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WARNING:
THE FOLLOWING IS AN ADULT RECOLLECTION OF A CHILDHOOD EXPERIENCE WHICH OCCURRED ABOUT 35 YEARS AGO. IF READING OF CHILDHOOD EXPERIENCES UPSET YOU PLEASE DO NOT READ FURTHER. ************************************************************************** ******** The following is true, pretty much as I remember it. If you've seen it before, it's because I've sent it out to various people in exchange for getting their own childhood stories. One or more of the people I've sent it to may have sent it on; I encourage distribution of my recollections.
My hope is that upon reading this you'll be tempted to write of your own childhood experiences.
If you wish to correspond with me please Email me at: "AEXU81A@PRODIGY.COM" (without the quotes); I use an email system that works best with Prodigy Email. I currently have a direct Internet connection, but I've not yet put all the software in place to use it; at some time in the future I expect to put up a home page on enemas!
If you have any unresolved issues or questions which result from your getting enemas as a child, I may be able to help you. I am a professional Pediatric Colonic Therapist and I've extensively studied elimination disturbances (real and imaginary, congenital and acquired) in children and counseled children with such disorders.
********************************************************** Swim Team Story follows!
It was a hot Friday afternoon at Norville High in suburban Miami. The second weekend in April, and a Swim meet coming up that very afternoon! It was 2:15 and fifth period had just let out. I was a Junior and my sixth period class was Journalism. I was sports editor for the high school paper, so instead of heading for the 2nd floor classroom, I headed down the west staircase and out the southwest exit for the gym.
I'd hoped I could get some good pictures of the swim team guys working out, getting ready for the meet, which was held at the olympic-size pool just west of the school complex.
I got to the boys dressing room just as the guys on the team started to dress out for exercises. Off came the jeans and jockeys, bearing some of the smoothest and best-muscled butts in South Florida! Bill's was as white as new snow, but with the beginning of dirty-blonde peach-fuzz obvious on closer inspection. Barry's was smooth and almost as white as the porcelain-enameled sink he leaned over as he looked into the mirror at his newly cut hair. And as little hair as the buzz-cut left him with on the top of his head, I just knew there was more there than anywhere else on his still-young body!
But where were my best friend Tommy and my personal favorite, Felix? I wondered to myself, musing on the fact that as little hair as Barry had down there, Tommy had even less. Felix was the more developed of the two, both muscles and well-developed boy-organ, and already showed signs of the hairy Italian he would soon grow up to be. Where were they?
I didn't have time to find out, as I had to check with Coach and find out whether the boys would practice at the pool (almost a block away) or on the field back of the gym. I made a sharp left turn, ran past what I knew to be a one-way mirror well placed so the coaches could see the goings-on in the dressing room without any of the boys seeing them, and ignoring (as I always did) the notice stenciled on the office door ("Do Not Enter Until Called" it read), I burst into the coaches' office.
I couldn't believe my eyes!
There they were! Felix was sitting, stiff as a board, eyes staring sharply to his left, in the head-coaches desk chair. To my right, his left, right where he was staring, was the imitation-leather bench where I had often seen the coaches lie down for a few moments between classes, when the stresses of the day had gotten to their no-longer-teenage muscles, and they needed a moment of relaxation. Where I had seen some of the less athletic boys brought after collapse or near-collapse on the exercise field, to lie for a ten-minute break with a cool towel across their forehead.
But this time, lying on that very bench, was my best friend, Tommy!
He lay almost on his stomach, but turned slightly on his right side, head facing the wall, with no indication that he paid attention to any of us. He was wearing ... absolutely nothing!
And leading out from between his soft young boy-cheeks was an dark red rubber tube, connected to an amber rubber hose leading over and down, and then curving up one, two, three, four, five feet off the floor to what I always thought was a hook for the coaches to hang their sweats while changing into their street clothes.
But it obviously wasn't! For hanging from that no-longer innocent hook was as big an enema bag as I'd ever seen! The bag was bright red, and to this day, I'd swear it held a gallon!
It was still a little over half full, but from the determined look on Coach's face, you could see he wasn't about ready to call it quits.
"Hey Coach, can't you stop yet? This hurts!" pleaded Tommy, the first I heard from him since I'd entered.
"Not yet, Tommy," answered Coach. "I told you yesterday you couldn't swim if you were still constipated. You should have asked your mother to give you a laxative like I told you."
"C'mon Coach, I forgot! This is Murder! You're killing me!" wailed Tommy, discomfort obvious in his voice.
"Not killing you, only cleaning you," said Coach, is voice firm, with every expectation that Tommy would lie there and take it to the end.
A good half-minute passed, with Tommy moaning, and Coach sitting there on the end of the bench, his hand around Tommy's young body massaging his bloated belly. Then coach looked up as if he had just seen me.
"Oh, hi, Jeff," he said grinning. "I hope you're not getting any good pictures. They'd be too hot to print, you know." Honestly, I was so incredibly startled and excited by the scene, my own body throbbing in sympathy with Tommy's, that I hadn't even thought of the photographic possibilities!
"Hi...ii, C.C.Coach," I stammered.
"Just relax Jeff," Coach continued. "We're all friends here. When I brought Felix and Tommy in for their enemas they were a lot more cocky than they are now. They even told me they weren't afraid because they knew you took enemas yourself, and if you could take 'em, so could they."
It was true, I did take enemas, and though I knew that they knew, I never thought they'd tell Coach. And I never knew that Coach would give them enemas right here in school, either! I was learning something new here almost every minute! In fact, more than once I had dreamt of having Tommy or Felix on the floor in my bathroom at home, pumping hot soapy water up their young bottoms!
And here it was happening. Tommy was about to be finished, I could tell. The bag was less than half full; in fact it probably had only about a quart left in it. Coach had clamped the amber tube, and turned Tommy over onto his back. His lack of development was readily apparent. His cock, hard from internal stimulation, was not even 4" long, his balls, not half the size of mine, hugged closely to his body, and if you were looking for hair, you'd still have to wait a while! Tommy was easily the least developed swimmer on the team, and I thought, the least developed boy in school!
Coach rubbed deeply into Tommy's belly, beginning at the lower left, pushing up to his ribcage, across to the right side, and down almost to his cock, where he started all over again. After about ten circles around Tommy's distended belly, and with Tommy moaning all the while, he rolled the teen over to his right side and started to slowly remove the dark red colon tube.
Coach pulled and pulled, and I couldn't believe how deep the tube had gone into the young teen just a few feet from me on the bench. Finally it was out, and hit hung from Coach's hand, almost half an inch thick and two feet long from the place I had seen it enter Tommy's rectal opening. It glistened with water, grease and wet shit, and Coach dropped it into a basin waiting for it on the floor.
Then he pulled the young teen to his feet. "I feel sick, Coach," complained Tommy. as Coach half carried, half led him, to the small bathroom in the corner. Coach told him to stay on the toilet and let out the water as it came, but not to close the door. Tommy moaned in compliance, and groaned yet again as he pressed his hands against his young belly.
"Your turn, Felix!" said Coach, and the boy I thought easily the best looking at Norville stood up and walked over to the bench.
"Strip down and lie on the bench, Felix," said coach. He turned back to the bathroom, where I could smell as well as see that Tommy was slowly squeezing more of the soapy and shitty liquid from his tortured body. "I'll be back as soon as I've refilled the bag and gotten a clean colon tube for you."
"What's going on, Felix?" I managed to stammer.
Felix sounded quieter and more subdued than I'd ever heard him in the four years we'd known each other... "Well, Jeff," he said, "Yesterday Coach asked us we were ready for the meet. You know how he does it, going around the circle, asking us questions at random." I knew. Coach would walk around just outside the boys' circle. He'd pick one at random, "You Joe, how've you been sleeping lately?" A small-voiced answer. "You, Billy, Eating Well?"
"Anyway," Felix continued, "When he got to Tommy, the question was 'When was the last time you took a shit?' "
" 'I never took any, Coach,' answered Tommy," said Felix, "which made coach a little angry. 'You know what I mean!' " he bellowed!"
" 'I, I think I'm constipated, Coach,' Tommy finally managed to tell him," said Felix.
"Coach yelled, 'You don't think you're constipated, Tommy! You're either constipated or you're not!' "
" 'I guess I am, Coach,' said Tommy. Boy, Coach got pissed. 'You ARE constipated, aren't you?!?' he yelled! Tommy's 'yes' was small and lost in the general yelling as Coach went around the room. 'How about you, Billy? You, Joe, You, Barry?' When he got to me, I just couldn't lie. 'I'm constipated, too, Coach,' I said, and that's how come we're both here this afternoon," Felix finished.
Coach returned to the room, the four-quart bag bulging with hot soapsoads in one hand, and a glistening greased colon tube coiled in the other. "What about you, Jeff? You want one, too?" he laughed.
"No, sir," I said meekly, and turned and almost ran out of the room.
...
And although this episode ends, the story doesn't. As I admitted earlier, I DID take enemas myself, and sometimes had to have one given to me by my mom. Since I didn't really like that at all, and would much rather get them from a man, I decided to have a talk with Coach at my earliest opportunity. That opportunity presented itself on the very next schoolday, the following Monday, when I discovered that Felix and Tommy weren't the only kids enemaed by Coach at Norville High!