| Subject: Re: Therapy |
Author:
AV
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Date Posted: Sunday, June 16, 2024, 06:08: am
In reply to:
AV
's message, "Therapy" on Friday, June 07, 2024, 08:28: 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.
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