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Subject: Re: Therapy - oh the soap


Author:
AV
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Date Posted: Thursday, July 04, 2024, 09:35: pm
In reply to: AV 's message, "Therapy" on Friday, June 07, 2024, 08:28: am

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.

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[> Subject: Re: Therapy - sneaky enema not so sneaky


Author:
AV
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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.

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