ENEMAS - MY EARLY RECOLLECTIONS

If ever I failed to use the toilet regularly when I was a young child, then it was not very long before my Nanny wanted to know why. It never seemed to make any difference whatever I replied, because her response was always the same. "If nothing happens by tomorrow, then you know that Nanny will have to do something about it". My Nanny was a firm believer in the need for regular bowel movement, and liked to demonstrate her expertise with an enema syringe on a regular basis.

Sure enough, early the next morning she would put me on the toilet and then sit on the edge of the bath waiting for me to perform. I knew very well that if I didn't perform, I could be sure that she would stand up, smooth down her uniform, walk to the door and drop the latch. Then she would turn to me with a big smile on her face and say. "Now don't you worry your little head, Nanny knows just what you need".

My Nanny was a trained nurse and had an air of authority and resolve about her on such occasions, which made it futile to offer any pleas or excuses. Her announcement used to leave me with mixed feelings because although I was nervous about what she was planning, at the same time I could not help being strangely excited by the thought that there was no possible escape from what she had in store for me. Looking back, I feel sure that she must have been aware of this and perhaps even enjoyed building up the tension, because she always made me sit and watch whilst she carefully went about her preparations.

I knew from experience that, no matter what kind words she might say to me, she was determined to give me one of her 'Really Good Enemas', and there was no possibility that she would be satisfied with any half measures. I could never prevent a shiver of anticipation from running down my spine as I heard the rustle, and caught the unmistakable smell, of her soft rubber apron as she took it down from behind the bathroom door, slipped it over her head, and tied it behind her waist.

She would take a big enamel bowl from the cupboard below the sink and filling it with warm water. After testing the temperature of the water, she would place the bowl on the table together with a jar of Vaseline from the medicine cupboard and the tub of green soft-soap, which she kept especially for enemas. Finally she would open the drawer beneath the linen cupboard and take out 'Squirty' from where it lay stretched out underneath the towels. 'Squirty' was a bright red rubber Higginson syringe with a hard black nozzle at one end and a shiny metal valve at the other. She would usually push a soft rubber tube onto the end of the nozzle, but sometimes she would use a tube with an inflatable rubber bulb on the business end, and I would know then she was planning to give me one of her extra special cleanings out.

There was always something special about the tone of her voice, the smile on her face, and the way in which she smoothed the rubber apron over her lap which almost seemed to say "Now isn't this what both of us have been waiting for"?

I remember the cool and sensuous feel of her soft rubber apron pressing on my bare skin, and the smoothness of her hands and arms stroking my legs and back.

I remember hearing the lid of the Vaseline jar being removed, and flinching as a well-greased finger gently circled and then entered my bottom. She always carried out every action slowly and deliberately, which made me tremble even more with excitement. I felt her lubricated finger slowly twist and turn deep within me, producing incredible sensations before it was eventually withdrawn.

I remember listening to her quietly humming to herself as she smoothed a layer of Vaseline onto the rubber tube, and then pause to wipe her hands.

I remember feeling the firm pressure of her breast on my back as she leaned over me to adjust the position of the bowl, and then hearing the tinkle of the syringe being placed in it.

I remember the cheeks of my bottom being parted and a dribble of warm water running down between them before the slippery tube found its mark and was eased inside of me.

I remember the weight of my Nanny's arm resting along my back as she held the tube in place, and then the feeling of the water as it surged inside me with each of her slow but powerful squeezes of the bulb.

I remember that the whole sensation was incredibly arousing.

She usually gave me a series of three enemas. The first was a small volume of strong soap solution, but the second one was very much larger, flooding deep within me. When I inevitably wriggled and squirmed with cramp she would pause for a short while and massage my stomach before continuing.

I would be made to lie writhing, desperately holding it all inside me until she finally judged that it had sufficient time to do its work, before I was allowed to sit on the toilet and show her just how effective her treatment had been.

When I eventually stood up, feeling weak and relieved in every sense of the word, she would always say, "That feels much better now, doesn't it?"

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