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This story was originally written for Enema Lover's Forum. The author has agreed to its appearance here.
I was nineteen, so I knew everything--except what the hell was wrong with my stomach.
I knew I was okay Tuesday, because I had a date with this braless Nature Girl type and nailed her. No surprise; I knew I could do pretty much anybody I wanted, with my long gleaming hair and the downturned mustache that would make Redford jealous. After some fine Mexican weed, the hippie chick said she couldn't decide if I was a mannish boy or a boyish man, but either way she was totally into it. I knew she would be, and I knew I'd do her until I couldn't go again. Four or five times--I was nineteen, remember.
Wednesday I never heard the alarm and got to work almost an hour late. I wasn't good for much of anything until I had some coffee. My boss, Wes, caught me staring blankly at nothing and asked me if I was okay, although I heard his real question loud and clear: "Are you stoned at work again, Mercer?"
"Recovering from a date with a very fine lady." A white lie--I knew I wouldn't call her again. "Sorry about being late. I'll make up the time, work through lunch."
Wes was a good guy, set a Jack in the Box bag by my elbow around one without saying a word. I left half the gray burger with its orange secret sauce and only picked at the fries.
After work I went with some guys to a bar, the meat market kind where I usually lined up the ladies. I didn't finish my first beer, just mumbled an excuse. My stomach felt weird. First thing I did at home was undo my belt and fly; my belly thanked me vocally, so loud I laughed.
I sipped from a bottle of Pepto in front of news. Viking II data said Mars' polar cap was ice. No one knew what the Chinese might do now that Mao was gone. Interracial sports were almost a done deal in South Africa. After that, there was baseball, and if DeKlerk had a TV and brain he'd see his Boers oppressed what were probably their country's best athletes.
I woke up on the couch Thursday, feeling stiff and all-over crappy but in plenty of time for work. The shower felt great, but coffee made my stomach too acid-y. No wonder, I told myself, you never even ate dinner, just crashed in front of the game. The Egg McMuffin I got at the drive-through window dripped with greasy moisture. Disgusted, I threw it away.
A handful of us went out for lunch, but I just picked at mine.
"You okay, Mercer?" Wes asked.
"Yeah, fine. Just not hungry." I shrugged. Probably a good thing, with my Levi's this snug in the waist.
By quitting time work was pretty backed up, so I volunteered for overtime. Wes went home for his little TV and stopped at Colonel Sanders on the way back. When the debate started, we took a dinner break, but the chicken seemed awfully greasy.
"Mercer, you worry me."
"Worry about your man Ford instead," I suggested. "Carter's whipping his ass. And the Reds are gonna cream Philadelphia in the play-offs, too." We maintained a friendly baseball rivalry; I was a big Joe Morgan fan, Griffey, too. Wes was right up there with DeKlerk when it came to black athletes.
I caught the end of the game at home and went to bed, but my stomach had gone from not quite right to uneasy all the way to an ache. I slept badly. Friday I called in sick, and asked Wes if he knew a good doctor. He did.
The nurse who scanned my forms was a babe only a little older than me, which I wasn't too sick to appreciate. Early twenties, lots of make-up for a nurse, and a short tight uniform with some cleavage. When she caught me staring, I pretended I'd been looking at her nametag.
"O'Keefe," I said. "I went to high school with a Darren O'Keefe."
Her expression said she saw right through my lame cover-up. "No relation. When did this trouble with your stomach start?"
"I'm not sure. Wednesday, maybe."
"How's you diet?"
"Junk food, take-out, whatever. I don't cook," I said with a shrug. "But I haven't been eating much. No appetite."
"Bowel habits normal?"
"Uh... I don't know. I don't pay much attention."
"Did you move your bowels today?"
"No." All of a sudden I couldn't meet her eyes.
"I don't think so."
"When did you last move your bowels?" she asked, not one bit embarrassed.
"No idea. Tuesday? Monday, maybe. Was it Monday?"
"No idea," she said with a smile. "Is it normal for you, to go four or five days between bowel movements?"
"No idea," I answered. "I mean, who gives a sh--" I stopped myself, too late.
"Not you," she said, and chuckled. "Are you passing gas?"
I felt my face warm. "A little, I guess." And I felt a little better for a little while, too, but I wasn't going to volunteer the information.
"Okay." She told me to get undressed, put on the gown, and cover with the sheet. "Doctor will be with you soon."
It felt good to undo my Levi's. Real good. But my stomach still ached.
Wes never said Dr. Smith was a woman. I told myself that it was cool, women's lib and all, but I wasn't exactly comfortable when she asked me to lie on my back, pushed the sheet down to my pubic hair, and raised the gown above my ribs.
She did a lot of thumping, pressing, and even listened to my belly with a stethoscope. "I think we can get this taken care of easily," she said, smiling, and pulled my gown down and the sheet up.
"What have I got?"
"I see no indications of any disease that might cause sluggish digestion. My best guess as to the culprit is your diet. Try for five servings of fruit or vegetables every day, and drink lots of water. My nurse will give you a handout."
She jotted something on my chart.
"Then I should just go, and eat better?"
"Eat better, yes, but let's have Nurse O'Keefe fix you up before you go."
"Okay, sounds good."
If I'd known what she was ordering for me, I might have felt differently.
"The treatment room is just down the hall," Nurse O'Keefe told me. I reached toward my clothes, but she stopped me. "Wrap the sheet like a cape, and nobody will see anything if the gown flaps open in back." She picked up my jeans and faded chambray shirt; I got the Frye boots with my socks in them, and we scooted down a few doors to a mint green room three times the size of the cubicle I'd been in. Jars of cotton balls, swabs, and thermometers, a few covered trays, a bunch of tubes and bottles, and a stainless steel sink crowded a counter twice as long as my kitchen's.
The nurse took the boots from my hand and put them under a chrome and plastic chair, then folded my clothes and set them on it. "Uh-oh, I don't see any underwear. Did I drop it?"
"No." I hardly ever wore any. The hippie girl had liked that. I knew she would.
Nurse O'Keefe looked at me oddly but didn't comment. "Just lie down on the table and cover up with your sheet while I get things ready." She started washing her hands.
The paper crackled under me. I studied the posters on the wall opposite the counter. A chart of the muscles, front and back, the skinless guy not built as well as me and lacking a dick besides. Another one of the heart and all these red and blue veins in a man shape. A diagram of a big blue eyeball cut in half. Nothing I didn't already know.
Hung too low, a framed scenic print, fall foliage reflected off a lake.
"You like that one?" the nurse asked. "Doctor had it in reception, but decided the patients in treatment deserved something nice to look at, too. Roll on your side so you're facing it. Better than the eye--that one grosses me out." She adjusted my sheet for me.
And lifted it, exposing my ass. I reached back reflexively with an outraged, "Hey!"
"Easy," she cooed, smoothing the sheet right where it was and effectively blocking my hand. "I've done this so many times that it's no big deal, so there's no point in being embarrassed."
The hell there wasn't!
"Bend your knees a little more, and put the top one in front of the other."
I didn't move. "Could I, like, have a male nurse?"
"I suppose you could, if you had this done in the hospital as an outpatient. Doctor doesn't have any male nurses on staff right now. Of course, the hospital wouldn't take you today. Usually there's a wait for non-emergencies. Probably Monday or Tuesday at the earliest."
"I can wait." I didn't look forward to feeling like this for that long, but I could do it.
"Let me talk to Doctor," she said, and left.
I yanked the sheet over my butt the second she was gone.
Outside my door I could hear Nurse O'Keefe and Dr. Smith talking, although I couldn't make out the words. The doctor came in alone. "What's this about deferring your treatment?"
"I want a guy nurse."
"Mr. Mercer, I understand your feelings, but it's going to be pretty much the same from any nurse, male or female. Allison has performed this procedure hundreds of times, and I assure you there has never been a complaint, not one, about unprofessional behavior."
I must have looked unconvinced, because she went on.
"In addition, delaying for so many days is medically unsound. The abdominal pain and distension that brought you here are likely to grow worse, not better. Frankly, I hate to see a patient get sicker when recovery is right at hand." She lowered her voice needlessly. "If you have some sort of difficulty with Nurse O'Keefe individually, I can assign another nurse, although not with her experience, or do it myself--although I don't have her experience, either, and I'm pretty heavily booked today. I advise you against waiting, in any case, but the decision is yours to make. What's it to be, Mr. Mercer?"
I sighed inside. "Now, I guess."
"Do you want another nurse, or to wait until I can fit you in myself?"
"No." It made sense to get the one with the most experience, and Allison O'Keefe had to be the prettiest.
The funny thing was, I still didn't know what Dr. Smith told her to do.
"It really isn't going to be all that bad," Nurse O'Keefe said loudly over the running water as she rewashed her hands. "You'll probably be uncomfortable, on and off, but it won't hurt. It really does go easier if you can manage to relax. I know, impossible. But it's all in the attitude. If you let it be embarrassing, then it is. If you decide it's just some medical thing, it's about as embarrassing as getting your teeth cleaned."
Sure. "I just wish there was some pill."
Her laughter jiggled her cleavage. "The drugs give you terrible abdominal cramps, then really violent diarrhea that lasts for hours. Trust me, this is better."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed Doctor told you. I'm giving you an enema. Injecting a soap-and-water solution into your colon through the rectum."
I guess the look on my face reflected the way I felt. Aghast.
"Mr. Mercer, it's just a medical treatment, one I'm good at giving. On your left side again, please. Fine, now the top leg in front." She adjusted my sheet, but kept me covered. "Some specialty, huh?"
Her hands found the cords on the back on my neck and massaged them firmly. "My second-ever nursing job, I worked for Dr. Vernon. He was young, just out of his residency, and he'd use all the ugly slang when he talked about patients' bowels. Then he heard me explaining to a patient what we were doing for her--'for,' not 'to'--and telling her not to be embarrassed because helping someone get better was why I became a nurse. Which is absolutely true."
I couldn't help unwinding under her strong hands, now on my shoulders.
"I know, 'Enema nurse,' you think, 'yuck,' but how many nurses see a patient come in sick and leave the same day feeling just fine? Not many. I like making people well, I really do. Anyway, after that if Dr. Vernon prescribed an enema, that patient was mine. Practice makes perfect." The sheet left me. "I actually enjoy my work. Hold still while I lubricate your anus. Sore, huh?"
"A little, I guess." Her gloved finger gently rubbed slick circles, all of them on the outside.
"Straining, trying to go? Maybe some poking around in there, hoping to get things started?"
God, was there anything she wouldn't talk about as calmly as the weather? "No." Try stoned hippie chick digging in there with her finger while our mouths were glued to cock and cunt. I'd yipped when her ring snagged me and promptly forgotten about it until now.
"Well, I'll be careful."
The finger slipped into me. I felt myself tighten around it, although I didn't decide to do it.
"Automatic reaction," she said. "We'll wait it out. Some people learn to overcome it."
I felt like a live bug impaled on a collector's pin. "Who'd want to?"
"People who enjoy anal play, or anal intercourse. Or enemas."
"Not a lot of them, I bet." Was she moving her finger in me? Maybe, real slowly.
"Enemas? Not a lot, but some." She laughed. "Everyone I've ever treated, I'm sure."
"Man, you are good," I joked. Anything to get my mind off where her finger was.
"That's what they tell me. You're doing just fine, by the way. Relaxing a little while we talk. What do you do, Mr. Mercer, go to school?"
"Work. My boss recommended Dr. Smith."
"Must have enjoyed his enema so much he thought you would, too."
I had to laugh at the idea of Wes with this nurse's finger slowly turning in his fat ass.
"That's pretty good," she said, moving the finger more now. It didn't hurt. "People relax when they laugh. I should get Johnny Carson in here."
"Think Johnny needs to relax? Because I'm pretty sure he'd laugh."
We both did.
"Actually," I said, "I'd rather have George Carlin."
We went on like that for at least five minutes, kidding around while she got me lubed and as loose as I'd ever been.
"I think you're ready," she said. "Just stay as relaxed as you are. I'll have this prepared in no time."
Of course, I couldn't stay relaxed. It was only two or three minutes, but whatever it was she tried to push into me, my ass wasn't having any of it.
"Where's George Carlin when you need him?" she said.
I laughed, more to be polite than anything, and suddenly the thing was up my butt.
"Does that hurt?"
I thought a second before I answered. "No. I'm just real... aware of it."
"We can take a minute to give your body time to get used to it. Sort of like contact lenses? I can see you wear them."
"Yeah. I needed shades for day games. Baseball. Clip-ons are not an option, so I went to the eye doctor."
"He recommended contacts instead of prescription sunglasses?"
"They correct your vision better than any glasses, and you can buy whatever sunglasses you want."
"Did you have trouble adjusting to them?"
"You work up to wearing them all day. Now I don't even notice them."
"Like the nozzle in your rectum?"
I had to grin at how totally she'd distracted me. "Yeah, like that."
"Then let's get started. Just relax. Look at the picture, if you like. Or close your eyes."
For a second I thought she'd somehow heated the nozzle in my ass, just a little, before it dawned on me that what I felt was pleasantly warm water.
"It doesn't hurt," I said, kind of blown away that it didn't. Somebody says they're going pump water up your butt, you expect force, not this gentle flow.
"Told you so. Now, this has to be pretty soapy, to break up whatever's causing your problem. Sometimes patients cramp a little, or feel a strong urge to move their bowels. You tell me if you have either of those, or any other kind of discomfort. We'll stop the enema until it passes. And before you ask, yes, it always passes."
"Good, because I'm kind of starting to need to go already."
"Hang on, Mr. Mercer. I've already stopped it, so the pressure won't get any worse. Still in control?"
"You speak up if you think you might not be. There are things we can do. Roll a little more onto your side?"
She lifted the gown in front and put one hand on my stomach, low and on my left, then jammed her knuckles there, slow and pretty deep, working my gut right through the muscles. Sure enough, the feeling faded.
"See, I know just what you need. Back the way you were, and we'll do some more."
I shifted more onto my belly, and her hand on my bare hip stopped me when she decided it was just right. A small click and the warmth inside me renewed itself.
I studied the autumn picture, deciding the photographer took it early in the season. A lot of the trees were still green, and with the sunshine, I knew it was warm. I smiled to myself when I noticed a tiny red leaf floating on the water.
Meanwhile, the pressure grew, but it wasn't bad until near the end.
All of a sudden my ass demanded my attention by making the decision without me: this stuff is out of here! Now!
I clamped my asshole hard around the nozzle and groaned with the effort. The nurse knew exactly what was happening. A click told me she'd stopped it again, and I felt her hands not on my stomach but grabbing big handfuls of my ass like the hippie girl had done.
Thank god the nurse didn't spread and knead them, because I'd have lost it for sure. She did just the opposite, clapping my halves together and holding them firmly.
"It passes, Mr. Mercer, so hang on just a little longer, if you can."
And if I can't? "I'm trying!" I gasped. "Oh, man, I don't know..."
"So you're a baseball fan. Who do you like?"
"Cincinnati. Jesus!" I contained an involuntary grunt, just barely.
"That's the Reds, right? I don't follow baseball. Who might I have heard of?"
"Ah, Joe Morgan, Ken Griffey, Johnny Bench..." Seeing no recognition, I added, "Pete Rose?" I waved my hand, dismissing him. "Good, but not as good as he thinks he is. I like a little humility, you know?"
"At least I've heard of him. Better?"
"Yeah, I guess it is." I laughed uncomfortably.
"Good. Almost done with this. We'll go pretty slow on this last little bit. That's one thing I insist on, taking all the time my patient needs. That and privacy. Did you see I locked the door? There's a key, of course, but nobody can possibly walk in on us."
"Good thing. This isn't my idea of a spectator sport."
"Neither is baseball, if you ask me. These goes the last of it, Mr. Mercer."
I started to move, thinking I'd get up slow and careful without using any of the muscles in my stomach if I could help it. I figured that would put pressure on my swollen gut, and I knew I couldn't take it.
"Not yet." Her hand pressed my shoulder, holding me down. "You need to retain the enema, Mr. Mercer. Let it do its work."
"But I--" I clamped my mouth and asshole shut forcefully. Luckily, the only thing that escaped was a little moan from my mouth.
"Strong urge to expel?" she asked, already grabbing my cheeks and squeezing them together with one strong hand.
"God, yes." An ugly whining sound escaped my throat.
"I want you to inhale, slow and deep, for a count of five. Come on. One, two, three, four, five. Good, now let it out just as slowly. One, two, three, four, five. Again. One, two..."
I focused on filling and emptying my lungs with the intensity I gave to Pink Floyd albums when I'd been smoking dope, or Perez batting cleanup with runners on base. I didn't see why deep breathing should help, but it did. The pretty nurse holding my ass, the unbearable need to push, the cramps, all of it faded into the background as I concentrated. In-two-three-four-five... a longish pause, and out-two-three-four-five. In...
A chunk of eternity went by before I felt her hand circling my cock. An instant later, I realized I was hard as a rock before she touched it.
"Proof that it's better now," she remarked.
"Oh, man..." I felt my face heat. I moved to pull myself back and away from her palm, but she held me more firmly and pressed the hand holding my butt forward, telling my hips to get back where they were.
"Still in trouble?" Concerned.
"No. Embarrassed. I mean, to be like this when I hate--" I stopped myself as the realization dawned.
She already knew. "Maybe not, Mr. Mercer. Maybe not. Look at the picture, the trees and the lake, and feel my hand. Don't think. Just look, and feel. The blue sky, it could be a warm day, a little hot like it's been, but the trees are red and yellow and the water looks cool, as cool as the gel I'm putting on my hand, cool but not cold, it feels good on the warm skin, like you've been out in the sun a while, and now you appreciate the cool that makes my whole hand just glide..."
I swear, I started living in that too-scenic autumn picture, the warmth rising from the dark rocks, the sun dribbling gold coins on my bare skin through the bright leaves, the heat filling me inside so completely that my cock engorged with it, then the delicious cool of the lake, the moist hand bringing it where it was most needed, needed urgently.
Now my moans and gasps had nothing to do with the enema. I wasn't lying bare-assed on a sheet of white paper in this mint-green room under harsh fluorescent lights with a couple quarts of water up my butt. I lay on my side on a soft bed of dry leaves which crackled beneath me as I moved my cock, dipped into the edge of a cool lake where warm waves pumped it rhythmically, gently. I wanted it all to just go on forever. I'd been this high before, but never without dope.
And when I came with an extended groan, I didn't crash back into reality but fluttered down, as softly as I imagined the small scarlet leaf drifting onto the still blue lake, my weight settling onto the examination table so gradually that despite the water I felt light.
I blinked, hard, seeing the picture's frame for the first time in many minutes, the health posters higher on the wall, the hand daubing away the sticky white.
"Oh, very good, very good!"
"Man... Thank you. I mean, really. Thank you very much."
"My pleasure, Mr. Mercer."
"'Mr. Mercer' is my dad. You can call me Greg."
She didn't ask me to call her Allison. "You did the ten minutes like it was nothing, Greg. Think you'll be able to make it to the bathroom, or do you want to expel right here? It's no trouble, I can just tuck a bedpan under you and roll you onto your back. Not everybody can get to the bathroom in time."
"I can." I hoped. The need was back, strong as a starting pitcher after a few days' rest.
She helped me up, slowly, but upright the brutal pressure made me dash the few steps to the little bathroom. The explosion as I gratefully let go was almost like coming again.
I emerged, sheepish, five minutes later.
"On your back on the table, please," she said, friendly but impersonal, like she'd never touched me except to give me the enema. Not Allison who gave me the fine hand job, but Nurse O'Keefe.
I stretched out on new paper. The nurse covered up to my groin with the sheet, then moved the gown up, the way Dr. Smith had. The hands that had made me come explored my belly, at first lightly, then pressing more firmly, to the accompaniment of rumbles.
Suddenly I had to go again. "Nurse?"
"Here, take a magazine." She thrust an ancient Sports Illustrated at me. "And take your time. I'll massage your stomach as many times as it takes."
Eventually, she worked every bit of the water from me. I guess she'd gotten the basin of warm water while I was emptying out the last of the enema, because when I got back on the table, she washed my cock, which woke up and demanded more attention.
"On your side now, Greg, like when we started."
"Am I getting another enema?" Instead of dread, I half hoped I was.
She moved sheet and gown, exposing my ass. "You're getting the best TLC that professional nursing has to offer," she said.
"I think I already did." I knew I had.
Nurse O'Keefe washed me in back from balls to waist, soaping me like I hadn't cleaned myself up, which of course I had. It felt terrific, especially when she lifted one cheek and lathered my crack and a tiny ways into my asshole. The rinse took several minutes.
"I think we're all finished here. You can get dressed. How do you feel?"
I grinned ruefully at my raging hard-on. "How do you think?"
She handed me my jeans and shirt. "Your stomach isn't upset, and you feel clean and relaxed, better than in days and days."
"Yeah." I got dressed under her approving eyes.
"Uh, yeah." It surprised me a little. "I'm supposed to get a handout, something about vegetables?"
"Right. I can teach you how to fix them."
"It's okay if you're not interested, or not available. But I could make you a vegetarian dinner, at my place. Show you how."
She must have seen the 'yes' on my face, because she added, "Maybe afterward, if you want, I could give you a nice big enema."
My cock jerked in my Levi's. "Far fucking out! Ah, excuse my language. I meant, I could dig that. When do you get off?"
For the first time she seemed shy. "Whenever my patient does."
"Yeah?" I believed it. "Out of sight, totally out of sight!"
Nurse O'Keefe--Allison, I corrected myself--smiled. "I climaxed just a couple seconds before you did. I thought you knew."
I shook my head. "Man, I don't know anything," I said.
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