Now before we start, this is a different trip to grandma's house. First of all I was not a kid, well not a kid in the usual sense we think of. I was 21 and had just graduated from the University of Illinois. Nor was it Thanksgiving with turkey and dressing with lots of cranberry sauce waiting for me. Nor did mom and dad take me there. I went alone. It was on the summer after I graduated from college. Other grads were partying. I was going to Grandma's house for a cleaning. My senior year had been a rough one, health wise, I had three colds. It was time.
I should also explain that Grandma was not an old fashion housewife fussing over the oven and preparing meals all day. Grandma was a nurse, a very well respected one. She had a large rambly old house with five bedrooms. People came there for fasting, and "cleanings" as I was going there to have. The only difference was that I was her grand daughter. The others were paying guests.
I arrived in the early evening. Two other guests were there. Grandma greeted me with hugs, kisses and when did you get so pretty questions. I hugged her back and smiled, enjoying the compliments. I was pretty. I had been a cheerleader all through high school, and college. Now I would be teaching other cheerleaders, and students, English.
A lady, one of grandma's regulars, and her son were there too. He had just finished his senior year too, except at Yale. The stress of college and he had some digestive problems. The fast would help all of us. His mom looked great for an older woman. She was 42. I know the fasting had an effect. I had some acne the last time I came. It was totally gone after a three day fast, then fasting one day a week for a month.
The first day we just ate all the fresh veggies we could eat. Grandma's greens and tomatoes were the best I ever had anywhere, and she made a fresh garnish that was wonderful. Then the morning of the second day we started the fast. Fasting and enemas go together. When you fast you don't eat, ie, you don't have any roughage to pull waste through your system and out. At the same time your body starts burning fat and trying to get rid of waste stored in the body, so you have more waste to get rid of and no roughage to take it out. A good daily enema or series of enemas, and a good enema every time you get sort of sick-toxic feeling gets this stuff out of your system. Without doing this, the toxins your body seeks to eliminate just get restored. It kills a large part of the function of the fast if you are trying to improve your health if you fail to have enemas.
My grandmother used a lot of enemas with her fasting. That first morning we would all spend most of it in the enema room with grandma. Being paying guests, they went first. By the time I got down to the living room, his mom was making her second dash to the toilet. Grandma had given her the usual, as much as she could hold + a pint, or at least that was the way it always seemed. She had been walking around the living room in her bathrobe just seconds before and spun around making large strides toward the second toilet on that floor.
Grandma was in the kitchen doing something, and asked me to go to the treatment room and bring her a container from one of the shelves. I went about the task. On entering I surprised, Dwight, the young man. He had just finished taking off his clothes and was about to put on a gown. It shocked both of us. I looked away quickly, but not quick enough to miss seeing all of him. He was wonderful. Thin, broad shoulders and plates of well-formed muscle everywhere. I saw, but didn't dwell on other areas. It always interested me. Men take such pleasure in seeing women naked. It just doesn't have the same thrill for women. I am still much more turned on by a gentleman bringing me roses or opening a door for me, than seeing his naked body. Romance means different things to the different sexes. In any case I saw him naked. He blushed and grabbed for the gown.
He sat down embarrassed on the treatment table, and said "sorry." I apologized. It was I that didn't knock, and just barged in. We were off to a good start. Still, it did excite me a bit. It wasn't so much the seeing of him naked. It was what was going to happen next. I never minded having a good enema, and Grandma's were world class. Knowing someone else is having one, especially a virgin to one of her enemas and catching moments of the procedure are fun too. I like them, but they are still a little embarrassing, and we all enjoy other people's embarrassments. This was one of those cases. He was embarrassed already, me having seen him naked. Next grandma would be probing his bare bottom and exposing the most private area of his body. Then she would fill him until he couldn't hold any more enema and those powerful legs that could control a basket ball floor would be quivering as he struggled to hold the water in his bowels. That was exciting, and seeing his bare body just before this all happened stirred my imagination.
I got the container and exited a little warmer for the experience, stage right. An hour later, it was my turn. I had taken my clothes off and slipped into my gown in the treatment room when he came in. I guess it was fair both ways. I just beat him to the gown and was already covered. Still I was taken back. I sat on the table and blushed a little too. He said he left something in the room and walked up to me. It was then that he produced a beautiful white carnation. He put it behind my ear, saying I was too pretty to not have a flower in my hair. Then he smiled at me. I could feel him breathing on my face. It was a hot breath, and just seemed to melt me. I looked up at him and smiled back. He saw his billfold on the floor and reached to retrieve it.
As he bent down to pick it up, I uncrossed my legs and shifted my position. Just then he looked up. I was shy and blushing already. His look intensified for a moment, then he just smiled looked back down and excused himself. Then on the way out, he said my grandmother gave really good enemas, whew!!!
I sat on the table for a minute holding the heating pad to my abdomen and playing with the carnation over my ear. Then grandma came in, carrying two large enema bags. She noticed the carnation. I didn't usually wear flowers to my enema sessions. I lay down and stretched out on the treatment table. Grandma and I were old hands at this. She had been giving me enemas as long as I remembered. I curled into Sims' position with my knees curled up and my gown tangled around my waist. She hung up the bags and connected a common hose with a y connector to the bags. I closed my eyes as she spread me and worked the nozzle into my bottom. A little click and we were on our way. A warm surge filled my lower abdomen and spread up my side. It felt so good. It was going to be a great enema.
Ten minutes later my calves were quivering, surges of water against my anus wouldn't stop, and I was ready to quit. Grandma worked alternating cooler water from the second bag until we were both quite sure I was completely full.
Then she massaged my back and we talked girl talk. She liked the young man too. He was a good looker for sure. I told her about his bringing me the flower. Her eye brows lifted, she said that could be serious. It was. Dwight and I spent more and more time together. That night I felt the melting power of his breath again as it filtered between my lips as we kissed. By the end of the fast we were taking long walks, holding hands and being more public about our affection. We continued to have the daily enemas, and all the fruit juice we desired. All that changed things. The first two days we were getting hotter just being together. There was certainly an attraction. By the third day we were hungry and sex became of much less interest as it does for all who do longer fasts. We decided to do five days maybe seven.
Part of fasting is that you drift ever farther from the everyday distractions of life, like sex, food, what is happening etcetera. We were there. By the end of a week without food we went through all sorts of emotional insights together. Fasting makes you very reflective, but not always coherent. As we fasted together, this amazing coming together happened. We bonded and melded into something that neither of us had been a week before. In the end, I would know what he was going to say before he said it, and he was the same with me. It was amazing. As well we came into the week thinking of our own plans and what we were going to do with our lives. I was going to teach in a public school. He was thinking about a writing career. He wrote beautifully. As the week turned into months, the most intimate bonding that occurred during that fast bonded for all to see.
I began to show. Intuition and intimacy melded our intents on all levels. When my body was ready, I yearned for him. He felt it and responded. Together we created dreams, hopes and life. I was three months pregnant when we married. I had not intended to attract him at mid cycle any more than I had intended to show him myself when I uncrossed my legs in Grandma's treatment room, but I did.
We developed communication from the very beginning that was far more than I ever expected with anyone. We talked about this. That first day. The way he touched my hair, the flower and his sense of caring had warmed me as much as the warmth of his breath. Without even realizing it on a conscious level, I had uncrossed my legs precisely at the moment that would expose myself to him. I believe it was very deliberate on an unconscious level. Dwight told me it was the most erotic moment he could remember, that glimpse at me, sitting, slightly embarrassed, vulnerable, touched by his romance and flashing myself at him.
As a woman, I dress, move, and make myself appealing. Beyond the shyness, beyond the modestly, when attracted, I present myself. I expose myself, or allude to being sexually available to desired mates. All women do this. It is in the hormones. Men do too, but there is a difference. With the human brain, under it all, we all have a female brain. Under the influence of the mother's womb, her hormones and living in total dependence on her, her hormones make us what we are.
Then as we grow, unless we replace our own hormones with exogenous ones, we come to be a mental man or woman as the brain grows in response to estrogen or testosterone. Women don't normally have much testosterone, unless they eat meat from male animals, and do not develop a masculine side. Men have underlying the female brain, and as an overgrowth, develop a masculine one. So that if a man studies female responses and variations based on sexual cycles and being a woman, then listens to the inner deeper voice in his mind, he can think as a woman and understand her feelings. A man sensitive to and melded with the feelings and being of his mate can anticipate her needs and feelings.
Dwight was as aware of my excitement on being given the flower as I was. I saw him naked, yet was not that excited by it. Even now the site of an erect man without the flowers, caresses, and wooing is not an excitement to me. Otherwise all the Greek statues would have erect male features rather than flaccid ones. What excited me was the romance. Dwight never lacked that.
He however was very much a man. The flashing of my privates to him excited the male in him, and left him with an erotic memory that made him mine. It is a difference in the female and male brain. He became my husband on this and all levels. He knows me. He loves me. I lead him with my body, and he follows and nurtures my being, defined biologically in female cycles and joys leading me in the dance of life.
As the years passed we never lost that depth of understanding and being with each other. Our children were almost grown, when he, I, his college room mate and his wife went with us to dinner. On the way home she and I had an agreement about which was better, panty hose or a girdle and hose. As the debate continued on arriving home, I lifted my skirt showing my girdle. I had left my panties off. Dwight watched from the doorway. As I did, I flashed him again. It rekindled memories. This man, who bathed with me, gave me enemas, dressed me, made love to me thousands of times, was still the young man looking furtively at me for the first time sitting on a treatment table in my Grandmothers house. As the discussion continued, he disappeared. A few minutes later he walked back in, a carnation in his hand, "You are too beautiful, not to have a flower in your hair!" He placed it behind my ear, his hot breath on my neck. I remembered too. We make love with unusual vigor that night. He never stopped loving me, as I was or became. He was my soul mate, my husband, the love of my life.
Sharon
