O Happy Enema

I was madly in love with my girlfriend Carla, but there was one big problem. Her shyness. Or, more specifically, her shyness about sex (Carla is actually quite un-shy in other ways). Many times during our relationship she had broached the subject of marriage to me, but I just could not make a permanent commitment to her unless she became less nervous about her sexuality and her body.

Now don’t get me wrong. Sex with Carla wasn’t bad really, but I could always tell she wasn’t comfortable, and just couldn’t really get into it, which made me feel self-conscious and nervous about it as well. As far as I knew, she had never even had an orgasm.

Carla never let me see her completely naked. Whenever we made love (which was always my idea), she always left her shirt or bra on, or insisted on having the lights off or the covers over her body. She refused to take a shower with me for the same reason. Even though we had been living together for more than a year, Carla would never let me see her use the toilet, not even to pee! You would think that we’d just met or something. Now Carla was raised by strict Italian Catholic parents, and had two older brothers who she said teased her about her weight during her teens (Carla was a tad plump by today’s anorexic standards, I guess, but I loved her body and found it very soft and womanly), so maybe this is why Carla felt so uncomfortable about her sexuality. I don’t know. I always told her how beautiful I thought she was, but if anything, this seemed to make her even more self-conscious.

Much as I loved Carla, my sympathy and patience could only go so far. Sex is very important to me, and I need a woman who can really enjoy the sexual aspect of our relationship, not because I’m some sort of hornball (though I am), but because I truly believe that satisfying sex brings a couple closer in other ways.

For almost a year, I tried many things to get Carla to open up to me sexually. I gave her articles and books to read (she never seemed interested). I tried to get her to talk about sex with me and tell me her fantasies (she never wanted to, or would change the subject). I bought her racy lingerie (she wouldn’t wear it). I rented porno movies featuring men and women making love (she refused to watch them, calling them trashy). I even took her to a nude beach once, not telling her it was a nude beach (she didn’t take off her swimsuit). Friends suggested I break off with her, but I loved Carla way too much to do that to her. However, I knew that eventually, unless I settled for a lackluster sex life, I would have to end things with her. Trying to get Carla to change was like banging my head against a brick wall.

One evening after Carla had gone to bed, I sat in front of the TV sulking because she had refused me for the third time that week. I had bought a six pack of beer, thinking the alcohol might ease both my hurt feelings and a bad case of blue balls, but it was only making me feel more sorry for myself. During a commercial, I grumpily rose from the recliner I’d inherited from my uncle and trudged upstairs to use the bathroom that Carla and I shared. At the end of the dark hallway, I saw the bathroom light shining behind the doorframe. Damn, I really had to pee, but there was only one bathroom in our tiny house, so I had to wait until Carla came out. I went back downstairs and thought about opening another beer, but figured it would make my bladder feel even worse. I ate some fudge ripple ice cream straight out of the cardboard container (Carla hated it when I did that) and washed the few dishes that were left in the sink from dinner. Finally I went back upstairs to the bathroom but Carla was still in there. Shit, I really had to go, but Carla sure was taking a long time.

“Carla?” You alright?

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You’re taking an awful long time. I have to pee.”

“I’ll be in here awhile.”

“You taking a shower?”

‘No.”

“A dump?”

“Well, I’m trying. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Now I always wanted to see Carla take a dump. Something about such a beautiful and feminine woman doing something so basic and natural as moving her bowels really turns me on. I don’t know why; it just does. But no way would Carla ever let me see her do something so base and undignified, when she won’t even let me see her pee.

I went back downstairs, thinking about Carla sitting naked on the toilet taking a dump and feeling myself get hard. I probably would have to use my hand again tonight. Disgusted and annoyed at both myself and Carla, I dumped the rest of my beer down the sink.

Carla was still in the bathroom.

“What on earth are you doing in there?”

“Nothing,” Carla said defensively through the door.

“Alright, well, I really have to go.”

I was tempted to just barge in on Carla and pee in the shower but she would never forgive me for invading her privacy like that. So I went back downstairs to the back porch and relieved myself on the grass outside. Then I suddenly had an idea.

There was a small widow’s walk outside our bedroom that came to a stop just next to the bathroom window. By leaning over just a little, I could see right into the bathroom. I am tall and that would give me an edge. Carla had never put curtains or any sort of covering on the window, since we lived in a wooded area and no one would have the occasion to peer into the bathroom. Until now.

Being careful not to make any noise (I wanted Carla to think I was still downstairs) and feeling like a cat burglar, I made my way back upstairs and entered our darkened bedroom. I stepped through the French doors that opened onto the little widow’s walk, then stepped over to the edge closest to the bathroom window. I leaned over as far as I could without falling over the wooden rail or being seen, and peered in.

And almost fell over anyway from shock.

Carla was naked. Not only naked, but lying on the floor. There was a towel spread on the floor under her. She was on her side, her back facing away from me, her smooth fleshy legs slightly bent at the knees. What the fuck? A wave of panic zigzagged through my gut. What if she was sick? I didn’t even want to think about the other possibility.

And then I suddenly noticed something strange. She was holding something between her ass cheeks. I squinted to see more clearly what it was. Draped across her generous ass and thighs was some sort of long reddish pink tube. Hanging low on the wall was a rubber bag of the same color. I could now see that Carla was actually moving, though not very obviously. I couldn’t tell what her other hand was doing, but I saw that she was squeezing her thighs together repetitively. My jaw dropped: she was giving herself an enema! The dump part hadn’t even happened yet. I felt a jolt of excited anticipation.

My penis inflated like a balloon inside my pants and my balls felt like tight hard knots. I was breathing heavily. I imagined I must have looked like some kind of sick pervert up there on the widow’s walk, spying on Carla taking an enema while I panted like a horny dog. With one hand still on the railing to keep from falling over, I loosened my fly to relieve the pressure, and touched myself a little. I didn’t want to come yet, though. I moved my hand away and gripped the rail with both hands.

Carla must have finished, because suddenly she pulled the tube out of her ass and rose from the floor. When she stood up, I caught my breath. This was the first time I had ever seen Carla completely naked. Her large but firm young breasts with their small pink nipples bounced just a little as she got up. Her nipples were erect. Her shiny long brown hair looked like melted chocolate spilled over her smooth porcelain-white back. And with her bowels so full and ready to burst, she looked about six months pregnant.

She moved off to the side toward the sink, and for a moment I couldn’t see her. But then she was in full view again. Holding her stomach, she retrieved the empty enema bag and then went back to the sink. I knew she was washing the bag out and would be back in view in another moment. I felt my dick throb, and started to rub myself against the rail.

Carla reappeared and lay back down on the floor, this time on her back. Her knees were raised and her legs parted, giving me a perfect view of that magical opening she always made such valiant efforts to hide. She snaked a hand down across her bloated belly, over her thick dark thatch, and slid her middle finger into her depths. She was wide open, oozing, and the skin surrounding her sex was swollen and bright pinkish red. As she rubbed her clit slowly, almost reverently, she began to arch her back and dig her toes against the floor. Under her the smooth whiteness of her supple flesh, I could see her thigh and calf muscles flexing.

Suddenly Carla stopped, got up, and ran to the toilet oddly, her ass cheeks held together. I almost burst out laughing but stifled it. As soon as her ass hit the seat, she put her finger back on her clit and began to move it again. I couldn’t hear the sounds she made as she emptied herself, and I didn’t know if the ecstatic look of relief on her face was from the orgasm or the bowel movement, or both, but I didn’t care. I had never seen her look more relaxed or beautiful, or enjoying her body so much. Tears burned behind my eyelids but I didn’t shed them; I just pressed myself harder against the rail until I found my own relief.

Then I went back inside. Carla was in bed already, and had her pajamas on.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” Carla said sleepily.

I was silent for a moment trying to think of what to say next.

“I love you” was all I could come up with.

Carla didn’t answer; she was already asleep.

For the next couple of days I couldn’t stop playing the previous night’s scene over and over again in my mind. It was becoming an obsession. Somehow I had to convince Carla to allow me to participate in her cleansing sessions. I wanted to be the one to administer the enema. I had no idea how often she took them, but obviously she enjoyed it very much. Perhaps her fetish could be used as a springboard to awaken her interest in making love—if she would allow it. I had begun to think she was incapable of sexual pleasure; it was obvious to me this was not the case at all. But then another thought occurred to me. Did she take an enema to increase her sexual pleasure, or did she merely take one to relieve constipation and just happen to get horny at the same time?

My answer came one evening about a week later. I had come home from work, and Carla was already home from her job and busy at the computer. I came over to kiss her, as I always do when I come home, and Carla quickly minimized whatever website she had been looking at. The look on her face was one of sheer panic.

Later that night when Carla went upstairs to get ready for bed, curiosity got the best of me and I decided to check the day’s web history. I was shocked yet delighted to find a website devoted to enema freaks, and on a whim checked the site’s message board. Carla always used a handle to write posts at other sites; I wondered if she used the same one on this. Sure enough, in scrolling through the posts, I found one under “Papillonia,” which is her screen name. It seemed Papillonia nursed a fantasy involving giving her boyfriend an enema and then straddling him while he sits on the toilet and making love to him while he empties himself.

When I finished reading her post, I was grinning so hugely that my jaw ached. My cock was straining against the crotch of my jeans. I had never thought the idea of getting an enema would turn me on, and in principle it didn’t, really, but if Carla gave me one and it would help her and our sex life, then I was all for it. I would do that for her; I loved her that much. Besides, it was only fair; I had already watched her give herself one.

But how to bring it up without making her cringe with shame was another thing. She was so easily embarrassed. Of course I had never told her about my spying on her through the bathroom window; that would have been too cruel. But I wanted to fulfill her fantasy; I wanted her to be happy.

Then I had an idea, simple and perfect.

The next day I told Carla I was constipated, even though I wasn’t. She told me I probably didn’t eat enough fruits and vegetables, and ate too much refined sugar, which was probably true.

“I really feel terrible, Carla.”

“I know what you mean. Just give it time, you’ll go when you’re ready.”

“But I need to shit tonight. I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t. Don’t we have anything?”

“Well, I could run out to the store and get you some Metamucil.”

“No, I don’t like that stuff. It makes me gag.”

Carla looked thoughtful for a few moments.

“How about a cup of green tea? I think we have some. Sometimes that helps,” she said.

“Maybe, but I really feel like I probably need something more drastic, like an enema or something.”

“Oh.” Carla’s face was unreadable.

“Don’t we have one? I thought I saw one in the linen closet, under some towels.”

Carla flicked her eyes nervously to the floor and then off to the side, and did not meet my gaze. I could detect a slight reddening of her face.

“Um…”

“It’s okay. I knew it was there. I really need your help.” I paused and took a deep breath. Could you please give me an enema, Carla?”

“Well…”

Her sparkling eyes betrayed her excitement.

“Please?”

“Well, okay, Michael, but why can’t—“

“Why can’t I do it myself?”

“Right.”

“Well, I don’t know. I just want you to do it.”

She looked at me, with her head cocked to one side in a goofy way. I could tell she was trying hard not to look too pleased.

“Please.”

“Okay.”

We decided candlelight would be nice, and make the whole thing less clinical and embarrassing for me, so we purchased some big scented candles for our ritual. That evening after dinner and some champagne (which loosened us both up), we headed upstairs and she began to set up the bathroom while I waited for her to call me in. Carla kept her underwear on, but I didn’t mind. She looked really cute in her virginal white push-up bra and pale blue panties. I decided to strip down, and as I did so, she got the equipment ready. I’d never taken an enema before and was nervous, but the idea of Carla opening up to me sexually and getting really turned on overpowered any nervousness or apprehension I felt. My cock became turgid and dusky, and pointed out from my body like a giant beckoning finger.

Finally the equipment was set up, and the scented candles lit.

“You can come in now, Michael,” Carla was calling from the bathroom.

My heart skipped a beat and I entered the room

“Well, this is very romantic.”

Carla smiled shyly. “Well, that’s my intention. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

I felt fluttery in my stomach and a little scared but terribly excited, as if I was on a first date. In a way, this was like meeting Carla for the first time. The new, sexual Carla.

Carla opened the medicine cabinet over the sink and took out a jar of petroleum jelly.

Then she spread a towel on the floor.

“You’ll be more comfortable that way,” she was saying.

“Should I lie down now?”

“Uh huh. Lie on your side, with your legs bent a little.”

I did what she said. Carla nodded and smiled, and started to fill the enema bag with warm tap water. I was shocked by how huge the bag looked; it hadn’t look so large when I had watched her. All that water was going to be inside me?

Carla must have sensed my concern.

“Just relax. Breathe deeply, in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

I obeyed. Carla nodded again and dipped her finger in the jar of petroleum jelly, and smeared it on the plastic enema nozzle. I thought it looked about a foot long, although of course it wasn’t.

Then she squatted next to me with the bulging rubber bag and began to slide the nozzle up my asshole. Instinctively, my sphincter tensed at its cold touch.

“Ouch,” I said.

“Just relax and breathe,” Carla said.

I closed my eyes and concentrating on my breaths. Carla slid the nozzle inside me. I could barely feel it.

“Much better,” she said.

“Okay, Michael, I’m letting the water in now.”

“Alright.”

Suddenly I felt my bowels filling like a water balloon and almost immediately felt like I had to shit. My sphincter tensed up again.

“Relax.”

I did, and still felt like I had to take a huge dump, but it was more tolerable.

“I’m going to shut it off now and let you get used to it before I put the rest in.”

“Okay.” Carla was putting me at ease; her calm voice was soothing me. Really, she should have been a nurse.

She removed the tube and lay down beside me, embracing me. My cock pressed against her pelvis. I slid my hand between her ample thighs; under her thin cotton panties she felt damp. I pulled her to me to kiss her; her mouth felt warm and welcoming and her breathing was even. Never before had she seemed so relaxed and “there” when we made love.

I love you, Carla.”

She pulled away and looked at me. Her long-lashed brown eyes looked enormous and soulful in the candlelight.

“I love you, Michael.”

We closed our eyes and resumed our kiss; my hand between her legs crept a little higher, toward her crevice. She felt wet. She began to squeeze her thighs together, not to keep me from her, but to enhance the feelings she experiencing. I could hear her breathing quicken. As long as I didn’t move, I could barely feel all the water inside my body.

“Okay, are you ready to take the rest of it?”

“Sure,” I said.

She sat up and threaded the tube back up my ass. This time I was totally relaxed and the process was much easier. My stomach began to swell as if I were pregnant, and finally it was over. She removed the tube and tossed the whole contraption into the tub. Then she lay back down, holding me close.

“Take off your bra,” I said.

“Okay.” She sat up and unhooked it from the back, letting it slide down her arms and over her hands. She shook it off and tossed it off to the side. Her luscious, perfect breasts bounced free, their nipples dark pink and hard. I felt a jolt of warmth pass through my groin and radiate throughout my whole body.

“Take off your panties.”

She looked at me strangely, but then smiled and slid them down over her hips and legs, and kicked those away, too.

I couldn’t believe it. Carla lying naked in front of me, completely at ease in her nakedness. Was I dreaming? I reached out and pulled her close to me, crushing her to my body. Vaguely I was aware of a cramping sensation in my belly, but my desire was much stronger. I pressed my erection against her pelvis, then scooted down a little so it pressed between her thighs, which she opened a little so I could slide between them. I heard a small squishy sound as she closed them over me, and realized she was sopping wet. I looked at her face, and saw a fine sheen of sweat glistening there in the candlelight. Her lips looked swollen and slightly puckered.

“I want to make love to you,” I said.

Carla grinned. “Not yet,” she said. The candlelight danced over her features. Her skin looked like a six-year old's.

Suddenly I was overcome by a spasm in my belly.

“Oh oh,” I said, tensing suddenly.

Carla rose. “Okay, it’s time,” she said.

I rose and the cramps became overpowering. I was afraid I would shit all over the floor, so I pressed my ass cheeks together, gritting my teeth with the effort. I must have looked comical heading for the toilet.

As if to confirm my thoughts, Carla giggled a little.

I sat down on the toilet but kept my sphincter tightly closed. What now?

“I can’t hold it any longer,” I managed to croak. I was in pain, dammit!

“That’s okay. You can let it out now.”

Just as she uttered the word ‘out,” I exploded. I would have been extremely embarrassed under any other circumstances, but I was so horny and wanted Carla so much that any embarrassment I felt was slight.

After the first gush, Carla climbed on top of me, facing me. Straddling me with her thighs pressed against my hips and her feet still on the floor, she grasped my shoulders and slid her sopping opening over my poor throbbing cock. It slid inside her as smoothly as soft butter glides over toast. I heard her breath catch as I filled her. Gripping my shoulders firmly and digging her nails into my back, she began to flex her vaginal muscles rhythmically, then moved her pelvis around in a tight, circular motion. I felt dizzy and slightly faint. Please don’t come yet, I willed myself, tightening my jaw and gritting my teeth. The congestion in my bowels only magnified my desire. Another gush escaped me. I barely felt it. This seemed to excite Carla, and she picked up her pace. Using her arms on my shoulders and her feet on the floor as leverage (like me, she was rather tall), she began to fuck me savagely, raising herself up and down as if I were a greased pole, and actually began to moan. She had never made a sound when we’d made love in the past. Every time she raised herself up so just the tip of my cock was still inside her, she’d squeeze and milk me with all her might. Her breasts bounced and jiggled against my chest, the nipples as hard and dark now as raisins. Her long hair, now messy, fell in her face and she tossed it back like a mane. The skin on her face and chest glistened with sweat. Oh, my God, she was beautiful. Tiny beads of sweat formed under her nose. I licked it off, then kissed her deeply. Our tongues danced. This was unreal. Carla was an animal!

Vaguely I was aware that I was still shitting, but the gushes were less explosive and becoming less watery. As I expelled the last turd, I came.

Oh, man, did I come. I lost all control with its intensity, and felt its energy infuse every cell of my body with currents of heat. I ejaculated so powerfully inside her that I thought I would pass out. I crushed her to me; I gasped and moaned and cried. Carla licked the tears off my face. She pumped up her pace even more. Sweat dripped off her brow and upper lip and fell on my chest and legs. The friction was unbearable. And then her orgasm began, reaching a crescendo of intensity that I had never known was possible, merging with mine. I couldn’t tell where her body ended and mine began.

We fell into each other’s arms, exhausted. I felt numb. I was gasping for air like a man drowning. So was Carla. We kissed softly.

“Carla.”

“Yes, baby?” She was glowing.

“Let’s get married.”

She stared at me like I was nuts.

“I thought you didn’t want to get married.”

I held her tight.

“I do now.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes filled and her lower lip quivered like a little girl’s.

And then I kissed her again.

That was a year ago. Carla and I are married now, and couldn’t be happier. Carla loves to make love to me now, sometimes even when I’m too tired or don’t feel like it. I can always get in the mood though. She can and often does walk around the house naked. We don’t need to use enemas anymore either, though occasionally we still do it just for fun.

I only want to make Carla happy because I love her.

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