enema | The Secret Is Out

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The Secret Is Out

A Story as told by Julie to Christine

If you'd read my earlier stories, you know that I grew up getting enemas and was just a teenager when mom thought it was time for me to learn how to do one for myself.  Also, you know that I am a college student and that a year ago with my serious boyfriend, Brian, started giving each other enemas as part of our lovemaking.

Several weeks or so ago I came home from a weekend of enemas and lovemaking with Brian when my nosy roommate, Traci, watched me unpack my things.  Not only did she notice that my good silk pajamas were still neatly folded meaning I had never worn them, but that I had also bought myself a folding syringe.  While she thinks that my high level of sexual activity with Brian is such that I now must douche, little does she know that this was really purchased so that we could enjoy wonderful enemas together?  But then again, I have no intention of telling her that.

It's a very early 5:00 o'clock on Thursday morning and the campus is cold.  The beautiful snow that fell over the weekend has thawed and refrozen several times, not only making driving and walking treacherous, but the addition of sand and salt that has been spread has made it ugly as well.  I'm still in bed, but even worse, I'm feeling just terrible.

"Trace, are you awake?"  I ask.

"I am now.  What do you want?"

"I don't feel so good.  I have this awful headache and I think I might even have to throw up."

"That's a great way for me to start the morning.  Did you eat anything weird?"

"Not that I know of.  We ate dinner together last night, remember?"

"Yea, and you worked on your graphics project until late so I know you didn't go out and have too much to drink, either."

I get up, go into our bathroom, take a Tylenol and fix a cold washcloth to put on my head before I return to bed.

"Oh, I feel like crap."

"Hey, Julie, when is your period due?"  Asked Traci.

"Anytime now, I think.  I am feeling a bit bloated, now that I think of it."

"Sounds to me like you've got a touch of PMS.  Ever had it before?"

"Not like this.  Why do you get it, too?"

"Yes, real bad.  And my guess is that you might be a bit constipated too?  Am I right?  Because I get that way."

"Now that I think of it, you're right on.  But wait a minute, we roomed together all last semester.  I never saw you have any problems, even when I knew you were having your period."

"That's because I know how to take care of the problem.  Remember Stephanie?  She ran the social committee when you pledged, but graduated last May.

"You mean the blond, kinda tall and all the guys would always look when she entered a room."

"That's the one.  She told me the best cure is to take a baking soda enema a day or two before your period arrives.  It gets rid of the constipation, relieves a lot of that bloated feeling and, hence, no migraines."

Now I'm absolutely shocked.  My roommate has been doing enemas for the five months we've been rooming together.  I just can't believe it, but neither can I ever let on that Brian and I enjoy enemas as part of our relationship.  "You sure have kept it a good secret.  I never had any idea, nor have I ever seen you with an enema bag or anything."

"That's because you weren't looking for it.  Remember a month or so ago when you came home from a weekend with Brian and I joked about your new douche bag?  I knew what that was because I also have one something like it.  It fits into the pocket of my robe.  But aside from douching, did you ever wonder what that other little nozzle in the pouch is for?"

"Really?" I said, acting like this was all brand new to me.  I even got out of bed, removed the folding syringe in its pouch from the bottom drawer of my dresser, and took out the rectal nozzle.

Traci looked over at me.  "That's what you use.  Same process as taking a douche, except you're in another body opening.  Trust me.  It works.  You should try it."

"OK, Trace, if you're serious about this, I'll do it right now.  But, hey, do you have any baking soda?"

"Sure.  Wait a minute and I'll get up and help you.  I'm awake now anyway," Said Traci, who got herself out of bed, put on her robe and followed me into the bathroom.  "Here, use a teaspoon for half a bag of warm water."

As I ran the water waiting for it to get warm, I assembled the enema bag not trying to appear too adept lest Traci figure out that this is not the least bit new to me.  I filled the bag half full, put in the baking soda, held the top of the bag closed and gave it a quick shake to dissolve.

"It's not quite as convenient putting it up your bum as it is inserting the douche nozzle.  Hang the bag from the lower hook on the back of the door, take off your panties and lie on your back with your legs drawn up to your chest.  Here's a little KY for the nozzle.  It'll help it go in."

I really wanted to take the enema and hopefully soon get rid of the awful headache without Traci's step-by-step narration.  Nevertheless, I lubricated and inserted the nozzle, released the clamp and began to feel the warmth flooding my insides.  "My mom used to give me these when I was growing up."

"It takes a little longer than a douche.  Maybe about five minutes or so, but that's because you have to hold it for a little while to let it do its thing."

"I know, I know," I think to myself.  But within five minutes the once bulging bag was now hanging flaccidly from its hook; its contents delivered up inside my bum.  I remove the nozzle and squeeze my cheeks shut for a few minutes.

"That's probably long enough.  Go sit on the toilet and get rid of all that and in less than an hour I guarantee that your migraine will be gone, too."

As I sat on the toilet expelling the warm water and all the stuff that was the source of my misery, I began to think how many people really do take enemas.  In fact many more of them than I ever thought.

"Thanks for the help, Trace.  Who'd ever known that this could ever be a cure?  How come so few women do this?"

"There's more than you think.  I bet there's at least eight other girls right here in the house who use a monthly enema.  Many of the others use laxatives.  Did you ever see ads for certain brands that call themselves women's laxatives?  What do you think that's for?"

"Really?  I had no idea."

"I've gotta say, you did pretty well with that.  In fact you did a lot better than when Stephanie first showed me how to do it last spring."

"Well, it does work a lot like douching.  I mean with the bag and everything."

"You know Julie, our monthly cycles are not that different.  Another day or two and it could have very likely been the two of us in here wanting to take enemas at the same time.  You know the more I think of it, now that I'm wide awake at this ungodly hour of 6:00 am, I haven't had a decent BM in a couple of days and maybe it's not too early for me to take a good enema, too.  Let me go get my bag."

A few minutes later, I couldn't believe my eyes.  Traci was standing at the sink filling her syringe and adding a teaspoon of baking soda.  Just like I had done, she hung the bag, took off her pajama bottoms, lubed herself up, inserted the nozzle and started the flow.  Knowing how much I secretly enjoy an enema, I couldn't help but start to feel that I was getting wet just watching her.  Incredibly, that awful migraine of mine also disappeared in short order and I was feeling incredibly better than I had been just a short time before.

After Traci finished expelling her enema, we both rinsed our bags and hung them together in the shower to dry both knowing that our mutual secret was now good with each other.  Even better, in the future at that time of the month we weren't going to worry about whether the other knew what the other was about to do, and it wasn't uncommon to find one or even both syringes drying in the shower.  Those few days before each of our periods have not been a problem since.

Nevertheless, the fun that Brian and I continue to share in giving each other enemas is probably the darkest secret that I keep and intend to keep in the future.


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