the back - there was a light on upstairs and I hammered on the door until it was eventually opened by my father. It was a shock to see him in a civilian suit - he seemed smaller, just an ordinary middle-aged guy with thinning hair.

I followed him up a steep staircase into a small apartment.

"You live here?"

"We have to. I let the night watchman go - we save his wages by living here."

"Dad? What's wrong? I thought you said that this place made more than enough to service the loan and to pay you a decent living? Why is it closed now - people buy cars in the evening and at weekends."

"My son, the business expert. You have no idea how disorganised this place was when I arrived. Sales staff wandering in and out just as they pleased, sitting talking to people for hours and not making a sale instead of making sure the lot was a credit to them."

"Don't tell me, dad. You tore them new assholes and told them to shape up or ship out. And they quit."

"Dead right I did. I employed new staff - ones who took pride in their appearance - and we run a tight ship now."

"This isn't the army, dad, and you aren't the colonel any more. The door should be open right now and you should be pouring coffee and being nice to your customers."

"Don't tell me how to organise an operation, boy. Business is slow right now, but it will pick up in the new year. We've just had to tighten our belts. Not like my student son - with his pickup and his fancy clothes and his trust fund."


He threw a letter down in front of me. I saw the English stamps on it and realised that it had come from The Campbell. I picked it up - it was his report from months back and it had obviously followed my father instead of me. I looked at the letter inside with growing amazement - I was now worth almost ten thousand bucks! IBM was going through the roof and he had evidently bought in to some company called Boeing which was also doing very well. My father looked at me with something approaching contempt.

"I don't believe you came by that money honestly, but the least you could do is pay for your own college education with it."

"Dad, you know my trust fund does that."

"And who paid for that? But you would let me live in this hovel rather than repay it to me."

"You want me to hand this money over?"

"It would be the decent thing to do. It's going to be real hard to meet the January loan payments."

"You must have a couple of hundred thousand dollars worth of used cars out there, dad. Sell ten of them and you won't have these problems."

"Nobody is buying."

"Hell, I wouldn't buy from this place! You're not even open the right times for your customers and I bet you don't do any deals on your prices."

"Damn right I don't. I don't want freeloading customers who think they can beat me down. Those cars are worth every cent of the posted prices."

"Not to the customers, they aren't. Can't you get your thick head round the fact that they are the ones that pay your loans and buy your food?"

"I've had enough of your insolence, boy. I want you to get that money transferred right now."

"No way. I wouldn't invest anything in this place."

I noticed another envelope with British stamps on it and I grabbed it and looked inside. It was a short note from The Campbell and it said that the bank required my signature before it would liquidate my investments.

"You tried to steal my money? You bastard!"

"I was just repaying myself for your trust fund."

Then I realised what was missing.

"Where's mom? Why isn't she here?"

"She's away. Visiting with your grandmother."

"At Christmas?"

Then it dawned on me.

"She's left you, hasn't she? You drove her out with your stupid army principles. The real world doesn't take orders, dad, and you don't rate salutes any more."

"Are you going to hand over that money or just freeload off me for the next couple of weeks?"

"Neither. I'm going too."

I got away from there as fast as I could. At one stage I started to feel guilty and I almost turned back to give dad the money, but then I realised that he wasn't going to unbend that stiff neck of his until he was forced to. My investments would be sucked down the same drain as his retirement money and everything else and he would still not be able to meet his payments. Maybe the bank would be able to kick some sense into his military ass.

It didn't solve my problem. I had nowhere to stay and I really didn't have enough ready cash to check into a hotel for four weeks. But I was free, white and twenty-one (you could say that in those days), I had my pickup and I could live in it.

It took only a day for me to discover that the Constitution did not apply to kids who slept in the backs of pickups - I was wakened by a redneck deputy and ordered to get the hell out of his county. I quickly learned that I needed to keep moving, to park up after it got dark and to leave early in the morning. I discovered that you only got to wait in a warm dry place for a bus after you bought your ticket and that as my clothes got dirty, even diners turned me away. I spent Christmas day shivering in the cab of the pickup - but at least I could make myself a hot meal on my trusty kerosene stove.

Finally, I decided to head back to college. They had to have a place in the dorm where I could stay - not everybody went home for Christmas. It was when I got close to Steve's house that my desire for a hot bath and clean underwear became totally overwhelming - my body was just one large itch. My embarrassment at being a freeloader fought with the lure of soap and hot water - and I turned towards the Gordon house.

Mrs Gordon came out when she heard me, a smile on her face that turned to an expression of horror.

"Good lord - what on earth has happened to you?"

"It's a long story. I've been sleeping in the pickup. Could I have a bath please."

I absently scratched my neck and she stepped back.

"You're crawling with fleas! Where have you been?"

"Just in the pickup."

She peered in the back and shuddered.

"That carpet - it's alive!"

Now I knew why an almost new carpet had been thrown out.

"Go round to the back porch, Jason."

I wasn't Doctor Boyd any more. Mrs Gordon produced a large pillowcase already reeking of Lysol.

"Put your things in here."

It was freezing cold, but she insisted that I took off every stitch of clothing and she did not relax until she had tied the neck of the bag tightly.

"I'll boil these - now let me have a look at you."

The fleas seemed to have followed my clothes, because she only found a couple and popped them with her fingernails. Before she invited me inside.

"The men are out shopping - come on, I'll run a bath for you."

It was sheer heaven to soak away the dirt, even if it did reveal that I was covered in the red blotches of flea bites. Mrs Gordon supervised the process, washed my hair and scrubbed my back, her deference quite gone. She left me to soak for a while, then returned to the bathroom and unhooked the enema bag from the back of the door.

"I'll just give you a quick cleaning for now. Come on - get out of that bath."

She just made me wrap a towel round myself and bend over the bath while she administered a brief but highly effective soap and water enema which triggered a momentous bowel movement which she inspected with motherly interest.

"Well - you really needed that, didn't you? But you've been drinking out of streams!"

"How do you know that?"

"You've got worms. I thought a doctor would know better."

My mind went back to the time when I'd had them as a child. The treatment in those days was to remove them mechanically with daily enemas of salt water, repeated until there was no further trace of infestation. That could take weeks - I could remember vividly how each night had involved a large enema, washing of my butt and then having to wear cotton mitts in bed to lessen the probability of re-infection. It had gotten just plain tedious and it seemed to have gone on for years. The prospect of a repeat did not fill me with seasonal joy.

Finally I dressed in borrowed clothes belonging to Mr Gordon, several sizes too big and tied together with string. That was how the guys found me when they returned, and Mrs Gordon embarrassed me by telling everyone that I had both fleas and worms. She sent Mr Gordon to put his coveralls on and to drag the carpet out of my pickup and burn it and then to spray everything with the new miracle DDT stuff. The only bright aspect was the fact that I had bought an expensive carrier for my regalia, made out of the brand new polythene plastic, guaranteed impervious to moth and damp, so it was spared. Mr Gordon was delighted to see it.

"Great - and you've arrived on New Year's Eve too. You must come to the Hogmanay bash."

But first there were enemas for the boys, to get rid of the residues of the Christmas food and to ensure that they faced the new year clean. They didn't react to her announcement - they just got up and headed for their shared room. Mrs Gordon beckoned to me.

"We can save some time if you give Steven his enema. He told me that you had helped him out at college so he won't mind if you do it again."

She filled two enema bags and handed one to me. The boys were naked when we went in to their room and Steve was quite happy with the arrangement. What struck me was the openness of the whole thing - my mother had always waited until dad was out of the way before she gave me an enema and once I was past infancy she had not mentioned it to any visiting mother even though we both knew that the bag would come out as soon as she had left. This was different - the two boys just accepted that enemas were a normal part of their lives and that their mother would administer them as and when needed. It was my first formulation of Rule 5 - the brain is the largest, if not the only, erogenous zone.

The two boys took their enemas without any protest and it was obvious that it was commonplace for one to receive his enema in front of the other because there was neither embarrassment nor curiosity. They departed for the bathroom, followed by Mrs Gordon, and I heard the squabbling as they had to take turns to use the toilet. I was about to leave for my own room when Mrs Gordon returned with a newly filled enema bag.

"Well, let's make a start on those worms, shall we?"

She proceeded to administer a large but totally unerotic enema. The boys, when they returned, did not even think the sight of my naked body with a rubber tube stuck up its ass was either unusual or worthy of comment - it was just something that mothers did, after all.

I had expected Mr Gordon to be in full regalia, but it came as a surprise to see both boys wearing the kilt. They chuckled at the sight of my tartan - I was going to be as conspicuous as a single poppy in a cornfield.

It didn't matter of course. Any Scot is welcome at a Hogmanay. Well - almost any.. A MacDonald wouldn't walk into a Campbell celebration, but that's understandable because those two clans have been feuding since 1297. There was food, there was drink and there was dancing. Scottish reels are relatively simple dances and normally involve either four (a foursome reel) or eight (eightsome), but you can double up the numbers if you want to. Someone announced a sixteensome reel. At first all went well - then someone forgot what came next. The result was glorious confusion, much merriment and a final collapse that left me clinging for support to the girl I had been turning with. It was far too intimate for those days and that occasion, so I apologised as I regained my balance and stepped away from her.

She was stunning, with the raven-black hair and pale complexion that you sometimes find on the west coast of Scotland, the look of a witch or an elf with a slim figure to match. She looked embarrassed. Although she was actually a month older than me, girls were kept as innocent creatures in those days. There were bobbysoxers, of course, and even cheerleaders (in skirts down to the knee), but the rule was to look but not to touch. Good girls didn't - and you could supply just about any verb you wanted after that phrase. Things were beginning to change, but only just, and most girls still went virgin to their marriage bed like some mediaeval village where you had to hang the bloodstained sheet out of the window after your wedding night. I finally managed to break the silence.

"Shall we get some punch?"

We headed for the junior punchbowl - the non-alcoholic one - and filled our glasses. I was totally tongue-tied in the presence of the divine creature, but I finally managed to hold out my hand.

"Jason Boyd."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Hannah Gordon."

Midnight caught up with us and we crossed hands and sang Auld Lang Syne, then Hannah wiped her brow.

"It's hot in here."

It wasn't an invitation to anything more than joining the crowd outside on the balcony, but it was a start. I discovered that her home was actually just ten miles from the college that I attended, and she was a junior at a neighbouring college. A girls college - which meant that you couldn't even get on campus if you were male.

We compared notes and I told her that I really wanted to move out of my dorm. She pulled a face.

"I would love to do the same but my parents wouldn't hear of it. My dorm is full of girls who only talk about boys, boys, boys. They don't seem to be able to think of anything else. I mean, there's a lot more to life than boys, isn't there?"

That didn't sound hopeful. I knew her type - girls who had been sheltered from infancy and who just had no idea at all what life was about. I was about to cut my losses and wander off when we were accosted by a guy full of the spirit of Hogmanay.

"Don't waste time talking! Give her a kiss, boy. You're standing under the mistletoe!"

He lurched off and I looked up - sure enough, there was a spray of white berries. I held out my arms to Hannah, she giggled and moved into them. I kissed her on the lips, but she kept her mouth firmly shut. So I tried something that drove Greta wild - I gently stroked Hannah's back from neck to butt. At first she just stood there, then I felt it taking effect, she began to relax and her breathing became deeper.

I tried another kiss, probing with my tongue until she parted her teeth, then delving deep into her mouth. She resisted at first, then she sort of melted into me. When we parted from the clinch, she was flushed and panting.

"What happened? I don't know what's going on."

I didn't answer. I just kissed her again and this time she took a more active part in the process. It was like someone had thrown a switch from "little girl" to "sexy woman" - suddenly she was realising what it was all about. It was getting late, so I chanced my arm and asked her if she would come for a meal with me the following evening - and, to my delight, she accepted.

I spent most of the next day frantically getting my de-loused clothing ready to wear. Mrs Gordon seemed to think that it was real cute that I had gotten a date - and it turned out that they were related to Hannah's folks - third cousins or something. Still, by the time evening was arriving, I had clean and freshly ironed things to wear and I had managed to get the local bank to cash a cheque for me. Mrs Gordon laid out my clothes in the guest room, then smiled happily.

"I think I had better give you your enema before you go out."

I was thinking of other things at the time and it must have shown, because she became firm.

"Now then, Jason, we want to get rid of those nasty worms, don't we? And it won't do you any harm to have a good cleanout after all that food and drink yesterday."

I surrendered to the inevitable and lay down on the bed when she returned with the enema bag. Mrs Gordon didn't insert the pipe as much as she just quickly tucked it into position - I found myself wondering just how many enemas she must have given over the years as the warm liquid began to insinuate itself into me.

"I'm pleased that you asked Hannah for a date. She's a pretty little thing and it's about time she found a nice boy or two to take her out."

Everything would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned Hannah in the middle of my enema. It conjured up a picture of her in my mind, a memory of her yielding softness in my arms and a reminder that I had been celibate for a long, long time. I grimaced as I became erect and I started to panic - my own mother had always accepted that it was a normal part of the process, but I knew that it never happened with the Gordon boys and I was afraid that she would be scandalized if she saw what had happened to me. I cut short the enema by yelling that I'd taken enough and then I rushed out, bent double, my hands blocking her view and hastened to the bathroom. I took a shower and this gave me plenty of time to get rid of the boner - and an excuse to wrap a towel around my waist.

Hannah was staying with her folks in a motel and I drove there in my pickup, spotless after its thorough cleaning inside and out. She might laugh at it, but it was all the transport that I had. I found the motel, parked up and knocked on the door of their room. It was opened by Mr Gordon - her father - a large, bluff guy who shook my hand as he ushered me in.

"The girl will be with you in a while - she and her mother are still applying paint and putty."

He gestured towards the bathroom and I nodded - I was familiar with the time that women could spend in that place. He walked over and slapped the door.

"Honey, Jason is here."

I heard a girlish scream from inside the room then her mother opened the door a crack and peered out.

"Why don't you take him for a coffee, honeybun? Hannah will catch up with you in the diner."

She closed the door firmly and I headed for the outside door, followed by Mr Gordon and the unmistakeable sound of a jet of enema water thundering into a toilet bowl. He laughed as we left.



"Women - never happy unless they have an enema bag in the bathroom. Those two are always at it - I'm darned if I know why. My mother was just the same - one sneeze and I got half a gallon of soapsuds in my ass."

"Yeah. Tell me about it."

He snorted.

"You too, eh? I bet you were as glad to get away to college as I was. Women!"

It was strange - I'd never talked to an adult like that before. He snorted again.

"Glad she's finally decided that she's found a man she actually seems to like. I was starting to wonder if she was going to be left on the shelf."

"Sir, I think she's a very attractive girl."

"She likes you a lot, boy. I hope you don't think that gives you the right to take advantage of an innocent girl - she really is innocent, you know - but I get the feeling that you aren't."

Then it dawned on me that I was being vetted. He was testing me and if I failed the test there would be no date - at least not just the two of us. I felt annoyed, but then I realised that he was actually worried.

"Sir, I won't pretend that I'm as pure as the driven snow, but I don't take advantage of girls. Your daughter is a really nice girl and all I want is a simple date."

He slapped me on the back.

"Well said. I hear your father is in the army?"

"Was. He retired as a full colonel and now he's trying to run a Ford dealership. I guess he has a lot to learn about civilians though - he can't seem to understand that he doesn't rate a salute any more."

"Not doing so well, then?"

"Sir, I think he's going bust. He canned all the good salesman and he closes the place at 5pm every day. My mom has left him and he's living in the caretaker's apartment. He even tried to get me to cash in my investments and loan the money to him - and then he threw me out when I said no."

He gave me a shrewd look.

"Investments? You mean money in the bank?"

"No Sir. I had saved some cash in Germany and I was going to put it in the bank, but then The Gordon said I should buy into IBM and Boeing. I've got about ten thousand bucks now. I feel real bad about not giving it to my dad, but it wouldn't have done any good. I'm hoping it will be enough to set up my office when I become a doctor."

"The Gordon? The chieftain himself?"

"Yes Sir. I was at school with his son for a while and I got to know the family that way."

"You move in exalted circles, boy and you were right not to give him the money. Just where is this dealership? Maybe I'll pay him a call."

"He'll run you off!"

"Like hell. I finished my hitch as first sergeant - those chickens don't scare me at all."

I told him where the dealership was located, then I saw Hannah approaching. Mr Gordon nodded to me.

"Have a good time - we'll expect her back by midnight."

Hannah was wearing one of those full skirts with petticoats underneath that made them swirl enticingly, with a patent leather belt and a polka-dot blouse. She looked miserable and I wondered if she had rowed with her mother. It was when we got into the pickup that she burst into tears.

I drove off and found a quiet road before I put my arm around her.

"What's wrong?"


"So why the tears?"

She said nothing and I could feel the whole evening disintegrating. My first date for two years and it was going right down the pan. Well, if she wasn't going to say anything, it was up to me - we had to get this settled or we were both in for a totally miserable first and last date.

"Hannah, has this got something to do with the fact that you were taking an enema when I arrived?"

She wailed in despair.

"I told mommy you would know and she said that you wouldn't."

"Hey - it isn't the end of the world. Just an enema. Everybody gets those things."

"It's not the same when you know somebody is getting one. It's embarrassing."

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, I had one just before I came to pick you up. Okay?"

She sniffed and stopped crying as she looked at me in amazement.

"You did? Steve's mom gave you an enema?"

"You got it."

"But you're a man. Wasn't it really embarrassing for her to look ...."

She trailed off into a blush. I shook my head.

"Why should it be? She's seen boy's butts ever since Steve and Mike were babies - I guess she must be used to them by now."

She was silent for a while, then she looked at me again.

"Jason, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Like what I wear under my kilt?"

She snorted.

"Oh, I know you don't wear anything. Girls learn to keep their knees together when they sit down, but boys don't even think of that sort of thing."

It was my turn to blush and her turn to grin. Her eyes danced delightfully when she did that and I felt myself sliding down the slippery slope towards Cupid and his arrows.

"That wasn't the question. It's just that I've always wondered what boys do at college if they get constipated or sick. Do you go to the housemother?"

"Is that what girls do?"

"Some of them. Mostly we either do them ourselves or help each other out. Do boys do that?"

I shook my head.

"You have to be very special friends before you would let another guy give you an enema. We don't discuss them - I guess people just do their own when nobody is around."

"It's not very easy to do that. I sometimes wonder what I will do when I get married."

"Aw, don't worry. I'll do your enemas for you."

She stared at me in shock, then realised that it was a joke. Well - mostly a joke as far as I was concerned. Wasn't it?

She seemed to become much more cheerful - we had cleared the air and her embarrassment had gone. We ate in a reasonable restaurant that served Italian food and then parked up afterwards.

Things had sure changed with Hannah. She kissed me! We spent a long time kissing, at the end of which my balls were painful and my erection was begging for relief.

"Er... Hannah, I need to.. you know... I'll just go into the bushes - I won't be long."

I walked out of sight of the pickup and then jerked myself off with two or three strokes. As my erection subsided, I could piss and I emptied my bladder and enjoyed the relief. When I got back to the pickup, Hannah was squirming around on the seat.

"I need the bathroom as well."

"Can you wait until we get home?"

"NO! I have to go right now."

"So go."

"It's dark and I'm scared. Come with me. Please."

I followed her at a discreet distance as she headed for the bushes.

"Jason - it's real scary here. There could be a murderer in there."

"For pity's sake, Hannah, just do it before you wet your pants. I'll stay here and stand guard."

I expected her to at least go behind a bush, but she just hiked her skirt up and pushed down her serviceable 1950 panties, built for warmth and covering, not for fashion or style. She squatted and produced an apparently never-ending stream of pee before she finally hoisted the pants again.

"Come on - let's get back to the car."

I was slowly formulating Rule Six: Once a barrier is broken with a girl, it stays broken for ever. She grabbed me as soon as we were in the cab and started to kiss passionately. I responded, of course, and then slowly started to undo the buttons of her blouse. She stiffened, and then relaxed and let me undo all of them, revealing an equally serviceable 1950 bra apparently constructed of cotton covered steel. I didn't push things too far - I just stroked her breasts through the bra while she moaned and groaned like I was fucking her. It didn't do a lot for me, though.

At least I had a clear conscience when I dropped her back at the motel well before midnight. I just waved at her dad and drove off - I needed some solitude to relieve the newly created tension in my genitals.

The real surprise came next day when Steve came rushing to find me.

"Hey - guess what!"


"You know Hannah's dad is in real estate."

"I didn't, but so what?"

He says he has an apartment we can rent! It's near the college, it has two bedrooms and the rent is actually less than we are paying for the dorm! Isn't that great?

I sighed. It was better than living in the dorm, but I really wasn't too happy with the word "we". Still - it had possibilities...

January really wasn't a good time to date girls in those days. My second meeting with Hannah occurred when her folks came round to see us the following day to sort out the details of renting the apartment and the four parents went into conclave leaving us young ones to "amuse ourselves". I listened as the two ladies went into the usual discussion of their offspring and, in my case, proxy offspring. Michael was obviously much taken with the proximity of a real live girl and monopolised Hannah with stories of his exploits on the games field while he kept his eyes fixed on her boobs and occasionally scratched the front of his pants. Steve just looked jealous, like it was my fault that I had found a girl and he hadn't. The only good thing was that they sorted out all the details of the apartment - and decided that it required a mass inspection by the combined families to make it fit for habitation. Hannah was going back the next day, so we mounted an expedition with my pickup loaded with things that they reckoned we were going to need.

The apartment was small and situated above a Laundromat in a street of small business premises. It was in close proximity to a diner and a general store (yes - they existed in those days) so we had access to everything we needed. The place was clean, but that did not satisfy the mom desire for total sterility - they expelled all of the males to the diner while poor Hannah was included in their orgy of sweeping, scrubbing, polishing and beating of carpets. The apartment had a phone in it and Steve's dad was dispatched to arrange for it to be reconnected. His parents were actually going to pay the rent for the line so that his mom could call him up and see how he was getting along - we only had to pay for calls out. It was one of those two-edged gifts that meant we were subject to random checks and I wasn't totally delighted with that idea. Finally we were readmitted to the apartment and permitted a cup of coffee sitting round a table which was definitely clean enough for major surgery to be performed on it before being allowed to inspect our quarters.

I have to admit that they had done a real good job and that we had profited considerably. The beds had clean linen and the blankets were still warm from their session in the Laundromat where the women had monopolised just about every machine in the place in an orgy of hygiene and disinfection. The toilet was gleaming white and sparkling, the bathtub had given up resisting stain removal and the shower fittings above it shone like gold. Even the stuff between the tiles was white!

We ran into trouble when we went to retrieve our belongings from the dorm. They were happy for us to leave and take our belongings, but they said we would still have to pay for the rest of the year. My heart sank, but Hannah's dad came to the rescue - he rode roughshod over minor functionaries who had struck fear into the hearts of mere students and bullied his way in to see the finance officer. Then he just about made the guy shit his pants, demanded to see our signatures on contracts and things like that and finally threatened to sue the college until we were released from any further obligation - he even made him write that down and sign it. I revised my opinion of the guy - my father wouldn't be able to browbeat him at all and maybe things would go the other way.

When we got back with our things, Steve and I had to endure them being unpacked in a sort of public ceremony of humiliation. Hell - what else could we do with the things we had been wearing the day before we left other than stuff them into a case and let them wait until we got back? Our underwear was held up for disapproval, our shirts were criticised for the state of their collars and the whole lot was dispatched to the Laundromat for thorough cleaning.

Worse was to come. Steve's enema bag was pulled out and also inspected - the two adult males chose that moment to decide that they really needed to check out the bar on the corner of the street. I had to sit while it was washed and a suitable point was found in the bathroom for hanging it up. Hannah looked like she was going to explode from the effort of suppressing her laughter as my daily enemas to remove worms were discussed as though I was invisible. Then Hannah's mother expressed her disapproval of the pipe.

"My dear, this isn't adequate, you know. You can't give a good enema with a short thing like this - the water doesn't penetrate to where it is really needed. It's adequate for simple constipation, but not for something like pinworms. Hang on - I'll show you what you need. Hannah - go to the car and fetch the small case."

The smile on Hannah's face abruptly disappeared.

"Mommy - we don't need to go into this right now."

"Don't be silly, girl - just go and get the case."

The case turned out to contain an enema bag - and other intimate items. Hannah's mom pulled it out and detached a two foot length of rubber from the end of the main length of tubing, then she displayed it for approval.

"This is what you need - a short rectal tube. It has a nice rounded end and the holes are on the side so they don't get blocked - you know how annoying that can be."

I looked at it. My guts constricted and my asshole emitted messages of enemas remembered and urgent desire. Hannah's mom was enthusiastic about its virtues.

"It's much more comfortable than one of those hard pipes and there's no risk of doing any damage because it's soft and rounded."

Steve's mother looked at it with interest.

"I haven't seen anything like this before."

"Neither had I until a couple of years ago. The doctor thought I might have fibroids, so he sent me for an X-ray, and I got an enema with one of these. My dear, it cleaned me out like nothing else! So I bought a couple and tried one out on Hannah. You said it was much better, didn't you, honey?"

It was Hannah's turn for embarrassment. She could only manage a brief nod before being totally overwhelmed with an attack of shyness that had her covering her face with her hands. Her mother ignored it, of course, and just kept on talking.

"I always use it now, even for ordinary enemas. Much more comfortable and much better results. There's a drugstore just round the corner - you can get one there."

They left us sitting in embarrassed silence until they returned five minutes later with a brown paper bag containing a duplicate tube. Hannah's mom (they were both 'Mrs Gordon', of course) pronounced it satisfactory. Steve's mom was uncertain about how to use it. Then they both looked at Hannah.

She jumped to her feet.

"Don't even think about it! You cooked this up while you were out and there is absolutely no way that you are going to use me as a guinea pig so that she finds out how to use that thing!"

"Honey, you really should take an enema before we leave you at your dorm."

"Save your breath. I said no and I mean NO! I am not taking an enema, not here, not at the dorm. When I need one, I will attend to it myself, in private."

Then they turned to me. I was equally firm.

"No, ma'am. I agree with Hannah - I will wait until I get some privacy."

"But what about your worms? You need a few more days to get rid of them."

"Don't worry. I can handle it myself, and I don't aim to be used for a demonstration."

She smiled and turned to Steve. He didn't even let his mother open her mouth.

"No. That's final."

That left them out of sorts and I was really surprised that Steve had stood up to his mother. They left the tube and went off - his mom went home and Hannah's folks continued the journey to drop her off at her dorm. I looked at Steve.

"I never thought you would have the nerve to tell your mom no."

He shrugged.

"I'm sick of all those enemas - I think they are making me constipated so that I need more. I want to try to get back to a normal routine. What about your worms?"

"Aw, I'll go get some medicine for them. They have pills for dogs with worms, so I guess you can get them for people as well. Let's go see what food they put in the larder."

There was quite a selection of cold cuts and salad vegetables, so we made sandwiches and munched happily. We would have to organise shopping for food - it was too expensive to eat in the diner on a regular basis - and maybe I could buy a used refrigerator somewhere. The apartment was growing on me by the minute - no screaming mobs of jocks engaged in some mindless rampage, no fixed times for meals, no waiting in line to take a shower or a shit.

By 8pm I was revising my opinion. Steve wasn't the world's greatest conversationalist and the silence was starting to get to me. At least there were always guys around in the dorm, somebody to talk to, stories of (almost) sexual conquest to listen to and you could get a game of table soccer or ping-pong. There was even homework to do as a last resort. I made a note that I had to get a radio - TV was beyond our means in those days - so that I could at least have some background noise beyond the ticking of the clock. I was mentally debating the relative merits of going out to a movie, drinking more coffee in the diner or just cutting my losses and going to bed when the doorbell rang and we both just about jumped out of our skins.

It rang again and Steve ran downstairs to open the door. I heard the sound of voices, then Hannah entered the room with Steve trailing behind. She was wearing an old shirt and loose- fitting slacks under her coat and she looked just beautiful - and worried. She turned to Steve.

"Be a good guy, will you? Jason and I need a little privacy."

He looked around and then started towards his room. She called to him and held out a dollar bill.

"Why don't you go see a movie? We need a couple of hours to do some serious talking."

He took it, put on his coat and left, still in a state of confusion but programmed to obey female orders. As soon as the door closed behind him, Hannah burst into tears and hugged me tight.

"I'm sorry, Jason. I didn't mean to be totally selfish."


"Mommy really tore into me after we left. She told me all about worms and now I'm scared for you."


"She said that if you don't get rid of worms then they breed inside of you and then they start to move around your body and they can attack your brain or make you go blind. She said I was a really selfish girl because I wouldn't let her show Mrs Gordon how to give an enema with the tube and it will be all my fault if you die!"

It was nonsense. Of course pinworms didn't eat your brain - if they did anything like that then kids who got them would be rushed into the hospital and probably turned inside out while they got rid of the worms. It was obvious to me that Hannah's mother had just been saying those things to make her feel guilty. I was about to say just that but she was clinging to me in a very nice way, so I hesitated for a while. She raised a tearful face.

"She said you probably wouldn't do your own enema and it would be all my fault. She said boys don't do that sort of thing and that anyway you wouldn't ever use the new pipe. So I just had to come round and tell you that it was vital to do it."

That meant I was going to have a really interesting conversation if I played my cards right. I tried to sound innocently worried.

"Well, I don't think I would use that new pipe. Why don't you explain all about it to me and maybe then I'll try it later."

It was still on the table and she pulled it out of the bag.

"It's not difficult. You just push this over the ordinary pipe and that's about all there is. You just have to make sure you use lots of vaseline."

"It looks like it might hurt. It's very long - does it really go way inside?"

She looked totally sincere.

"Jason, I thought exactly the same when my mother got one. I just didn't like the idea, but when she used it, it really was just fine. She told you it was comfortable, and that's the best way of describing it."

I was really rather doubtful and it must have showed because she got really agitated.

"You aren't going to do it, are you?"

"I don't think it's necessary..."

I was about to tell her that I intended to get some worm medicine, but I never got the chance. She burst into tears again and then grabbed the tube and headed into the bathroom with it.

"See - all you do is push it on! Now I'm going to fill up the bag and I want you to give yourself an enema before I leave."

"No way!"

She ignored me and just went ahead and put plain warm water in the bag, then she found the vaseline and smeared it over the rectal tube before she handed it to me.

"I'll wait in the kitchen while you give yourself your enema."

I really did feel very awkward about the whole thing. If she had not been there, I would have given myself an enema immediately - the desire had grown to almost overwhelming proportions. I just didn't like the idea that she would be sitting in the kitchen, knowing what was going on in the bathroom.

"Hannah, I'll do it later."

More tears.

"Mommy was right - she said you wouldn't do it. She said boys need somebody to look after them and they you don't look after your own health otherwise."

She took the pipe back when I handed it to her, then looked serious.

"Jason - will you let me do your enema? I know it would be embarrassing for you, but I won't rest until I know you've had it. I'll lie awake all night worrying about those worms eating away at your insides."

It was a bolt from the blue - the idea had never even crossed my mind. Hannah was a typical American girl of the time - naïve and inhibited by later standards - and her offer of an enema was quite shocking. On the other hand, I was very much in the mood for taking an enema, my asshole was in a state of total excitement - and there was something else. One of the special pleasures of an enema lay in the fact that you handed yourself over to someone else and allowed them access to your most intimate and vulnerable parts. There was the wonderful anticipation in knowing that the pipe was about to penetrate your asshole, but not knowing precisely when it would come into contact. On a more mundane level, it was one way of removing some clothing - admittedly mine, not hers. I made my decision.

"Okay. If you really want to."

She was a picture of total shock. Her mouth hung open and she was lost for words for a while. Then she collected herself and suddenly slipped into the mantle of a mother - all girls have that lurking just beneath the surface.

"That's sensible. Get ready."

I faced the bathtub and started to unfasten my pants. Hannah objected.

"Not like that! You have to kneel down on the floor."

I was puzzled. My enemas had all been given with me either bending over the tub or lying on my bed, but I did what she said.

"Now push your things down."

I could only get them as far as my thigh, of course, and that fastened my legs tightly together. Hannah sighed.

"It's so much easier with girls clothing. You'll have to push them down to your ankles."

Hell - I didn't care about nudity. Greta might have been a real bitch at the end, but six months of sexual bliss with her had completely vaporised all of my inhibitions - and the subsequent treatments from Mrs Campbell had flushed away any vestige which had remained.

"I'll take them right off."

I didn't think she was ready for frontal nudity, so I kept my back to her while I kicked off my shoes and then stepped out of my lower garments. I heard a nervous giggle and that confirmed my suspicion. I knelt down, much more comfortable and waited.

"You have to bend forward and rest your chest on the floor."

Now that was vulnerable! You had no control, no vision and you were laid bare to the sight of the lady with the pipe.


That monosyllable said it all. Hannah had just fully appreciated that boys were not built like girls and she was backing off.

"Are you going to do this, Hannah, or should we just forget all about it?"

"I'll do it."

She speared my asshole with all the finesse of the Ancient Mariner going for the great white whale. I thought my eyeballs were going to fall out as a good half of that tube was abruptly forced up my ass. My moan came out from between clenched teeth.

"Oh - did I hurt you? I never gave an enema before. I'm sorry."

My teeth slowly came unglued from each other.

"No. It was just a surprise. I'm all right."

Hannah might have had enemas all her life, but she obviously hadn't being paying attention, because she proceeded to treat me like she was putting gas in a car. I yelled in agony as I cramped up inside from the onslaught of the torrent of liquid.


It eventually ceased and I laid my head on my hands and breathed deeply until the pain receded, while Hannah kept asking what was wrong.

"Hannah, you just ran it in far too fast. You need to take it slow, otherwise it really hurts."

"Sorry. I didn't know you had to do it slowly. I thought you just opened the clip and then it was all automatic. Anyway - most of it is in now."

She had run in most of a full bag in one huge rush! That came close to torture. At least I didn't have the problem of an erection any more - just a need to get to the toilet that was becoming more urgent by the second. I reached back and plucked the tube out and then hurled myself on to the pot and doubled up as I lost all control of my bowels. Hannah seemed pleased at the result.

"That will get rid of those nasty worms!"

Then I saw her expression change and I realised she was embarrassed at the fact she could see my dick. She turned away, blushing. I just laughed at her.

"Hey - you've seen it before! I'm the boy who didn't keep his knees together when he wore the kilt. Remember?"

That got a shy smile from her - and she looked again before she spoke.

"Good girls shouldn't look. But I like looking."

"It's okay. It doesn't worry me."

I put my pants back on though - Hannah was like a shy deer, curious but very wary, about to bolt if she became alarmed. I wanted more than anything else in the universe to get her pants down and screw her until she screamed - but I would settle for something less. For the time being anyway.

"And what about you? You were supposed to take an enema before you went back to college. Did you let your mother clean you out?"

"No. I was too angry with her, and then I was too upset."

"In that case, it's your turn."

I started to clean the rectal tube as she stared at me in horror.

"NO! You're a boy! You can't give me an enema!"

"Why not? You just gave me one."

"That was different!"

"Oh? Explain that to me. Just how was it different?"

"I don't want an enema. I hate enemas. I know I have to have them sometimes, but they hurt and they make me dizzy."

I stared at her. The only painful enema I'd ever had was the one I had just taken, and I really didn't like the position that she had made me adopt.

"Hannah, does your mother always make you stand on your head for an enema - like I just did?"


"That's why you get dizzy. Trust your Uncle Jason - I'm going to give you an enema and I promise it won't hurt one little bit."

I ignored her protests, filled the bag and found a convenient picture hook in the bedroom to hang it in. Then I went to fetch her.

"Come on - time for your enema."

"No. I don't want it."

"Yes you do. You'll enjoy it. Come on."

She followed me into the bedroom. I pointed to the bed.

"Pants off, young lady, and lie on your side."

"I don't want you to give me an enema."

"Well then, those worms are just going to have a free run inside of me, because if you won't take one from me then I certainly won't let you give one."

"That's not fair! I can't be responsible for that."

"Then take your enema like a good girl."

She looked like she was going to cry, then she turned her back and lowered her slacks, followed by her pants. She kept facing away from me as she sidled towards the bed and then lay down on it. I almost came on the spot at the sight of her perfect butt, rounded and very feminine but I concentrated on the task and arranged her legs in what I had come to think of as the enema position.

The immediate problem was to find her anus. It was so clenched up that it appeared only as a slight distortion in what was otherwise just a cleft of flesh and I realised that she was incredibly tensed up. Maybe that wasn't so surprising if her mother administered the same sort of enema as I had just received. I dipped my finger in the vaseline and spread some of it on the rigid circle of muscle.

"What are you doing? What's going on?"

"I'm just trying to get you to relax. Just let yourself go."

I massaged the grease into the orifice and felt it start to lose its tension. Hannah sighed and I grinned to myself - it was starting to work. I replaced the tip of my finger with the rounded and of the tube and continued the massage until it slid effortlessly inside her rectum.


"Relax - it's in and you didn't feel a thing, did you?"

"No. That was clever."

"Right. Now I'm going to start your enema, very slowly. If it even feels uncomfortable, let me know straightaway."

I undid the clip and doubled the tube between my fingers so that I had fine control. She whimpered as the liquid started to flow and I stroked her back and made reassuring noises as I continued it as slowly as I could manage. She finally said it was starting to be uncomfortable when three quarters of the contents of the bag had been transferred, so I clamped the pipe, took one last look at her enticing slit - now slightly damp - and let her go to the bathroom. She spent quite a while in there before she scuttled out, her hand over her pubic area, and went to get dressed. We sat side by side on the small sofa and she leaned against me.

"Well, Hannah? Was I right? Did it hurt?"

She snuggled closer.

"No. Not at all. You were right - it even felt quite nice. Where did you learn how to give an enema?"

Time for a small exaggeration. Not a lie, just not saying that I was only pre-med.

"Well, I am learning to be a doctor."

"I wouldn't mind if all doctors were that gentle. That does it - I'm not taking any more of mom's enemas."

"You won't tell her about what happened here? She would get us thrown out and stop you from seeing me if she knew."

"Of course not. I'll just say that I don't want any more."

Somehow I didn't think that would work, but as long as she didn't mention that I had administered one then it was her problem, not mine. She turned towards me.

"You can kiss me now."

I didn't mind that at all. She seemed even more passionate than usual and she moaned when I stroked her butt. Then I decided to take advantage of the fact that she was wearing slacks and I started to stroke the inside of her thighs until she parted her legs. I slid my hand upwards until the edge was pressing against the seam of her trousers and then I exerted an upward pressure as I moved it slowly back and forth.


I continued for a short while and then she suddenly went rigid.

"What are you doing? What's happening to me? OH MY GOD!"

I don't know whether it was the enema, the kissing or just the fact that it was her first time, but it took only a couple of minutes before she went into a sort of Technicolor orgasm - she yelled and bucked, squirmed and moaned before she finally collapsed into yielding softness. When she recovered, she sat up.

"What did you do? What was that?"

"It's called a climax."

"It certainly was. Oh my god - I've wet myself."

"It's not what you think. All girls get wet down below when they have a climax."

"But look at these things - they're soaked through!"

"Just as well we live above a Laundromat, then. You can put a pair of my trousers on and I'll take yours down and wash them."

She utterly refused my offer of a pair of jeans and settled for wearing my pyjama trousers because she could pull the cord tight around her waist. She changed in the bathroom and then handed me her trousers and underpants - I hurried down and gave them a quick wash and dry and returned to discover that she had found the cold cuts and eaten the lot! I handed the warm garments over..

"Better hurry - Steve will be back soon."

She looked at the clock and then wailed in horror, then she forgot all about modesty and changed as fast as she could.

"It's half past ten! I have to be back by eleven! Hurry!"

I drove her to her dorm as fast as I dared - it was icy and I didn't want to risk crashing. When we got there, the front of her dorm was dark with only a light above the door.

"It's locked!"

"There's a bell."

"I can't ring that! The housemother will have to come and let me in and then I'll never hear the end of it. She will want to know where I was and who with and she might even call my mother if she gets suspicious. No - I'll come back with you and sneak in tomorrow morning, then she won't know I was out late. You can share with Steve and I'll have your bed."

Steve was wandering around in his pyjamas, eating cold baked beans straight from the can when we returned. He took one look at Hannah and fled to his room. To my surprise she went and dragged him out to explain the new sleeping arrangements. He went back inside and Hannah kissed me again - she was getting real good at it.

"You can take me home in the morning. I'll come round tomorrow evening to give you your next enema."

"What about Steve? We can't just send him out to the movies again!"

She smiled.

"Oh - I'll bring him something to keep him busy."

That 'something' turned out to be Terri, an eighteen year old freshman girl student, who dragged a delighted but somewhat stunned Steve out to a dance.

I thought it was really using Terri, and I said so. Hannah just laughed.

"Hey - I could have gotten a dozen girls prepared to go on a date with a nice college boy. Ours is a girls college and the only boys around are the local ones - all they want is to get into your panties and collect another... scalp."

I hadn't thought of that. In a co-ed college, boys outnumbered girls by a big margin and it was the girls who could pick and choose. Hannah brightened up.

"They'll be back by ten, so I had better get on with your enema right now."

I was surprised at how very open she had suddenly become. She filled the bag and, to my relief, hung it up in the bedroom. I didn't object - an enema from Hannah was infinitely more fun than one from Mrs Gordon. She was mock-stern when she told me to get my pants off and lie down for my enema. I kept my shirt on again without really knowing why - maybe total nudity would have represented a more sexual scenario and keeping it on made it more medical?

The real surprise came when she started to copy what I had done - she dipped her finger in the vaseline and began to massage my asshole. Nobody had ever done that to me before - it felt real good, exciting and relaxing at the same time. Then I guess maybe I relaxed too much, because I suddenly found her finger stuck right up my ass! It wasn't deliberate because she pulled it out real fast and started to apologise.

"I'm sorry, Jason - it just slipped in. I didn't even know it was happening until it happened!"

"Hey - don't worry. It felt good."

"Like this?"

It slipped in again and I almost exploded on the spot as she felt around inside of me.

"I guess doctors do this all of the time? What's it like learning to be a doctor? Do you do this sort of thing?"

More prevarication.

"Medical students have to learn to do all sorts of things."

"Mom wanted me to be a nurse, but I thought that I would never be able to do anything like this. I thought it would be disgusting, but really it isn't."

To my relief, because matters were starting to get beyond my control, she removed her finger and replaced it with the rectal pipe. She was obviously in conversational mood.

"I didn't even understand how my mother could give me enemas without being nauseous, but it's kinda cute seeing that tube sticking in your butt. I didn't know boys grew hair back here."

"Hey - girls do as well. You've got butt hair too."

"I have not."

"Yes you have."

She seemed to go into a sulk at the thought that hair might dare grow in such a location. It made the enema much less erotic than it might have been as I wondered if I had offended her.

Hannah was one of the Scots who hail from the west coast or the islands with fine jet black hair and, incongruously, piercing bright blue eyes. When she took off her slacks and panties and got into the enema position, the black hair was very evident. I decided to settle the argument once and for all, so I fetched a mirror and moved it under her instruction while she craned her neck to check that the hair really did exist. When I finally got the correct angle, she screamed at the top of her voice and rolled into a sitting position, hugging her knees tightly.

"Oh my GOD! You can see everything! You can see right up inside of me! I haven't seen those parts myself!"

I was surprised. I really could not understand the way girls could be so nosey about some things and at the same time not even know how their own body was made. I eventually got her back into position and told her to spend some time with a mirror and an appropriate book, then I started to massage her anal area with vaseline. She responded, so I extended the area and then finally slipped one finger into her sex.

"Oohhh! That's good. But...but... Where is it? What's going on?"

"Just relax and enjoy it."

I slid the rectal tube into her anus - I could actually feel it through the thin flesh which separated the two passages and administered the most comprehensive combination of stimuli that I could achieve while the liquid trickled into her rectum.

At least we got the girls back home in good time. Then Steve related, with glee, the fact that Terri was, to put it mildly, of an amorous disposition. Not only had they eventually been ejected from the movie theatre where even dark corners were subject to some limitation, but they had spent the remainder of the evening in the park, surrounded by other dark and grunting shadows, and he informed me with a great deal of pride that they had done "everything but". Considering that my balls were aching for release by that stage, I felt justifiably jealous at his success.

Hannah presented me with a problem. My father may have been a rotten manager, but he was adept at arranging my life. When I first enrolled for college, he accompanied me in full uniform and arranged for me to take extra credits each year - it nearly killed me during my first year, but he had a ready supply of junior officers that he detailed to tutor me. The same thing happened in my second year and I had suddenly realised that I was within one credit of being able to graduate that coming summer. And I could get it by attending one of the make- up courses that were run during the Easter vacation for people who had failed and needed to catch up. It was a straight trade - my Easter vacation for a whole year of college. Living out of dorm was not going to help, and I had to explain to Hannah that we could only see each other Saturday nights because I needed to work real hard.

Then there was the actual vacation. This was before the days of Spring Break - that started in the sixties when the colleges decided to divide their year into four terms and thus created the short vacation - it carried on even when they abandoned the division. In the early fifties, the one time when male and female students could mix freely away from parental supervision was the Easter vacation - you went in single sex groups, of course, but that was a division of convenience, not of fact. Steve and Terri were keen to go, of course, and Hannah wanted me to go along with her.

What could I do? Well - I reckoned that Hannah's mother would never give her permission, so I pretended to be enthusiastic and I never mentioned that I had already decided to stay home and do the course. We spent a lot of time talking about heading south and sleeping in the pickup to save money and got as far as planning a route before I told Hannah that she had better make sure her mother would approve. She laughed.

"Oh - mommy says it's fine. She knows Steve is a good boy and as long as he comes along she knows we won't get into any trouble."

Steve grinned from the corner where his hand was roaming under Terri's sweater.

"They haven't caught up with me yet! My mom says it's fine too."

My sins had found me out. I confessed that I needed the extra credit and that I had decided to stay home and work for it. Hannah became frosty rather than angry and asked what they were going to do for transport. To cut the story short - the three of them drove off in my pickup and I had to walk to college each day.

After a lot of thought, I called dad to see how he was getting along. At lest he didn't slam the phone down - he said that business was picking up and that things were starting to look much better. I didn't dare ask about mom!

I guess it was inevitable that Hannah found another boy - I really couldn't blame her once she knew that I would be leaving for medical school proper after the summer vacation. That was starting to look increasingly doubtful anyway as I started to get replies stating that their next year's intake had been filled months ago and inviting me to apply for the following year. I hadn't reckoned on Harvard, but surely some medical school would have a late cancellation? It appeared not - they all had waiting lists for them. It looked increasingly likely that I was going to have to take a job for a year while I waited - so I would have wasted all of my efforts.

I waited keenly for the final confirmation of my graduation and finally it arrived. Jason Boyd B.A. WOW!

I really wanted my parents to be there when I got my degree, so I called dad, hoping that he and mom had got together again. Nobody picked up the phone - it was the same number for the showroom and the apartment, so somebody should have answered. I asked the operator to try again and maybe to do something to get him to answer - all I got was a statement that the phone was ringing and if nobody picked up that wasn't anything to do with the phone company. After trying all day and night, I thought of driving there to see what was going on, then I reckoned I would try dad's lawyers - they administered the trust fund and they would know how to contact him.

I finally got through to Mr Jacob, the guy who sent me my cheque three times a year. He sounded tetchy.

"Really, young man, you should have told me that you had moved out of the dorm, but they obviously got my message to you. I've arranged for plane tickets and you should leave at once - pick them up at the airport."

"Plane tickets?"

"Of course. It would take too long otherwise. The funeral is the day after tomorrow."

"What the hell are you talking about? I just called you because dad didn't answer his phone."

There was a silence while the word 'funeral' sunk in.

"I'm sorry to have to break the bad news, but the Colonel died two days ago from a massive heart attack. It was very sudden and very unexpected. My deepest condolences."

"Dad is dead?"

"I'm afraid so. I will see you after the funeral - there are things I need to discuss with you. Meanwhile - time is wasting, young man."

Steve had heard the conversation and he looked as shocked as I felt. I packed quickly while he called his father and passed on the news. I had a feeling that I would not be returning to the apartment, so I took all of my clothes - at least I had a decent dark suit to wear - and emptied my bank account on the way.

It only hit me on the way that I had no idea what to do about funerals or anything. I didn't even know where dad's body was it had to be in a funeral parlour, but which one? Fortunately the lawyer had thought of that - I was met at the airport by a young man from a local lawyer's office and he had already made me a hotel reservation. He didn't know anything about my mother, but he assured me that everything was taken care of.

The strange thing was that I had forgotten that dad had been in the army. They hadn't. Next day I was visited by a captain that I knew slightly who went through the arrangements with me - and who asked about mom as well. In desperation, I called the lawyer and asked him.

"No, I'm afraid the colonel's ex-wife will not be attending."


"Oh dear - had he not told you? Your mother divorced him in Nevada earlier this year. She remarried last month."

The captain had gotten the message and his sympathy cut me like a knife. After he left, I simply sat down and cried as guilt overwhelmed me. My dad was dead - probably worked himself to death. Mom wasn't mom any more and that must have hurt him more than anything else. I had been so wrapped up in my own life that I had just let it all happen without even trying to find out.

In deep despair, I called Steve's dad - I wasn't feeling adult and I needed some man to talk to. He listened to my rambling self-accusations and let me grind to a halt before he spoke.

"Jason, lad, phones work both ways. He obviously didn't want to let you know what was going on and you just have to respect that decision. So the army is giving him a send off?"

"Yes. The usual platoon of riflemen, the Flag, the volley of shots. You know what they do."

"What about you? What are you doing?"

"Me? I just have to turn up, I guess."

"I'll call the local association. You need a piper. You can't bury a Scot without one."

He was as good as his word - and I decided to wear my kilt. The burial was moving - the piper played "Flowers of the Forest" while they lowered the casket into the ground and that was followed by three volleys of shot. He played "Lord Lovat's Lament" and then finally swung into the "Black Bear" - a stirring and happy quick march that Scots regiments always play as they march home after the day's work is done. Not funeral music, but meaningful and tear-jerking all the same.

Afterwards I had to go to the lawyer's office.

"Well, young man, your father left everything to you."

"What about my mother?"

"She divorced him in Nevada. That means she just walked away. He left nothing to her and she has no claim now that she has remarried. The business will just about cover its debts when it is sold - don't expect anything from that."

"I didn't expect anything at all. I don't want anything."

"Well, you get his life insurance. Twenty thousand dollars."

He took a cheque out of a folder and passed it to me.

"That's a very great deal of money, young man, and you still have the trust fund for your education. I suggest you allow us to invest it for you."

I stared at the piece of paper and the figure of $20,000.

"Thank you, Mr Jacob, but I already have someone who does that for me."

Even without the excuse, I was going back to the place which would allow me to get my life back on course. I had a year to fill, and what better place than with The Campbell?

The one thing that I could simply not take was any more sympathy. Each time anyone offered it, all my guilt came flooding back - the wrong guy was getting the sympathy. I kept looking at the cheque and several times I came close to tearing it up or putting it in a collection box for the poor. When I finally deposited it in the bank and resisted the urge to give it all to the next beggar I met, this made me feel even worse for my selfishness.

I called Steve and told him that he could keep the pickup and anything else I had left in the apartment and then headed for New York without telling anyone where I was going - hell, there was nobody to tell anyway. I decided that I didn't want to fly to Scotland - I needed time to think and a sea voyage would give me that. I didn't want to go on a liner with its entertainment and crowds and so I booked a passage on a cargo ship which carried only eight passengers and which was slower - it took ten days to cross the Atlantic.

I bought some new clothes and also some medical textbooks - if I had to wait a year then at least I could get a good start by studying in advance.

When I got to the ship, it lived down to my expectation. The passengers were accommodated in four double cabins in a deckhouse, with doors opening directly on to the deck. Meals were taken with the officers and there was no entertainment of any sort. My fellow passengers consisted of one elderly married couple, a pair of creaking old ladies who seemed to spend their whole lives travelling and a youngish couple plus their fifteen year old son, Charles Martin, who was the other occupant of my cabin..

He seemed a nice kid, excited at the prospect of a European vacation and we got on okay. We spent the first two days of the voyage still tied up to the pier while the ship waited for some urgent cargo to arrive and this left me at a loose end, wandering around the city. I decided to pay a visit to the medical school there - it was one which had deferred my application and I might as well take the opportunity to see what it was like. It was, of course, virtually empty and the lady at the desk said that there was nobody who could talk to me at that time. My visit would have been totally wasted had I not seen a printed sheet advertising student supplies and I decided to pay the store a visit.

It turned out to be quite an experience. You could buy anything there from a lab coat to a skeleton - it had never crossed my mind that they were bought and sold. Business was slack during vacation time, so I got the full attention of an elderly clerk who was happy to show me what the well-provided medical student needed. I was completely disappointed to find that a stethoscope was just simple rubber tubing which connected the bell shaped end to your ears and that it was actually no better than placing your ear against the patient, just simpler. I bought one immediately, surprised at how cheap they were.

I was fascinated at how simple most other instruments were. That mysterious thing for looking in ears was no more than a flashlight and a magnifying glass - I bought one with an equally simple attachment for looking at eyes. I guess the clerk must have spotted me as a guy with more money than sense because he promptly sold me one of those doctor's bags to store my increasing collection of medical tools.

I bought a set of scalpels and a special stone for sharpening them on - no disposables in those days - and then he convinced me that I needed forceps as well.

We finally got round to the more mundane items that all doctors still carried in those days. A barrel syringe for glycerine enemas, a serviceable bulb syringe and a couple of thin latex enema bags. He smiled happily when I mentioned a rectal tube...

I told him that I was about to depart on a sea voyage. That involved a trip to the pharmacy section and the purchase of a special pack of medicines for use on voyage by "Young Doctor Boyd". The total bill came to over two hundred dollars - doctoring apparently was not a cheap occupation.

Charles looked on with amazement when I started to unpack my purchases in the cabin.

"You're a doctor?"

I wasn't going down that path - I had a momentary vision of being asked to remove an appendix on the high seas.

"No. Just a medical student. I won't get to be a doctor for a couple of years."

I had a couple of hours start in my knowledge of the items in the bag, so I pulled out the stethoscope and we played with it like two kids, listening to the mysterious and incomprehensible noises from each other's chests. He was enchanted with the thing for looking in ears and eyes and he whistled at the array of shining scalpel blades.

"Gee - they would be good for model making! Are they real sharp?"

"Of course they are. They have to be."

"What's this?"

He pulled out the box containing the glycerine syringe and examined it curiously. Then he read "Rectal Syringe" and put it down real fast - he obviously knew the word. He obviously knew all about rectal bulbs too, because he blushed as he prodded one with his finger and then announced that he was going to see if they would let him look in the engine room. I felt kinda sorry for him - fifteen was that in-between age where your pretensions to adulthood could be abruptly punctured by teachers, parents or nurses.

The two days lengthened to four and I looked with dismay at my growing pile of discarded linen. The boat did not offer a laundry service to passengers and it was obvious that my remaining stock was not going to be enough for the journey. I was also starting to itch all over because there was no running hot water in port and so baths were impossible. I decided the first priority was to find a Laundromat.

Charles mentioned the fact to his parents with the result that he was sent along with me with a large bag of family laundry. I was an expert on washing clothes after my days in the apartment and Charles watched with amazement as I sorted whites from coloureds prior to loading them into two separate machines. The place even had an attendant that you could pay to iron the things in a large steam-press, so we ended up with everything in perfect condition.

That was more than I could say for my skin, but I had noticed an imposing building with a carved inscription saying that it was a bath house. If Charles's parents had been there when we took the laundry back, his dad might have warned me off, but there was just a note saying that they had gone out. I told Charles that I was going back to take a bath - he scratched himself and asked if he could come too.

The place looked fine. An attendant in white shirt and trousers stood behind a desk and nodded to us as we came in.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?"

I looked at the notice behind him. There were prices for shower and for bath, even for Turkish baths, but my attention was caught by the sight of the word 'Jacuzzi'. I had heard of them but I had never seen one, let alone tried one out.

"Is the Jacuzzi available."

"Five bucks. Each."

It was a steep price, but I handed over a ten and received two immense white towels and two white cotton bags.

"Change in there. Put your clothes in the bags and leave them here."

That sounded a good idea. I stripped without even thinking about it, but Charles was clearly embarrassed when he got down to his undershorts.

"Hey, Chuck, I'm only a boy as well. You don't need to be bashful with me."

He smiled uncertainly and removed his shorts, displaying a penis so large that it would merit a place in an anatomical museum. I couldn't help staring at it and he went crimson all over.

"I know, Jason. Everybody laughs at it."

"Hey - I'm not laughing. I'm just jealous! Want to swap?"

He stared at me and then burst out laughing. The ice was broken, but I could imagine the way in which other kids would call him a freak and I felt for him - being different when you're fifteen years old is a death sentence.

We wrapped ourselves toga-fashion in the towels and then deposited our clothes, receiving bracelets with metal disks in return.

"Lose them and you lose your clothes. Room thirty. Read the instructions."

The Jacuzzi was a large circular tub, already filled with clean, steaming water. Charles looked at it in amazement.

"We take a bath together?"

"Hey - it's as big as a swimming bath. You can get four in it."

We lowered ourselves slowly into the hot water and sat down on the tiled shelf that ran round the tube. Charles relaxed and I grinned at him as I reached for the brass lever that controlled the air.

"Hold on. This is the best part!"

He yelped at the sudden blast of bubbles, then he grinned and sat down again.

"Hey - this is great!"

It was too. The feeling was they coursed over my body was just brilliant - it was like getting an all-over massage. We soaked for a while and then I turned it off and reached for my soap.

"We only get half an hour. Better wash now."

We started to soap our upper bodies and my armpits felt grateful for the cleansing. Then the door opened and a guy entered. He was tall and blonde with the sort of musculature that took many hours in a gym to achieve. He was stark naked and he was casually stroking a huge boner.

"Hi guys! Room for another one in there?"

He eyed us up with interest as I recovered from the shock. Charles made a strangled noise and I yelled at the intruder.

"Get out of here before I call the cops!"

He sniggered.

"There are three of them next door. You want me to go get them?"

"Just get the hell out of here."

He still stared at us, then he sighed.

"All right. You might have shared him though - he's a beautiful boy and it's just plain selfish to want that incredible dong all to yourself."

He flounced out and I turned back to Charles. He cowered away from me.

"Get away from me, you homo! Now I understand."

I raised my hands.

"Hey - I'm not queer. I threatened to call the cops, remember? I didn't know there would be anyone like that in here - the city runs this place."

He stared at me and then I saw him slowly relax. We finished soaping ourselves and then I turned the bubbles back on until the foam overflowed and started to spread over the floor. The problem was that when we left and headed towards the locker room, the word had obviously gone round. Every door was open and we had to run a gauntlet of lascivious stares. Then someone grabbed Chuck's towel and tore it away from his body to the accompaniment of cheers from the audience. I yelled at the guy and he just leered at me.

"Want some, pretty boy?"

"Yeah. How about a Glasgow Kiss?"

The Black Watch had been an education in fighting dirty and the 'Glasgow Kiss' was a speciality of theirs. I grabbed the guy by the throat and brought my brow down on his nose as hard as I could. It worked. I felt a crunching sound as it broke and then he fell to his knees, screaming with pain as blood poured between his fingers. I picked up Chuck's towel and handed it to him.

"Let's get out of here."

I swung round and glared at the row of silent men, challenging them with my eyes and stance. Then I heard a whisper.


Suddenly we were totally alone and I stood with my rage still seeking an outlet. Memories of the incident when I had killed Greta's husband came flooding back. I was a killer and they had sensed that I was in a killing rage and had backed off. The guy behind the desk had our things waiting for us and we dressed and left to his howl of despair.

"They put SOAP in the Jacuzzi! Oh my GOD!"

We were halfway back to the ship when Chuck spoke.

"Where did you learn to do that? What did you call it?"

"It's called a 'Glasgow Kiss' and I learned it in Germany from the toughest soldiers I ever met."

"I really thought you were going to kill him!"

"So did I, Chuck. So did I."

I couldn't have stopped him telling his parents about it and he blurted out the story as soon as we got back. His dad looked at me with astonishment.

"Didn't you know about bath houses?"

"I do now. I thought you just went there for a bath."

He sighed.

"That's how it was years ago, but things have changed. You were lucky to get out without anything bad happening to you."

Charles broke in.

"It wasn't lucky, Dad. One of them tried it on and Jason just squashed his nose all over his face like a tomato! It was incredible - the man just fell down and he was screaming with pain. The rest of them just got out of our way!"

That kinda broke the ice between us. I told them about being an army brat, about the wild Scottish soldiers, even about my father's death.

"..and I have to spend a year before I can continue, so I reckoned I would go to see some friends in Scotland."

Mr Watson grunted.

"Good idea, otherwise you're likely to get drafted."

I stared at him as I suddenly realised that he was right. I had applied for deferment, of course, but that only lasted as long as I was actually enrolled in college.

"I didn't think of that!"

"In that case, you're just plain lucky. Get your place all sewn up before you return, otherwise you'll be running around in the mud for a couple of years. Wait until you get your MD - then you'll be an officer."

I thought about things a lot that night as the ship finally put to sea. I had a lot to think about and none of it was good - I really was not a nice guy. Maybe I should just let them draft me - the army must have some place for a soldier who could kill people at the drop of a hat and who could leave his father to work himself to death. In fact, I knew that wasn't true. The army wanted discipline, not someone who could go into a killing frenzy - killers ended up in Leavenworth being beaten insensible with billy clubs every time they even looked at a guard. Or sometimes they made them guards.

I could hardly become a doctor though. Medicine was a noble calling, not a place for the homicidal. Maybe I should get a job in a bank like Robbie.

By morning I had forgotten about that because the wind and sea rose during the night. It wasn't quite a storm but the sea was at an angle to the ship and that gave it two motions - pitching and rolling. A passenger ship would have changed course to make the ride more comfortable, but we just kept ploughing through. Only three of us did not get seasick - the two old ladies who probably had more sea-time than the captain, and me. For some reason I was completely unaffected by the corkscrew progress of the ship - I had always loved roller coasters and this was just a larger version. I wandered around and read my medical books while the others groaned and sat with buckets between their knees - it was forbidden to lean over the rails and throw up into the sea in case anyone fell (or maybe jumped) overboard.

By the following morning, everyone except Charles had gotten their sea legs. He just lay and moaned in his bunk and threw up anything that went down his throat. By evening, his mom and I were getting real worried about him - he was still throwing up and he looked real bad. His face was bloodless, his skin was dry and his tongue was starting to show cracks in its disgusting coating. I surreptitiously looked up seasickness in one of my books and decided that he was in need of treatment. Then I remembered my pack of medicines - I opened it up and it was indeed for use at sea, including a small book that was obviously written for non- medical people.

His mother returned just as I was opening the box which contained the remedy for long-term seasickness.

"What have you got there, Jason?"

I was too worried about him to get into a pissing contest with his mother. Or maybe I was starting to learn how to act like a doctor.

"Ten milligram hyoscine hydrobromide suppositories. Chuck - roll on your side while I give you one of these."

He groaned and I rolled him over, then I unwrapped one of the suppositories, smeared it with vaseline and pushed it as far as I could up his ass.

Mrs Martin stared at me.

"Do you know what you are doing?"

"Of course. It will take effect quite soon."

I crossed my fingers but the chemistry worked anyway. It was magical - he stopped convulsing and retching and his whole body relaxed. Mrs Martin looked astonished.

"Well, I wouldn't have believed that if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Will he be all right now?"

The book had been sombre about this stage.

"Ma'am, I really don't know. He's dehydrated - we have to get some fluids into him."

Chuck was only semi-conscious and I supported him while his mother held a cup of water to his lips. He spluttered and coughed but he didn't swallow. She looked at me.

"What now?"

I uttered a prayer of thanks for my retentive memory.

"Well, if he was in hospital, he would need fluids straight into a vein, but I can't do that here."

Or anywhere, for that matter, but I didn't volunteer that information.

"The old way isn't as good but it's worth trying. You give him enemas, I assume?"

"Well, not lately. He just won't let me do them these days."

"He's not in any state to object - give him a very slow cold water enema - some of it will get absorbed."

"COLD water?"

"That's what they recommend. Use one of these disposable bags."

Chuck might have been semi conscious, but he still reacted when his mother started to give him the enema. I held him firmly and soothed him while she inserted the tube - he finally gave up struggling and lay quietly while she ran in half a bag of water over a period of 30 minutes.

It was like watching a wilted plant stand up after it was watered. By the time she had finished his enema, Chuck was well aware of what was going on - and he sure didn't like it! He didn't even need to expel any liquid after the enema - it looked like his body had soaked up every drop.

Normal mealtimes had been suspended in the rough weather, but I was hungry by this stage. We left Chuck sleeping peacefully and I attacked the sandwiches and coffee in the dining room while Mrs Martin told the world about the miracle suppository and enema. That annoyed me and I realised that I was really growing up, because I wasn't prepared to defer to her just because she was an adult - I was one as well, and I was damned if I was going to stand for her making her boy the subject of public interest.

"Mrs Martin - don't you think that Charles is entitled to some privacy?"

She seemed genuinely taken aback by the idea.

"But he's only a child!"

"Actually, he isn't, but even children are entitled not to have the intimate details of their medical treatment made into a topic of conversation."

"Just who do you think you are, young man, to tell me what I can and cannot say about my own child?"

"I'm a man with respect for other people and their feelings, not a garrulous woman who runs off at the mouth in public."

"You can't speak to me like that!"

"I just did - and I'll say it again. Keep your damn mouth shut and don't embarrass that boy like this."

She opened her mouth to say something and I felt my anger rising within me as I stared straight into her eyes. At that precise moment I wanted nothing more than to strangle the silly bitch. It must have shown, because she abruptly closed her mouth and swept out of the room.

It left me deflated and wondering again about my own stability. That was interrupted by Mr Martin who slapped me on the back.

"Well said, Jason. And well done too - that's the first time I ever saw her run off with her tail between her legs!"

I checked on Chuck when I got back to the cabin - he was sleeping peacefully and you didn't have to be a physician to see that he was much improved. I got up early the following morning and persuaded the cook to make some beef tea - an ersatz version produced by pounding steak to a mush and then boiling it up for a while. Beef tea was my mother's equivalent of chicken soup and it had always worked for me when I was a kid. I carried it to the cabin and found Chuck awake and starting to feel queasy again. I opened my bag and unwrapped another suppository.

"Okay, Chuck - let's have you sunny side up."

"Aw, do I have to have one of those?"

The mantle of adulthood was being forced on me by his attitude.

"Come on, Chuck, you know it will stop you throwing up. Let's just get it over with - turn on your side."

He scowled, but did as I said. I pulled his PJ pants down and thrust the greased suppository as deep as I could reach, then I let Chuck sort out his pyjamas and his bunk while I washed my hands in the small basin.

"This is beef tea. Drink it slowly."

He took a sip and then started to drink it. When he had finished he lay back on his pillows as the suppository took effect and he became drowsy. He sighed deeply.

"You let my mother give me an enema."

"Yeah. So what?"

"So I just managed to get her to stop doing them. Now she'll start over. I just hate those fucking enemas."

It dawned on me that the stuff was relaxing his mind as well as his body and loosening his tongue like some sort of truth drug. I already knew that talking about something was the best way to get it out of your system and the anguish in his voice told me that he was feeling pretty bad. Maybe if I encouraged him to speak, it would help.

"She gave you a lot of enemas?"

"I'll say. Whenever she saw the slightest thing, it was straight into the bathroom and a bag of soapy water emptied up my ass."

"Hell, all kids need enemas. I got plenty myself."

"You didn't get as many as me. My mother just loves that enema bag and she was always using it on me."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm not! You know she always carries one of those bulbs in her purse? I even got an enema in the ladies restroom of a hotel once because I said I was too full to eat desert! I was only a little kid and she just hauled me in there and filled the bulb with soapsuds from the sink. There were other ladies there too, but mom didn't care - she just told them that I had problems and that I needed an enema. They all just stood around talking and watching while she emptied that fucking thing into me until I couldn't take any more!"

"She really did that?"

"Oh yes - she even rinsed me out afterwards."

"What does that mean?"

"You never just get one enema from my mother. First you get a soapy one and then you get a plain water one to rinse the soap out."

I stared at him - I'd never heard of that procedure and it didn't seem to make any sense. When I had been constipated, my mother had just given me one soapsuds enema and that had done the trick every time and given me immediate relief. Chuck sounded angry as he continued.

"She's just obsessed with giving enemas. A couple of years ago, when I was twelve, my cousin Joe came to stay for a month while his mother was in hospital. He was fifteen, but the first thing she did when he arrived was to give him an enema. It was late when his bus got in and he was hot and exhausted, so she told us both to go to bed. He was down to his undershorts when she barged in with the enema bag on its stand and made him take them off and lie on his bed while she gave him an enema right there in front of me. The poor kid didn't know what hit him - he started to argue but she just grabbed his shorts, pulled them down and forced him to lie on the bed. It scared me."

"How come? What scared you?"

The words came tumbling out.

"I never knew that you got hairs on your dick when you grew up, and I never knew it grew so big. That was bad enough, but the enema gave him a boner and that scared me almost out of my mind - it was huge and red and he tried to hide it but it was just so... threatening, I guess."

"That was bad. I didn't have that problem because I sometimes shared a shower with my dad and I guess I always knew what happened when you grew up. He never had a boner in front of me, though. Did she give you an enema after him?"

"How did you know that?"

"It wasn't hard to guess. And I guess you got a boner too."

He stared at me in amazement.

"I did. It was the first time I got one when she gave me an enema, but it happened every time after that. I always hated enemas, but I wasn't embarrassed until then."

He stopped speaking, but I reckoned there was more to come. Then I remembered his terror when he thought that I was homosexual and things fell into place.

"That wasn't all though, was it? You want to tell me the rest? About Cousin Joe?"

He stared at me and then he seemed to collapse internally.

"Yeah. You guessed. The first thing he did when my mother had gone was to jerk off. I didn't know anything about it and just seeing his huge thing was bad enough, but then he went crazy and started to make noises and roll about and then he came and the white stuff shot out. Then he did it to me. He said it was time for me to do what the big boys did."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Guilty. I knew it was wrong, but it was nice too."

I laughed.

"Hey - when I was your age, they sent me to a boarding school and everybody jerked off - a lot of them did it to other boys as well. It didn't mean that we were homos. It was just something to do. There's nothing to feel guilty about."



I had forgotten what it was like to be his age. All it needed was for somebody to tell him that everything was all right and he just accepted it. He smiled happily and went to sleep.

The weather was now magnificent - clear blue skies and a flat calm. What we didn't know was that a weather system was slowly overhauling the ship - the first storm was due to the leading edge and the blue skies represented the centre. By evening the wind was rising again, only this time it came from astern and it produced an even worse motion as it lifted the stern of the ship and sent us diving into the troughs of waves and then twisting as we climbed out again. It was uncomfortable, but everyone had by that stage become immune to motion sickness - everybody except Mrs Martin.

I have to admit that woman had guts. She spent the day ignoring her condition and controlling herself by willpower alone. She turned up at breakfast the following morning looking like death - her eyes and cheeks were sunken and she could barely stand. The sight of bacon and eggs was too much for her and she staggered out again. Mr Martin beckoned to me.

"Jason, I'm worried about Mary. She hasn't eaten or drunk anything - or at least she hasn't kept anything down - for almost 36 hours. Do me a favour and check up on her, will you?"

I didn't know what to say. Mrs Martin wasn't a kid - she was a grown woman, old enough to be my mother. He was going to have to give her any enemas she needed.

"I don't need to look at her. The first thing she needs is a cold water enema to reverse her rehydration. I'll get the stuff for you to administer it."

He looked at me, then shook his head.

"She won't take it from me. She hands them out, but nobody gets near her butt."

"So what makes you think she will let me treat her?"

"I don't know. There's something about you - just be firm with her."

I really didn't want to have anything to do with Mrs Martin, but she really was ill and my medical books were very pessimistic about the probability of kidney damage if it continued. I collected my medical bag and marched to her cabin while the two male members of the family found other things to do as far away as possible. I knocked on the door and heard a faint noise, so I went inside.

Mrs Martin looked like hell. Her vomit-covered dress was lying on the floor and she lay on the bed wearing a slip. I decided to go through the entire doctor ritual, even if I didn't know what I was doing.

"Well now, let's just have a look at you, Mary. Open your mouth."

I popped a thermometer in before she could object and then took her pulse - it seemed awful fast to me and her temperature was above normal.

"You're definitely dehydrated and you need fluids right now."

I moved over to the basin in the corner of the cabin and started to fill one of the enema bags. Mrs Martin looked horrified and spoke in a croaking whisper.

"What do you think you're doing, young man?"

"I'm going to give you a cold water enema, just like the one you gave to your boy."

"I don't want an enema."

"It's long past the stage where you can have what you want. If you don't take it now, then you are going to go into a coma and you'll end up getting it while you are unconscious. Now be a good girl and take your enema."


"No arguments. This is a medical necessity. Remove your underwear now, please. Unless you want to die, of course."

She looked like she was going to cry, but then managed to stagger to her feet. She lifted her slip and revealed that she was wearing a panty-girdle. I supported her while she managed to remove it with a great deal of difficulty.

"Really, Mary, a girdle will only make things worse. Now lie down and I'll start your enema."

She groaned as I folded her slip up and arranged her legs to permit access. Mrs Martin was no girl, but she had stayed slim. Her body was more rounded than that of a girl, her thighs were thicker and... voluptuous, I guess. I found myself indulging in thoughts that were distinctly non-medical as I gazed at her gorgeous bare ass. I finally managed to collect my wits and use my fingers to open her anus before I gently slid the thin tube into its centre. She groaned deeply.

"Oh my god - I can't believe you're doing this to me!"

"You must have had enemas before. From what Chuck says you seem to be a firm believer in them."

"For children. I haven't taken one myself for years!"

"Just lie quietly. This will take a while."

It took a few minutes before I realised that the water was not flowing. I extracted the tube and saw that the end was blocked with a solid brown plug.

"I need to unblock this. When was your last BM?"

"I just can't use the bathroom on this ship. It's foul!"

"I think maybe I should give you a warm water enema first."

She hid her face in the pillows as I refilled the bag with warm water. I undid the clip while I was still inserting the tube - I'd had experience of blockages before. She moaned in despair as the warm liquid flooded in to her rectum.

"This is just humiliating! I haven't taken an enema since I was a girl living with my parents!"

"Well, you're taking one now. I'm surprised at you - a grown woman letting herself get into this state."

I was experienced enough to see the signs of sexual excitement building up in her. So even adults could be stimulated by taking an enema - that was interesting. And it made me feel randy too - I could not believe that I found this woman sexually exciting!

I ran in the whole bag and then helped her to stand up.

"You're just going to have to use the bathroom now! I'll help you."

I closed the door once she was installed on the toilet and let her have privacy while she expelled the enema. She looked relieved and much better when she finally emerged, but I wasn't about to let her off the hook.

"Now just a small cold-water enema to get some fluid in to you."

This time she giggled - just like a little kid - before she settled down on the bunk. I slid the tube into place - she was much further developed than any girl and I watched with growing desire as she became more and more moist. This was insane - more than insane, it was sick! How the hell could I find a woman who was probably forty years old even remotely desirable?

What I did not expect was that she obviously felt the same way. As soon as I extracted the pipe, she displayed a remarkable recovery from her illness. She sat up and grabbed the front of my pants and contacted my erection.

From then on, everything was out of control. She quickly undid everything and pushed my pants right down to my ankles. I tried to resist, but then she opened her mouth and took my joint in it. I had sometimes fantasised about meeting a girl who gave head and I had always wondered what it was like. I quickly discovered that it was fantastic as she somehow swallowed its entire length!

My efforts to stop were futile. I stepped out of my clothes and she dragged me back on top of her. Boy - she was incredible. I had reckoned I knew just about everything there was to know about screwing, but I discovered that I was barely at kindergarten level - and she took me to advanced degree in the most incredible hour I had ever experienced.

I kept well out of the way for the remainder of that day - I sought out the captain and asked him if I could visit the bridge. Once there it was easy - he was delighted to find someone with such an interest in weather and navigation and I spent the rest of the day giving me a truly erudite but almost totally incomprehensible introduction to solar and celestial navigation. I finally crept to bed to find Chuck peacefully asleep.

Mrs Martin was not at breakfast next morning. After we had eaten, Mr Martin took me to one side.

"Mary says can you call on her - she needs more treatment."

I couldn't handle that. What had happened the previous day had been unexpected and I could just about square it with my conscience. But I just couldn't casually have sex with a married woman - that was adultery and not acceptable in the early fifties when both parties could find themselves the subject of very public criticism and hostility. I took him to my cabin and extracted the remaining disposable enema bag.

"Harry, Mary is going to need more than one enema - in fact she should really have been taking them on a regular basis. It's going to be your job to attend to it from now on."

"I have to give her an enema?"

"On a regular basis, Harry. I suggest one every week from now on."

"She won't let me. She's never let me."

"Just be forceful. Don't take no for an answer."

He was turning the enema bag over in his hands and he was obviously interested in it - in fact I suspected he was more than interested.

"What she needs is a plain warm water enema, Harry. Why don't you go and do it right now?"

I lay on my bunk and waited to see what happened. Harry returned after about an hour with a glazed expression on his face.

"You knew what would happen, didn't you?"

"I guessed."

He looked bashful, then he started to chuckle.

"I haven't had such a good time since our honeymoon!"

I started to say something, then I heard Mrs Martin calling his name. Harry grinned.

"My turn now. See you later."

I felt real proud. With a minimum of luck, they would be too busy with each other for her to even think about giving Chuck another enema! It had been quite a voyage - we were in the English Channel by this stage, ready to turn the corner and unload cargo and passengers in the centre of London.

I wasn't quite sure what I should do. I could either head for Scotland or stay in London and maybe get a job for a while.....

I asked a cabbie to take me to a mid-price hotel and then I set about trying to contact Robbie - he was now working at the London office of the bank. The English phone system was as inefficient as usual but I eventually got through to his secretary (he had a secretary?) who informed me that Mr Campbell was vacationing on the Continent and was not expected back for a month. London was just as miserable and dreary as it had been the last time I passed through as a fifteen year old boy - god, it was nearly seven years ago! There was nothing to do but head north and I cursed the fact that I could not even call ahead to let The Campbell know that I was coming.

It seemed like the same train too. Grossly overcrowded with stops every few miles, no food and a long line for the bathrooms. I was stiff as a board and I stunk like a horse when I finally alighted at Carlisle. I had missed the bus, of course, and there was no taxi prepared to take me into the country, so I wearily picked up my cases and trudged along in search of a hotel for the night. That's when I saw the large board advertising army surplus goods, and in the adjacent lot several trucks and a couple of jeeps. I hurried in and enquired what the guy wanted for a jeep.

"Hundred quid."

That was about 250 bucks, but a jeep would be ideal transport for me - those things could go absolutely anywhere. He started them up and I selected the one which seemed to be the better of the two.

"I'll give you a hundred and fifty dollars for it."

"Dollars? American dollars?"

"Yes. Greenbacks. Currency. Money."

He wasn't as stupid as he looked. We haggled and eventually settled on two hundred bucks that I paid in cash. He stashed them away real fast - I only found out later that the British weren't allowed to own any foreign currency at that time and that he could sell the dollars for twice their value into the black market. He even gave me a full tank of gas and a set of tools, but I guess he still came out well ahead on the deal.

It was great to be able to get to the castle under my own steam. As usual, cook came out to see what had arrived and her screams of joy brought everyone else running. I endured back- slaps fit to knock me down, hugs and kisses before I was finally taken to the dining room and fed on mutton stew, filled with meat and vegetables and accompanied by thick slices of crusty bread.

Afterwards, The Cameron, Mrs Cameron and I sat with glasses of malt whisky and I had to tell the story of what had happened since we last met. I edited out the most personal bits, of course, but I covered most of the bases right up to my father's sudden death and I asked The Campbell to add my windfall to my growing investment fund. When I finally ground to a halt, Mrs Campbell gave me one of her special looks.

"What's troubling you, Jason?"


She held up a hand to stop me.

"My name is Caireann, Jason. You're not a child any more."

I took a deep breath.

"Caireann, I'm frightened of what I have done and what I might do. I came close to killing another person and those who were watching knew it. They called me 'Killer'."

"Tell me about it."

I explained about being accosted by the homo and how I had injured him badly. I told them that I was afraid that next time I would kill someone. The Campbell grunted.

"You just need control, boy. The Seaforth Highlanders have moved in to the base at Ayr - I'll have a wee word with their colonel."

I discovered that they had acquired a phone since the last time I had visited with them. The Campbell spent a long time arranging things, then announced that one of their sergeants was prepared to give me a few lessons - starting at nine the next morning.

I drove over the hill track in my jeep and I was admitted to the camp and taken to a large gymnasium in which stood a small, grizzled soldier in shirt and shorts. He looked me up and down when I explained who I was.

"Aye. Well, I'm no surprised a queer came up to ye. Ye look awfu' queer tae me."

"I'm not a homo."

"Ye look like wan tae me. Fucking pansy Yank kid - all mouth and no guts."

"Hey - I won't take that from anybody."

"Oh aye? And just what are ye going tae do about it? Ye winna fight, I know that!"

I lost my temper and launched myself at him - and suddenly found myself flat on my face with my arm on the point of breaking as he forced it up my back. His broad accent had suddenly disappeared as he hissed in my ear.

"Lesson one, laddie. The first to lose his temper usually loses the fight."

That was the start of a long and painful day as he contemptuously brushed aside all my efforts to hurt him. He even handed me a real knife and riled me until I actually did try to stab him with it. I ended up with a small red dot on the front of my throat as he demonstrated that he was well able to disarm me and then use the knife against me.

Once he had reduced me to a feeling of total impotence, he started to demonstrate how to defend myself and how to turn from defence to attack.

"But mainly you never need to attack. Just knock them down hard and they'll usually run away."

The Cameron obviously had a great deal of influence with the colonel, because the lesson was continued over five days. I learned to control myself, to defend myself against fists, boots and weapons and how to incapacitate my opponent without doing permanent damage. Finally the sergeant announced that I would 'do' and shook my hand.

"Good luck, laddie. And always remember - a swift kick to the balls will fell the strongest man. Never warn, never threaten, never signal your blow - just kick him in the goolies when he least expects it."

I asked The Campbell what I should do to show my gratitude and on his recommendation I dispatched several bottles of whisky to the sergeant and to the colonel - and I still reckoned it was cheap! Then The Campbell sprang another surprise.

"Get in your wee car and take us down to Glasgow. There's someone you need to meet."

'Someone' turned out to be the Dean of the medical school at Glasgow University, a bearded patriarch who looked old enough to have carried the lamp for Florence Nightingale. Apparently The Cameron was an old friend and had asked him if there was some way of me keeping up with my medical studies during my enforced year of idleness. I was astonished at the fact that the British had no pre-med courses and that they started medical school proper at eighteen, straight out of highschool! Even more astonishing was the fact that there were no school fees, not since their Labour government had passed a law making all education totally free!

I would have expected a mob storming the place and demanding to be admitted, but apparently there was such a need for people to repair the damage of the war that kids dropped out of school at the age of fourteen and made big money in manual jobs. Few of them were prepared to wait for more than ten years before they earned a red cent - and their parents apparently agreed with that. The contrast with the American system could hardly have been greater - only 3% of British kids graduated highschool and only 1 in 100 went on to university. Medical schools actually had vacancies that they could not fill.

They sent me off to see one of the professors and he greeted me enthusiastically - and he was American. He told me that he had been an army doctor during the war and that he had married a local girl, fallen in love with the country and decided to stay. I had to agree with that - the weather was lousy and the food was scarce, but there was something very special about the rolling hills and the people who lived there. I asked him what his speciality was.

"Heart surgery."

"You operate on hearts? Doesn't it kill people when you cut into them?"

"No - for the first time ever we are learning how to repair hearts just like any other muscle."

"But HOW?"

He looked serious.

"Well - this isn't secret, but we don't talk about it very much. During the war, the Nazis did a lot of really awful medical experiments on prisoners in concentration camps. They found out how to cool the entire body down so much that it gives time to do the surgery because the body needs very little oxygen."

"They did that?"

He nodded.

"Yes. They killed a lot of innocent people before they worked it all out. Some doctors thought that we should just have destroyed all records, but most of us decided that would mean those people had died totally in vain. This way their suffering at least helps others. It wasn't an easy decision, but I know it was the right one whenever I see a child walk out of here instead of being bedridden for a short and miserable life."

He took me over to the hospital and I saw kids whose lips were blue and whose bodies were feeble waiting for surgery and others with large vertical "zippers" on their chests, pink and hungry, just raring to be out of the hospital to catch up on their lives. That's when I knew what I was going to do as a doctor - I too was going to give the gift of life to kids born with defective hearts.

The professor walked me back to the Dean's office where I discovered that a deal had been done to save my lost year. I was offered a place on their first year course and both Dean and Professor were certain that they had plenty of contacts with American med-schools to ensure that they would accept it for full credit when I went back. At the very least, it would give me something to fill my time - and all for free! I accepted immediately, of course.

It wasn't practical to commute from the castle, particularly when winter came, so I had to find somewhere to live. I rejected the idea of a lodging house - I was far too independent now to have someone supervising my life. The Campbell proved invaluable - where realtors might have been wary about renting to a young foreign man, his stature eased the way and reassured them. Finally we found the ideal place - a small cottage on the side of a hill just outside the city, close enough to commute, distant enough to provide privacy. It was cheap too - cars were very much a rarity and nobody wanted a place that involved a walk of five miles to the nearest bus stop.

The Campbell indicated that we should leave the office and as soon as we were outside he astonished me again.

"Don't rent it. Buy the place."

"What? Buy a house?"

"Surely. I saw that it was on sale for four hundred pounds and that makes it a great investment - just $1000. He wants two pounds per week in rent - that's a 25% return on your capital. It's in a good location too - in a couple of years time you will be able to double your money if you want to sell. If you decide to stay here for the full university course, you will live rent free and still make a killing when you sell it. Things are starting to move, laddie - housing is going to really rise in price, believe me."

I stared at him. Until that moment it had never crossed my mind that I might not go back to the US after one year. But things had changed a lot in my life - the nearest thing I had to a family was the Campbells. If I went back to the States, I would be entirely on my own. The thing that really clinched it, though, was Professor Miller's heart surgery unit - maybe he would give me a job in it after I graduated so that I could learn the techniques.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

The realtor was surprised when we returned and I offered him three-fifty cash for the cottage. He took it so fast that I reckon I could have gotten away with less, but it was an incredibly low price for my own place. It even had electricity - the poles ran along the road and someone had arranged for it to be connected. The water came from a well and needed pumping each morning to a storage tank in the attic. The place had a bathroom, but the toilet was outside - that was normal for those days, but I made a mental note to see if I could move it inside. Winter would mean a frozen butt!

Furnishing it was no problem. The Campbell supplied most of the stuff from items stored in one of his barns. On his advice I bought a huge rectangular stove called an 'AGA' - it burned just about anything, it cooked on the top, produced as much hot water as anyone could need and it would warm the entire place in the winter. The only other thing I bought was a second- hand bed with a brand new mattress - a big bed just in case I found someone who might share it with me.

I got an immense amount of literature from the university telling me what books to buy and what equipment I would need for my first year. I was already familiar with the fact that every university has at least one second-hand bookshop near to it where graduating students recycle their textbooks and, sure enough, there were notices in the entrance hall of the medical school for both books and equipment. The rest of the students had not yet arrived, so they still had copies of all of the required books at about half of the cost of new ones. I also needed to supplement my instruments - I needed dissecting probes, a dental mirror, scissors and a few other minor items, so I called at the large store which seemed to sell everything up to and including an iron lung. They filled my order immediately and I also bought a couple of new items - stainless steel scalpels which did not rust and which they claimed needed much less sharpening than the old ones.

I also noticed that they had the usual array of rubber bags and pipes and my asshole began to twitch and send out signals that it had been neglected for far too long - it was months since I had taken an enema. The clerk was most obliging and recommended a strange round enema bag that reminded me of a pumpkin and whose capacity seemed to be enormous. Then he displayed another item.

"This is the Higginson pattern syringe. It's our biggest seller by far - no bags, no clips, just a bowl of warm water. Very popular for the busy mother."

I had never seen anything like it. Basically it was a bulb syringe but one which sucked as well as blew - a round rubber bulb in the centre of a rubber tube that could be used as a pump. I bought one, of course, and then asked for a rectal tube. They had a wide selection, so I purchased one of the longest - you didn't have to put it all in, did you?

I drove back to the cottage and unpacked my purchases. It was just wonderful being alone in my own place, knowing that I could do anything I wanted without fear of interruption. I filled up the big pumpkin bag and then stripped naked before I lay on the bed and slid the shaped nozzle into place. Then I gave myself a slow, erotic enema while my mind dwelled on girls I had known - and one married woman, of course. It was easy to roll on to my back with the tube still in place and that allowed me to indulge myself in a long, slow session of masturbation, made extra special by smearing my hand with vaseline to provide lubrication. I didn't even need to put any clothes on when my system finally rebelled against the quantity of liquid which had entered and I had to run outside to use the fairly primitive toilet. Even there I was able to leave the door open!

The final thing I needed to do before term started was to take a physical, something which was compulsory for all medical students - I guessed they either wanted to be sure we wouldn't infect that patients or that we didn't blame them for some disease we already had. That brought back memories of my childhood physicals and the preparation for them.

My mother always insisted that I had to be perfect. The preparation started with trimming my nails and then a long session with a Q-tip to make sure that my ears were clean. All the while I knew what was waiting for me - what mom called 'a really good enema'. It involved more liquid than usual and warmer too, and it took about half an hour of tantalisingly slow injection before my young bowels finally signalled that they could take no more.

Then I had to have my main BM, but remain close to the toilet as two or three more emerged, leaving me feeling totally and completely drained of all material. Finally came the bath, the only time that mom insisted on personally cleaning every square inch of my skin - including the couple of square inches that hung out in front. When I was little, that was the really nice part of the procedure because it made my little dinkie stand up straight and produce really nice feelings when she did it. I had finally rebelled against the bath, but not the enema, when I was twelve and I had discovered just what a boner meant. Mom had accepted it with some annoyance and only because I was just about as tall as she was at that age.

The idea of repeating mom's preparation seemed like a really good excuse for trying out the rectal tube. I pulled it out of its packet and slid it between my fingers, trying to imagine what it would feel like in use - it was thicker and longer than the one I had experienced with Hannah and I took the time to savour the anticipation before I finally filled the bag and attached the greased tube to it.

I eased it gently into my ass and enjoyed the sensation as the blunt end penetrated into my rectum. It made me think of the different types of pipe that could deliver an enema. The simple straight pipe was businesslike - it was there for one simple purpose and it achieved it with a minimum of cost and complexity - just a kind of mailman doing a liquid delivery.

The shaped nozzle was different. It was like someone you had known for years, comfortable and easy going, someone who fitted snugly into your life with ease - and then told you dirty stories.

Rubber was different. It was female. It was exciting and threatening at the same time, tamed but unpredictable, sneaking into places where nobody else could go, seeking out your deepest desires and sometimes fulfilling them. Oh yes - definitely female.

I let the tube just lie there for a while, then I slid it deeper, savouring the lubricated surface gently caressing my anus and the feeling that wasn't quite a feeling as the end probed tissues which were devoid of nerve endings but could transmit pressure to the underlying flesh. I moved it in and out, enjoying the anal stimulation, something I had never been able to do before.

I started a slow flow of liquid and continued my manipulation of the rectal tube - it was particularly nice when I almost withdrew it and then slowly probed around within my anal canal, but at the same time the slow increase of internal pressure added its own peculiar pleasure. It was incredibly sensuous and immensely enjoyable - and it was really nice to be able to take as long as I wanted, to grunt and pant and then slow things down again and finally to come to a magnificent orgasm before I ran for the outhouse.

When I turned up for my physical, I was surprised to see that it was Professor Miller in the examining room - and it showed on my face. He laughed.

"I'm a member of the teaching staff as well as a surgeon. We all have to take our turn with teaching and with this sort of thing. Just strip to your pants and we'll get this done."

It was thorough, but interesting at the same time as he explained what he was looking for at each stage of the examination - he made it into a teaching session with me as the subject.

"Right - take your pants off and let's see if your love gear is up to the same standard as the rest of you."

That made me laugh and to feel an increasing liking for the man. He gently felt the outline of my balls.

"That's good - no lumps or bumps. They can be very nasty - testicular cancer can be a real killer and you should examine yourself on a regular basis."

He took my hand and guided my fingers over my own testicles.

"That bump is okay - it's duct that carries the sperm. The rest should be really smooth."

I instinctively bent forward as he pushed his finger past my balls and way up inside of my body.

"I'm checking the inguinal canal to make sure that there's nothing lurking in there. Now lets see if you have a hernia. Cough please."

"Is that why you have to cough?"

"Yes - if there's a tear in the muscle sheet, it makes your intestines bulge through it and form a temporary lump. You're fine."

He stood up and reached for a thin rubber glove. I got that sinking feeling as he dipped his gloved finger into a pot of grease.

"Now I need to examine your anus. Turn round and rest your chest on the table."

I didn't like it, but I didn't really have the option. I felt him looking at me and then his fingers pulled my anus open.

"I'm looking for external piles and fissures - little cracks in the skin. You don't have any. Now hold still - I want to check for internal piles."

I discovered that I was more interested than embarrassed as his finger slid inside of me.

"That's fine, Mr Boyd. No sign of any piles. Have you taken an enema recently?"

Oh hell - he could tell, of course.

"Yes sir, I..."

"That's excellent. You would be surprised how many new students turn up with severe compaction once they don't have their mothers to keep a check on their bowel habits. I'm glad to see that you attend to yourself."

It was really weird to carry on a conversation with a guy whose finger was stuck up my ass and probing deeply into my rectum!

"Now I just need to check your prostate gland. Have you had this done before?"

"I don't know. I never heard of a prostate gland."

"Read your textbooks boy and you'll find out about it. It can cause a lot of trouble but not usually with young men. You may experience some sensation now."

His finger pushed downwards and I almost hit the roof as it produced an almost electric response which was totally sexual in nature. I just could not hold back from emitting a groan."


He actually chuckled.

"My - you're real sensitive, aren't you!"

"For god's sake - what are you doing?"

"Palpating your prostate gland. Try to hold still - it won't take long."

The he did it again. I felt myself rising on to my toes and at the same time I got an erection. My calf muscles relaxed as he removed his finger - but my dick didn't.

"That's fine. You can get dressed now."

I remained bent over the table, wondering just how the hell I was going to explain my erection and totally unwilling to expose it by turning around. I heard another chuckle.

"Don't worry about the erection, Mr Boyd. It sometimes happens and I've seen my share of them. It was involuntary - some men are more sensitive to stimulation of the prostate than others. There's no need for embarrassment."

That gave me the courage to stand up and turn round - I considered covering myself with my hands but rejected the idea - it would just make me look like some timid child, ashamed of a natural function. Professor Miller looked at my erection with interest and I felt my residual shame ebbing away, mainly because he didn't try to pretend not to look. He nodded and then spoke dryly.

"Well - that certainly works well. Very impressive."

That made me laugh and he joined in while I scrambled into my clothes. I was about to leave when he gestured to a chair.

"Sit down, Mr Boyd. I need to explain something and ask you for a favour."


"You'll be starting anatomy class next Monday and I've paired you up with a girl."

"I don't understand."

"She is the only girl in the class and she comes from a small island in the Hebrides. She's a brilliant girl - she was very impressive at interview - but I'm worried that she might be the butt of a great deal of harassment from the men students. You're three years older than them and a lot more mature. I would take it as a personal favour if you could be a sort of protector - a big brother - to Fiona McGregor."

I felt highly complimented by what he had said.

"Yes sir. I'll look out for her."

He nodded.

"And, Mr Boyd, I said 'big brother' - I would be happy if you kept the relationship at that level. Fiona has spent her entire life in a small community and I don't think she will be wise in the ways of men, if you understand what I mean."

That annoyed me. I had already said that I would do what he wanted and I resented the reminder. I lost my deference.

"What the hell do you think I am? I don't take advantage of schoolkids! I said I would take care of her."

He smiled again.

"Thank you, Mr Boyd. I hoped you would say that. Off you go - until Monday."

I wasn't happy about the task he had dumped on me, but it gave me an opportunity.

"Professor - I wonder if I could ask you for a favour too?"

He frowned and I could sense his suspicion.

"What might that be, Mr Boyd?"

"I think the surgery you do is totally amazing and I reckon I want to do the same sort of thing when I graduate. Is it possible to watch you operate? Could I work in the ward in my spare time - as an orderly or something? I really want to see what happens and maybe find out if I could ever hope to master it."

His face cleared.

"You can certainly watch surgery - all students have that privilege although most of them don't use it until they are further along in their course. As to working on the wards, that's a matter for the ward sister - she's the one who controls staff and duties. And I warn you - she's not an easy woman to convince."

"Sir, I would like to try. I really do want to help - it was just incredible what you did with those kids."

"All right. I've other students to see, but meet me at the entrance at five and we will see what Sister thinks."

That gave me a few hours to kill so I wandered around the bookshops looking for anything about cardiac surgery and finding nothing - the standard textbooks just seemed to think that all you could do was to give digitalis and diuretics and oxygen until the patient eventually died. The university library refused to let me in until I had a student card, so I couldn't check there either.

I made sure I was waiting when the professor arrived. He pointed to a car.

"Get in. I'll take you to meet Sister."

"Sir - I have my own vehicle. That jeep over there."

He chuckled.

"Well I'm damned - you do well for yourself. Okay - follow me."

I started after him and then became totally baffled because he drove in the opposite direction to the hospital. I followed anyway and we eventually turned in to the gates of a large house. He got out of his car and beckoned to me.

"Come along, Mr Boyd. Or can I call you Jason?"

"Yes, of course. Where are we?"

"This is my house. Come and have tea."


"Just come and have tea."

I followed him inside and heard him calling to his wife.

"Honey - we have a guest."

A striking lady emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel and looking curiously at me. Professor Miller did the introductions.

"Honey, this is Jason Boyd, another displaced Yankee and a new medical student. Jason, this is my wife, Sister Miller. She's ward sister on the cardiac unit."

My mouth dropped open and I turned to see his grinning face. I shook hands with Sister Miller and then glared at him for not telling me in advance.

It was a substantial meal too - the ubiquitous Scottish stew with freshly baked bread cakes and real butter - a rarity because it was still rationed. I even drank the tea and it wasn't too bad - maybe I was getting used to it. Then the professor explained what I wanted. Sister Miller raised an eyebrow as she looked at me.

"Well, we can always use help with the bedpans. Do you think you could do that sort of thing, Jason?"

"Yes ma'am. I know that I'm not going to be able to give any treatments, but I can empty bedpans and help out with feeding the really weak children. I just want to be able to understand what happens and to learn as much as I can."

"My, my. Well - the junior nurses will love you. All right - I'll give you a trial and we will see if you can handle the seamy side of medicine. When are you available?"

"I could give an hour each morning before classes start to help out with breakfasts, I could work after class and on Saturdays. I can't manage Sundays - I have to visit with very good friends then."

"Too much. You need to study evenings. But I'll take the breakfasts and Saturdays. If it proves to be too much, we can reduce it - and if you can't take it then I won't hold it against you."

"I can take it!"

She looked sad.

"It's not that easy, Jason. Nursing very sick children never is. Some people, good people, just can't stand watching them suffer. You won't know until you try it."

I went home elated, but at the same time I was starting to wonder if I hadn't let enthusiasm run away with me. It wasn't exactly going to be fun and I was beginning to realise that my commitment was open-ended. Still - I had to start. I got up early on the Monday morning and got to the hospital by seven-thirty to find a scene of organised chaos. Sister Miller handed me a short white coat.

"So you really did mean it! Come along then and I'll introduce you."

My eyes gradually made sense of what was going on. There was food on trays and some of the children were feeding themselves whilst others were getting an occasional spoonful from a nurse who was feeding several at the same time. There were no cups - even the biggest ones were sucking milk or tea from baby's bottles in case they spilled it over their beds. We went halfway down the ward and I suddenly realised that there was a kid lying in his bed and a nurse giving him an enema. She was using just a rectal tube fitted with a large funnel and topping it up from a jug of soapsuds. Nobody seemed to think that it was anything unusual, least of all the little girl concerned who was contentedly sucking on a bottle of tea while her enema proceeded.

"Nurse Wilkins - here's the help I promised you. Finish that one and then show Mr Boyd how to operate the sluice."

The nurse extracted the enema pipe and then lifted the child up while Sister slipped a bedpan into position. The little girl still gave no expression of concern and continued drinking her tea while she peed and moved her bowels. Nurse Wilkins cleaned her up with a handful of tissue and then sprinkled the little butt with powder before she helped the kid back into her pyjama pants and tucked her back in bed.

"Right - follow me."

She carried the bedpan, covered with a cloth, into a room at the end of the ward and opened the round steel door of a large machine.

"Put the bedpan like this. Then move all three clamps into position like this."

She whipped the cloth away and closed the door.

"Now press the bar right down to the floor and release it."

There was the sound of high pressure water from within the machine and I suddenly realised that the washing process was completely automatic.

"Now take it out and stack it on the rack over there."

"It's easy!"

She looked at me with contempt.

"What did you think we did? Scrub them out by hand?"

I followed her back to the ward and she moved to the next bed, helped a boy out of his PJ pants and started on the next enema.

"Do they all get an enema?"



Another withering look.

"Because they are very sick children. They can't exert themselves at all and that includes their toilet. We give all of them a quick enema every morning and that makes it easy for them to move their bowels."

She extracted the pipe after a few minutes and lifted him on to a bedpan.

"Can you deal with this? Then I can start on the next bed."

"Yes. I think so."

I supported the boy until he had finished, then I wiped his ass, powdered him and got him back into his pyjamas just like she had done. I hurried off with the bedpan and by the time I got back the next enema was complete. We worked our way right round the ward, boys and girls alike being treated without any thought of privacy. When we were finished, Nurse Wilkins seemed delighted.

"That's marvellous - it only took half the time! Maybe you will be useful after all."

She looked round and then beckoned me into a room marked "Staff Only". It held a few comfortable chairs and tea-making equipment. She felt the teapot.

"Still hot. Milk and sugar?"

"Just milk please."

She poured two cups and handed one to me, then she kicked off her shoes, sat down and started to massage her feet with noises of relief as she restored the circulation. Meanwhile I just kept looking out of the corner of my eye while I held the cup up to my lips and sipped. The view was magnificent and I suddenly discovered that black stockings are really, really sexy. They encased shapely legs and disappeared up into her starched white dress. Phew!

Then she seemed to forget that I was there. She hooked a stool across to her and placed one foot on it so that she could really get to grips. That lifted the front of her dress - the starch prevented it from draping itself modestly around her legs. Now she revealed the thicker black of the stocking tops and incongruously pink garters emerging from the legs of white cotton panties. I took a larger sip of the tea, forgetting that it was scalding hot and yelled in agony as it seared my tongue and the inside of my mouth. I yelled, jumped to my feet, rushed to the sink and held my open mouth under the running tap to take the burn out of my flesh.

The noise attracted Sister Miller, who swirled into the room.

"What on earth has happened here?"

I dried my chin and felt sheepish.

"Sorry. I scalded my mouth - the tea was too hot."

"Nurse Wilkins - I'm sure you have something else to do, or should I find you something?"

Wilkins fled, leaving me alone with Sister Miller. Her anger disappeared like someone had thrown a switch.

"I must say you were a lot more useful than I had thought, Mr Boyd. You did good work this morning."

"Thank you. I'm sorry if I got Nurse Wilkins into any sort of trouble - I was exhausted and she offered me a cup of tea before I left. I never knew nurses worked so hard."

She beamed at me.

"Just make sure you remember that when you become a doctor! Don't worry about Wilkins - she's flighty, but she's a good nurse."

The day at the medical school started with a shock - for me at least. It had never crossed my mind that the anatomy class would involve dissection of an actual person! We all gathered in the main lecture theatre and the Dean himself addressed us in solemn tones, pointing out that the bodies we would be dissecting had been donated for the purposes of medical research and that they must be treated with the utmost reverence. The penalty for misbehaviour in anatomy class was instant dismissal from the medical school. He concluded with what appeared to be a joke.

"....and so, if you do faint, please faint backwards, not over the body."

I looked around me as I heard nervous laughter and realised that I was surrounded by big children. My fellow students had come straight out of highschool - their bodies were still boyish, their cheeks were mainly smooth and... and everything. They were just boys. Did the medical school really intend to let them loose with scalpels on dead bodies?

It did. We marched into a huge room which reeked of formalin and was filled with several rows of steel tables, each of which had a bulging sheet on top of it. I consulted the chart beside the door and identified my table. I had barely gotten there when I was joined by a minuscule girl dressed in what looked like home-knits with her hair cropped as short as any boy's. It was only the fact that she was wearing a skirt that gave a clue to her gender - if she had boobs then they were concealed by the greyish-white wool sweater she was wearing under her lab coat. She stood there, looking bewildered until I stuck out my hand.

"Hello. I'm Jason Boyd and you must be Fiona McGregor."

Her hand was tiny in mine and she whispered something that I assumed was in reply to my greeting. I looked at her and then decided that somebody had to take the plunge, so I pulled the sheet halfway down the body, revealing the corpse of an elderly man. It wasn't pink, it wasn't even white, it was grey and leathery and it had obviously spent a long time immersed in preservative.

I consulted the handout - it said that we had to do a gross dissection of the right forearm. That meant peeling back the skin and exposing the main muscles but without cutting into them - there was a picture in Gray's Anatomy to illustrate the desired result. I had brought my full set of dissecting instruments and I was surprised to see that Fiona had only a scalpel, a pair of scissors and a few probes and retractors while I was fully equipped for major surgery. I felt a fool - nobody else seemed to have much more than she did.

"Will you start or shall I?"

She smiled a nervous smile and then nicked the skin with her scalpel and used the scissors to cut a long incision. There was no blood - just more formalin. She finished the longitudinal incision and then stepped back to let me have a go. I did the transverse at each end, amazed at how tough skin was, and then we both used blunt probes to peel it back.

We worked well together, almost as if we had partnered each other for years. With my copy of Gray propped on the chest, we isolated the major muscles and blood vessels and tied them with string to separate and display them. There were pauses at first, then we got used to each other and co-operated without words as we followed Gray to produce a copy of the illustration. It was simply the most fascinating task I had ever undertaken and I lost track of time as we concentrated on the unfamiliar techniques of separating and isolating.

The only interruptions came from the demonstrators - final year students who earned some cash by supervising us. Even they just stood and watched and then grunted approval before they moved on to one of the noisier tables where a stream of muffled oaths indicated that not everyone was winning.

"Very nice."

I straightened up from the finished job that we were tidying up to see a familiar figure.

"Hello, Professor Miller. We're just about finished."

"So I see. Maybe you should go and get your lunches."

I looked around and realised that we were alone. He laughed at my expression.

"They went half an hour ago, but nobody dared interrupt you two. Give me your cards."

We grinned in glee as he gave us both an A. Fiona headed for the door, but the professor held me back.

"Thank you, Jason. We were all afraid that Fiona might freeze. I'm glad you helped her."

"Helped her? She's brilliant! She helped me!"

"Well, maybe it was mutual, eh?"

"I'll settle for that, professor."

"Go get your lunch - but wash first."

That didn't do much good. The refectory was polarised with us freshers banished to a corner underneath the extractor fans in a vain effort to remove the stench of formaldehyde from the other eaters. I looked around for Fiona, but I could not see her so I gulped down sausage and mashed potato and then hurried to make the afternoon lectures. She came in after me and I was disappointed to see her take a corner seat away from everyone, but that was forgotten as the lecturer launched himself into human physiology and we scribbled frantically to keep up.

I bought a large bottle of strong disinfectant on the way home and tried to wash the smell from my body while my clothes soaked in a bucket for the same purpose. After my bath I hung them above the Aga to dry while I went through my notes and learned the material by heart - I had learned a long time in the past that you had to keep up with the material or you were totally lost.

I reported to the ward early the next morning and Nurse Wilkins wrinkled her nose.

"God - you stink of formalin."

"It's the anatomy dissection. I just can't get rid of it."

She stared at me.

"Surely you don't wear your best clothes for that? You need two separate sets - change before and after the class. Even your underwear."

It was so obvious that it made me feel real stupid. Nurse Wilkins started to mix up her jugs of enema liquid, then she loaded a cart with them and we went into the ward. I was one bed behind her, of course, and that meant I had a real good view of her butt as she leaned forward over each kid to plug the enema pipe in. It triggered some highly lascivious thoughts in me - there was something very, very sexy about that lady.

We went to the staff room again when all of the kids were empty, and again she brewed tea and kicked off her shoes.

"Sore feet - the curse of the nursing profession!"

She put both her feet on a stool and hugged her knees with one hand while she held her cup in the other. It gave me an even better view of the black stockings, the band of pale flesh above their tops, the pink garters and the white panties. It was the sort of pose that four year olds adopt when they are too young to have any idea of modesty and it began to sink into even my primitive brain that it wasn't accidental. That sounds like I was retarded, but in 1950 girls didn't make passes at boys - they sat demurely and prayed that some boy would invite them to the prom or propose marriage. They certainly didn't behave like Helen Wilkins!

I let it ride for a couple of days, but the signals continued to arrive loud and clear and I became more and more conscious of the fact that, apart from my single experience on the boat, I was definitely feeling very deprived of sexual contact. I tried some conversation.

"Don't you ever get bored doing the same thing every day?"

She looked at me and I looked at her panties.

"I'm just a working girl, Jason. It's better than being a typist or slaving in some factory making shirts."

"Well, yes, but you spend all your time giving enemas!"

"No I don't. They are finished by eight-thirty. Then there is the medicine round, wounds to be dressed, children to be fed and washed, beds to be made. They keep us busy all day. Anyway - enemas aren't bad, at lest not with these little ones. It's the older boys who play hell about having to take an enema."

"Older boys?"

"Yes - ones about your age. Most of them hate enemas. Don't you?"

"No. They're okay. They're good for you."

She giggled.

"So who does your enemas then?"

"Nobody. I can do them myself."

"That's quite awkward. Any time you need an enema, just let me know and I'll be glad to administer it for you."

I could hardly believe what she had said. She laughed at my expression and hugged her knees more tightly.

"It's all right, Jason. I used to be on a men's surgical ward before this one and I must have given hundreds of enemas to men - you don't need to be bashful about asking me. Of course, I live in the nurses home, so it would have to be at your place. I hear you rent a nice cottage all by yourself."

"Actually, I bought it. It works out cheaper than renting in the long run."

She stared at me for a while before she got up and returned to the ward.

All the signs were there for me to see that she liked the idea of a rich American doctor as a husband, but I didn't see them at all. Instead I waited a few days and asked her if she would like to go out for a meal one night.

She certainly knew the good restaurants - and that was another clue that I missed. We ate in a modest-looking Italian place that served amazingly good food - at top prices. Still - it was worth every penny not to have to eat stew or sausage, mash and brown gravy and to drink a chilled white wine instead of warm chewy Scottish ale. When we had finished it was about ten and I offered to drive Helen home. She shook her head.

"No. Why don't you show me this cottage you own?"

I got that message okay. The wine had put me in the mood and Helen was positively drooling. When we arrived, Helen investigated the place with enthusiasm and bounced on the bed with obvious enjoyment. Then she started to rummage in the bathroom and finally emerged with the enema equipment.

"I knew it would be somewhere in there! Get undressed while I fill this!"


"Come on - you know you want this. Don't waste time - just get your clothes off."

It was a shock that she was so blunt about it. I had always justified enemas to others, at least publicly, on grounds of health or hygiene but Helen made no pretence. When she returned with the full bag, I was already down to my shorts. She nodded at me - and then proceeded to take her own clothes off before she made me lie on the bed.

"Lie on your back."

She inspected me when I was in position.

"Circumcised, eh? That's nice - circumcised men last longer!"

She ran her fingers lightly over my erection and then pursed her lips and blew air at the head - nobody had done that to me before and it felt real good.

"Right - pull your legs up to your chest."

When I complied, she grabbed my dick in one hand and at the same time plunged a greased finger up my ass. She certainly knew all about the prostate gland because she attacked it vigorously while she squeezed rather than rubbed my erection. I was just on the point of coming when she abruptly stopped.

"Let's not waste it. It's enema time!"

She plunged the rectal tube into my greased anus without any resistance. I lowered my legs as she opened the clip and the first rush of water entered my rectum. Helen proved to be an absolute artist with an enema bag - she alternated sudden blasts of liquid with attention to my raging erection, taking me to the brink of ecstasy and then cooling things down for a while until I wanted to scream at her to finish things. Then she lowered her mouth on to my dick and flicked the clip wide open...

I think I actually passed out for a few moments as I experienced a level of sexual pleasure that transcended mere mortality. I staggered out to the john and, when I returned, Helen put her arms round me and kissed me passionately. That restored my vitality - those were the days! - and I laid her down on the bed and made my first move towards her. She jumped up quickly.

"Wait - not yet."

She opened her purse and pulled out a circular rubber object. Then she smeared it with something and placed one foot on the bed to allow her to slip the thing inside of her sex. She laughed at my bewilderment.

"Haven't you ever seen a diaphragm before? I don't want to get pregnant, do I?"

I realised what it was for at that point and I wondered if it was just something they used in Britain. Whatever, it was a comforting thought that she couldn't get pregnant!

I got my revenge on Helen. Mrs Watson had taught me a lot in our one and only session in her cabin and Helen's manipulation had just about completely desensitised my dick. I was rock hard and I stayed that way as I fucked her to a climax - and then a second one. Then she shocked me more than I imagined possible. She rolled away from me and dipped her finger into the vaseline, then thrust it into her asshole and worked it around before she turned on to her face and raised her butt slightly.

The invitation was unmistakeable and unbelievable. I knew that queers did it that way, but I had never imagined that a woman would want it in there!

"Gently, Jason. Do it gently."

I accepted the offer, for the sake of curiosity if nothing else. I positioned the head of my dick against her anus and pushed gently. There was a resistance, then it slid inside. The feeling was just incredible - I was gripped tightly and smoothly and it just about fried what little brain remained in my skull as I started to move in and out. She screamed with pleasure and that broke the dam that was holding back my orgasm. I thrust harder and then I subsided into a prolonged and draining orgasm that left me weak and shivering from its intensity.

I lay there and slowly recovered while Helen stood up and moved over to the enema bag. She was completely casual about it - she slipped the tube into position and ran in the rest of the water from the bag, then she padded to the outhouse to empty her bowels.

When she returned we both got dressed and I made some proper coffee to revive my energy. She sipped it with appreciation.

"You Americans - you have all the money, don't you? This is a really nice house, you have a car and you can eat in the best places. When can we do this again?"

It was the hungry look in her eyes that finally made the alarm bells in my head start to ring. One the suspicion started to sprout, everything suddenly fell into place. Helen was no older than me and I had always reckoned that I was much more sexually experienced than most guys my age, but she was way, way ahead of me. She had even gotten that diaphragm thing so that she didn't need to worry and I was obviously not the first conquest - not by a long way. She had started the first time we met to work up to this and she obviously had plans for the future. Worst of all, although the sex had been fantastic, it had been planned in advance and executed with almost military precision.

"I'm not sure, Helen. I really need to work hard for the next couple of weeks - we have a test coming up and I have to pass it to stay on the course."

She pouted.

"Don't you love me?"

I wanted to tell her that I had never gotten close to love with her, but I chickened out.

"It doesn't matter how much I love you. I just have to pass that test if I want to stay here. If I fail, I'm going back to America to try to get into a medical school there because they don't give you any second chances here."

It was an inspired statement. She looked alarmed and then she just nodded.

"Yes - I see how important it is. We can wait for a couple of weeks, can't we?"

"Get your coat - I'll drive you home before they lock up."

I delivered her to the nurses home and turned back towards the cottage. I didn't make it before my guts rebelled and I had to stop by the side of the road and puke into the ditch, revolted with both Helen and myself. How the hell could I have been so naïve? And how the hell was I going to get out of this mess?

Next morning, I sought out Sister Miller before I actually entered the ward.

"Sister, I was wondering if maybe I could work with the post-operative patients for a while? There must be things I could do there and it would give me a better view of the process."

Her bright eyes seemed to drill a hole right into my brain. She nodded.

"Yes - it might be a good idea at that. It's time Nurse Wilkins got down to her job again instead of having the time for social chit-chat with you. She's always looking for a way out of her work, you know."

That left me wondering just what she meant as we went into the other half of the cardiac ward. The atmosphere there was totally different - the children were brighter, they could feed themselves and most of them were allowed out of bed, mainly to sit in chairs in a corner of the room which had been made into a sort of activity centre where they could read, draw, paint and play gentle games.

Sister introduced me to the staff nurse - a cheerful, bustling woman - and then left. I asked the obvious question.

"What do you want me to do?"

She looked around and I followed her gaze. Then she pointed to the corner.

"What I would really like you to do is to look after that area for me. We have to get the children washed and fed, see to their dressings and give them their medicine. We really don't have the time to keep them amused once they are done and they usually start squabbling. I know it's not the sort of thing that a medical student expects to do, but it would be a tremendous help if you could keep them occupied."

"Sure - I don't mind doing that at all. It's better than bedpans!"

She laughed.

"We have to use them for the children who are still recovering from their operation, but we want the rest of them to get back to normal life, so they use the ordinary toilets. A little gentle exercise does them good."

I really enjoyed my session in the activity corner. It was no problem to keep them busy with pencils or crayons and they were just like all little kids - they wanted someone to see what they had done and praise them for it. The time just flew past until the staff nurse came to remind me that it was getting close to nine o'clock. The kids were actually sorry to see me go.

"Jason - are you coming back tomorrow?"

"Maybe. But be a good boy anyway, will you?"

Staff seemed pleased.

"You've got a gift with them, Jason, and it was really good not to have to run back and forth to settle their arguments."

I rushed over and just made it in time for the start of the anatomy class where we had progressed to the detail of nerves and major blood vessels - all with names that had to be learned, of course - leading to the horrors of the armpit and the incredible complications of the brachial plexus. Fiona had gradually started to relax with me and when we finally exposed the radial nerve with all of its branches and peculiar routes and got it signed up on our cards she gave a sigh of relief and covered up the dissection.

"I can't do any more today."

I shrugged.

"That's fine - we're way ahead of everyone else. Lets get some fresh air. Meet me outside when you get changed."

She looked alarmed, then she relaxed.

"All right, if that's what you want."

Not for the first time, I felt like kicking her butt and yelling at her that she was allowed to have preferences as well, but that would have made her run away and hide, so I just agreed. We met outside - it was mid November by then and a crisp clear day - and I breathed the fresh air gratefully.

"Gee, Fiona, it sure smells funny when there's no formalin in the air!"

She actually giggled at that feeble joke. We walked along in silence before she spoke again.

"Jason, can I ask you a question? A personal question?"

"Ask whatever you like."

"Are you ill?"

"Me? No! What makes you think that?"

"Well - somebody was saying that you had to go to the heart unit in the hospital every day. I thought it must be really bad if you had to go there every morning before class."

I couldn't help it. I had to sir on a low wall and I laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks while Fiona looked increasingly miserable. Finally I managed to speak again.

"I'm not ill at all. I go over there to do some voluntary work with the children."

"You do? What sort of work?"

"Well, up until this morning I've been mainly cleaning bedpans, but today I ran a sort of play group for the post-operative kids. They don't have many things to play with though."

And then I realised that was something I could fix.

"Wait here. I'm going to get my jeep."

I ran back to the medical school and got it, then I picked Fiona up.

"Get in."

"Were are we going?"

"Wait and see! You'll like it!"

I drove to Sauchiehall Street and stopped outside of Smith's toy shop. Fiona was like a child herself as we selected a dozen small toys that little kids could play quietly with. I paid for them and then looked at my watch.

"It's getting late. I'll buy you lunch for being so helpful."

She was reluctant, but I eventually persuaded her. She ate quickly and hungrily and I jokingly asked if they didn't feed her properly in her lodgings. She blushed.

"Not very well and not as nice as this! Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"Jason, do you think that they would let me help like you do?"

"I don't know. I'll ask Sister."

I deliberately didn't take the toys in next morning and I did ask Sister Miller of Fiona could come and help.

"That's the wee girl from the islands?"

"Yes. She's very nice and I'm sure she would be good with the children."

"My husband speaks well of her. Bring her on Saturday morning."

She did know about Helen Wilkins, or at the very least she suspected. Saturday was Helen's day off and she always went to see her parents in Greenock.

Fiona was delighted when I gave her the news and she was waiting on Saturday when I arrived. Sister Miller greeted her with a broad smile and we went into the post-operative ward with the sack of toys.. I handed them over to Staff with the statement that they came from Fiona and me. We put them in the corner and soon had the kids playing quietly, all apart from three who seemed very excited.

"What's going on with them, Staff?"

"Oh - they're going home today. The professor gave them his final examination yesterday and their parents are coming to collect them at midday. We just need to get them clean and tidy first."

She turned to Fiona.

"Would you like to help with their baths, my dear?"

Fiona smiled and nodded and we both followed the happy trio into the bathroom which had four separate tubs and a row of tiny toilets for little bottoms. It also had a table which held three sets of enema equipment. Staff called in one of the junior nurses while the three kids removed their pyjamas and stood naked, pulling faces as they saw what was in store for them. I expected Fiona to look shocked, but she was just interested.

"You give them enemas as well?"

Staff nodded.

"Yes - just a quick soap and water one to empty their bowels before they leave."

"I've never come across that sort of equipment. We use a Higginson syringe at home. I'm the eldest of eight children, so it certainly gets a lot of use. I look after the girls and mother treats the boys - and me, of course."

I moved towards the door and it was only then that I realised that Fiona had not noticed me follow her into the room. She swung round and then put her hand to her mouth while her face turned beetroot red. Staff didn't seem to notice because she just smiled.

"Well, there's a little girl here who needs a nice enema. If we do the three at once then it will save time. Come along, children. The sooner we finish the sooner you can go home."

I left as three kids bent over the table and three rectal tubes were inserted into three small butts. I went back to the corner and sat cross-legged on the floor to help a boy of about ten who was struggling with a constructor kit. He looked up at me and grinned.

"Are they getting enemas? I told them they would have to have one before they went home!"

"Of course they are. So will you when it's your turn to leave."

"I don't mind. I had one yesterday. I like it better when my mummy does it though."

"You do? Why is that?"

He grimaced.

"Some of the nurses are a bit rough and the soap stings a lot. Mum is very gentle and she mixes olive oil with the water - that's much nicer."

"Olive oil? I never heard of that before."

"It doesn't sting at all. And mum doesn't give me a lot of water all at once - she just gives me little enemas until I need to go to the lavatory.

"What do you mean?"

"I take my pants down and she just gives me one squirt, then I can put them on again. After a while she gives me another and she just keeps on doing that until I go."

That was an interesting idea - I'd never heard of it before and I decided that I would try it myself some time. I carried on playing until Fiona returned with three bright and shining children dressed in ordinary clothes, ready for collection. I grinned mischievously at her.

"I didn't know you'd had all that practice!"

She blushed and then straightened up.

"Really, Jason, you're as silly as my brothers. Every time one of them gets an enema they all get giggly and stupid and they start wrestling with each other."


"They sleep two to a bed and they laugh and wrestle half of the night until mother tells them that she will tan their hides if they don't stop."

I couldn't suppress the smile that her innocence brought to my face. God - she just knew nothing at all! That made her angry.

"See - now you're doing it as well. There's nothing to make a fuss about - it's just a simple thing that everybody needs from time to time. There's no need for any embarrassment and certainly no cause for sniggering about it. When we become doctors we are going to have to do all sorts of intimate things to people, after all. We have to rise above this sort of childish attitude."

I agreed with her, mainly to make her shut up. After that we had a whale of a day playing with the kids. Even Professor Miller turned up - he had been called to see one of the pre-op kids - and joined in. We didn't even notice the time until the nurses started to draw the curtains - it got dark at five that time of the year. By the time we tidied things up and changed, it was past six.

I was about to offer Fiona a ride home anyway when she asked first.

"Jason - do you think you could see me home? There's a gang of boys who always frighten me and it's very dark just now."

"Sure - hop in and I'll take you home."

She directed me where to drive and I saw that we were heading into an area near the Gorbals - tenements which had a fearsome reputation for violence and alcoholism, often combined under the effects of "Red Biddy" - cheap red wine mixed with industrial alcohol and flavoured by bubbling coal gas through it (not to be confused with the delicious herb- flavoured Irish beer of the same name!).

"You live here?"

She looked at me.

"It's cheap. We're not rich."

I winced - because I should have known that all along. And I had been throwing my money around on toys and Italian meals when she had to live in a dump like this. Finally she held up her hand.

"I'll get out here and walk the rest of the way - it's just around that corner."

"I'll take you."

"No - it will be better if you don't. My landlady doesn't approve of boyfriends hanging around her house and if she saw this jeep then I would never hear the end of it. Thank you for the ride."

I sat in the jeep for a while - then I heard a scream. I drove round the corner at full speed to see Fiona surrounded by three boys who were keeping pace as she walked. The cause of the scream was obvious - her coat was wide open and one of them was pawing at her chest. I jumped out and yelled at them to leave her alone.

They promptly forgot all about her - I suspect they were just having their version of fun, because girls were rarely actually sexually molested. I was different - I was male, a foreigner and on their territory. Then I found that I was in big trouble as the leader reached into his pocket and produced a cutthroat razor while the others suddenly had lengths of bicycle chain in their hands. It was hard to know which was the worse weapon - the razor slashed and disfigured, but the bike chains could rupture a kidney or break a skull.

I yelled to Fiona that she should run, but she just stood there as the three started a slow advance on me, their weapons waving menacingly.

I uttered a prayer of thanks to the sergeant as I waited for them to get close enough. My plan, such as it was, was simple - I had to get the boy with the razor first and get him hard. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound which emerged was just a strangled grunt as I kicked him in the balls just as hard as I possibly could - his tight trousers added to the effectiveness of the blow. I actually felt something give, and then he just dropped straight down to the ground, out cold.

The other two stopped dead, but they were obviously experienced street fighters because their next move was to spread out and come at me from two directions. I heard the sergeant's voice quite clearly in my mind.

"They canna use a stick or a club if you get close, laddie. They want ye tae stand back and let them get a good swing."

I picked the smaller one and hurled myself at him while his chain flailed harmlessly. The sergeant had not mentioned the Glasgow kiss, but I was positioned just right and I had the satisfaction of hearing his nose crunch under the blow. The next move was pure instinct - I swung him round and he took the blow from his partner's chain on the back of his neck. Two definitely down, but now I was going to get hit - I pushed the inert body away, but that gave him time to raise the chain again. I crossed my arms in front of my face and braced myself for the blow just like the sergeant had taught me as his swagger stick landed on the seat of my pants for the tenth time.

"Never turn your back! Once you turn your back you're done for because now ye cannae defend yersel! Only Errol Flynn never gets hit in a fight - take the blow on your forearms and then hit back!"

But the blow didn't come. Instead he staggered back as Fiona fastened herself on to his upraised arm and pulled him off balance. This time my kick landed on his kneecap and, judging by the scream I had managed to dislocate it. I turned and started towards the jeep, then I stopped dead as five more thugs came racing round the corner. The sergeant's lessons had only suggested running like hell if you were outnumbered. I grabbed Fiona and stood still, hoping that somehow we could dodge round them.

They ignored us. They ran straight past and then stood looking down at my victims. The one with the dislocated knee suddenly stopped screaming and lapsed into groans as a boot crashed into his chest - I clearly heard the rib break.

"Barlinnie bastards!"

Then it dawned on me - the three had intruded into the wrong territory. The leader of the new gang turned and faced me.

"Ye dae this?"

"Yes. They were trying to rape my girl."


I propelled Fiona towards the jeep to the accompaniment of soft and harder thuds as Gorbals justice was meted out on the intruders. She pulled away from me.

"Leave them alone - they've had enough. LEAVE THEM ALONE!"

To my amazement they stopped and then they turned and looked at her.

"They're already unconscious! Just leave them be."

Another nod.

"Aye - ye're right. They winna come back in a hurry and it's no worth killing them."

I grabbed Fiona and we drove away as the three bodies started to move and groan - the human body was obviously a lot more robust than it appeared. I went a couple of miles before I pulled in beside a pub. Fiona was shivering and almost incoherent by that stage, so I headed for the traditional remedy.

"Two large brandies, please."

I took her to a corner table - the place hadn't started to fill up at that time - and coaxed her into sipping the brandy. Her colour returned and she stopped shaking, then she started to splutter - and that spilled the rest of the drink on her coat.

I decided that things would have calmed down, so I took Fiona home - this time all of the way to the row house where she lived. The door was locked, so I knocked - and then knocked harder. We both looked up as a window slid open, revealing an angry, ferret-faced woman.

There is no point in reproducing the conversation which consisted mainly of obscenities. The gist of it was that Fiona had brought trouble to the whole area and she was no longer welcome in the house - she had to get out and take her belongings with her. The woman disappeared and then a shower of Fiona's property shot out of the window.

I concentrated on catching the books - they were valuable - and meanwhile the street became covered with items of clothing. Once the books were safe, I started to pick the clothes up - Fiona was just too distressed to do anything but cry. It was an embarrassing and humiliating thing for any girl to have her undergarments spread around but the final items were a box of sanitary towels and one of those belts with hooks at front and back to hold them in position.

That finally shocked Fiona out of her sobbing. She wailed in despair, grabbed the belt from my hand and started to wrap the pads in a skirt to get them out of sight. I was shocked too - this was the fifties and menstruation was a big female taboo. No girl would ever mention the process or let any male know anything about it and the scattering of those items was probably worse for Fiona than if she had been stripped naked in the street.

I hastily put everything in the jeep - Fiona's cases had also been thrown out, but we could pack them later. I bustled her into the passenger seat and drove away as fast as I could.

I stopped when we were well out of the area and tried to comfort Fiona.

"It's all right. You're well out of that place."

She turned her tear-stained face to me.

"But where can I go? I've got nowhere to live."

"We can find new lodgings for you."

"I don't have any money, you idiot! I had to pay in advance and now I can't afford anywhere else."

"Your parents will..."

She hammered at me with her fists in frustration.

"They haven't got any money either! We're just crofters and they had to borrow to support me here. I don't even know if I will be able to come back next year."

My initial reaction was to get her into a hotel for the weekend, but I didn't have that sort of money with me and the banks were shut until Monday.

"You're coming home with me - we'll sort this out later."

I was hungry as well, and I spotted a fish and chip shop. I bought two portions, and gave one to her.

"Eat. Everything looks better when you eat."

We devoured the succulent fish and the golden chips (French fries to me, but I was getting used to the language). I certainly felt a lot better and Fiona went quiet, which was a distinct improvement. It was temporary, though - as we started off she suddenly made me stop and then threw up everything into the gutter.

I got her back to my cottage and I just about had to carry her in. She sat by the Aga, a perfect picture of misery, reeking of brandy and vomit in equal proportions.

I went to the bedroom and got a clean pair of pyjamas, then I eased Fiona into the bathroom.

"Clean yourself up. Your stuff is all filthy, but these pyjamas are clean - put them on."

She was in there quite a while, and she was a comical figure when she emerged in the over- large pyjamas. I grabbed a blanket from the bed and draped it round her while I made her the universal medicine - a cup of hot, sweet tea.

The only effect it had was to make her run for the door and throw up again. She came back in obvious pain, clutching her stomach and groaning. Had things been more openly discussed, I would have recognised her symptoms as pre-menstrual cramps, but such things were never mentioned in male company. I jumped to the wrong conclusion - male stomach pains were usually the result of constipation and I had learned as a small child the appropriate treatment for that ailment.

I went into the bathroom and filled my enema bag. Fiona looked horrified when I emerged with it.

"What are you doing with that?"

"You need an enema and I'm going to give you one."

"NO! You can't do that!"

"I remember just today a girl telling me that everyone needs an enema now and again and that there was no need for any embarrassment. What would your mother do if she saw you in this state?"

She went silent, then finally admitted that her mother would give her an enema. I indicated the bedroom.

"In here. You're going to get an enema because you need one."

Another spasm of pain seemed to decide things, because she stood up and walked slowly into the bedroom. I hung up the bag and turned to her.

"Come on - get ready."

She hesitated for a moment, then she started to cry.

"Jason - I'm just too ashamed."

"Don't be stupid. Just lie down and let me do it - you know it will make you feel better."

She turned her back to me, undid the pyjama cord and removed the trousers - the jacket was almost like a dress on her. She lay on her side, revealing a thin butt and legs - she looked almost malnourished as she lay there and my feelings were those of sympathy and tenderness rather than of any sexual desire. I greased the nozzle and slid it into her anus, then I gave her a long, slow enema with plain, warm water.

It seemed to work, because she gradually relaxed and her cramps subsided. When it was finished, I helped her to her feet and took her to the outside lavatory. I turned my back as she returned the liquid, then I got her back into the warm as fast as possible. I fed her a warmed- up can of soup while I examined my own feelings.

The odd thing was that I loved Fiona - but I didn't feel the slightest desire to have sex with her. Even giving her an enema hadn't raised any sexual feelings within me - I just felt happy that I was making her better. I tried to put it into words.

"Fiona - I never had a sister, or a brother either, but I think I would like you to be my little sister."

She blinked at me, then she managed a small, shy smile.

"Like when we work together?"

"Yes. Just like that. You always know what I'm going to do."

"So do you."

"Well - will you be my sister?"

She nodded and her smile got a little larger.

"I think it's time you went to bed - I'll sleep in here."

She looked relieved.

"Can you get my things from your car?"


I had a virtuous but totally miserable and freezing night, wrapped in a blanket and trying to sleep on a hard, chilly floor with my shoes for a pillow. I got up sometime around six and riddled the Aga to get it burning brightly, then Fiona emerged wearing a slightly soiled dress and looking much better. She had first go in the bathroom while I prepared to make breakfast. We both ate bacon and eggs washed down with coffee this time - hospitality had its limits, after all.

Fiona stretched and burped.

"Thank you for everything Jason. Can you give me a ride down to the city."


"I think I may be able to get a bed in the Salvation Army hostel. They're good people - they won't turn me away."

"I can give you money to get new lodgings - there's only a month left until Christmas."

"I can't take money from you!"

I hadn't expected her to take it without a fight anyway - she was too proud for that. My regular Sunday routine was to drive over to the castle and take lunch with the family - maybe Caireann would have some ideas, because I was clean out of them.

"Fiona, there is no way you're going to live there. Anyway, I have to lunch with some friends - come with me, they won't mind."

She was doubtful, but eventually she let me push her into the jeep and drive over the hills to the castle. Things happened just as I knew they would - everyone fussed over her and they settled us down by the fire while we told the story of the previous night. The Campbell slapped his thighs and roared with delight when I told him that I had been able to handle the thugs.

"That's great! I think you owe that sergeant another bottle of whisky or two."

Caireann nodded.

"Yes - I think you should both go over after lunch and deliver them. Fiona and I will stay here and have a nice chat while you're gone.

We took the hint. Lunch was its usual splendid self and afterwards The Campbell and I took off for the base. The sergeant swelled with pride as I handed the whisky over and told him that I would probably have been killed without his training - we even got the honour of being taken into the sergeants mess, although that was more due to the presence of The Campbell than me.

We called in on the colonel too. Until then, "Korea" had just been something that I occasionally heard on the radio, but it was obviously something very much more serious. The colonel spoke in sombre tones about the developing conflict, then he spoke directly to The Campbell.

"I don't know if you've heard, but the Black Watch is going over there."

I felt a chill. Robbie had finally been drafted, much to his annoyance - it meant two years of military service and it was going to get in the way of his first million. He had naturally got a commission and I had met him a few weeks previously in his spiffy uniform, but nothing had been said about a war!

The Campbell nodded.

"Aye. Young Robbie phoned me during the week - they're embarking from Aberdeen."

I felt guilty and I raised the subject with The Campbell as we drove home.

"Do you think I should go back home and enlist?"

He snorted his disgust.

"Of course not. It's a stupid wee war and we should just let them fight it out between them. It's you Americans - mention the word 'Communist' and you can't resist rushing into the conflict."

"But - Communism is bad."

He sighed.

"What does it matter to anyone but them? It carries the seeds of its own destruction. You really think your country is going to go commie? We just ignore them here and that works fine. Anyway - you finish your education, my boy. You can go and get killed afterwards if they haven't solved it by then."

We arrived home to find a changed Fiona. Part of it was due to the fact that Caireann had somehow managed to find new clothes for her to wear, but there was something else - she looked happy, clear of eye and just... Well, just like a huge weight had been taken off her mind.

Caireann had been organising.

"There's a camp bed in the stables that you can take back with you - it has a clean mattress and it will be quite comfortable."

"A bed?"

"Yes. A bed. Fiona is going to stay with you for the present and you are both going to be our guests here for Christmas."


"She can't get home in the middle of winter. She was going to spend her holiday with that dreadful harridan of a landlady. Incidentally, Campbell, she owes Fiona some money - she threw the poor girl out, so she has to return the rest of her payment. See to it, will you?"

He nodded.

"Aye. It will be a pleasure. I'll have a word with Crimond on Monday and tell him to threaten her with the courts if she doesn't pay up. Do you know how much he should get out of her?"

Caireann passed him a sheet of paper. He nodded again.

"I'll see to it. Don't worry, young lady, you'll get your money back."

I was still working it out.

"Fiona is going to stay with me? Is that all right with her?"

"She told me that she feels quite safe staying with you after last night. She said you were a perfect gentleman - not that I would have expected anything less from you."

Caireann took me to fetch the cot and I loaded it on to the jeep. I made a mistake - I asked her about Robbie. She went rigid and her face changed to a face of death. I said no more - I just prayed that her second-sight had got it wrong.

There were other packages as well - it turned out that Caireann regularly collected clothing for needy children from her affluent friends and a fair proportion of it fitted Fiona. It wasn't rags either - it was decent stuff that their spoiled daughters had either grown out of or discarded as unfashionable. She showed me the stuff with glee when we got back to the cottage, holding items against herself and showing her astonishment that such good clothing was simply discarded. I couldn't believe the transformation and I was surprised that she had accepted the stuff. It later transpired that the islanders passed kids clothes between families all the time, and Fiona just took it as the way things worked.

"Fiona, what on earth happened? Did Caireann use magic on you?"

She smiled.

"No. She was wonderful. First she gave me a special enema.."

"How was it special?"

"It used a long, fat rubber tube. I was frightened of it at first, but she said it was the best way of getting all the bad stuff out of me. It took ages and it really worked! Then she told me to take a hot bath. I didn't know you could take a bath - it was the wrong time."

That baffled me until the penny dropped. Those pads and the belt had been out in the open because Fiona was starting her period! That was why she had cramps. No wonder she was worried about taking an enema from me.

Fiona blushed at that point and I wanted to know why.

"What else did she do?"

"I can't tell you. It's girl things."

"You can tell me anything. I'm your brother."

She laughed.

"I wouldn't tell any of my real brothers either."

My eyes followed hers to a rectangular box that she had brought back from the castle. It didn't have a name on it, but I had seen one like it many times in the bathroom when I was a kid. I knew what Tampax were - I had discovered the instruction leaflet in the box when I was about thirteen and it had explained a lot of things to me - it even had drawings that gave me my first detail of female internal anatomy.

"You don't just mean Tampax, do you? My mom used them."

Her eyes widened and I knew I had guessed right.

"Big deal. All the girls use them in America."

"But everybody says you can't use them until you're married. Caireann said that was rubbish and she examined me while I was in the bath and then later on she showed me how to put them in."

I felt a pang of jealousy, but at least the ice was broken and Fiona was talking about it. She pirouetted in her new old dress and crowed with glee.

"They're marvellous! I don't have to wear those awful huge things any more!"

Then I carried the cot into the kitchen and set it up in the corner nearest to the Aga.

"I'll sleep here - you can have the bed."

"No - I'll sleep in the camp bed."

"No - you're a guest. Do as you're told."

We were both tired out, so we went to bed early. I was awakened by the sound of screaming from the bedroom - I rushed in and found Fiona was having a nightmare - she was sitting bolt upright with her eyes shut and she was obviously re-living her experience with the razor boys. I sat beside her and told her that everything was fine because I was there and at the same time I held her tight. She finally came out of it confused and I had to explain to her what had happened.

I got up to leave but she grabbed my sleeve.

"Jason - don't go. Don't leave me alone. I'm frightened."

"Aw, Fiona, I'm exhausted."


Then she clinched it by lifting the blankets to make room for me. I slid in beside her and she snuggled up to me. It was the first night that I shared a bed with a woman right through until the next morning - and I couldn't have done a thing even if I had wanted to. The strange thing was that I just liked having a human being close to me and the absence of a sexual relationship actually helped, because all I needed to do was go to sleep.

The next morning presented a major problem. I had promised to be in the hospital, but I didn't want to arrive on the ward with Fiona - that would have made tongues wag. So I drove her to the centre of the city, found a reasonable-looking café, pushed some money into her hand and told her to have a slow breakfast and meet me in the med school afterwards. As it happened, it was a complete waste of time, because Wilkins had found out about us helping out on Saturday and had drawn the obvious conclusion. We didn't come to blows, but she made it very clear in a loud voice that she thought I was a two-timing bastard.

That got me an interview with Sister Miller and a lecture about keeping my private life away from work. Frankly I didn't mind one bit when she suggested that I should give it a rest at least until after Christmas - I had seen what nursing was and I wanted no part of it!

Fiona was disappointed until I suggested that we should offer to take the rest of the clothes that Caireann had collected to an orphanage next Saturday. That pleased her a lot.

"The thing is, Jason, I've always lived in a house full of children and I've always shared my bed with someone. I'm lonely here and it will be nice to be surrounded by little ones again."

She demonstrated part of that by inviting me to share her bed that night and, over the week, we became buddies. The food got much better because Fiona always put stuff on the Aga to cook slowly over the day so that there was always a hot meal waiting for our return. She also informed me of the existence of a wonderful new place called a Laundromat where you could wash clothes cheaply - she looked doubtful when I told her that they had been in America forever. It meant that I didn't have to soak things in a bucket and then trample on them in the bath any more! Faster than I would have believed possible, we settled down into comfortable living as brother and sister. Almost.

Surprisingly, it was Fiona who took the lead. We spent Saturday catching up on the housework that I had been neglecting, scrubbing and dusting until the place positively shone. We had tea - Fiona had actually made our own bread which was delicious eaten hot with butter and cold cuts - and then she stood up and stretched.

"I think we both need our enemas now."

"We do?"

She was emphatic.

"Yes, we do. I didn't get all the coughs and colds that I've had here when I was on the island and taking regular enemas."

She set about making a large jug of warm water with a small amount of soap in it while I watched and wondered if this was going to be the end of our comfortable arrangement. There was no way that I could take an enema without getting an erection and possibly an orgasm and that would destroy our relationship as buddies.

"Look, Fiona, I think it might be best if we each took our enema alone."

"You gave me an enema last week."

"That was an emergency."

"You told me that there was no need to be embarrassed and I agreed with you. You don't have to be shy either."

"Fiona, it's different for a boy."

"You're worried that you will get an erection?"

I stared at her, hardly able to believe she had said that word. She laughed.

"When we were little, we all got enemas together and I always wondered why my brothers often got erect, but it obviously wasn't sexual - they were just little children. I didn't know very much about the male genito-urinary system until recently but now it's obvious why it happened - it was purely involuntary and caused by stimulation of the prostate gland."

"You think so?"

She nodded and she obviously believed what she was saying. It didn't explain why I already was having a problem concealing my erection. I had to deal with that as a matter of priority.

"I need to use the bathroom right now, Fiona."

I shot outside and locked myself in the outhouse and got rid of a week's accumulation of semen before I emptied my bladder and bowels. I returned to the cottage with more confidence - I really did want the pleasure of taking an enema from Fiona. She was happy at my change of mind and ushered me into the bedroom. I modestly turned my back before I lowered my trousers and stepped out of my shorts. She snorted.

"Jason, I've seen naked boys before and I've spent the last two months dissecting a naked man. I'm going to spend the rest of my life as a doctor and so are you - so stop being silly."

I didn't turn round, but I didn't try to conceal things as I lay down for my enema. I felt the gentle pressure of the nozzle against my anus and my entire skin tingled as it pushed into my rectum and produced an instant erection. I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed the process of having a slow infusion of warm liquid into my rectum - Fiona was skilled in the process and avoided any suggestion of cramping.

Finally she extracted the nozzle and I had to make a decision. I decided to go for broke, so I stood up without making any effort to conceal my boner. Fiona looked at it with what seemed to be professional interest, then I grabbed my coat and made for the toilet.

She had made up enough solution for two, and when I got back I put my underpants on and poured the rest of the jug into the enema bag. It was obvious that there was some sort of internal struggle going on with Fiona and I contemplated letting her off the hook, but then I decided to wait.

She finally moved and pulled her dress over her head. She wore a petticoat, of course, and she proceeded to remove that as well, leaving her standing in her bra and panties - utilitarian garments both. I just knew that if I said anything it would produce a major problem, so I stood, holding the enema pipe, while she fought it out silently with herself.

Finally, with what was obviously a Herculanean effort, she reached back and undid her bra, then she pushed down her pants and stepped out of them, leaving her stark naked. I had seen naked women and girls before, but Fiona lacked their ample curves - her ribs were clearly visible, her stomach was flat and indented, throwing her pubic mound into high relief. Her arms and legs were thin and wiry with musculature as clearly visible as if she were a dissection specimen on a slab. Then she flung herself at me and started to weep.

"I'm UGLY!"

I hugged her, dropping the pipe in the process.

"Fiona, you're not ugly. You just aren't fat."

"I look like a boy!"

That made me laugh out loud.

"Of course you don't. You've got nothing to be ashamed of - you've got a ..."

I searched for the word.

"... very healthy body. You should be proud of it."

I pushed her away and inspected her. God - she was really skinny, but somehow that made her even more beautiful. She had obviously worked hard on her croft and her landlady must have been almost starving her.

"Lie down and I'll give you an enema."

It gave me the opportunity to inspect her genitals too. They looked like a textbook illustration without a layer of fat to conceal the details. Her anus was small and pinkish-brown, already part-open as a reaction to the expected penetration by the enema nozzle. It slipped in without encountering any resistance and she actually relaxed as I seated it comfortably.

It surprised me again that I didn't find the process erotic. It was very much a doctor-patient procedure or perhaps brother-sister, except that I didn't reckon many brothers gave enemas to their sisters. When it was finished, I could clearly see the position of the liquid inside her through the thin skin of her abdomen.

I handed her my coat - it was cold outside - and she hurried out to rid herself of the liquid. When she got back, we both got into our night clothes and drank hot, sweet cocoa - a peculiar British formula, not at all like hot chocolate but very satisfying. And, as the quotation goes, and so to bed.

We continued with our relationship as Christmas approached. Caireann had insisted that we spend the whole festive season in the castle and I was more than happy to accept. We shopped for Christmas presents - Fiona accepted a loan in advance of the return of her rent - and then I drained the Aga down to avoid frost damage and we drove round the long way to the castle. Caireann had provided us with separate rooms and I went along with that but I began to appreciate how Fiona had felt because I too had come to appreciate the quiet companionable pleasure of a shared bed. Being alone was being incomplete.

Christmas was a time of mixed feelings. We made merry, of course, but Robbie's absence hung over us like a grey cloud and when we drank to absent friends we all had tears in our eyes. Hogmanay came and I carefully unpacked my kilt - the Scots are not fools and you simply don't run around in the snows of early January wearing a short skirt and no underwear!

Fiona clapped her hands with joy when she saw me wearing it. Caireann had given her a plaid for Christmas and we made a fine couple in national dress. Fiona was a real Scot too - she knew how to enjoy herself and we danced and drank until everyone collapsed and I had to carry her up to bed. It came very close that night - I stripped her naked and she fell back on to the bed. Desire surged within me and I cast off my clothes as well and joined her under the covers. We lay naked, holding each other, and I think it was only the fact that I had taken so much whisky that an erection was a physical impossibility that saved me totally destroying everything by making passionate love to her.

We were due to stay until Twelfth Night and I have to say that I was still feeling the effects of the festivities the night before we were due to leave and looking forward to being back at the cottage, taking several large enemas and washing the residue of alcohol and rich food out of my system. Fiona obviously felt much the same - except that she didn't wait until we were back home. Instead she asked Caireann if we could both have enemas from the colon tube before we left.

I was both annoyed and disappointed. Fiona didn't know that I had a colon tube at the cottage, so I suppose I didn't have any justification for my attitude and I resolved to tell her about it as soon as we returned.

Caireann was her usual gentle self - I'd never had a colonic from her and I was impressed by the ease with which she worked the tube into position. It was a pleasant episode and one that didn't even give me an erection - maybe I was starting to grow up at last!

Back at my cottage, we fell into a pleasant routine. All inhibitions were gone and we lived a curious asexual life together. I sometimes thought about taking things further, but there was simply too much to lose. We could be friends forever, but my experience with sexual relationships had not exactly been good - every one of them had failed and the longest had only lasted three months. Saturday nights we both took enemas and that was the closest I ever got to sex with Fiona - I could let myself go but never as far as an actual orgasm.

Easter vacation was hell. Fiona went home to see her family and I was frankly jealous to see how much she looked forward to it. What I didn't expect was the crushing loneliness that descended on me as the train pulled out of the station, taking her to catch the Caledonian McBride ferry that made a round trip of the major Hebridean islands.

It wasn't just ordinary loneliness. There is a folk myth attributed to the American Indians which states that when souls are created they break in half with each part inhabiting a different body. The only way that a man can become whole is therefore to find the woman who has the other half of his soul. Myth or not, it accurately described the way that I felt - I was only half a person.

Fiona's spirit was still clinging to the cottage. Her laughter still faintly echoed in the rooms and her smell clung to the bed. Her body still filled items of her clothing and I kept thinking that I saw her out of the corner of my eye.

I tried to console myself with a large-volume enema of water as hot as I dared use. It was boring! All I was doing was pouring water into my rectum - it had no significance beyond that fact. I ached for Fiona's gentle touch, for the way she stroked my ass when I was starting to reach capacity, for her waiting butt when I returned from the outhouse and reached for the pipe.

I could not contemplate a life without her funny face grinning at me and her bony elbows making me yield space in bed. Somehow I managed to endure three whole weeks of utter desolation and I purchased the ring before I met the boat bringing her back.

She rushed down the gangplank and threw her arms around my neck, then she kissed me for the first time. I almost fainted from the intensity of emotion that I felt, but then came the difficult part.



"I missed you like hell."

"Me too."

"I don't want to lose you again. Not ever."

"Me too."

"I think we should get married."

I handed her the ring in its box and she smiled happily.

"Me too."



"We can't get married now!"

She laughed.

"This is Scotland. We can go to Gretna Green and get married over the anvil in the blacksmith's shop. Right now."

"You're kidding! What about getting permission from your parents?"

"You don't need it here once you're sixteen."



It wasn't far to Gretna and it was obvious that the place was the centre of a wedding industry - Fiona explained that it was a favourite place for English runaway couples who were having trouble getting parental permission - they just had to cross the border to contract a valid marriage. There was no problem buying a wedding ring and the ceremony was strange but romantic with the conclusion being announced by a ringing blow on the anvil. I was relieved when we crossed the road to the local council office for a second brief ceremony to get an official marriage certificate - I had been wondering just how we were going to prove that we were actually married.

We hurried north again - I wanted to see the Campbell and Caireann to let them know what had happened. They were surprised - shocked in fact - but they recovered fast enough and gave us genuine congratulations and best wishes. We spent our wedding night there after Fiona and Caireann had a long talk and did something with a piece of sponge to stop Fiona becoming pregnant - she would have to get fitted with a diaphragm as soon as possible.

Next day brought despair to our hosts. A black edged telegram delivered by a weeping postman brought the dreadful news that Robbie had been killed in Korea. I'm ashamed to say that I shared only a minor part of their grief and that Fiona and I crept away to the cottage for a prolonged session of passionate lovemaking.

Robbie's body was escorted home the following week by a platoon of the Black Watch. We stayed with them while preparations were made for the burial on the estate. My heart went out to The Campbell as he drank heavily that evening. He looked at me sadly.

"Well, boy, we're a pair, aren't we? You have no father and I have no son."

"Yes Sir."

Fiona was tugging at my arm and I let her drag me outside. She sounded exasperated.

"Don't you know what he was saying?"

"What? About my father?"

She sat me down.

"You know what he wants?"

"No. What?"

"He wants to adopt you - and me, I suppose. He wants you to be his son."

"That's silly. I'm grown up."

She actually shook me to get her point across.

"He has no son now and that means his branch of the family will die out! He wants it to continue through us."


She released her breath in frustration.

"Jason - you have to go back in there and tell him that you will be his son. It's important to him."

"You tell him. I would feel stupid."

So she did. She made a short speech to the Campbells and told them that we would be proud to become their children and to provide them with grandchildren in due course. I was worried if other people would accept the idea, but he just grunted and said that so many Scots died young in past times that the son of a chieftain was whoever he announced to be his son. Then he embraced both of us and called us son and daughter while Caireann wept her approval.

The funeral was moving. It seemed like half of the army was there plus a large contingent of other clan chieftains. I wore Campbell tartan, of course, and Crimond had already made my change of name official. Afterwards we drank and danced in the manner of the Scots.

So that brings me to the present. Fiona and I are both Doctor Campbell now - she runs a busy general practice while I am still training in surgery with Professor Miller. She is going to have to take it easy though - there is a brand new Campbell on the way....

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