The Last Enema-Aunt StorybysuppleWriter©
Genre-buster, or genre-slave? You decide!
I've read them, you've read them. The genre. The visiting aunt who gives enemas to nieces and nephews. Aunt Amy, Aunt Betty, Aunt Carol, Aunt Clem (my favourite) and many others. It is a familiar theme, it seems, and most of them are well-written (I speak as an English major).
Why is it the aunt though? It can be 'mom' of course, but the aunt bustling in with new ideas is a good device. It could be uncles, but female relatives tend to do more nappy-changing and medical tasks. They get given mom's authority, and the assumption is that they always act is the interests of the children. When the parents are away, the aunt might be entrusted with the total care of the children, and we all know what that means!
Speaking personally (I'm 24, male) I prefer the stories where the 'children' are over 18. Maybe it's because they are nearer my age, or because their sexuality is more developed.
The aunt thing is on my mind at the moment, because my aunt is staying here. Just to set the story straight, I'm not going to say to her "Jeez, aunt Susan, what is an enema?", because she is 33. To emphasize this, when she was 13, LL Cool J and MC Hammer were in the charts!
In fact, I just call her Susan, and we are both slaving away over computers most of the day, meeting up mainly for drinks and meals. I'm finishing a literature dissertation, and she is just here for 2 weeks to get some peace so she can write up some case studies for her dietician training. My parents are on holiday in Europe.
I must admit that she is hot, though. What with her running on the beach and yoga on the porch, I get to see her in skimpy clothing.
Last week, I let her use my computer (mine has internet access, hers hasn't - she needed email). I know what you are thinking - she looked at my browser history, and saw my list of enema stories, but I'm prepared for that. My favourites list is safe, and history is not turned on. My links are on a USB stick.
Anyway, yesterday was when it all started. Susan told me she was going for a long run, so just to satisfy my curiosity about her, I look a look at her laptop. Everything boring... but what was this? Some html files containing enema stories! In fact the same stories that I had been reading! And a file containing my links! How was this possible? Then I figured it out - I had copied the links to the clipboard, lent her the computer, and she had done a 'paste' - maybe accidentally. In any case, she had enough interest to use the links, and to save the files onto her laptop with here USB stick.
Of course I was worried about this - she knew about my secrets. But if she said that she intended to tell my parents, I could reveal what I knew about her. Not that I thought she would say anything - she was a pretty cool person.
A couple of days passed, and we got along fine. Then came the time for morning drinks. I had coffees, she sometimes had a pot of herbal tea.
"Shall I make drinks, Susan?" I called upstairs.
"How much water?"
"Three quarts should do it,"she said.
I stopped. That was not a drinks amount, that was for... enemas.
She appeared at the door of the kitchen.
"Is there a problem, Steve?"
"No, it just that three quarts sounds more like..."
"More like what?"
"Well, an enema." I went for it.
"Yes, I guess so," she said. "I give them to my clients sometime, you know."
"Oh, yes, I didn't know. Er, interesting," I said, trying to keep cool.
"Would you like to try?" she said. "It's quite common for enemas to be given in families, and I am your aunt."
"Well, why not. I don't know much about them, but it sounds worth a go," I said.
She looked at me with a knowing smile. I was too nervous to give her a knowing smile back. She did not know that I knew about her.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to give you a 4H one!"
I had not heard of a 4H enema.
"4H, yes. Hot, high, heck of a lot, and held."
I smiled. She was joking about the genre.
"When did you last have a BM, young man?". Ah, the genre. What did the young men say?
"Oh, I can't remember... maybe yesterday."
"Yesterday? You need a high enema right now. I want you to boil up 6 quarts of water in our pans and kettles. Whilst it cools, I am going for a run. OK?"
She swept out of the room, leaving me to contemplate my fate, and prepare the water. I knew she was really into it, and it now didn't matter that I knew she had read the stories. In fact she was telling me, by her choice of words. This was really going to be hot. But 6 quarts?
In an hour she returned to the kitchen, wearing skimpy running gear, sweating, and with bare feet. She carried a bag of equipment, and some large towels.
She tested the water - which was fine - and spread towels thickly on the floor.
"Now Steven, I want you stripped-off, completely naked. This might be messy, and we will avoid washing clothes later. Also, I need to be able to gauge your responses to the enema." My formal name. The voice of control.
I stripped, then stood there bashfully. She briefly smiled at me. Then, she took a kitchen chair, and placed it on its side on the towels.
"Now Steven, I want you to kneel on your knees and chest, but over the back of the chair."
This meant that my thighs were vertical, and my back was strongly arched.
"You see Steven, some of my patients try to curl their bottom inwards, away from me. The chair-back prevents this. Enjoy it if you can. Be proud to expose your anus to the world!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hanging up a bag, and filling it. How much? I couldn't tell.
Then the snap of rubber gloves being put on. She gently touched my anus, and began to make small rings round it.
"Some therapists tend to force their way in, but I go for a less invasive approach. Just wait, and relax." she said.
It seemed like ages, and I was glad my penis was hidden from view. All of a sudden, she said:
"Aha! hello to you too, Mr. Anus! Steven, your anus just did an involuntary wink at me. This means that there is a desire for insertion, and it will be much easier for us both."
"I'm just going to insert a finger"
"...to check for obstructions?" I said.
"Yes indeed! You seem to know a lot about this, Steven. I won't ask you how, yet."
This line was not in the genre. I did not wish to go there with her. Anyway, she did not expect a reply, and the process continued. She explained that the water had soap in it, and she inserted a normal nozzle, and opened the flow.
"He heard the click as the flow began," she whispered.
"I heard the click as the flow began," I whispered.
After a few minutes, I told her that I was full, and she removed the nozzle. She explained that I should hold it for a few minutes, the go to the toilet and expel, which I did. A soapy mess!
Returning to the kitchen, I began to pick up my clothes and said
"Thanks, aunt Susan, that was..."
"Whoa there young man, it is time for your enema! Did I ever say that I had just given you an enema? That was just a quick washout of the lower bowel, to make the enema easy."
She re-arranged the towels in thick piles, and instructed me to lie on my back with my knees bent. She placed some more towels under my hips. She moved me over onto my right side, and greased my anus.
"Now Steve, we have a three-quart plain water enema - this is the main cleanout. I'm going to insert the nozzle, and begin the fill."
After a few minutes, I began to feel full, and said so.
"Young man, I think I know more about this than you do." She smiled in a knowing way.
"You have two more quarts, so I need to continue. However, we will move you onto your back."
As I turned, her hand brushed my penis. Was this accidental? It seemed not. She asked me to move onto my back, with knees bent. There was nowhere to hide.
"You have a beautiful erection Steve, and it is beneficial here, because we want as much blood to circulate around the genitals and anus as possible. Now I'm going to massage your abdomen, to move the water into the transverse colon."
I could hear the water sloshing around inside me, and began to feel full. I asked her to stop, and she paused the flow, but continued with the massage. As she leaned over, I could see her nipples against her sweaty T-shirt. Aunts were not like this in the stories!
"As I massage you, Steve, the water washes off waste matter. For the final quart, I want you on your right side, to encourage the flow into the cecum."
The discomfort had passed, and I could sense that it was flowing down my right side. Finally, there was a gurgle from the bag, announcing that it was empty.
"Now for the holding, Steve. Some stories on the Internet are just that: stories. For a proper enema to work, it must be held for 15 minutes. If you fail, we must redo the whole process. Some people like to do self-massage, or pant like a puppy-dog. In any case, you must NOT go potty!"
Go potty? Even my parents never used this phrase. I liked it though!
She watched me intensely for the whole time. I was desperate to touch my penis, but did not dare.
After 15 minutes exactly, I was desperate to eject, and she helped me to the toilet. I sat down and was about to expel.
"Steve, I know you really want to expel by yourself, but this is the time for deep connection. I know what you have been reading on the Internet, and I like that stuff as well.
She sat down on the floor 2 ft from me, in a bound lotus pose, and looked deeply into my eyes.
"As you expel, we maintain eye contact. This will be very intense for both of us. But know that I have been where you are now."
The bathroom was now quiet, except for my expulsions. I gazed into her eyes, and felt totally subservient. Her commanding gaze never wavered.
After the final expulsion, she stood.
"Good, Steve. I know there is a bond between us, but we might never repeat this moment. Will you forget what happened? Think about some sort of log or journal, to help you remember."
The spell was now broken. She tidied up, I dressed, we smiled at each other, and went back to our rooms.
I knew that parts of the stories were fake, but I had been through a real experience. I could do a proper story. Opening a new, document, I began to type:
... 'The Last Enema-Aunt Story
...I've read them, you've read them. The genre. The visiting aunt ...'