My Enema Story

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Embarrassment, humiliation and fear are what most people have when anything is mentioned about an enema.

My Story an Enema - 1950's Style

 I am 60 years old and the fascination for an enema has never left. I guess we all have quite different ‘go’ buttons and turn-ons but for me the enema experience was it. Not just the pleasure of receiving but the whole experience, the room, the equipment, the smells of warm rubber and soap, the utter humiliation of having to undergo the whole procedure against my will and in reality the whole exercise was doomed to obsolescence anyway. That was the 50’s. I wonder how many enema lovers there are out there that absolutely hated their first childhood enema experience. Quite a few I would think, and look at us now.
It’s an amazing piece of equipment the human mind.  Really amazing.

 I do remember my dear old mom getting very sick and as a practical solution to the problem of child rearing I was sent down to my grandmothers’ for a period of about 4-6 months. Dear old Granny was a stickler for beaming good health and of course in those days a healthy child was one that radiated a warm glow of effervescence while carrying a reserve of puppy fat.  Rosy cheeks and all that. It has taken me the last 50 years to get rid of all that!!

The effervescence I still have and I am thankful for that. I guess also that a chubby child was the sign of a good mom and an affluent household. Modern nutritionists would be utterly horrified at the huge amounts of home-made butter etc than she crammed into me.

 My grandmother was an enema enthusiast, not in a sexual way but totally in awe of the results of a good ‘boogee’ as she called it. By the way , does anyone else remember this term for the enema?   Evidently it is an American expression but I see it in the dictionaries written in the French  way. To continue;  In the 50’s the enema was probably the one home remedy that worked beyond the wildest dreams of our caregivers. I also remember our local pharmacy actually having large displays of enema bags and bulbs. These would adorn the shop window or would be in a glass display case right in the serving counter.  No modesty there. They sold heaps of them too.  I often wonder about the total embarrassment or maybe everyday complacency involved in buying enema equipment over a public counter. It was the technology of the day and I notice that very few people have touched on this. Would the contemporary mother of the day ask outright as to the advantages of each and every type of device on display, quite openly and as a matter of fact ,or would she in fact shyly take the pharmacist advice, purchase, and slowly walk away?

 My grandmother lived in a very comfortable California bungalow , circa 1920’s. You could never say that they were the epitome of refinement of service areas but they were nonetheless attractive and for me this home was ‘home’. The central focus to this home was the magnificent kitchen which was also the everything room. We would call it a ‘farmhouse kitchen’ today. This was not only a food preparation area, but also the dining room and general every day sitting room. In the middle of the house was the bathroom. This was an austere room with match lining (a type of wall lining) and indifferent plumbing. In fact it was hopeless plumbing installed by someone with no sense of humour and a rage on society. There was a sink, bath and the almighty… shelf.  This was no ordinary everyday shelf. On it sat all the enema equipment  for all to see. In fact, because of its height above the floor level only an adult could appreciate the significance of this shelf.  From my low perspective all I could see was the bottom of the shelf and the enema bulb poking a tantalising glimpse of itself over the top of it . From my small view of the world this was a thing of fascination and a thing of horror!  It was almost a shrine to me and I didn’t know why. The enema, which was huge and terrifying, sat in an enamel bowl with a very large bar of yellow soap all ready for some poor unfortunates set of bowels. These, it would seem, were to be mine.

In those days it was almost a matter of pride to have a big rubber enema on display. Perhaps this was an expression of infinite medical knowledge? I would be sent off to the toilet but if I could not go on the spot then an enema had to be the popular motivator of Granny’s choice. I remember watching her mix the soapy solution in the bowl, stirring the soap with the nozzle of the enema and then the sucking sounds of the syringe slurping up the warm thick liquid. On reflection I would have to say that she probably wasn’t the best of operators as a slurping sound with a bulb syringe would indicate air being sucked in. Nothing would deter her resolve to clean me out. I would then be made to go across her knees and she would part my cheeks. The syringe would be liberally smeared in Vaseline (no KY in those days I don’t think) and also my bum.  The nozzle would be inserted to the hilt and she would give the bulb a good squeeze. The process would be repeated a few times until it was considered that I had taken enough. Air and all.  I would have to say it worked. I am also indebted to her for a lifelong interest.
Well there it is, I’ve said it. I hope you all have this great appreciation for the enema as I do.


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Warning: Do not use enemas or laxatives if abdominal pain, nausea, or vomiting are present unless directed by your health care provider.
  Rectal bleeding or failure to have a bowel movement after use of a laxative or enema may indicate a serious condition.
  Discontinue use and consult your health care provider.
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  If pregnant or have an existing medical condition consult your healthcare provider before using.