Back in the late 1950s, I was a schoolboy living with my parents in suburban Philadelphia. I was twelve years old and I had an older sister Lynn, who was sixteen. Lynn was very athletic and was a star field hockey player at our high school. She had one of those compact bodies with muscular legs and a tight butt. I used to be amazed at how fast she could get up and down the field from her wing position. At this particular time she had a very important playoff game coming up, and because of the anxiety and tension to play well, she had become constipated.
I was in my room and I could hear her discussing it with my mother in the adjoining bedroom. Mom said, "Lynn, if your as bound up as you say you are, I think nothing would be better for you than a good enema. You'll feel better and be a lot less nervous."
Lynn replied, "Please mom, I hate getting them and it's so embarrassing."
"Maybe so", Mom said, "But you can't play like this. Go to the bathroom and try to go one more time and if you can't, your getting an enema and don't argue with me." Mom told Lynn to get undressed, put on her pajama top but not the bottoms and left the room to get a towel. She returned minutes later with the towel and told Lynn to wrap it around her waist with the fold in the rear and go to the bathroom.
Mom then went to her bedroom closet where she kept the enema bag. It was the standard bag of the day, a red open-top that held about 2 1/2 quarts. Since my sister and I were no longer young kids, mom matched the bag up with the larger black douche nozzle that came with these combination fountain syringes. She went to the closed bathroom door and asked Lynn if she had any success.
"No Mom," came the dejected reply. Mom knew it was now time to go into action but she also knew I was still in the house. She came into my room and told me to go outside an play. I went down stairs, but didn't leave the house.
Normally I was a well behaved kid and obeyed my parents. But the thought of my sister getting an enema was emotionally overwhelming and I was willing to risk being discovered. As soon as I heard my mother go into the bathroom and close the door, I snuck quietly back upstairs. I didn't want to miss a thing. Fortunately doors had keyholes back then. Not the best view but adequate.
Since I already knew Moms' technique it wasn't hard to visualize what I couldn't see outright. She was sitting on the side of the bathtub running the water. When she got the temperature of the water warm enough to suit her she filled the bag while holding a bar of ivory soap in the water flow as it entered the bag. She then hung the bag on the shower curtain rod and opened the clamp to let the air out. After reclamping the hose, she used her foot to move the fluffy bathroom rug over to the side of the tub. She told Lynn to kneel on the rug facing the tub.
Mom placed a folded towel on the side of the tub and had Lynn place the area of her chest between her breasts and stomach resting on the towel with her hands against the inside of the tub and her head hung down. This variation of the knee-chest position left plenty of room for her tummy to expand and of course, her fanny right where it needed to be. Mom sat down on the closed toilet seat lid, opened a jar of Vaseline and gave the nozzle a good greasing. She removed the towel Lynn had around her waist and put it across her lower legs in case of a spill.
At this point I was beside myself. Here I was looking at my sisters' bare bottom. I had seen her muscular legs before in a swimming suit but never her bare behind. Mom used her thumb and index finger to spread my sisters cheeks farther apart and press the nozzle up against her anus. As she pressed harder the nozzle head began to slide into her rectum and Mom instructed her to take a deep breath.
As she did, the rest of the nozzle disappeared up in side her. Mom told her to take another really deep breathe, opened the clamp with its distinctive "click", and told her to exhale. As the water began to flow into my sister, almost immediately I could tell she had distress. An enema can be a wonderfully enjoyable experience, but it can also be painful.
There was no doubt my sister was getting the painful variety. She was so plugged up there just wasn't much room in there. In fact by now she was beginning to softly weep. Mom closed the clamp and began to rub my sisters tummy. She also massaged her neck and shoulders. Apparently that did some good and Mom opened the clamp. It looked to me like she took most of the bag to her credit, but by the time the hose was clamped for the last time, she was flat out crying and shivering.
Mom took the nozzle out and pressed some toilet paper against her crack and said hold it as long as she could, which wasn't long. At this point I took my leave for fear of being caught. I could only fantasize about my sister sitting on the toilet, crying and shaking as she expelled, and ultimately getting the relief she craved.