Hi there, you fucking turds and turkish terrorists!
Rock on,
Rocks off.
And try this one on for size:
My first enemas as a child of 4 during later WWII, were given to me by my Irish farm lady Godmother Wava Baysinger who used her own red douche bulb enema syringe to help rid me of my farm gotten pin and inch worms with a solution made from vinegar and hot water. I can smell the hot water/vinegar solution in the old large white ceramic pitcher she always mixed for me to this day. The doctor recommended the following daily treatments for the worm infection illness delivered over and during a two week period, besides a daily bitter pill regimen. I had two enema sessions each day, one in the early morning and one in the evening prior to retiring. I was placed into the knee chest position with several slow injections from a very large 12 ounce sized large black nozzled nice red rubber douche bulb syringe. Wava's daughters, Ruth or Hazel held me down in the knee chest position on a towel placed upon the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, and from running away from the bathroom during my series of injections from Wava. Wava would slather my anus up with lots of petroleum jelly first, and give me lots of ass play to get me loosened up prior to my injections. Wava's insertions felt wonderful, but her bulb injected vinegar solutions hurt awfully when they were injected into my butt during several to be retained insertion injections each session until my belly was bursting with cramps. I had to hold every drop without expulsion for several minutes until I was permitted to get up and go potty. I remembered crying a lot when I had to retain the dreadful solution and begging for release to go potty from those dreadful cramps.
My next enema sessions were given to me by my Mom and Dad on a Sunday at the age of 7 with a similar big black nozzled red rubber enema large douche bulb syringe, and again in the knee chest position upon a towel placed upon our home dining room floor. In those days I had several bouts of pneumonia infections brought on by tonsillitis. I had to go the next day, Monday, into the children's hospital for a tonsillectomy for a one week's stay. The solution this time was hot Ivory soap water sucked from a large vitreous enameled white metal basin set in the center of the dining room table. I remember distinctly my father working up the soapy lather in the hot water basin by turning the soap over and over with his hand in the hot solution, and smelling the pungent odor of Ivory Soap. The squeezing gurgling of the bulb syringe in the hot soapy water solution prior to sucking it full of the solution was a memory never to be forgot. In those days, enemas were prescribed by the doctor prior to a lengthy hospital stay, as the aether used for surgical anesthesia prior to operations caused constipation. Again, I received many enema sessions during that Sunday from my dad and mom prior to Monday's hospital stay until expulsions were clear, while my mother would hold me down on the floor towel to prevent me from leaving the scene. I was threatened with spanking if I let out just a drop. My father would administer the insertions and injections from the basin of hot soapy waters while I protested, and again cried. The hot water Ivory soap solution hurt a lot. Expulsions were degrading! I had to use my young sister's little potty chair, which they had moved to the dining room for my temporary use, next to the towel on the floor. My mother, after each expulsion, would then inspect the contents of the portable potty prior to each emptying, till I was deemed clear and clean internally. These enemas occurred all day before I was clear. My parents were thorough to the letter with doctor's orders.
After the hospital tonsillectomy operation during my week stay, I then received daily saline maintenance enemas, one each day, from a two quart open top red enema bag hung from a rolling hospital IV stand given by the hospital cute ward floor nurse. She rolled an IV enema stand with an engorged two quart red enema bag around daily to service me and all my fellow ward patients one after another. It was an open mixed 50 sick patients ward filled with girls and boys all in view of each other. No curtains to pull were necessary for us kids. What was privacy in those days?. By now, I was getting to be an old hand with enemas up my behind, but still disliked them. The pretty young nurse did make them more exciting and new to me with the pretty new red open top bag though. She would slide the vitreous enameled white cold metal bed pan under my butt for the expulsions, then return and check to make sure that I was cleaned out after the enemas were expelled and given to me upon my hospital ward bed. I was always placed into the reclining position with my knees flexed for these enemas. To insert the nozzle she would have me raise my legs to my chest prior to releasing the clamp on the tubing, then lowering my legs till my feet were resting upon the sheets for the remainder of these enemas. I always got a set of fresh set of towels placed under my butt to absorb any leakage or spills prior to the enemas. Her interruption of the flow for "tummy messages during the enemas" as she affectionately called them felt good. She would always remain present with me holding the small enema nozzle into my butt until the pretty big red bag would collapse and was emptied into my fully engorged tight belly. These daily enemas were not as painful with the saline solution as with the former vinegar or ivory soap ones experienced in the past. She took her time to slowly fill me up. I was now hooked on enemas after my stay in the hospital as an erotic lifetime event. And of course, I was never constipated while in the hospital. I always felt nice and clean inside during my hospital stay with the attentions of the pretty young nurse. My throat of course was another matter and felt as if it had been ripped out, and I vomited a lot from swallowing blood from my healing tonsillectomy. The sweet ward nurse helped me a lot to "take it all". I got to be a later pro "good boy" "enemee" for her, while the other kids cried a lot during their daily enema injections, and expulsions which I watched intently. I came to think of enemas as a proper bodily function that was rather delightful while at my stay at Kid's Hospital..
My next enemas were self administered at age 12 from of course with my mother's red rubber douche bulb syringe which always remained upon the bathroom sink counter to dry after she used it after having nightly relations with my father. One Saturday morning my parents were gone from the house with my only sibling sister and I was home alone with the syringe in view on the counter in the bathroom while I was doing business on the bathroom toilet. The douche bulb syringe had been a tempting desire for years till I had my chance. That Saturday, I took several injections of plain warm water, and was delighted to find the insertions were pleasant, and the waters felt very fine. I used the medicine cabinet readily available Vaseline petroleum jelly to help with the insertions. I got a lot of air in my colon, as I did not know yet the proper method to expel it from the bulb, and caused lots of cramps. I just used the sink basin run full of warm water next to the sink counter for my supply located near the toilet, and injected the bulbs fulls over the toilet. The expulsions were great though, giving me that nice clean internal feeling, again. From then on I would sneak an enema from time to time when left home alone. I always had a great fear of being caught, but never was. I thought something was horribly wrong with me and my desires for those enemas. Of course my mother in those days had a myriad of yeast infections, as I never quite got the syringe cleaned well enough after my uses. I now know that I should have cleaned the bulb syringe with bleach and a followed with a water rinse prior to drying.
The rest is history. I am now an Enemaphile or Klismophile whichever term you prefer. In college, I purchased with trepidation at the local drug store my first open top 2 quart red bag set, and used it at least 3 times a week in my own apartment quarters. I was a closet klismophile for years and years until 50 when I discovered others of like interest on the Internet, and joined the FEB club.
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