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Over My Mom's Lap

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Over My Mom's Lap

Like many, I suppose, my introduction to enemas came as a pre-schooler. I don't even remember it being linked to constipation. But every once in a while, my mother decided that my little sister or I needed an enema.

She sat on the toilet lid, I was over her lap with my pants down or off, and the sink was filled with warm water, into which she had swished a bar of Ivory soap. She would lubricate the nozzle of an infant syringe with Vaseline, fill the little bulb with the warm water and inje...

 
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