Author:
AV
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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.
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