I cannot abide fiction that has no or little reality in it. Bizarre falsehoods clutter up the enema scene. Strange dreams intrude on the reader. Now I have read some extreme tales of enema incidents but as one reads them, they ring true. However, most of the junk that is written is just that. Long paragraphs of conversations that have no reality in them, just the strange semiconscious meandering of the mind. However, It's really a pleasure to read about enema stories if they are believable. They might not be true but the reader is able to relate, to believe. In fact, most of these stories are true or have a basis in truth - some with perhaps embellishments but nonetheless based in fact. I read one of these stories long ago and since then have never seen it again in print. I don't know the source but the story rang true and impressed itself in my mind. I'm sure the time of the story which was in the 40's and the circumstances had a lot to do with my remembering it so vividly. I'll rewrite it if the reader doesn't mind but please note that although the facts are as originally written, the words are mine.

I was a widower of about a year and my life seemed to be just getting back into a normal routine again. And then an incident occurred which substantially and permanently changed my life and life style. I answered a knock on the door and a woman who I remembered as a saleslady came in. My wife used to purchase soap and perfumery products from her on a regular basis. Although previously I did not have much to do with her, she was certainly welcome and I purchased a few things from her that I thought that I might need in the house. She then told me about an additional line that she carried which at that time we called rubber goods. These consisted of douches, enema bags, syringes etc. I was not much into this aspect of life at the time and I shrugged non-commitedly. She asked whether I had an enema bag in the house and I remembered that my wife did have one stored underneath the sink in the bathroom and she - Delia - asked to see it. I rummaged around finally finding it in its original box. Delia opened it and noted that the rubber was somewhat corroded and the tube was cracked. She suggested that I buy a new bag and a bulb syringe. Although I felt I had absolutely no need for these items, I OKed the order perhaps simply because of the pleasantries of Delia.

Next week, Delia delivered the items and I thanked her. But she said that part of her responsibility was to demonstrate how to use the enema bag. I was somewhat taken aback but she continued to be somewhat forward and suggested we go up to the bathroom. In thinking back at the incident, had the circumstances been different, I would have thanked Delia and said no. But I was a widower and did not realize how lonely I was. Delia knew that I was a widower. Now I know that Delia was presenting herself to me but at the time I was naive to that fact. The nagging loneliness on my part caused acquiescence to the demonstration. I wanted Delia to stay longer.

Upstairs she asked me to undress fully. I don't know why but I did. She in turn said that she would take off her dress for fear it might get wet. And I then beheld a wondrous sight. The full-bodied Delia had on a purple girdle and matching bra. I suppose I should call the color lilac or mauve. Purple is not a color of style. The stockings were attached to the corset. (I'm really not sure of the difference between a girdle and corset except that I think a corset has stays and it's stiffer.) And she set my heart afluttering. Sex, in those days, was a nuance - a skirt showing a little more ankle, a satin dress showing the smoothness of a woman's body. Sexuality was in the hints which were just as stimulating, perhaps even more, than the blatant nakedness of today. Delia said that she would demonstrate the syringe on me and partially filling the sink with warm water then sudsing it, she filled the syringe, asked me to lie over her knees as she sat on the toilet and administered the enema. She refilled the syringe a number of times though I have no recollection of how many times. I do know I was full and had to eliminate.

She left the bathroom as I went. She waited for me in the bedroom and when I was finished she said that in order to properly take an enema, I must give an enema to learn the proper technique. She said that she wanted me to give her an enema which she would direct and I would learn thereby. I could dream of nothing more thrilling than those words of hers. I would see Delia in all her glory. She stripped, went over my knees, and I refilled again and again the bulb syringe from the washbowl. We did not have sexual intercourse that day. Before she left, Delia said that next time she would show me how to use the enema bag and she left. The next day I had qualms about following up vis-a-vis Delia for I realized that there would be serious consequences, not only of a sexual nature but that Delia and I might be more than sympatico and that there would probably be emotional feelings engendered. I even thought that there might be a remarriage in the offing. But I was like a school kid. My thoughts were on fire my emotions were on fire and my pants were on fire, something that hadn't happened to me for over a year. It only took a short while for me to call Delia up and ask if she could come over to teach me some advanced enema techniques. She quickly came over. Just to finish the story. Yes. Delia and I married and we are very happy together. A good enema can do wonders.

Prof. Klystacor