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Subject: Therapy Author: AV [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] Date Posted: Friday, June 07, 2024, 08:28: am For me now posting about the enemas i received growing up is therapy. When I was younger, I did not know any other child who received an enema. I did not have anyone to talk to about my feelings and experiences. I always believed i was the only one who received enemas. Keeping it in perspective and in my little child’s mind, all I knew was I did not like the pain associated with having a BM and mom was determined to force me on the toilet to go. I went through a progression as I was growing up. Started off mom talking my clothes or pj’s off or I did which was always a struggle because I was a fighter of enemas, did not want them, resisted the best my young little body could. I also received many a swats on my bottom prior to the enemas for resisting. Mom progressed me to given my enemas after my evening bath. I was already naked and so that fighr was over, all that was left was getting me over her lap and inserting the bulb. Mom’s enemas were really really soapy. She did not want me to be able to fight the urge and wanted me cleaned out. My brothers were in their teens and would be called to help hold my arms and legs since i reached back and kicked. Mom was able to do her work now and all I could do was take deep breaths and fight the urges until she was finished. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, June 08, 2024, 07:04: am I always received two bulbs. I know many from the different forums whose mom used an enema bag and some even a special balloon nozzle. Honestly, I don’t know how i would even respond to those if they were used by mom. The experience was bad enough as it was. I probably was progressed to getting enemas after my even bath around 9 years old. I was probably 6-7 when mom started. She had three rules in place resulting in me getting an enema. One, if i pooped in my pants, two, if i was caught straining and holding back, third, if I had a grumpy attitude. Mom would come to the bath door and tell me to get out of the tub and try to have a BM. Regardless if I was still in the tub or now on the toilet, soon after she said that, i would hear water running through the walls from the kitchen sink. I made the connection through time very quickly that if she came to the door and told me to get out and try to have a BM, i knew i was going to receive an enema soon. Shortly, mom would come in and place a jar of soapy water and the bulb on the sink. She would ask me if i had went. Of course the answer was no. She would say she will return shortly and leave. As she was gone, my child’s mind would stare at the enema bulb imagining it was smiling back knowing it was going to go into my bottom and there was nothing i could do to stop it. Soon, she would return and take me by the arm and stand me up. She would put the lid down and sit. Of course i would be begging for more time and telling her I didn’t need an enema. If i put too much of a fight prior to going over her lap, i would receive a few pops on my bare bottom. She would quickly then place me over her lap and if needed, she would continue the pops on my bottom. As i was crying and kicking, she would take the bulb and press it into my bottom and squeeze the solution into me. Of course that would activate and animate me even more. I could hear her filling the bulb again from the jar and turn and look and watch her fill it as i would cry “hurry up i gotta go i gotta go.” She would make sure the second bulb was filled to the top by skimming the suds off the top of the water plus giving the first bulb time to work on me. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, June 09, 2024, 02:23: am All of this typing is therapy for me which has helped bring healing in so many ways. However, even today, if i am constipated or having a hard time having a bm, my mind and body (feelings and emotions) take me back of me sitting on the toilet and mom coming in with the bulb. In real time, im doing my best to avoid that enema by taking deep breaths, relaxing, trying to push to get something going. Back to my mental visual, mom has come in and sit the bulb and jar down and left and there I am sitting on the toilet with my thoughts. Few minutes i visually see mom come back lift me up and over her lap and reach for the bulb. In real time, i feel some movement taking place and i know only the tip of the first movement is difficult and if i can i get past that the bm will be easier and flow. In my visual, mom has given me my enema and im fighting the urges. Real time, same thing. But eventually, the bm takes over and I completely empty. The visual seemed so real and the feelings were so real as well but it helped me. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Monday, June 10, 2024, 03:10: am One thing I vividly remember is what was going through my mind as I waited for the second bulb and the feel of the bulb tip. I knew i was going to have to take the second bulb so i knew i had to relax but not enough to release. When I would say, “hurry up I gotta I gotta go,” mom would say, “you better hold it! You better hold it, you better not release it.” I would next feel the tip. The first bulb coated me pretty good so there was no stopping it. The tip entered easily. Mom squeezed and I would feel the warm solution as it entered and agitated my bowels even more. I was ready to go so bad but mom would for a few more seconds let me lay. I would say, “let me up, i gotta go! I gotta go!” Mom would let me up, stand up, lift the lid, and go stand the sink and start cleaning up. Here is what is so strange thinking back, I would always fight the urges and hold until the urges would stop, no different now as I am sitting on the toilet. I was still fighting the urges plus concerned about the pain. Clearly the enema was working on me. I still was trying to win this enema war. I thought in my child’s mind, i would release just a little solution out and that would help with the urges. The BM was making its way and i did not want it to hurt. As I relaxed a little to let some solution out, it was coating me as well. The urge got stronger and the next minute, the baseball bat came flooding out as my legs lifted in reaction and I gripped the side of the toilet and lifted myself up. It was quick. Mom was running water and cleaning the bulb. She would look at me and say, “That wasn’t so bad was it?” [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Tuesday, June 11, 2024, 04:49: am Majority of my enemas given were due to pooping in my pants and stained underwear. Yes, i did receive enemas for getting caught straining and having a grumpy attitude. Most of the time, if I stained my underwear, I knew an enema was coming as I dropped them in the dirty clothes basket. Later that evening, i would walk by the bathroom and mom would be standing at the sink washing my underwear in the sink. After a lecture, she would say, “after I finish washing these out, im washing you out.” Prior to giving me an enema after my evening bath, enemas were immediate. She would tell me to come into the bathroom as she was washing my underwear and tell me to sit and try to go, which I would try. She would soon leave and I would hear water running through the walls from the kitchen and knew what was coming. Soon mom would return with the bulb ready and a jar of solution and get an enema. I had to be very sneaky when it came to not getting caught straining. I would even go into the bathroom, lock the door, and even sit on the floor next to the toilet, yes, on the floor, not on the toilet. I would fight the urges. I would usually sit with my legs crossed or even with one leg under me pressing down do an accident would not happen. After the urges would pass, i would even flush the toilet, wash my hands, and leave. I didn’t want anyone asking questions so after I went to the bathroom even a couple of times, I had to find a way to fight the urges without looking obvious. Never worked. I would end up red faced and trying not to look like i was straining but mom knew. She would send me to the bathroom and here we go, i would hear water running. Sometimes however, she would wait until after my evening bath and as she would come in with the bulb and say something like, “you didn’t think anyone noticed you straining today did you? Well, i did.” Well, as i sit on the toilet, there was no denying it. Afterwards, as she was cleaning up at the sink, and I was fighting and losing the battle with the enema doing its work on me as I emptied on the toilet, let there be a dirty underwear in the basket, and mom decide to look and find one. She would stop cleaning up the bulb and start cleaning the dirty underwear, and look at me and say those words, “after I clean your underwear, I’m cleaning you out once again.” Those moments were all about principle, all about routine, all about letting me know she was in control and I wasn’t. No amount of begging, crying, explaining I was already cleaned out and empty, she was going to make sure. The jar still had solution in it and she would simply squeeze and dip the tip and refill the bulb. My stomach afterwards felt empty for sure. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Wednesday, June 12, 2024, 06:07: am Writing and posting here are good therapy for me to be able to get out so many feelings and emotions. Growing up not having anyone to talk to or not know anyone else who received enemas, I believed I was the only one received them. From mom, I did not like her enemas. I did not like losing control. She made a decision when I was around 12 years old to stop giving me enemas. Yes, there I was, still pooping in my pants, still straining and hiding, still fighting and resisting, and still losing the enema war with mom. One day, she just simply told me, “if you want to go into junior high pooping in your pants, go ahead, im finished giving you enemas.” I always wondered why I pooped in my pants. Why I didn’t just sit and go. I hated the pain associated with a bm. I believe I was actually constipated probably due to all the wrong foods as a child I was eating plus holding back the bm just made it more difficult. Even when I was told to go, there I was sitting, trying, doing everything my little mind could do to produce a bm to avoid an enema but I was sealed up tight. I believed my bottom and that enema bulb had a relationship and were working together to make sure their relationship worked and lasted. So many evenings I would either be sitting still in the tub or sitting on the toilet staring at the enema bulb as I imagined it staring back smiling at me saying, “in just a few more minutes.” As young as I was I knew the soapy water solution inside that bulb would be inside of me shortly and there was no stopping it. Nothing i could do or say to break up this relationship. If I was not getting an enema for staining my underwear or getting caught straining, it was for having a grumpy attitude. Mom believed one answer for my grumpiness or attitude was cleaning my bowels out. She believed there was a connection. She never really used the word enema, she would call it “a soapy.” She would say to me, “do you need a soapy? I think a good soapy would help.” And it did not take long for me to understand what she was talking about. Once she got it in her head I needed “a soapy”, there was no stopping her. One of the things enemas did to me was wear me out and make me so tired and mom knew that as well, she knew shortly after having a bm from an enema, I would be laying down taking a nap and sleeping. So mom used that for her advantage. For me, those were the fighting and resisting days. I fought and struggled going over her lap, kicking and reaching back, and wiggling. Prior, I would try to avoid her grabbing me, even swatting her hands away. I would get a few swats back on my bare bottom. I always thought if I resisted long enough mom would give up if she could not get the tip in my bottom. Another advantage she had was my brothers. They were 7 to 9 years older. So they were in their teens by the time mom was giving me enemas. And even though they tried talking to me about having a bm and why not just go to avoid an enema, when mom needed them to come help her hold me, they surely would come running. I would plead to her not to call them but there they came. One would take my arms and the other my legs and press and hold me down over mom’s lap. Mom would even continue and finish up the swatting of my bare bottom once I was in place. As she was telling me to stop, settle down, quit fighting, she would be tearing my bottom up with her hand. I would be crying and trying to kick and reach back but my brothers held me tight. Mom took her time making sure I was getting the message. She would suddenly stop and seconds later I knew why as I felt the tip touch my bottom as she pushed it into me and squeezed. My volume would go up of course as I tried to reach back and even straightened my legs out but could not do either. Of course my cry, “hurry up! I gotta go! I gotta go!” And her saying, “you better hold it, you better not release it. You know better.” I would always turn and watch as she dipped the tip back into the jar. I could hear the soapy water sucking into the bulb as she slowly pulled it out. My little mind imagined that bulb, there it was smiling at me, getting its way, having its relationship with my bottom, and there I was, not able to stop it as it touched my already soapy coated bottom from the first bulb. Mom would squeeze the second in me as I took deep breaths trying to avoid releasing but allowing the tip to enter. I would cry, “i gotta go! Let me up! I gotta go!” Mom would simply say, “one more for having to call your brothers in to help.” My pitch of course would increase as I cried even louder. I would turn to look and mom was serious everytime as she dipped the tip once more but this time she would pull it out, let it get its form back, slowly squeeze it again, and dip it, and I could hear this time the suds from the top of the water sucking into the bulb. Seconds later, that tip easily went right into me as mom squeezed once again as I stared at the tile floor breathing crying to be let up I could not hold it much longer. Moments later, my brothers would let me go, mom would let me up, stand up, and I would quickly sit down. My brothers would leave and mom would start cleaning up as I trying to release the water gently without any pain but it was a battle I was going to lose as the soapy enema worked on my insides the more I held it in. It didnt take long before the urges took control and my feet lifted off the floor, I gripped the side of the toilet and lifted myself up, as first the soapy water came then the baseball bat, that’s how long my bm’s were, I filled that toilet many a times as I took deep breaths as it came out quickly. Mom of course would look and say, “now that wasn’t so bad was it.” A few minutes later I would be laying down napping so empty and exhausted as mom had her peace and quite from my grumpiness. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Thursday, June 13, 2024, 05:58: am Something so vivid in my memory was how my brothers made sure I did what I was told or else. They were 7-9 years older and in their teens and did not want a younger brother hanging around sometimes. They knew mom’s rule especially the one about if I was caught straining i would get an enema. So, the or else, was exactly that, they would warn me first if I didnt leave them alone or go somewhere they would tell mom they caught me straining. There were times at the beginning of course I tested them and sure enough they would out of meanness just to teach me a lesson. They would tell mom they caught me straining, red face and all, sitting with my legs crossed, they went all the way stretching the truth. Of course I denied but mom still sent me to the bathroom or waited until after my evening bath. Those were fighting and resisting days for sure. I was not getting an enema. I refused to go over the lap, I threw a fit and cried. I think mom knew but she would say, “well it’s too late, if I made the enema, you’re getting the enema.” The fight was on with the tugging and pulling. So much so, my brothers were called in to just get me over mom’s lap. Of course they came in smiling knowing this was a teachable moment from them to me. The tugging and pulling turned into wiggling and kicking and reaching back with more wiggling and a lot of crying as my brothers got me in place and held me tight so the kicking and reaching back would at least stop. There I was going through my motions and my “hurry up!” and “get it out!” and “i gotta go.” Plus the threaded third bulb since my brothers were called. Afterwords, my brothers went on their way doing their thing without me and mom had her peace and quite and no grumpiness from me as I lay once again in my bed napping, exhausted, and emptied. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Friday, June 14, 2024, 04:46: am Now my brothers did catch me straining sometimes and instead of telling mom they would do something else to make sure I still got an enema. I would be sitting with my legs crossed or one leg under me and would press down with both arms straining to hold and stop the urges so I would not poop in my pants. I would be either sitting on the floor playing with my toys or sitting on my bed playing. Either way, when my brothers noticed I was straining and fighting the urges they would even ask if I was. And of course I would deny deny deny and so my brothers would wait until I was back to straining or had evidence I was fighting the urges to avoid pooping and they would each grab one of my legs and stretch them out and basically lift them into the diaper position as I would fall on my back so i could not press down against my bottom. At the same time I would still be trying to press with my arms down and try to kick my legs loose but to no avail. Once they got my legs bent back and my bottom up and im laying on my back, there was no fighting them and at the same time fighting the urges. Of course they would laugh as I would start crying to be let up and let go but they would simply watch and wait and hold me. What they were waiting for would happen, I would simply let go and let loose my bm which I could not control any longer. The bulge would appear as the baseball was smearing against my pants. They knew then they didn’t have to tell mom they caught me straining because they knew i would get an enema for pooping in my pants. They would threaten me that If i said anything they would make sure I got an enema everyday. All I could do was cry knowing they would. The room smelled with the oder of poop. Mom would hear me in the room making all kinds of noise and would come in to check on me. She would know immediately what happen but still ask, “did you poop in your pants? Get yourself up and to that bathroom right now!” Of course I would jump up and waddle myself to the bathroom. I would basically empty my underwear in the toilet as I was trying to take them off. Mon would come in and say, “run some bath water and clean yourself up.” She would take the underwear and put it in the sink and run some water on it. She then would leave. I would be sitting in the tub as it filled up and wash and clean my self up. I would hear water running through the walls and knew what was happening but always hoped something else was taking place. Mom would return with the bulb and solution jar and sit it on the sink. She would not say anything but would start cleaning and washing my underwear in the sink to put them in the dirty clothes basket. We both knew what was going to happen or should I say all three of us knew as I always imagined that bulb smiling at me knowing it was sitting there filled and ready for action. Eventually mom would look at me and say those words, “after I wash your underwear out, im washing you out young man.” Of course, i would try to talk her out of it and cry some more as she would tell me to sit on the toilet and try to go. I dared not say anything about my brothers making me poop my pants because their threat was real. Few minutes later she would take me by the arm and lift me up and close the lid and sit down. I knew I didn’t want my brothers to come in and be a part so I tried to go over mom’s lap without any resistance. Once in place, my head looking down at the floor tile and my bottom in the right position, i could feel the tip slide in and press against my bottom. Mom would squeeze and I would feel the soapy warm water enter me. I might reach back to try to get the bulb out but mom would tell me to stop and threaten to call my brothers in. I might lift my legs straight out but mom would tell me to put them down and I might start kicking them. She would take the bulb out as she finished and I would turn my head and watch as she dipped the tip and fill the bulb again. I would try to breathe and even count the floor tiles or something to get my mind off of what was happening. She would tell me to hold it as she would press the second enema tip inside of me. I might even start crying by this time begging her to let me up to go. She would squeeze the bulb and i would say hurry up hurry up i gotta go. I learned to do a lot of breathing and relax but not relax enough to lose my BM. She would finish up, let me up, stand up, and I would quickly sit down. I had already pooped pretty good in my pants earlier but mom was going to make sure I was cleaned out. She would start the cleaning up process at the sink and I would go through my motions of releasing water, fighting urges of not wanting to release all the water, and finally lifting my legs and gripping the side of the toilet as the soapy water took over and more poop would come out. Mom would say as always, “now that wasnt so bad was it.” She might even give me a lecture on going to the bathroom and not waiting so long and quit fighting the urges and just come in and sit on the toilet and poop. I did have plenty of those non resistant days but i still hated the enemas and losing the war. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, June 15, 2024, 06:55: am Losing the war, losing the fight, losing control, being forced on to the toilet, not only fighting my mom over getting over her lap, or resisting my brothers helping the best I could, but those urges, those urges after the soapy solution was inside me, basically making soft served bm as the soap softened me a lot. I always thought those urges would go away, just release a little water at a time, trying to not have any pain but still try to have some control. Once i released a little soapy water and basically made a slippery pathway for this locomotive to make its way through, here it came. I could literally feel it move through me as it traveled through and out of my colon. Of course I was already afraid of the pain so I lifted my feet out of reaction and gripped the side of the toilet always thinking in case I needed to strain and stop it, but there was no stopping this, it was like an out of control water slide as I lifted myself up a little and took a deep breath and relaxed as i emptied. Mom just didnt know as she would say, “now that wasn’t so bad was it?” Yes! It was bad. But I was so tired and just limp from all of my bodies reaction. Mom finished up and I cleaned up. Mom sometimes would take me and instead of laying over her lap, I would sit in her lap as she held me. I would fall asleep soon and wake up later in my bed still feeling the effects of the emptiness in my stomach. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, June 16, 2024, 06:08: am I guess i was 5-6 years old when mom started giving me enemas. Amazing how i went all of my young life growing up but never knowing one person, any one else, who received enemas. When i say i always thought i was the only one, i was the only one. No one in the family told either. It was this “family secret” that i received enemas and it stayed within the family. I do however remember once when i went to the doctor for a check up and shot around 7 or 8 years old. Back then, the shot was in the butt. When it came time to give the shot and my pants and underwear came down, i had stained my underwear with some poop. Mom quickly said, “don’t work about that, I’ll take care of that later when we get back home.” The doctor may not have understood what that meant but I surely did. When we left and were driving back home, we lived around 25 minutes away, I can vividly remember looking out the window of the car hoping and praying mom would forget but how could she since I have a stain in my underwear but I still hoped as I looked out the window. When we got home one of my brothers had a school friend over and I quickly joined them in our shared bedroom sitting on my bed playing with toys hoping mom would not do anything since we had company. This was prior to getting enemas after my evening bath. Eventually mom did come to the door and call for me to come with her to the bathroom. Of course I refused. Mom then decided to ask my brother and his friend to bring me to the bathroom as she left. My brother grabbed me and so did his friend. They man handled me to the bathroom as i was trying to break lose but no hope. Mom was already in the bathroom. My brother and his friend pushed me into the bathroom and mom quickly shut and locked the door. Mom was telling me to get those clothes off and get on the toilet right now. Mom started helping undress me. Im sure I got a few swats to my bottom for some resistance of the clothes. She quickly put my underwear in the sink and ran water as I sit down on the toilet. That is when I noticed the bulb and the jar were already in the bathroom. Mom made it prior to calling me in. She washed my underwear in the sink and when she finished, she quickly took my arm and lifted me. She didnt have to say anything. I went over her lap and she got me in position with my head down and bottom right where she wanted it. I took a lot of breaths during this enema because i did not want my brother and his friend to be called in. I was crying as well because i can remember outside the door hearing the friend ask my brother what was happening and my brother telling him U was getting an enema. I can remember many a times reaching back with my hand trying to either cover my bottom or try to take the bulb out as mom was squeezing the soapy solution in me. Kicking my feet was something else I did thinking if I kicked mom would not be able to get to her target. But she didnt hesitate stopping and popping my bottom a few times to get my attention. And always turning and looking after the first bulb was in me and watching mom fill that second bulb. As she would make sure there was no air left in it as she would allow it to take form and dip it again to get suds from the top as I listened to the suds suck into the bulb. There were many times I cried begging her to hurry up, i gotta go, i cant hold it any longer. The same routine of lifting my feet and gripping the side of the toilet expecting pain and lifting myself up as the baseball bat came rolling through fast as i exhaled and relaxed so defeated and emptied. Afterwards of course, nap time. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: Shelly [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Tuesday, June 18, 2024, 04:53: pm Hi AV, With 7 kids in the house and all getting one large enema to clean them out about twice a month and often an enema for someone who wasn't feeling well there was hardly a night that somebody didn't get an enema. With only two bathrooms, stepmom didn't want to tie up a bathroom with a kid on the toilet to get their enema back out so we all got the enema on a bed in our bedroom and then put on a hospital toilet chair next to the bed. As I told you my enemas and those of my brother and sister started when we moved in to her house when I was late adolescent. Almost a week after we moved in I started a period and that's when she gave me my first ever enema. She said it would shorten and lessen the discomfort of my first days on my period. So, I always got an enema the night I started a period. For the enema, at least for mine, not sure about the other kids, I was told to lie on my left side and draw my right knee to my chest. After taking some of the bag she had me lie on my tummy and then finished the enema lying on my right side, staring at her and my enema bag. Hated looking at her giving me my enema and wishing the bag to hurry up and look empty so I would be done. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> Subject: Re: Hey Shelly Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Tuesday, June 18, 2024, 06:17: pm Shelly, So glad you responded. I remember you mentioned your brother who was younger and the stepmom’s daughter who was 16 helped give him his enemas. You also mentioned it got very loud in his bedroom and he looked very defeated and still upset afterwards for months of enemas. I can surely relate to that. Do you know how the daughter helped? Did she help hold him? Was his enemas giving differently than yours? How is he today? Thanks [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Tuesday, June 18, 2024, 07:33: pm Shelly, I can’t imagine 7 kids in the house. Are you still thinking about starting your boys on enemas? [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: Shelly [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, June 29, 2024, 05:51: pm Hi Av, We could often guess if it was somebody's enema night. Some of her older children would ask for their enema to be "tonight". One of the older brothers feigned being sick sometimes so he could get an enema because he hadn't had one for several days. But if nobody was asking for an enema she would announce usually while everyone was eating dinner, ironic, food in, poop out. I was so confused for years as I was living through her enemas why I sort of anticipated and sort of wanted her enema but at the same time just dreading getting on my bed and naked for her and feeling the water making me feel like I have to go so bad but have to hold it and take the whole bag. That was always the worst part of an enema feeling like I have to go and she is standing there being the cause that I feel like I have to go and knowing I feel like I have to go. Once she was gone and I was on the chair it felt so good if not sort of comforting to be by myself and releasing my enema. They always made me so tired and I slept so well after an enema. That part was sort of comforting to me in a way. Like Krissi said so many times it was hard to reconcile liking or at least anticipating your enema and dreading it at the same time. Unlike Krissi masturbating was never a part of my enemas. But when I did masturbate I wished I was giving one of the kids their enema. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: Krissi [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, June 29, 2024, 06:07: pm Hi AV, Well I don't want to be the one to cause this site to be cancelled but I would just say that there are thousands and thousands of children tonight that could benefit greatly from a nice warm enema. And, there are thousands and thousands of children that will be getting something inserted in their rectum by orders of a Dr. tonight. Mom's know best and this mom will be starting soon to be 6 year old on regular enemas like I got growing up. He had a suppository just a few weeks ago. Always over my knee, I didn't lock him in like Krissi does until I read how she does it. I always just laid them across my two legs because they were still so little but he is big enough now I bend him over my left leg and clamp him in with the right like Krissi says. Works so well. Total control of him. He knows not what an enema is so is first will be trouble free. Then we will see what his lever of cooperation is. Doesn't matter the locked and loaded technique is fool proof. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> [> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: Shelly [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, June 29, 2024, 06:11: pm You can tell I'm a student of Krissi's. I'm even using her name when I start a message. I wish she would come talk to us. Are you there Krissi. You taught me so much about myself. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, June 30, 2024, 03:01: am Hey Shelly, Please return often. I check this page regularly. Yes, I miss Krissi and her messages as well. I guess with your permission, it will be you and me now. Please keep posting about your 6 year old. Yes, it will be interesting to read his reaction of his first enema. I am so glad to hear you plan to use the lock and loaded knee position. Your son will not know what to expect. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> [> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, June 30, 2024, 07:24: am Shelly, Sounds like you experimented with the lock and loaded leg lock on your 6 year old I guess to see how to do it and see how much control you will have. Sounds like you think it will work even with him kicking and flinging his arms. Like you said it is fool proof and you will be in control. I can remember the other 6 year old krissi helped the mom with, krissi called it the “awe and shock” method the first time an enema is given. In other words, regardless how the child acts or responds the enema is going to be given. Your 6 year old is in for a surprise and a nice cleaning out. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: Sue (UK) [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Tuesday, July 09, 2024, 03:07: am It may be the "awe and shock" method, butt it's also the most practical one - the kids are not going to accept it and co-operate, and it's reasonable that they should view suppositories and enemas as a "punishment" for their mostly behavioral/self-induced constipation. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> [> [> Subject: Re: To Sue Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Tuesday, July 09, 2024, 06:43: am Sue, I agree. There is no other way to describe that initial enema experience. Basically, the child doesn’t know what is going to happen and how it is going to feel. It is a mixture of fear and wondering what is happening to an immediate sudden upsetting surprising event as the tip or nozzle is inserted and warm soapy water enters their bottom. As you mentioned, they are not going to be willing to accept it co-operate in taken it. I actually think for Shelly, planning to put her son over her knee and lock him in place with the other as it seems that she has already experimented on him to see if she can do it and she has decided she will have control of him so when the day does come for his first enema, the lock and loaded knee and awe and shock methods are going to give him a nice cleaning out without any resistance. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: sse4fun [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, June 29, 2024, 08:16: pm There is no question that some open discussion and interaction with others, who share many of the experiences of our past, can be quite enlightening and therapeutic. I too, have discovered it quite therapeutic to peruse and post on the various sites and forums. My experiences back in the 50'5, 60's, and 70's are not dissimilar to many of yours. It wasn't until well into adulthood that I concluded that my affection for enemas and the equipment, was not so weird and also in common with others. Moms and grandmas of the day were well versed and not shy about using enemas for us kids, and even themselves. Our pediatrician, and their doctor, were strong proponents of regular BM's, and quick action with the enema bag or bulb to get things back on track. It isn't any wonder that those simple old fashioned procedures and pleasures are still valid today! [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> [> Subject: Re: Therapy Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, June 30, 2024, 03:21: am Hey sse4fun, Yes, writing for me is therapeutic. It has helped over the years to get out what I was feeling and thinking and experiencing. It wasn’t until after mom stopped giving me enemas that I started giving them to myself. Strange to think about it because like i posted so many times, i was a fighter of enemas, literally, i would swing kick and punch but my butt paid for it once i was over mom’s lap. But like i said as well, that bulb and my butt had a relationship i could not break. I believed it smiled at me everytime i saw it on the sink counter. I started sneaking the bulb in during my bathtime. My enemas were not the same, effective but not the same, i did not know mom’s formula or what she was using in that jar to make the solution. I looked and looked. She made a soapy water that was effective at stopping me from fighting the urges and effective at cleaning me out completely. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy The emotional one to write Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, June 30, 2024, 04:20: am This post is probably the most difficult to write but I need to write as much of this as I can remember for at least therapy sake. I would even rank this as perhaps one of the worst enemas i ever had which included a laxative tablet. Truth be told, i started writing this weeks ago but when it came time in this post i had to go to the bathroom, i stopped writing. I just recently decided to push myself through this for the sake of therapy. I needed this. Growing up, we had dogs and my uncle and my brothers would worm them with a large as your thumb tablet. Look like one of those large vitamins these days. They would hold the dog and my uncle would basically shove it down its throat. Well, one day all of us were outside playing, running around. I was probably 10-11 years old. Mom and dad were sitting outside as well. Mom called me over and told me to go inside to the refrigerator and on the top shelf there was some medicine for me to take. I went and on the top shelf there was sitting on this paper towel a large pill that looked similar to one of those dog worm tablets from my uncle. I remember growing up everyone use to say because i was thin that perhaps i had a tape worm and a good worming would fatten me up. And that is exactly what i thought when I saw that pill that mom was trying to worm me. I decided to go back outside instead and continue to play. Mom eventually called me back over and asked me if i took my medicine and i said “no.” She told me it would help me use the bathroom and I would not have to get enemas. I wasn’t interested in getting enemas or taking medicine to make me go. In my mind i still believed it was a dog wormer and I saw what it did to those dogs, made them poop a-lot. Later that evening my brothers were talking with me asking what mom was talking about. I told them about that large pill and it was medicine for me to go to the bathroom. They were trying to convince me to take it since i didn’t like enemas I could take a pill instead. I explained to them it wasn’t just the enema, it was the pain associated with going to poop. Mom came in with the pill about that time and wanted me to take it. I told her i was not and she threatened me with an enema instead. I told her i was not getting an enema either. She of course told me, “we will see about that young man”, and she left. My brothers knew it was about to not be good for me so they left our bedroom as I continued to play. Few minutes later my brothers returned and told me mom was going to give me a good cleaning out enema and they were to bring me to the bathroom. However, Mom came back in with that pill and a glass of water for one more try for me to take it. I was stubborn and willfully defiant. Mom told me then I would be getting an enema for my “grumpiness” and a good one at that. I didn’t care. She turned around and left as she told me to join her in the bathroom. My brothers each grabbed an arm and started taken me to the bathroom as I was twisting and turning. When we went into the bathroom I immediately noticed the bulb and jar of solution on the sink counter. Mom told me to undress as she was helping me as well. After my clothes was removed, Mom took me without hesitation and quickly laid me over her lap. My brothers took their positions taking my arms and legs. I started crying knowing i was probably going to get three bulbs and that was probably what mom meant when she said “a good one at that.” But I didn’t feel the bulb touch my bottom, instead mom grabbed my head as I was crying and shoved two fingers down my throat. I immediately felt that pill go down my throat as I was gagging and crying as mom held my bottom jaw open with her fingers down my throat. Mom told my brothers to let me up. I quickly stood and stared at mom as she handed me the glass of water and said, “drink it. Then put your clothes back on and join us upfront. Im going to watch you like a hawk. We will finish this enema later when you’re good and ready.” All I could do was stand and cry because the damage had been done. The pill was now inside of me and all I could do was wait. My brothers and mom left as I dressed. I joined them upfront in a few minutes as they were watching tv. No one said a word. I was fuming as I sit and waited. I could see mom’s eyes watching my every move. My brothers simply sit and grinned as they watched tv. I dont know, 45 minutes to an hour later, my stomach started turning. I could feel it working. I didnt know if i was going to be able to fight these urges or not but I was going to try. I would take deep breaths trying not to look so obvious. But I started shifting and moving slightly but not too much because I didn’t want my stomach to release. Mom got up and went to the kitchen and then to the back of the house and then came back up and sit down. Mom noticed me shifting and moving and slightly breathing deeply and said, “why don’t you come with me and let’s go to the bathroom so you can quit shifting and moving.” I got up and went to the bathroom and mom followed me. I went in and I immediately noticed the jar of solution and the enema bulb sitting on the sink. Even though my stomach was tore up with that tablet I had a pretty good idea where that enema would soon wind up. Mom didn’t disappoint. I didn’t get to nap that day. My stomach stayed active and mom followed it throughout the day with a fresh warm soapy enema. I would quickly sit and be forced to release what the tablet was doing to me and soon after mom would lift me and lay me over her lap and follow it with an enema. Let me add here, I was skinny for my age, thin and skinny. Oh did I cry. Yes. Begged. Explained I was empty. This was an all day event because my stomach didn’t allow me to get far from the toilet. Mom watched me like a hawk. Soon she would come in with a fresh bulb and leave it on the sink for me to look at. You could say she purged me really well that day. Her words, “we will see about that” was carried out. I thought during that time that would be the regular routine but I think mom didn’t like the multiple trips to the bathroom so I don’t ever remember taken that tablet again. When I turned 12, mom decided to stop giving me enemas. I would start sneaking them soon after. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - My brothers Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Wednesday, July 03, 2024, 07:33: am I was around 6-7 years old when mom started giving me enemas. I was a holder basically due to the pain associated with having a BM. I would fight the urges and so constipate myself basically making it harder and more painful for me to go. My brothers were 7-8 years older than me. So they were in their teens when I was given enemas. Maybe 13-14 at the time. Mom would use them to help her get me to the bathroom. I was a fighter of enemas and a runner as well. I resisted the best I could. As I got older as I mentioned mom would give my enemas after the evening bath since I was already in the bathroom and nude. My brothers were also called in to help mom hold me over her lap. One would take my arms and the other my legs. The reason why they were called in was I did a lot of resisting. I would reach back to cover my bottom or stop mom from putting the enema in me. I would kick my feet wildly and wiggle my bottom to stop mom from reaching the target. I did everything I could do. I would reach back and grab her hand. I would reach to take the enema out if it was put in me. Of course there were a lot of “No, Stop, Don’t” from me as well as mom telling me to behave and settle down. When she had enough she would call my brothers in and of course the No got louder. They would come in and take their places taking my arms and legs. I of course tried to resist that as well but lost that battle. Mom would many times tear my bare bottom up with her hand. She would wear me out popping me as my brothers held tight. Before I knew it she would have the enema in hand and putting it inside me and squeezing it. I would react still trying to reach back still trying to kick but my brothers held strong. My bottom was in the right location and mom had full access to it. All i could do was cry and breath deeply as she squeezed the soapy solution into me. I would turn my head and watch her fill the second bulb and listen to the suction of the soap. My “get it out! get it out! I gotta go” cry was my trademark. My brothers held my arms and legs as I would continue to try to reach back and kick but no chance. Mom always gave me three bulbs when my brothers were called in and always skimmed from the top of the water to gather the suds in that third bulb. Mom took full advantage of having my brothers in there tearing my bottom up on the outside and then on the inside. She made sure on those days she cleaned me out as my brothers held on. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - oh the soap Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Thursday, July 04, 2024, 09:35: pm One thing I can vividly remember, it’s crazy after all these years, I can vividly remember how soapy and open the first enema made me. Amazing how I could sit on that toilet for as long as mom would allow doing everything I could do but without nothing, no results, completely stopped up. But over mom’s lap I would go and the first 8oz bulb, I could feel the tip perishing its way in and mom squeezing the soapy solution into me. Coated me good as while with soap that the second bulb had no problem going in. I was open and a diesel truck probably could drive on in to me. When that second bulb touched me I could feel the amount of soap all on me and how easy it went in. Mom would squeeze and I would feel the warm, very warm soapy water enter me as I was trying to hold the solution in me but at the same time beg and cry for her to finish to let me up so I could go. When I would release in the toilet, there was so much soapy water that I was in no way able to hold the baseball bat that was making its way out like a freight train. Mom also had a 16 ounce mason jar she would bring in with her filled with more warm soapy water. After she filled the bulb I can remember her shaking it to stir the soap up as I heard the water inside of it. She made sure the water was soapy and she collected the soap suds up through the sucking bulb. She was always determined to clean me out and clean me well. She would either say as she was cleaning my dirty underwear in the sink, “after I clean these out, I am cleaning you out” or she would say, “After I wash these out, I am washing you out.” No one had to tell me what that meant, I knew an enema, a good soapy enema was in my soon future. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - sneaky enema not so sneaky Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, July 07, 2024, 06:20: am Around twelve years old, prior to going into 7th grade, I was still pooping in my pants, still fighting the urges, and still receiving enemas from mom. She eventually told me that summer prior to 7th grade, “if you want to go into junior high and still be pooping in your pants, go ahead.” And soon after that she stops giving me enemas. Prior to her officially stopping though, I don’t know what makes anyone do this, but I felt like I could not go without an enema. So one evening I snuck into the kitchen and found the enema bulb inside one of the bottom cabinets sitting inside the mason jar. The cabinet made a noise when open so I had to be very very quiet about opening it and putting my hand in the cabinet. I would reach in and put my hand inside the jar. To get the enema bulb and my hand out I had to squeeze the bulb. Just the thought of doing that. I went to the bathroom and had to make my own soapy water mix. I had the bulb sitting on the floor and I was basically going to lay over the top of the toilet and give myself the enema. About that time, dad came to the door telling me it was an emergency, he had to go to the bathroom, to hurry. I quickly lifted the lid, flushed the toilet, washed my hands and left. As I walked out, dad quickly walked in. I went and waited for him to finish. As he came out, few minutes later I walked back in. My jaw dropped. I forgot about the enema on the floor. I was thinking there was no way Dad could have missed it. He didn’t say anything though. I quickly was done with this idea of giving myself an enema. My heart was racing. I squeezed the bulb into the sink and washed it. I now had to return it back into the cabinet. Later, I did get that enema that evening after my bath, but at the hands of mom. She came in and sit it on the sink counter as I was in the tub and turned and left. I don’t know if dad said anything to her or not. When she returned, I was sitting on the toilet trying to go. Mom didn’t say a word, she simply took my arm, lifted me, lowered the toilet lid, and set down. It was just enema business that night as i went over her lap and received two good soapy enemas as I breathed and cried for her to hurry, “I gotta go! I gotta go!” That was one of the last enemas I received from mom. Soon after I was sneaking the enema in during bath time. The only difference was I didn’t know mom’s solution mix and I had to make my own. I would usually sneak a disposable plastic cup in with me to use. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - the mental battle as well Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Wednesday, July 10, 2024, 04:23: am Reflecting back to what was going through my mind as I set on the toilet after given an enema by mom. I can vividly remember thinking about how I was going to release the enema solution without it causing me pain. Remember, the whole point of me holding was due to the pain relating to having a BM. So here I am being forced on the toilet against my will with warm soapy water now in me. There were times I would be crying as well. I just experienced something I did not want. Now I knew I wasn’t going to be able to fight these urges for long but I never felt safe enough to just release. I always held on even after crying “i gotta go i gotta go” over mom’s lap. It was almost like i was still trying to have some control of an uncomfortable situation. I thought I could release a little warm soapy water at a time and eventually empty the warm soapy water out of me and still win this battle without actually having a BM. Never worked. I did relax enough for some warm soapy water to come out but two things were happening that at my young immature age I didn’t realize. One, I was basically coating myself with the warm soapy water making a slippery runway for this 747. Two, the longer I held it, the longer time it had to work on me and soften the BM. The enema wasn’t just soapy water, it was warm soapy warm. Never hot, but very very warm. So that warm mixture of soapy water was softening the BM the longer I held it fighting against my every will of wanting to not release it. So I was really doing the work for the enema and doing mom a favor and not even realizing it at the time. After maybe a couple of releases of warm soapy water, the BM dropped lower into my colon and was ready to be released and I was losing control of releasing any more warm soapy water without the BM coming out. I had to simply take a deep breath and I was expecting pain and nothing else. But that is not what happened. I took a deep breath, gripped the side of the toilet, lifted my legs out, and relaxed to release what was already making its way out of me because I had lost control. Everything in me, the rest of the warm soapy water first came out, then the baseball bat BM like a freight train. I was in this shock mode of releasing my breath, still gripping the toilet, body lifted and feet out, as everything in me just came flowing out. When I lowered myself down, I was breathing for air because it was so traumatic as I literally felt the BM move through my colon and out of me like a snake. It always completely emptied me. Mom always stayed standing by the sink cleaning up waiting and always said, “That wasn’t so bad was it?” I always wanted to say, “yes, yes it was bad.” But I dared not give her another reason to put me back over her lap. I wanted this all over. I can remember my stomach was completely empty and I could suck my stomach in like it was touching my backbone. I was taking deep breaths trying to catch my breath. I was also always so exhausted that a nap was in my near future afterwards. Enemas for me just wasn’t a physical battle with mom and with my body but a mental battle with my thoughts that I always lost. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - That bulb - bottom relationship Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Friday, July 12, 2024, 03:58: am All of this writing has been really good therapy for me. I know many probably think I have a mental issue but the truth is there is no doubt I was traumatized with all I went through with mom’s soapy enemas to my brothers holding me to even all the mental imaginations I had with the bulb. Amazing how young I was and believed that bulb was smiling at me and how i always believed that bulb and my bottom had a relationship I was always trying to break up. And then one day there I was sneaking the bulb and approving of this bond. Let me take a moment to reflect. Mom would bring the bulb and a mason jar into the bathroom during my bath. The mason jar was full of warm soapy water and the bulb was also full and ready to go. Mom would tell me to get out and try to go and she would soon return. I would sit for a minute and stare at the bulb believing it was smiling back. I always believed the bulb knew regardless of what I did or tried, it was going to have its way and have its relationship with my bottom with the help of mom and sometimes my brothers. I would get out and sit on the toilet and try to go. Moments later mom would enter. From ages 5 to 12 years old, at least once a week, sometimes more, I put up a losing battle as that bulb was able to shoot its warm soapy water right into me. It smiled and had a good time as it watched me struggle releasing the warm soapy water and BM as mom washed and cleaned it up since its job was done until next time. I always believed as well that the bulb’s home was in my bottom not in that mason jar. The mental battle was real not wanting that bulb in me even though my bottom looked forward to it. Many a tears, crying, pleading, begging, swinging the arms, reaching back, kicking the feet, struggling and resisting all to no avail as that bulb watched from that sink counter smiling simply waiting for mom to get me under control or my brothers to be called in. When I was over mom’s lap finally and mom reached for the bulb, it beamed with joy. As it was gleaming, I was becoming lively as well. Oh, as the soapy tip touched and made its way, I could eventually feel the bulb itself made flush contact to my skin letting me know it was in all the way. Mom squeezed the bulb and the bulb released its warm soapy water so radiantly inside of me, all I knew in my mind was I did not want it inside of me. I had a lot of cries, “get it out! get it out! That’s enough!” If I could, I reached back or kicked my feet. The bulb just smiled knowing its job wasnt done and there was more to come. That bulb made sure it sucked that warm soapy water and suds up on that second fill from the jar. Oh did I cry as it easily made its return to its favorite home and released it’s warm soapy water, “I gotta go! I gotta go! Let me up! I gotta go.” The bulb always had that good satisfied feeling of a job well done when it was all over and done letting me know it was in charge and can and will with pleasure go into my bottom when needed. And now at 12 years old, I am sneaking that bulb believing I can’t have a BM without it. My mind finally giving in to that bulb-bottom relationship that was always meant to be. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - The Heartbeat racing Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, July 13, 2024, 09:48: am After mom decided to stop giving me enemas at around 12 years old, I can’t explain it, but I felt like I could not have a BM without an enema. On an evening when bath time would come, I would sneak the enema bulb in with me to the bathroom. I really wish i could go back to that first time memory of sneaking that bulb. But it really doesn’t matter, sneaking it was all the same. It never got easier. How I determined what day of the week to give myself an enema was based on when I had urges to go. Just like before, when I was sent to the bathroom by mom and an enema was prepared for me. So now, when I felt urges, I decided that evening I would give myself an enema. This helped with me not getting caught fighting the urges or pooping in my pants if I keep myself cleaned out regularly myself. The one thing I remember first and foremost was my heart rate. The moment I decided that evening I was going to give myself an enema and to get the bulb, my heart raced. The bulb was in one of the bottom cabinets in the kitchen inside of the mason jar. The cabinet door was tight and always made a popping noise and then squeaked as it was opened. Not only that, the kitchen was right off of the living room where mom and dad were sitting watching tv. There was no going back, the drive of needing to poop and needing an enema to help me and getting the bulb were overtaking me, my heart was pounding. I tried to gently open the cabinet so the pop would not be so loud. I never opened the cabinet all the way, just enough to get my hand in. All I had to do was feel around for the mason jar and get the bulb out. Since mom was no longer using it, it should be in the same location. I was already in my pj’s and the reason why was so when I got the bulb out I could quickly put it against my hip of my body inside my pj’s and make my way to the bathroom quickly unless my pj’s had a pocket and it would go in there. There was never an evening/night that I wasn’t afraid of getting caught. I could not see mom or dad from the kitchen. All they had to do was walk in on me as i was sitting on the floor with my hand in the cabinet caught like a kid in a cookie jar. There were nights mom would hear the cabinet pop, now every cabinet basically popped when opened so this cabinet wasn’t unique. She would ask if that was me and what I was doing? I would always answer with something like “getting a glass” and then I would turn the water on to make her think I was getting some water. Or I would simply say, “looking around.” My heart would pound faster thinking she would walk in any minute. I would always pause and wait and then look to see where they were. Now, there were times, they would go to bed early, which made getting the bulb somewhat easier but still had that popping noise and mom and dad’s room was the first room down the hall from the kitchen across from the bathroom. With the popping noise out of way and the cabinet slightly open enough to simply slide my arm in, it was time to find and get the bulb out. The bulb wasn’t easy. Oh my, the feel and touching the rubber bulb in the mason jar. I always had to squeeze the bulb slightly to get my hand and the bulb out of the jar. Doing that gave me butterflies in my stomach. That feeling of touching and squeezing the very thing I fought for years and I was sneaking it to use it. I would reach in the cabinet, quietly but quickly as possible, feel around, locate the jar, and then reach in and squeeze the bulb. I would quickly get the bulb out and put it in my pj’s. My heart was racing always. The fear of getting caught plus even the idea of not going back but being driven by this desire of wanting this enema pushed me. I never closed the cabinet all the way because it made a popping noise even when closing plus it would be easier to put the enema back. I would always make the announcement I was going to go take a bath once I had the bulb in my pocket. At the beginning, I did not have any foresight what I was going to do or how I was going to prepare the enema once I got it in the bathroom. There I was standing in the bathroom with the bulb in hand. I only knew it was warm soapy water. I would look under the sink in the cabinet for anything to put water in, a bowl, a cup, any container to use. Through time, I would bring a plastic disposable cup and put it under the sink for use. When mom was giving me enemas, I never was allowed to lock the door so she could come in at anytime with the enema. And now here I was. I always now locked the door to make sure no one walked in on me and caught me with this enema. That would be the last thing I needed to hear would be mom saying, “Oh you want an enema?, you need an enema?, well let’s prepare you a nice soapy one to take.” That was the last thing I wanted was one of mom’s enemas so I made sure I locked the door. As the water was running in the tub, I would lather the soap and make soapy water in the tub. Later, I had the cup to use. I would gather some of the warm soapy bath water from the tub and faucet and place it in a container I found. I would continue to add soap to the water in the container. I would even squeeze some of the warm soapy water in the bulb and prepare the first one to be ready for use. I was setting the same scene as mom. I would place the container, later the cup, and the bulb on the sink counter. Then I would take my bath. And just like when mom would bring the bulb in and place it on the counter and leave, I would sit in the tub and stare at the bulb as I was taking my bath. Still imagining it was smiling back at me. I can remember just allowing my mind to wonder and think as I was anticipating this enema moment every time I gave myself an enema during bath time. The very thing I fought for years week after week, I was now in control and was about to start using on myself. I would think about how I thought that bulb and my bottom had a relationship I could not break. And here I was giving in and now approving of this relationship to continue. I would imagine how that bulb with that warm soapy water inside of it would soon be releasing that warm soapy water inside of me . That bulb was now happy and soon be having that relationship with my bottom. My heart raced throughout the whole process. I would place the bulb and container on the floor in a location where I could easily be able to give myself an enema and then start the draining of the water out of the tub, My enemas were not mom’s enemas. I didn’t know her mixture other than it was soapy. So here I go. Laying on the toilet lid over the toilet just as if I was laying over mom’s lap. Through time I would even reenact myself kicking and reaching back as I gave myself the enema. Amazing how this was all mental and imagination as I laid over the toilet. I remember laying over the toilet and feeling the piercing of the tip as I pushed it inside of myself. I pushed it in until the bulb itself touched my bottom skin just like mom would do when she was giving me one to let me know it was all the way in. I would pause for a moment and think about that bulb - bottom relationship and how that bulb must feel right now back in its home all full and ready, oh it is ready and waiting and waiting. Then that moment would come when I would squeeze that rubber between my thumb and finger and then place all my fingers on it and keep squeezing as I felt the warm soapy water enter me. I would imagine myself crying out, “get it out! Get it out! I gotta go!” as I would take a deep breath to allow the water to go deeper. I would slowly remove the bulb feeling the tip gently come out. I would then position myself to be able to slowly refill the bulb and imagine myself crying out “hurry! hurry! I gotta go!” as I would dip the bulb into the container. I would watch like before and listen as the bulb sucked the soapy water up and then I would skim the top and suck some suds. The feel of that tip from the second bulb and how easily it went inside of me without any difficulty. I would wait again and think about that bulb - bottom relationship. Then imagine that bulb smiling as I would squeeze the rubber and feel the solution enter. Oh did I ever imagine crying out again, “let me up! I gotta go! Let me up!” as the warm soapy water with the suds coated my insides. There were times when I would imagine my brothers were holding me and I needed a third bulb. My my my, did the bulb suck the suds on that third bulb. It was in heaven being dipped wanting so bad to suck all that warm soapy water up and put it in my bottom. The feel of that third bulb caused fireworks to go off as the tip entered my really soapy bottom so easily. I would imagine once again that bulb smiling from ear to ear as I squeezed and it released more warm soapy water into me. I imagined crying even louder “i gotta go! I gotta go! Let me up!” I held the bulb longer in my bottom on that third bulb to let that bulb bottom relationship to last as i lay and held the solution. I always made sure I took two bulbs at least just like mom did to me plus made sure I had suds at the top to suck of the water to put into the bulb as well. I did all of this during the draining of the tub to drown out any noise even as I was releasing the enema so no one could hear anything but the draining of the tub. Since I had urges earlier in the day, I knew regardless if it wasn’t mom’s enema, it was still warm soapy water and still going to help. When I say, my heart raced, it raced the whole time I was laying over the toilet giving myself the enema. There was always this fear at the beginning when I first started giving myself enemas, mom would somehow walk in even though I knew the door was locked. Honestly, I would reenact everything. I would lay over the toilet longer and then imagining crying out, “I gotta go! I gotta go! Let me up! I gotta go!” Then I would get up, lift the lid and sit down. I would place the bulb on the sink counter for it to smile just like before and watch me release. I would hold the enema inside of me and then do what I always did. I would release a little at a time and then eventually grip the side of the toilet, lift myself and my legs but this time I would push as the rest of the warm soapy water came out followed by a good BM as I breathed and controlled my heart rate. I would turn and look at the bulb and I would imagine mom saying, “That wasn’t so bad was it?” And I would smile this time at the bulb thinking how bad it wasn’t since I was now in control. Truth is, these enemas I was now giving me was helping me have an enjoyable BM. I was now using the bathroom like mom wanted me to do and know it wasn’t so bad. I would clean up and clean the bulb really well. And then the time would come to say goodbye to the bulb until next time and return the bulb back to its “second home” inside the mason jar inside the cabinet. If mom and dad did not go to bed early, there I was again sneaking it back to the kitchen. Heart racing. Good news though I didn’t have to worry about popping the cabinet, just putting my hand in with the bulb and trying to quickly drop it inside the jar. Afterwards I would announce I was going to bed. On those enema nights, I slept very good as I took deep breaths, relaxing, getting my heart rate back to normal on a well cleaned out empty colon that I was now in control of having. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - Emotional intimate moment Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, July 14, 2024, 06:38: am The beginning of my enema journey started at 12 years old after mom decided to stop giving me enemas, week after week, urge after urge, heart racing after heart racing, and enema after enema continued. After one year, around 13 years old, I entered into a new journey, a new experience, a new heart racing that would last for even more years and took the enema bulb - bottom relationship to a whole new level. It all started like any other enema bath night. Still doing everything with the bulb on the sink counter smiling to feeling the piercing of the tip to the now wonderful feeling of the warm soapy water in me, to imagining me crying out all like before in all of my other evenings. But one enema evening something changed. I was lying over the toilet as I had done often slowly squeezing the second bulb into me when my little 13 year old solider guy touched the side of the toilet and came to attention and saluted. As I was finishing squeezing the second bulb into me, my body pressed against the toilet and the soldier guy became activated. I was so immature and lived a basic simple isolated life and something was happening. My soldier guy was shooting and all this creamy stuff was hitting the floor next to the toilet. I immediately jumped up and lifted the lid and let the rest go into the toilet. I could not stop it. I was now touching myself and it felt wonderful. My heart raced faster but I was scared. I didn’t know what this was shooting out of my pee hole. I knew I was in trouble. I sit down to release the enema and went through my motions as my solider guy finished up and started going back to sleep as I pushed the BM out. I didn’t know anything but I knew that feeling and those emotions I enjoyed. But what was it? Was something now wrong with me? Was I sick? Was it cancer? I thought I was going to have to tell mom and dad. I thought I was going to have to go to the hospital. The doctor would expose me and mom would know I was giving myself an enema and enemas through the last year. I would be in trouble. How was I going to tell mom and dad? I couldn’t. Everything looks ok. I feel ok. I feel great. Im more tired. Whatever that was wore me out in a good way. I checked my solider guy. He looked ok. He was tired as well. Had him a good workout. I cleaned everything up. I would wait and see what happens to me. During that time, war on drugs was big and encouraging parents to have “the talk” with your kids. So, there was this weekly tv show, a hospital drama show that I loved to watch. In this episode this boy was in the hospital because of cancer. He had a beautiful female nurse. He would go into the closet often. One day, his female nurse was absent and a male nurse came in and caught the boy in the closet. The boy was mad and they went through the episode with the boy denying anything wrong in the closet and was mad at the male nurse. Eventually the male nurse got the boy to tell him what was going on. The boy told him he was releasing “his cancer.” The male nurse basically explained in a subtle general way what was really happening and it had nothing to do with his cancer and it was all natural and ok. The episode basically was opening the door and giving the parents the opportunity to have “the talk.” I got some basic information. All I knew was what was happening to me was not cancer, all natural, and ok. Well, I wanted to experience it again then. I wanted to control when I did this. I decided to use some toilet paper on the floor to catch the mess for easy clean up. I set the environment up. Did everything I always did on every enema night. This night was different though. Was I going to be able to carry this out and be able to get my little solider guy to stand to attention and salute. Was that going to work? During the enema time, I would now make myself intimate with the enema. My solider guy did activate during the second bulb. I helped it by slightly pressing against the toilet. The enema was still in me. My bottom squeezed the bulb and bulb tip. The bulb - bottom relationship moved to bottom - bulb relationship. My bottom felt like it was kissing the bulb. I could only imagine how that bulb felt so happy being cuddled by my bottom. My solider guy saluted even more and shot. Oh my goodness! I gave in to all the emotions. Craziness. There I was lying over the toilet doing what I was doing. I did not want to release the enema, not yet. I wanted my little soldier guy to finish this time all the way. There I was, a 13 year old body, experiencing something new and enjoyable. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. The bulb wiggled and jiggled. My toes curled. My little solider guy shot and shot and shot again and again. I wanted to freeze this moment. I slowly lifted myself with my arms as my solider guy continued, as the bulb held tight, as my toes continued. My eyes glazed and closed. I begin to imagine how that bulb felt. My bottom felt wonderful. Their bond was sealed and taken to an all new high. Yes, that’s what it was. I was high. I had taken a drug like we talked about in health class. I wanted to continue this high again and again. My solider guy finished. I laid my head on the cold floor and closed my eyes and took a deep breath to control my breathing and heart beat. I finally reached and gripped the bulb. It was tight in my bottom. My bottom held it even though I still had the enema in me. I stood and sit on the toilet to release as I continued to feel all the emotions in my body as my solider guy rested. I cleaned up everything. My mind raced for a few minutes in bed as I was controlling my heart racing. I wanted to release the enema first next time and then lay back over the toilet. So that is what I did. I could not wait until my next urge. I wanted to do it the next night. Yes, the next night I would release the enema first and then lay back over the toilet so I could completely give in to all of these emotions and feelings without worrying about the enema in me. This was going to be messy but that desire was driving me. The next night, another bath, another enema. It was time. I even dipped the tip of the bulb back into the warm soapy water. I repositioned myself back over the toilet. Made sure my little solider guy was over the target of the tissue. And all over again. After my little solider guy finished, relaxed, and went to sleep, I would lay my head on the cold floor and relax as well. I wanted to experience it all. Because I laid back over the toilet soon after releasing, I had to help hold the bulb for a few minutes until my bottom gripped it tight. Everything, the toes curling, the eyes rolling, the bulb wiggling. The high, not the same as before but I understood that from health class when we discussed drugs. This was my drug. I wanted to experience this not just once a week, not just urge moments but every night. Yes, my heart raced. Yes, every night would be bath enema night. Yes, little solider guy, every night you standing to attention and saluting. Reaching back and touching the bulb, it was so tight in my bottom. I took a moment and rubbed the bulb like I was letting it know it was ok. It was happy. I imagined the bulb knew. It was waiting on my mind to completely approve of this bond. It was no longer bulb bottom but bottom bulb relationship. My bottom wanted the bulb. My mind wanted my bottom to want the bulb. As I rubbed the bulb with my fingers, I wanted to squeeze it so bad. Wait? Could my bottom handle a fourth bulb? Could I eventually empty all the warm soapy water from the cup container into my bottom? I wanted to so badly to squeeze that tight bulb a fourth time in my bottom. Could I handle it. I knew the bulb could handle it. It would be in bottom heaven if it got squeezed after my rubbing and my bottom tightly holding it plus doing so would change my enema bulb life forever. My mind would give in and approve of those feelings of more warm soapy water shooting into me by a tight enema bulb during that emotional intimate moment with my bottom. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - The early spankings Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, July 27, 2024, 06:27: am Going back to my younger years between 8 - 10 years of age, not only did I receive many enemas but I received many spankings. During those early years, sometimes mom would have the enema already placed on the sink counter and either send me to the bathroom or take me. She would always give me a chance to produce to no avail of course, and then she would completely bare me, pants and underwear would come off. I would sometimes put up a struggle not wanting to remove my clothes or resist from allowing my clothes to be removed. Mom of course would pop my bottom with her hand a couple of times telling me “remove them! Get them clothes off.” I would be trying to avoid being popped but crying as I’m removing my clothes. There were times I would really avoid the pops by swatting back at her hands trying to stop her from swatting me. That of course was a no no. Mom would grab one of my arms and at the same time be yanking at my clothes to get them off my legs telling me, “step out! Step out of them!” Now, there were a few times where my brothers were even called in to help with this matter. Of course, I never liked my brothers coming in and helping mom at all for any reason. For me, that meant this situation was about to get really serious and I was about to be controlled. There were a lot of crying, begging, pleading, tears, just trying to have more time on the toilet myself and of course trying to avoid that enema. Yes, that enema sitting on that sink counter watching and waiting, yes, waiting for that moment but not only waiting but smiling for when I was finally over mom’s lap, and my bottom was in the right position, that enema filled and ready on call to respond and have that bulb bottom relationship. But before any of that, something else had to happen, a spanking. Those times my brothers were called in to help with the clothes, I was quickly placed over mom’s lap still trying to kick and swing my arms. One brother had my legs and him and mom were removing my pants and underwear and kicking surely wasn’t helping me as I was helping them kick them off. The other brother held my arms from reaching back. Once naked and in position, mom took full advantage with swats after swats on my bare cheeks. Pop after pop, rapid pops back to back on one cheek and then move to the other the same and then alternate back and forth for a while than back to one cheek only firing it up. Yes, fire, hot fire, as my cheeks were warmed up and changed colors to fire engine red as I was making the siren noise for the fire truck to arrive as mom was striking the match to my bottom with those swats. Mom continued to raise her hand up and bring it down as hard as she could on every swat. The result was me crying out loud with every swat on my bottom and jerking on mom’s lap, trying to escape the impact of each swat. Didn’t take long until my legs were trying to kick, as mom was landing every swat evenly on every inch of my bottom especially my sitting area. I was bawling every time mom swatted. I was trying to twist and squirm and kick my legs, trying to free myself, but my brothers were strong and had me secure and pinned in place. I was unable to escape those swats that were setting my cheeks on fire. After a while I zoned and my whole world concentrated on nothing else except my burning bottom as it received fiery blows upon it. And then something changed. Oh, water came, but in the form of an enema, to warm up the inside of my bottom. Could not stop it. Could not squeeze my cheeks with the intense flames a blazing on each one. I felt the tip and then the flush of the bulb touching my skin letting me know it was all the way in and then next came the squeeze. I felt the warm soapy water release into me as I lifted my head and cried even louder knowing that bulb would be smiling sucking that soapy water from that jar for the second time around coming. Taking my mind off my fireball cheeks to the inside of my cheeks as it was now getting warmed up. I was sure that bulb was smiling as it comforted my bottom as it begin the bulb bottom relationship. Afterwards, I quickly discovered the swats did their work when I tried to sit down on the toilet and stood up again fast. It was very uncomfortable to sit down. Following a spanking during those years, may have been where gripping the side of the toilet and lifting myself up stretching my legs out came from as it always seemed to help make the locomotive baseball bat flow out better. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapeutic thoughts over all Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, August 03, 2024, 10:24: pm Wow! I have written so much the last few weeks/months and honestly I have been writing on my enema experiences for over 20 years on different forums sharing with others. To me, all of this is therapeutic being able to write about something that for me was so traumatic due to how my mom handled it. Yes, it was only an 8 to 10 ounce bulb she was using and I am so thankful she wasn’t using an enema bag like so many others have wrote about or even one of those retention nozzles. Mom didn’t take the time to teach or explain the enema. Her mind set was “if you refuse to sit on the toilet and go, I will make you sit and go.” And that was how it was. She introduced the enema at an early age, 5-6 years old. Now I was potty trained and all but I just hated the pain associated with having a BM so I became a holder. I would hold until I could not hold anymore and as a result I pooped in my pants. I think constipation was a favor as well, eating the wrong foods and all. Mom’s mind set was also that once the enema was made, it was going to be used. No amount of anything was going to stop that from happening. I shed many a tear, crying, pleading, begging, resisting, fighting, swinging my arms, kicking my feet, you name it, I was doing it. Didn’t do any good. As I have wrote so many times, my brothers, who were 7-8-9 years older than me, helped mom hold me. I looked at all of this as punishment. Amazing after so many years, 40 years you can say now, I can still remember laying over mom’s lap, reaching back to cover my bottom, or stop mom from putting the tip of the bulb in my bottom, or try to remove the bulb after it was inserted. I can remember kicking my feet wildly. Being popped on my bottom. Mom was old school. If I put up to much of a struggle, my brothers were called in. I cried. Crying was a part of my enema experience. “Get it out! Get it out! I gotta go! That’s enough!” was my cry. My brothers would later reenact and mock me and how I responded getting the enema. All I know is one day mom decided to give me an enema and start me on this weekly journey of if I didn’t sit and produce a BM, she was going to make me sit and produce a BM. Amazing how I imagined that bulb was smiling at me and I did believe the home for that bulb was not in that mason jar but its home was my bottom and it enjoyed every second and every opportunity it got to let me know it was in control and I wasn’t. It sit on that sink counter waiting and watching and smiling as I put up a struggle and it gleamed with joy once I was over mom’s lap and under control as it made its way inside of me releasing that warm soapy water into my bowels. I lost that battle everytime. For 7-8 years, weekly, I received an enema or enemas. I have read on other forms how some parents have taken control of their child’s bowel movements by cleaning them completely out by giving them daily enemas. The child starts his morning off with three enemas so the parents don’t have to worry about if the child had a BM, because they will be cleaned out for the day until the next morning starting the routine all over. I can only imagine what that child is going through. You know I write about my experience but I can honestly say this, I wasn’t sick like so many other children. Experts say keeping that colon clean and moving helps fight sicknesses. And I can say I wasn’t a sick child growing up. I am thankful I am able to write about my experiences because I have learned from so many others that I am not alone. So many of us have similar experiences or stories to share. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - Health Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, September 07, 2024, 06:16: am I am a supporter of keeping the colon cleaned out on a regular basis helps with health. I have read post from parents who use an enema if their child has flu like symptoms such as fever and/or upset stomach. I know for me, I was hardly at all sick growing up. Even though I hated mom’s enemas, she keep me cleaned out and so nothing negative was able to get ahold of my body. And I continued the enemas years after mom stopped. So, I am a supporter of parents given their child an enema to help clean those impurities out of the system. This is debatable but I also am a supporter that enemas help with bed wetting. I know for me, soon after an enema, I peed like never before. I had so much urine inside of me. On another post, I remember mentioning to a mom if she would use and recite with her son, “everytime I pee in the bed, I will receive an enema” and as soon as she says enema and he repeats it, push the nozzle in and release the water. She gave regular weekly enemas and used that recital and when he peed in the bed. She came back a few months later and gave an update and said his bed wetting has dropped to once a month. Now a days, my bowels go on a regular basis and usually around the same time. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - Imaginary Friend Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Sunday, September 08, 2024, 08:55: pm Out of all of this therapeutic writing, I never mentioned I also had an imaginary friend named Johnny. All of these years, I am not sure what happen to Johnny. Strange to ask since he was imaginary but he was of much help when I was younger. The side of the toilet where the bolts are on one side anyway, is where Johnny stayed. He was responsible for helping open and close and help me control my bowels. Those moments where I would go into the bathroom and sit on the floor to fight the urges without getting caught is when I would speak to johnny. I would imagine the side of the toilet was like a control panel and the bolt was a knob johnny pushed. I would speak to him as I waited for mom to come into the bathroom with the bulb as I sit on the toilet. We would talk about helping me go and opening my colon and push the button and open the dam. Of course back during those days the enema controlled the show when it arrived. It would smile at me knowing and I would of course know as well. The dam would be open once the bulb bottom relationship would happen. Did anyone else have an imaginary friend that perhaps helped you during your enema? [ Post a Reply to This Message ]

[> Subject: Re: Therapy - foot to bottom relationship Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, September 28, 2024, 04:13: am Something else I vividly remember is when I needed to hold a strong BM I would kneel and press my foot against my bottom to help hold the BM and give me time to fight the urges and breath. There are a few general photos taken that are in old photo albums of me kneeing on my foot with others around maybe playing a game or something. The photos would take me back to that moment knowing a strong BM was happening and I was doing my best to breath and fight the urges without having a red face or even lose it in my pants. It didn’t matter, I’m sure that evening or the next evening the bulb was waiting on call on the sink counter smiling. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]