I can't speak for all anal-erotic males, as to how they might have
become fanny-finger fans. For me, the phenomenon goes back to delicious
childhood experiences; at least, they seem to have been delicious. At
the same time, it wasn't quite like the eating ice cream-type of
delicious, because I can remember fighting the promise of the
suppository-experience(I would never fight the promise of an ice cream
To my mother, few things in life were as important as a regular bowel
movement. The question of the day, almost every day, was, "When did you
last make a doody?" Unevacuated stool was considered poison which had to
be gotten out, or dire consequences unspoken were sure to occur, like
maybe death by bellyache. Mother could help, though. Healing could be
found in a small jar in the medicine cabinet. "Infant suppositories"
were of the elongated type then. They curved slightly toward the rounded
end that was to be inserted first. They came a dozen to the jar, with a
picture of a white-coated pharmacist on the label, standing behind a
table on which rested a mortar and pestle, the symbols of his trade.
The favorite position for administering was over-the-lap, with mother
sitting on the toilet seat, the little jar next to her. With me over her
knees, first my trousers were lowered to my ankles, and then mother
would pull my briefs down over my little butt, expositing the cheeks to
her view, to await the rude manipulations to follow. Then with her right
hand she would fish out one of the little magic cylinders, while with
the finger and thumb of her left, she would part the little cheeks,
revealing my tight little rosebud. I, of course, could not see her
deftly handling my little tush, could only feel the intense sensations
she was causing as she fingered the spot where all my erotic sensation
was so concentrated.
Then suddenly the slippery little projectile was there, at the tiny
entrance to my rectum, and waves of indescribable sensations would race
through me as I could feel it slipping in past the little ring, followed
by a finger pushing it up, up further into the rectum. Even at this
tender age(I couldn't have been more than five of six) my tiny penis
stood erect, pushed outward in the storm of overwhelming feelings that
flooded my consciousness in the moment of insertion. As my memory serves
me, the wait was not long before the cure for all my ailments occurred.
In the meantime, my little anus would contract, an act which I recall as
bringing a pleasurable sensation of its own - the feeling of having a
full rectum and withholding its contents.
Time went by. At age ten or so I bravely went up to the pharmacist and
asked for a jar of infant suppositories. I'm sure he knew he was selling
me a sex toy. I secreted the little jar in my dresser drawer and awaited
the magic moment when I could be alone in my room. In seclusion I opened
the jar. Savoring each step, I gave myself first one, then a second
suppository. The feelings were indescribably wonderful. I had learned to
I grew up, but part of me never grew up. Even as I continued to recall
the delicious sensations of the childhood suppository experience, I
could feel the storms of erotic sensation build as I recreated the
memory of being over mother's lap, at the moment of insertion. I
reinforced the fantasy by finding objects to insert up my asshole; a
rectal thermometer, an enema nozzle, finally suppositories themselves.
It took courage to go into the drugstore and buy those things, thinking
that the girl at the checkout counter could picture me masturbating
while shoving a suppository up my ass. I countered my embarrassment with
enjoyment of her supposed fantasy. I wondered why, as a six year old I
could have resisted such a wonderful experience as having mother give me
I studied psychology, and I pondered, and finally I realized that a six
year old can't handle the erotic feelings that she unwittingly forced
upon me. I think it was unwitting. Did mother experience a thrill as she
gave me a suppository? Did it stimulate her own anal longings, perhaps?
I was being goosed erotically, a powerless victim being mini-raped by my
own mother, forcefully shoving an object into my sensitive rear opening.
Having concluded that my mother's anal manipulations under the guise of
a remedy were a mild form of rape, have I become angry? Do I ponder some
form of revenge? No, not at all.
What I ponder is my wish to become a little child again and have a woman
put me over her lap, pull down my pants and send waves of erotic
sensations through me by shoving a slippery object way, way up into my
rectal opening. But now, you see, I could handle the delicious
sensations, and I would no longer have any need to resist. And then,
after my having assumed the passive role we could switch roles, and this
would be another way for me to master these early experiences. No longer
the "victim", I could become the active partner, and get off by
creating, for my fortunate partner, the delightful, delectable
And so you see, this is the way I became the anal-erotic man I am today
- and, here is the catch. How do I find this anal-erotic woman who will
recreate my childhood memories, and let me then fulfill my other
fantasy, by lying over my lap as I explore her little bum hole? Does she
exist for me, my partner in ass-play, my enemate, my Suppository Suzy?
Oh Mommy, where are you now, now that I need you? I haven't had a bowel
movement in seven days, maybe eight, and if I don't find her, I may
never shit again!
But then - Oh, shove it!