Angela and I had dated for three years. I was eighteen, she was a year younger. We had been intimate for the last two years and she had made no secret of it. Her mother and sisters both knew of it. Once we became engaged they both seemed to accept things, and me, as they were.

It was a rainy and chilly November Saturday night that Angela and I had a date to go to a country music concert that she had been looking forward to for weeks. I arrived early at her house for supper and then we were to leave at seven to make the eight o’clock concert. Angela’s mom had prepared burgers with mushrooms and onions – one of my favorites. Somehow, however, I didn’t have an appetite. I hadn’t felt real good all day. Her mom noticed.

“Something wrong with my cooking, Roger?” she asked. “No, ma’am. I just don’t have an appetite tonight. Been feeling a bit queezy all day.” I answered.

“Hmm, when did you have your last bowel movement?” she asked. I told her that I hadn’t had one in a couple of days. “Well then, you’re constipated – that’s the problem.” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Do we have any laxative, mom?” Angela asked.

“Yes, dear.” she answered. “But unless he wants to jump up and run to the men’s room a dozen times during the concert, I wouldn’t give him any. What he really needs is a good old fashioned enema. That will clean him out without the after effects. Why don’t you give him one, Angela. I used to give them to your father when he needed them.”

“I don’t know how to do it, mom.” she replied. “It has been years since you gave me one.”

“Hey!”, I interjected, “Do I have a say in this?” “No!!” Angela answered. “I have been looking forward to this concert for a long time and I am not going to have it spoiled. You are getting an enema and that’s it!” she said in a tone of voice that told me that I’d better shut up or we would have a violent argument.

Angela’s mother stared at me for a long time, obviously trying to decide how to handle this situation. Finally she shrugged. “OK”, she said. “I’ll show you what to do.”

“First, get the plastic pitcher and a wooden spoon.” she said. Angela rummaged in a cabinet and found the pitcher, then got a wooden spoon from a drawer. She stuck the spoon in the pitcher and set them both on the table.

“Now the box of salt and the Ivory liquid.” she said. When Angela put those items beside the pitcher it really hit me that they were going to go through with this.

Mrs. Angles stood up from the table. “Bring those things and come on down to the bathroom, both of you.” she said.

I meekly followed them down the hall to the bathroom. Angela grinned back at me. She was obviously looking forward to this. I wasn’t! Following her mom’s instructions Angela got her douche syringe from the top shelf of the linen closet. “I don’t know where the enema nozzle is, mom.” she told her.

“It probably got thrown away.” her mom said. “That’s all right, that one will work just as well.

Angela attached the hose and nozzle to the bag, clamped the clip shut and hung the bag on a towel bar, looping the hose over the bar so that the nozzle wouldn’t touch the floor.

Her mother turned the water on in the sink and showed Angela how to adjust the temperature, then had her fill the pitcher. She then had her add a good bit of salt and stir it in well. Finally a capful of the soap was added and just swished into the mixture gently with Angela’s fingers “so as not to make a lot of suds”. She poured the mixture slowly into the bag until it would hold no more.

“It is time for you to take off your clothes, Roger.” her mother said to me. “There is no way to do this with them on.”

I protested again but Angela shushed me and began unbuttoning my shirt. “Don’t be embarrassed” her mother said. “I have seen lots of naked men in my day.”

Angela soon had me stripped down to just my shorts, which were bulging because in spite of my efforts not to, I was becoming erect. In one swift motion she jerked my shorts down to my ankles allowing my cock to pop free. It stood straight out. Her mother smiled at the sight of it but said nothing. After I stepped out of my shorts her mother handed her an open jar of Vaseline. “Spread a good bit of it on the nozzle and get it nice and slick.” she instructed. I stood there and watched while Angela delicately dipped out a gob of the jelly with her finger and began spreading it carefully over the nozzle starting at the tip and covering the whole length. When she finished she took a tissue, wiped off her finger and stood there holding the nozzle in her left hand.

“Now there are several positions for enemas. If you are giving on a bed you can have him lie on his side and pull his knee up to his chest, or on his back and raise his legs. Or you can sit on the bed and take him over your lap. Your father used to like it that way.” her mother said. “Here in the bathroom it is probably best to have him on his knees and bent over with his head on the floor. Go ahead, Roger, get yourself down.”

I knelt down on the floor in front of Angela and got on my hands and knees. “Lower your front, Roger.” her mom instructed. I put my face down on the floor cradled in my hands.

“Now insert the nozzle, Angela, very slowly. Hold his cheeks apart with one hand while you do it.

I felt Angela’s warm hand on my bottom spreading my cheeks with her fingers and then the cold tip of the nozzle as she positioned it to my exposed anus. She pushed gently and the nozzle slowly slipped into me.

She pushed it in about half its length, I guessed, then let go of my cheeks. “Now hold the bag in one hand and the clamp in the other. Open the clamp and control the pressure by raising or lowering the bag.” Her mother directed.

I saw her reach for the bag, then heard a click. I felt nothing for a few seconds, then the very warm soapy solution began flowing into me.

It wasn’t too bad for the first few seconds, then I began cramping. I complained. “Clamp it off and let the cramp pass, Gloria.” her mother said. “And hold the bag a bit lower. This is a therapeutic enema, not a punishment enema.”

Angela clamped the tube and waited for a few seconds until the cramp passed then opened it again. The flow was much gentler.

I soon began feeling very full. I doubted I could hold what I had let alone take any more and told them so. Angela clamped off the tube again and gently pulled out the nozzle. “You need to hold it as long as you can, Roger, and let it work.” Mrs. Angles told me.

I held it for a couple of minutes, then rushed to the toilet. Out with the enema came the stools that had been stopping me up. The relief was immediate, except for the slightly burning sensation of the soapsuds.

“I can tell from the sound and the look on his face that the enema did its job.” Mrs. Angles told Angela. “I’m going to leave you two now. If I were you I’d give him the rest of what you have, then a full bag with the salt but no soap to flush him. Another saltwater enema after the concert would probably be a good idea too.”

Angela’s mom left us alone. I looked over at Angela who was still holding the over half full bag and the nozzle. I suddenly started looking forward getting the rest.

I got it all and the flush too. After the concert Angela gave me another bag full with the soap and one without. Then, at her request, I did the same to her but with her over my lap. We were both so hot afterwards we ran to the bedroom and fucked with no other preliminaries.