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Subject: Re: Therapy - sneaky enema not so sneaky Author: AV [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] Date Posted: Sunday, July 07, 2024, 06:20: am In reply to: AV 's message, "Therapy" on Friday, June 07, 2024, 08:28: 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. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

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[> 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 ]