Usually ,on fri. night after dinner, Mom would clear away the dinner mess, and I would strip down, leaving my barn clothes in the laundry. I would shower and Mom would change and prepare the enema. She would be waiting in my room, towel across my bed, Vaseline open on my nite stand, swirling the warm liquid in the enamel enema can, bumping the bar of ivory soap against the inside of the can. Mom was fairly strict and no nonsense, so by now I knew no amount of protesting or begging was going to get me out of it. The usual position for me was to lay on my left side , right knee , drawn up,,,but by this time we had both agreed , that I could take more, and be more comfortable doing it on my knees and elbows. My erection would be evident, but not commented on , or seemingly noticed. Sounds were a must. Mom seemed to be pleased if I gasped upon insertion, sighed as the flow , started, groaned as I filled and panted as the cramps began , grabbing up handfuls of the sheets and writhing a bit.