Like many, I received an unknown number of enemas as a small child. My first real fountain syringe enema was at age 9. I was faking sick to stay home from school. About mid-morning, mom announced that she needed to give me an e n e m a . Mom kept her syringe on the back of a door in her bedroom, so I know what it was. She was in a dither because she could not find the black enema nozzle. She had the douche nozzle attached and didn't want to use that on my near virgin butt. She finally found the proper nozzle, prepared the bag with warm soap water and called me into the bathroom.
There it was, hanging from the hook on the bathroom door, bulging with the hose stuck in the bag, soap foam was visible. We had an old claw foot tub. She sat on the edge of the tub, had me lay over her lap, pulled down my PJ bottoms, applied some vasoline to my opening, then inserted the tube. I could look up and see the red bag and hose. Once the tube was firmly in place, I heard the click of the metal clamp and momentarily I felt the solution inside me. Apparently, I did not take the whole bag, and Mom coached me to take more, but I never emptied the bag. Finally she closed the clamp, removed the nozzle from me, and I was to hold it (the solution) for several minutes. All while looking up at the bag on the door hook. The bathroom was cool, and my butt was sticking up, my colon was full. At last, I was allowed to use the toilet. The syringe was hanging right in front of me. I do not remember if I was "excited" by this procedure, but within a year or two that began a romance with enemas that continues today. The memory of this single event is imprinted on me. I have relived it many times.