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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Recollections - Early (bg, bb, coming of age)
by Willy Nilly <kudzu@ibm.net>
Recollections - Early
Prologue
Apology, I am not a writer. The following incidents are presented in
chronological order and as accurately related as often vague memory
permits. These recollections were put in writing specifically for
A.S.E. in hopes that they would either be of interest or, more likely,
evoke pleasant memories for the reader. To me, reality is far more
erotic than any fiction.
The Memories
My very earliest memory, from about age three, of anything related to
those things which later came to strike an erotic chord somewhere deep
in my perverted psyche, was the enema bag usually to be found hanging in
my parent's bathroom. My parents equipment of choice was the folding
enema/douche syringe. Back then, they were invariably made of natural
latex with its characteristic amber color. At that age, I doubt that I
had any idea of its use, but I clearly remember its presence.
The first experience of any kind that I can remember that could be
called sensuous happened at age three or four probably and involves
suppositories. In the big old house in the suburbs of the small town
where we lived, my aunt and uncle, Wilma and Will, young and just
married, lived in a downstairs bedroom with its own bathroom. I
remember being in their room and bathroom with them, perhaps using the
bathroom or bathing, and seeing and discussing suppositories. I do not
recall being ill or constipated, nor do I remember any involvement of my
parents. I do not even remember what lead up to the climax, so to
speak. What I do remember is looking at the suppositories in the jar,
feeling the slipperiness of them with my finger, and being told that
they were used to make you have a bowel movement. Then, my next
recollection is of Aunt Wilma, sitting on the toilet seat, taking down
my pants and taking me across her lap. The memory of the pleasant
sensation of the suppository being inserted into my rectum is vivid in
my mind to this day. I also remember being surprised at the powerful
urgency that I soon felt. I could not understand how that slippery
little thing, pushed up my ass and held inside for a bit, could make me
have to go to the bathroom so bad (good?).
The next image that I can call up, was having my temperature taken
rectally. This happened when I must have been four or five. All that I
recall is my mother's concern that I was sick and her telling me to lie
down on my little child's bed. I had on pajamas and a bathrobe. She
told me that she was going to take my temperature and left to find the
thermometer. I do not recall earlier experiences but there had to have
been some because I knew what was coming. While my mother was gone, my
Aunt Ellen, who I thought was a grown woman but who was actually only
ten years older than I was, came into the room. I was a little worried,
but thought surely my mother would not do it in front of Aunt Ellen. I
was wrong. Mom came back and began chatting normally with Aunt Ellen.
In that matter-of-fact mother-voice she said "turn over on your tummy."
I was embarrassed about what was happening but felt powerless to say or
do anything about it. With Aunt Ellen standing at the foot of the bed
talking to Mom, Mom, sitting on the side of the bed, turned my bathrobe
up over my waist and pulled my pajama bottoms down to my knees. While I
lay there with my behind exposed, she opened the jar of Vaseline that
she had brought with the thermometer, took the thermometer from its case
and shook down the mercury. She lubricated the thermometer by sticking
it down into the Vaseline. Having done that, she spread my cheeks with
her thumb and finger, pressed the tip of the thermometer directly into
the opening of my anus and said "relax your bottom, Honey, so I can put
the thermometer in." As with the suppository, the sensation of the cold
glass thermometer going in was very nice, indeed! All the while she was
waiting for my temperature to register, Mom held the thermometer between
her fingers, her hand resting on my bottom, and chatted with Ellen. I
lay there feeling the thermometer sticking in my ass, thinking about Mom
and Aunt Ellen seeing me like that and being embarrassed, but feeling a
pleasant naughtiness that I did not understand. Now, do not get me
wrong, I do not think of my mother as bad, perverted, abusive or
anything less than a normal person and loving mother, but at that time
and since, I have wondered if that scene had been orchestrated for the
benefit of Mom and Elllen, her younger sister.
Two or three years after the temperature episode, around age six or
seven, I had been home from school sick in bed for several days with
some minor childhood disease. I do not remember feeling bad or
complaining, but I remember my mother saying "what you need is an
enema." I did not know what an enema was, but hating bad tasting
medicine and remedies in general, I kept quiet and the subject passed.
Some while later, again I can not remember what precipitated it, Mom
said "an enema will make you feel better; will you let me give you
one?" OK, I am a little worried, but I have got to find out what this
is about. So help me God, I asked "is an enema a pill or is it
liquid?" She said "well, it's liquid, kinda; come in the bathroom, I'll
show you." In the bathroom, she showed me the enema bag and explained
what having an enema involved. Again, she was quite matter-of-fact and
proceeded on the assumption that I was going to cooperate. The only
objection that I tried to raise was to ask if it was going to hurt. She
assured me that it would not hurt. She had me sit on the toilet seat
while she fixed the soapy water and filled the two-quart enema bag about
half full. For the life of me, I can not remember the position she had
me assume. I think that I was down on the floor, but I do not recall
whether I was on my stomach, side or knees. I do plainly remember being
surprised that it did not hurt, it felt good, when she inserted the
enema nozzel. I also remember the rather surprising sensation when she
released the water to flow into me. I complained that I could not stand
it, that I could not take it and had to go to the bathroom, right then!
Mom coaxed me to relax and let the water go in so I would feel better.
She controlled the flow by squeezing the hose clamp partially closed and
gently moved the nozzel around a little to make sure it was going in.
The sensations were new and exciting. Mostly it felt good but I was
afraid I would have an accident. Once the bag emptied itself into me,
she let me sit on the toilet but told me to hold it as long as I could
so it would work. No sooner was she out the door when I began expelling
the enema. Later she fussed with me a little for not holding it
longer. Again, since I do not remember feeling bad or complaining of
stomach pain or constipation, I am not sure whether that enema was for
my benefit or for Mom's.
Sometime after the first enema experience, I remember sitting on the
toilet reading an old Sears catalog, circa 1950's, and discovering enema
and douche equipment displayed in the catalog. Never have I studied
anything so intently. The syringes offered came with a douche nozzel, a
standard enema nozzel and a colon tube. On reading the catalog and
studying the pictures, I remembered the same equipment in my parents
bathroom. I particularly remembered and wondered about the colon tube
which, as I recall, was sort of coral in color, about the diameter of a
pencil and a foot-and-a-half long. The very tip of it was solid and
rounded, the opening was on the side slightly behind the tip. By this
time I may have known better, but for a long time I had assumed that the
nozzel used on me was a child's enema nozzel and the larger douche
nozzel was an adult enema nozzel. I remember once asking my mother or
father if that was the case and while I do not remember the exact
answer, but I was given to understand that that was not so, no further
explanation was forthcoming. From reading A.S.E., it seems some folks do
see it that way!
It was two or three uneventful years after my first enema before there
was any more interesting action. I was in the eight, nine, ten year old
range. By this time, my family, my grandmother, and my Aunt Wilma all
lived in different places, though Wilma and Will lived close to
Grandma's. My mother and I were visiting Grandma for a few weeks in the
Summer when I got thoroughly and miserably constipated. My stomach was
distended and hard. Try as I might, I could only occasionally shit a
little pebble of a turd. As soon as my mother learned of my condition,
she was quick to swing into action. Mom asked Grandma if she had any
enema equipment. Of course she did. She told Mom that it was hanging
in the medicine closet in her bathroom. Mom took me into Grandma's
bathroom and got out the enema bag. Unlike Mom's, this one was one of
the red rubber ones with a black enema nozzel. Not my preference, then
or now. At that age, I was old enough to be positively mortified by the
idea of having to take down my pants in from of my mother, any woman,
but especially my own mother. However, I was uncomfortable enough to
submit to most anything in order to feel better and recognized the enema
as an instant solution (pun accidental, but not too bad). While she
prepared my enema, Mom told me to take off my pants and lie down on the
floor. The floor was cold Linoleum partly covered with a small bath
mat. Trying not to expose myself, I took off my pants and underpants
and lay down on the bath mat on my stomach. I am sure that I had not
started having erections by this age, but I remember being distinctly
aware of my penis as I lay down on the hard floor. Mom hung the enema
bag on a towel bar on the side of the sink and kneeled down beside me.
First, she lubricated the enema nozzel with Vaseline and then applied a
dab of vaseline directly to my asshole. She did not put her finger into
me, but I recall being embarrassed when my anus winked involuntarily.
Once everything was lubricated, she spread my ass cheeks and inserted
the nozzel. I do not know why, maybe things were not adequately
lubricated, maybe it was my condition, but the insertion of the nozzel
was uncomfortable. I felt bad, my cock was mashed between my body and
the hard floor, the enema nozzel hurt and things were destined to get
worse. As soon as the flow was started, I felt water running on the
outside of me and down between my legs. I was wet and the floor was
getting wet under me. I never really understood what the problem was,
but the result was that after trying what she could, my mother said it
was just not going to work. So now, I have been truly embarrassed, made
more uncomfortable and have still gotten no relief.
Later that afternoon, I was sitting on the toilet, trying and praying
just to be able to shit. A tap on the bathroom door and Aunt Wilma's
voice "Bud, your mom says you aren't feeling too well." "No, I don't
feel good at all, Aunt Wilma." "Why don't you come home with me, I'll
give you an enema and you will feel better. Afterwards, you can eat
with us and spend the night with the girls. I give my girls enemas all
the time." I was paralyzed with fear! As bad as I felt and as much as
I needed to go to the bathroom, I could not possibly face Aunt Wilma
taking me home and giving me an enema. I still regret that decision.
Her offer would have solved my problem and likely been the best enema
story I would have ever had.
Shortly after that, I was visiting Aunt Wilma's house. My oldest girl
cousin, who is a couple of years younger than I am, very pretty and the
object of my first sexual attention (baths together, playing doctor ...)
and I were playing outside. Somehow, I managed to bring the
conversation around to enemas. She confirmed what Aunt Wilma had told
me. She and her sisters were given enemas with some frequency. The
procedure was always the same, though sometimes a bulb syringe was used
and other times a red rubber enema bag was used. One at the time, the
girls would be told to go into the bathroom. The enema, whether a basin
of warm soapy water and a bulb syringe or the red rubber enema bag,
already full of warm soapy water, would be ready and waiting for them.
Aunt Wilma would make them take off all their clothes and kneel on the
floor bending over the side of the bathtub. Once in position, Aunt
Wilma would spread their cheeks and rub their little assholes with a
wetted bar of soap. The nozzel would also be soaped up. The enema were
then given. I got the distinct impression that they were no-nonsense
affairs - Aunt Wilma told them what to do, they did it, they did not
complain and she administered the enemas to her satisfaction. Once they
had been given their enemas, Aunt Wilma stayed with them, made them hold
the enemas as long as she thought necessary. She monitored the results
and repeated the process if she thought it was called for.
I am not sure how old I was at the time we were having this
conversation, but I am sure that I did not know about sexual arousal.
But, aroused I was. Aroused enough to be way too bold. After much
discussion and coaxing, I talked Libby into going into the house and
complaining to her mother that she had a stomach ache so that she would
get an enema and to ask her mother if I could come in and be with her!
Stupidity or balls?! The ridiculous scheme was partially successful -
Libby got the enema all right, but of course I did not get to watch.
Wish I could have just peeked through the window or keyhole.
Unfortunately, unless I have overlooked something, that was to be my
last childhood experience tinged with the wickedness of our little
quirk. If there is any interest, I will relate teenage and young adult
experiences some other time.