I was very pleased to see your magazine take the initiative on the subject of the good ol’ enema. It needed to be taken out of the Victorian closets (as referred to by one of your readers). Enemas were much a part of my boyhood and teen years, living in the 80s on a farm in Northern Ontario. Except for aspirins, Mother’s only remedy for us four boys was the enema, and we all got more of them than aspirins. Mother had a big red rubber bag and tubing, to which was attached a white ivory nozzle and, though we always got the enema for anything from headaches to sprained ankles, they were also given to all of us at special times. These occasions were the weekend before we went back to school, in the spring (to get us “spring cleaned”) and after we got back from camp. All four boys, separated only by one year in between, had to remain in bed on these special occasions, usually on Saturdays.

Mother would give the eldest boy the enema first, in front of us all. As we had no Dad, the eldest then helped in giving enemas to the others, so not only did we learn not to be ashamed of our bodies but to give and take enemas without shame or guilt in later years.

It was only in my later teens that I began to get erections when the warm soap and water flowed in, and I began to think about giving enemas to other people, especially girls. At 18 I had to go to a clinic for a minor operation and it was there a young girl gave me an unexpected enema. While the operation involved the lancing of a boil on my knee from a football injury, the night before the doctor insisted that I get a good cleaning out so I could rest in bed afterwards without having to go too often the bathroom.

This was indeed the sexiest enema I had up to this time! The young brunette nurses aide showed me into the treatment room. Once inside, she told me I was to receive an enema. I had still not gotten into my pajamas and was wearing bell bottoms and a sports shirt. She left me alone for about five minutes sitting up on the treatment table. There was a huge glass jar affixed to the wall above the table and from it was connected a very large rubber hose and a rectal nozzle three times as big as the one my mother used at home. I began to get an erection in anticipation of the treatment ahead of me and started to masturbate to be surprised by the brunette’s return.

Without any embarrassment she came over and started to remove my shoes. Next she unbuttoned my shirt and then, seeming to ignore my projecting penis, pulled down my pants. Once again, I felt like my mother was doing this, but there was nothing to beat it for a sexually arousing activity. She asked me to lie on my left side and proceeded to fill the glass jug with warm soapy water.

This enema didn’t finish like all previous enemas. When I had taken all the soapy water, she told me to hold it for a few minutes and proceeded to rub my stomach. It was then our eyes really met in earnest and she spoke for the first time. She said she would love an enema and I told her I had learned how to give them at home. She went over ,bolted the door and then she undressed. Instead of giving her an enema first, we had the most lovely sex after which she then got the enema. As it was after 10 p.m. there was no one else waiting for treatment, so it was enema/sex/enema/sex till 2 in the morning, and we were both cleaned out, front and back!!!

I’m now married to the same girl and the enema bag is on our bathroom door for all to see. Not all our sex sessions include enemas, but most of them do and they add great excitement. The enema has greatly helped our sex life.