“Your mother made a mistake this time, my dear,” Mrs. Morris said, as she flushed the toilet in the examining room. Margaret Morris was almost 40, but still very youthful. Her slightly plump figure filled her white uniform in all the right places and her slim legs drew approving glances from the men of the faculty and the boys in the school. A neat brunette with short-cut hair, she looked a model of medical efficiency and kindly concern. She had been the school nurse at Northside High for five years, and knew Barbara even before she came to Northside.
Barbara was 18, a petite blonde just a little on the plump side, and she was developing an attractive figure. She lived with her mother and her younger brother, Ted, next door to Mrs. Morris, and her mother and the school nurse were friends. Barbara was a bit shy and reserved, but she was very pleasant and agreeable once she got to know you. Today, she had on a plaid skirt with a white top, and green knee-high socks. Sitting next to the toilet on a metal stool, Barbara looked puzzled as Mrs. Morris explained.
“The enema I just gave you has come back clear. You are not constipated, that’s for sure. You took the full bag, almost a quart and a half, and when you let it flow out, it was almost as clear as when I ran it into you. Do you feel any better now, Barbara?”
“Yes,” she said. “But I think I have more enema to eliminate. I feel like going again.
“Go ahead, my dear. Let it all come out.” Mrs. Morris, the image of cleanliness and professionalism in her white dress and hose, helped Barbara back onto the toilet and said, “Tell me again what happened this morning.”
Barbara tossed her hair back and began. “When I got up, I told my mother that I didn’t feel so good. I was hoping that she’d let me stay home, but she just said to have a little breakfast and I’d be okay. All I had was some juice – prune juice because Mom insisted – and a piece of bread. Still hoping not to have to face the Friday test, I said I didn’t feel much better.
“Well, to my surprise, Mom took me to the bathroom. ‘What you need is a bowel movement,’ she said. (That’s Mom’s solution to almost everything). ‘I’m going to insert a suppository into your rectum, and in 15 minutes when you get to school you’ll have your B.M. and feel a lot better. Pull up your dress and bend over.’ I said I didn’t think that was a good idea, but she insisted. She got out her jar of suppositories from the medicine chest, and a tube of Vaseline. I pulled down my panties and bent over the bathtub. I could feel her lubricated finger slipping into my rear opening. She twisted and turned it for a few seconds, then withdrew it.
“Next, she took a short stubby suppository, greased it, and began to insert it. As she slowly pushed it into me, she said, ‘I want this suppository to go well up into your rectum,’ and I felt her finger all the way in me. She pulled her finger out quickly and said, ‘Wipe yourself and get going. It will take a while for this suppository to produce an urge and if you don’t dawdle you’ll be in school in plenty of time. Next time, don’t pretend to be sick so you can stay home.’ Mom really guessed right, Mrs. Morris. All I wanted was to avoid this morning’s test.”
While telling her story, Barbara had poured out the last of the enema and was wiping herself. Mrs. Morris checked the contents of the toilet, flushed it, and sat down. She said, “What happened when you got to school?”
“Well,” said Barbara with a sigh. “You know it only takes 10 minutes to walk here, but even before I got to the front door I felt a terrific urge to go to the bathroom. I left my books in my locker and practically ran to the girls’ room at the end of the corridor. I had to wait because all the booths were occupied, so I squeezed my legs together and held my breath. Finally, I got into a toilet and tried to let go, but only a little came out. I kept wanting to go and felt as if I had a lot to get rid of. Still, not much came out.
“After straining for a while, the urge eased a little. I cleaned myself and went to homeroom. Even before the bell rang for the first class to begin, I asked to be excused because the urge returned and was becoming unbearable . . . I went back to the booth, squatted and strained, but again only a little bit came out. That’s when I thought of you, Mrs. Morris, so I came down to the nurse’s office. “
Margaret Morris listened knowingly to detailed her difficulties, but before she got to describing her enema, the nurse interrupted. “Barbara, I want to put a little anesthetic lubricant on your opening to soothe the irritation caused by all that anal activity. Please stretch out on the examining table while I get the ointment from the cabinet.”
As she crossed to the storage cabinet, Mrs. Morris continued, “You looked uncomfortable when you came in, Barbara, and I knew how you felt because your mother had just called me. She said she told you to see me if you didn’t feel better after your bowel movement. She knew you weren’t sick and said she had inserted the suppository to discourage you from pretending. It was a powerful suppository and that’s why your urge continued and felt so strong. She asked me, if you came in, to give you a ‘special treatment’ that we both use. Since we’re good friends, and I had her permission, I decided to give you a quart of warm water as a cleansing enema to remove the suppository, and anything else you might be holding back. I’m very glad you came clean for me right away, or I might have had to resort to a more severe treatment, and a more thorough enema.”
Barbara was lying face down on the examining table. Mrs. Morris lifted Barbara’s skirt, and promptly pulled down her pink panties. With the fingers of her left hand she spread Barbara’s back cheeks and exposed her lovely rosebud. A rubber cot on the index finger of her right hand dipped into the ointment and deftly applied the anesthetic lubricant to her puckered opening. The nurse carefully worked her finger in and out, around and about, and gradually withdrew it leaving a film of ointment all over Barbara’s anus. “You should feel a bit more comfortable now with that lubrication. If you go to the bathroom before you leave today, come back here and I’ll rub some more on for you.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Morris, I do feel much better now. My bottom is even tingling a bit from the stuff you put in it.” Barbara began to pull up her panties and to get down from the examining table when Mrs. Morris’s desk phone rang loudly.
“Nurse’s office, Mrs. Morris speaking. Oh yes, she’s here with me now. Yes, I did what you suggested. Yes, yes, I will. She told me that after her enema. Well, I think she realizes that now. Of course, if you want her home now, I’ll make the arrangements. Yes, I have two small ones with me. Do you want me to put one in? . . . Okay, just before she leaves. I’ll give her a package for you, and I’ll be by as soon as I can after school. I’m sure it will be pleasant for us and educational for her, too. See you later.” Margaret Morris was smiling as she replaced the phone on its cradle and turned to her young patient. “That was your mother, Barbara, and she wants you to come home. She said that since you felt the way you did, she wants to take proper care of you. I guess you won’t have to take the test after all.”
“But Mrs. Morris, the test is over now. It was scheduled for my first period and that’s finished. I heard the bell go off while you were putting that stuff on me.”
Mrs. Morris wrote a note for Barbara to take to the school secretary for the attendance record, and said, “After you get your books, dear, come back to me. I’ll have a package for you to give to your mother.”
In a small box, the nurse placed a red rubber rectal tube, some hospital lubricant, and two packets of special enema soap solution. She also took from the supply closet a 4-ounce disposable container of enema fluid with an attached applicator. From the cabinet in the examining room, she got adhesive tape, several gauze pads and a pair of waterproof incontinent panties. From her purse, she removed a lovely leather cigarette case, somewhat oversized. These she set on a stand next to the examining table. She put the filled box into a paper sack and left it on her desk in the office. Then, after checking to see if any students were waiting for her services, she went into the toilet next to the examining room to urinate.
Sitting on the cool seat, Margie Morris thought how delightful this day was: friends having fun while working, being able to teach a good lesson to a pretty young girl. How fortunate she had been in getting this job where enemas for reluctant boys and girls were accepted, even encouraged, as an effective method of medicinal and educational improvement.
She thought of her work before coming to Northside, at the Girls Training School downstate, where she would perform the intake examinations on each new girl sent there – intake examinations which required thorough rectal inspections and successive large-volume enemas to wash out any smuggled contraband. She remembered the first enema she was given during nurse’s training and the time she went for a full-scale colonic at the clinic. She thought about how lucky she was to have a neighbor who shared her anal interests and enjoyed all kinds of “special treatments.” Barbara, too, was very lucky for she was being trained by a mother who had very imaginative and pleasurable, even if somewhat special, tastes and hobbies. Margaret Morris pulled up her panty girdle, smoothed her dress and went back to her desk in the office.
Barbara was back now, and came to the nurse’s desk carrying a shoulder bag with her books and things. It was a nice day and she was wearing her school sweater over a white top. She looked very sweet. Mrs. Morris looked up and smiled. “Go inside to the examining room for a minute, my dear. Your mother asked me to give you something to take home.” She rose from the desk and closed the office door, indicating to anyone who came by that she was busy with a patient. She followed Barbara into the inner room, and pointed to the examining table. “Sit on the edge, please, Barbara. Your mother asked me to insert a small rectal dilator into your bottom. It will loosen you up for a thorough enema when you get home.”
From the leather case on the stand beside the table, Margaret Morris withdrew one black rubber rectal dilator. It was a number one size, about one-half inch in diameter, and about two inches long. She held it up for Barbara, who was becoming a little apprehensive, and spoke gently but firmly. “This small dilator will not hurt you, Barbara. You can see how smooth and short it is, and the round bulge at the top will help hold it in place inside you. The flat base will stay outside your body so that your muscle can clasp it tightly and exercise isometrically. Now lie on your back and lift up your legs as if I were changing your diapers. After I have inserted this plug, you are to leave it in place until your mother or I remove it.”
Mrs. Morris was so firm and authoritative that Barbara didn’t even think of questioning her or of disobeying, especially since her mother had instructed Mrs. Morris to insert this plug into her rear end. She lay back and pulled up her panties, exposing her anus to Mrs. Morris’s view, and held her legs with her arms. The magic fingers of Margaret Morris opened the lubrication ointment and applied it liberally to the rubber rectal stretcher and smoothed it onto Barbara’s bare behind, ringing her rosebud with the tingly unguent. She rubbed a little inside the anal opening, then, taking the dilator in her right hand, touched its tip to Barbara’s sensitive pucker. The girl pulled her bottom away instinctively, but only a little, for Mrs. Morris said briskly, “Be still while I am twisting it into your bottom.”
Again the tip touched her rosebud, and made firm contact with her quivering hole. A half-twist and a push: the door was open. Another twist, another push and it entered through her exit, sliding home on its slippery surface. Barbara could feel it pop into position as the thick top bulge emerged beyond the sphincter muscle in her rectum and the wide base rested outside, on her opened rosebud. As Barbara breathed out a sigh of relief, she heard the nurse say, “Now, that wasn’t painful, was it?”
The gauze pads were next. Mrs. Morris held Barbara’s cheeks together and said, “Barbara, squeeze your muscles together as if you were trying to pull the dilator into you. I’m going to tape your cheeks together till you get home so you don’t expel it on the way. You have a lovely full bottom, so be careful not to swing it too much as you walk home. You might get the boys excited.” Several strips of two-inch adhesive stretched tightly across Barbara’s bottom kept the dilator in place as she rose. The nurse gave her the waterproof panties and told her to put them on. She said they would catch any leakage from the earlier enema, and perhaps teach her what people who really had bottom problems felt like. Then she said to Barbara, “Sit by my desk, and have a Coke before you leave.”
The waterproof panties crinkled as Barbara sat down. She immediately felt the pressure of the rectal dilator plugging her rear and she squirmed a little. The only uncomfortable part was the tightness of the tape on her bottom. In fact, the dilator felt strangely pleasurable. Mrs. Morris came back with two cans of soda, and a paper cup partly filled with a clear liquid. “I’d like you to call me Aunt Margie, Barbara, if you would. Your mother and I have become very good friends, and I hope that you and I will also become close. Drink this down, now, and I’ll pour the soda for you.”
“It smells like castor oil,” Barbara said. “Do I have to?”
“Yes. Your mother and I want you to be completely cleaned out of whatever got into you this morning. This drink will help you to have a bowel movement late this afternoon or this evening. Drink it down quickly, and take the soda to wash out the taste.” While she was saying this, “Aunt Margie” went to the door of the office and opened it. Barbara could hear her say, “I’ll be right with you, Billy. Just a couple of minutes, and it’s your turn.”
Barbara finished the soda, and half of the second can as well. She was thirsty after the castor oil and the experiences of the morning. Mrs. Morris gave her a small paper sack with the box in it to take to her mother, and said quietly, so the boy outside wouldn’t hear, “Tell your mother everything, especially about the enema. Don’t try to remove the dilator from your anus. Your mother or I will see to that later. I have to give Billy a physical now, so you’d better get going. Take a rest when you get home, and tell your mother that I’ll be there as soon as I can make it.”
As Barbara left the nurse’s office, she heard Mrs. Morris, now her “Aunt Margie,” say to the boy who was waiting, “Come in, Billy, and lie on the table in the examining room. I’ll be right in. I just have to get a special thermometer for you.” Barbara wondered if Billy would find himself with a slight fever, perhaps also in need of a special treatment, maybe even a soothing, cooling enema. She thought, “I must remember to ask Aunt Margie how she took Billy’s temperature and what happened during his physical exam.”
Each step she took made Barbara feel the plug in that sensitive rear hole. She was beginning to think that some nurses, like some mothers, believed very much in educational enemas not only to stimulate bowel movements, but also to clean out “diplomatic” illnesses. She had a lot to talk over with her mother when she got home, but didn’t yet realize what her mother had in mind for her.
