This story includes situations of an adult nature that
may not be appropriate for all readers. All characters and situations are fictional and
provided solely for the enjoyment of readers. Any resemblence to
real persons is coincidence and strictly in the mind of the beholder.
Synopsis: Melody gets help from a sympathetic neighbor after a knock-down, bruising fight
with her brutal ex-boyfriend. They fall in love, and ... there's an enema in here,
somewher, maybe two. This is an experiment in non-liner storytelling.
Originally posted 2008, updated 2017 for mobile devices.
Melody approached me. She was wearing nothing but one of
my shirts -- a burgundy-striped, long-sleeved button-down. I
liked how it showed off her long, sweet legs. "Ready for round
two?" I asked. "Or, do you need to rest a bit?"
She pressed her hand against her belly. "I think I'm
ready." Then, she climbed onto the bed, lay on the towel on her
left side and hugged her knees. I hung the bulging, red bag of
the fountain syringe onto a homemade stand. Then I squeezed a
blob of lube onto my finger and coated the nozzle with it. I
lifted her hem to expose her smooth, round bottom, spread her
cheeks with my left hand and with my right I worked the nozzle
into her using a circular motion. Once it cleared her sphincter
I slid it into her rectum, all the way up to the hilt.
Melody rolled onto her back, stretched her legs, crossed
her ankles and adjusted a pillow under her head.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Ready."
She was taking her second and last enema of the evening.
This had become our Saturday-night ritual, although tonight was
extra special. I snapped open the clamp and immediately pinched
the hose. Sitting in the syringe's reservoir was two quarts of
quite warm tap water. I pinched and released, pinched and
released the hose to administer it into Melody's lower colon
slowly.
"Warm," she said.
I slipped my hand under the shirt she wore, past her
luxurious, brown bush, to stroke her abdomen, gently, in
counter-clockwise circles, and I watched her face for any sign
of distress.
About half a pint had gone into her -- enough to begin
to relax and open her colon. I continued to pinch and release
the hose, but now I permitted longer bursts of water into her.
As I stroked her belly I heard a faint gurgle from under her
left ribcage. This told me the water had reached her splenic
flexure and it would be easy going for now -- at least until she
started to feel the fullness.
I let go of the hose so the enema would flow unimpeded
into her. Then I unbuttoned the lower half of the shirt and
spread it open so I could caress her belly more easily with both
hands.
"Warmth feels good," she said, "especially after such a
cold day today... I like feeling your hands on me. When Uncle
Will gave me enemas -- sometimes he'd rub my tummy like you're
doing."
"Did Uncle Will's enemas make you horny?" I asked.
"I was in grade school," she replied. "They made me feel
good ... just like yours do. Now that I'm older ... now that I
have you in my life ... the good feelings express themselves ...
differently."
"Sexually?" I asked.
"Yes, that..."
I watched the bag deflate as she filled. It was now down
nearly three pints and I could start feeling the firmness of her
distended colon.
"Feeling full?" I asked.
"Starting to..."
"You know," I remarked, "I think there's always some
sexual element between children and their care-givers -- between
little girls and their fathers, and little boys and their
mothers. Usually it's submerged pretty deep, but it's there..."
I watched the bag deflate until it emptied with a soft
glug. Melody lifted her buttocks from the towel so I could reach
under and retrieve the nozzle.
She put her hands on her abdomen, stroking it up and
down and admiring the distention. "Do you know how sexy it is to
see you do that?" I asked.
"How sexy?"
"Very sexy." I placed my palms against her belly and
could feel her colon bulging under her abdominal wall. "I think
there was some of the first enema left in you. How much longer
are you going to hold this one?"
"Not much longer." Melody swung her feet to the floor
and stood. She turned sideways, pulled back the shirt and
caressed her bulging belly. "What do you think?"
"I think maybe that's a preview of how you'll look in
three or four months."
"With some luck..." She headed for the bathroom while I
put away the enema gear. And I recalled how I had met her...
I had been standing at the window of the shabby
apartment I rented while the terms of my divorce were settled.
It overlooked the parking lot and I saw a green sedan pull in. I
recognized it as belonging to my next-door neighbors. From the
driver's side emerged a young woman, perhaps ten years younger
than I. From the passenger's side was her companion, a large,
brutish looking man. His neck was as thick as his head and he
walked with a swagger. He looked like an honest-to-God knuckle-
dragger.
I was accustomed to their routine. I would hear them
talking as they stepped out of the elevator; then as they
approached the corridor the two of them fell silent. Quietly
they would tread past my apartment door and I'd hear the key in
the next unit's lock. The door would slam shut and they'd resume
their conversation. Often it was accompanied by arguing and
sometimes shouting. But, nothing prepared me for what happened
on a Wednesday night in August.
A heated argument started the evening. Shouting
escalated and I thought I heard her crying.
Then, a door slammed and I heard a commotion -- objects
thrown against walls and to the floor ... glass and china
breaking. I heard her voice, screaming, "Help! Please! Someone!
Call the police!" She screamed it over and over.
I punched in 911 and told the dispatcher that a violent
domestic argument was in progress. It took the cops about
fifteen minutes to show, although it seemed like an hour.
In the meantime I heard more pounding and thrashing next
door, followed by a blood-curdling shriek. About the same time I
heard the officers in the corridor -- their police radios
squawking and pounding on the door.
I heard more sirens and looked out the window -- an
ambulance was pulling up. Paramedics brought a stretcher into
the building. Another squad car arrived and I saw a pair of
officers escorting the man, his hands cuffed behind his back,
into the car. It drove off.
A short while later I saw the EMTs loading the stretcher
into the back of the ambulance. The other occupant of the unit
next door was strapped onto it. My heart sank as I watched them
drive off, sirens wailing. And, I wondered if there had been
anything else I could've done.
The following Saturday I was performing my household
chores when I heard a knock at my door. This was unusual -- I
had no friends in the building and normally, visitors would buzz
me through the intercom. I opened the door and saw the girl from
next door standing in the hallway.
"May I come in?" she asked.
I stepped aside, gestured her in and regarded her. She
was of medium height and slim, with a round face, pale blue eyes
and a band of freckles across the bridge of her straight nose.
Her hair was medium-brown and wavy, and it came halfway down her
back.
Her left eye was black-and-blue and I could see other
bruises on her face.
"Were you the one who called the police the other
night?" she asked.
"I called, but you were making such a commotion I can't
believe I was the only one."
"I wanted to thank you," she replied. "And I wanted to
apologize for disturbing you."
"It's ... it's all right," I said. "I'm just happy to
see you alive. When they took you out in that ambulance I was
convinced you had been killed."
"It was just a concussion ... or a contusion I can't
remember what they said. I was out cold for a couple hours and
they kept me in the hospital 'til this morning."
"I'm surprised they released you."
"The insurance company wouldn't pay for any more
confinement," she replied. "The doctors think I'll be all right
-- with time. I do have to go back for some CAT scans, though.
They said I'm at some risk for a stroke or aneurysm."
"How are you doing otherwise?"
"I'm a little shaky ... having a hard time keeping my
concentration... My head hurts something awful..."
"I am happy that you're all right."
"Thanks," she replied again. "Thanks for your concern...
Well, I'd better go. My place is a total disaster. I'd better
start cleaning up the mess."
"How about if I help you straighten up?" I asked.
"You don't have to -- you've done enough."
"I'd like to -- and I don't have anything better to do."
I accompanied her next door and followed her inside. The
place indeed was a shambles. Book cases where knocked over,
furniture upended, papers and decorative objects were strewn
around the room. Dishes had been broken on the floor and shards
of glass were everywhere.
"I locked myself in the bathroom," she said, "but I left
my cell phone outside, so I couldn't call the cops myself. My
only hope was screaming. As it was, Raymond broke down the door.
The next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital."
I regarded the splintered door jamb. "Raymond?" I asked.
"Yes ... Oh, I'm sorry -- my name is Melody."
"Melody ... unusual ... pretty name. I'm also Raymond --
call me Ray." I held out my hand. She took it and squeezed it.
"I'll have to pay to get this fixed," she said.
"Raymond broke it -- have Raymond pay to fix it."
"Oh, no -- I'm having nothing more to do with him." She
buried her face in her hands. "One of the nurses got me in touch
with someone from a women's advocacy group -- an attorney who
volunteers for them. She filed for a restraining order for me --
a temporary -- to hold me until I can get one that's permanent.
She also told me that Raymond was booked and released on bond
for domestic battery."
I began straightening her living room. After restoring
the book cases to upright I began picking up books. "Quite a
collection," I remarked.
"Yes -- I enjoy reading."
"Any way you want me to organize them?"
"Here -- I'll do that..."
I turned my attention to her kitchen, picking up broken
pottery and larger pieces of glass. Once the larger shards were
swept up I began running the vacuum around the floor.
Melody sat on her sofa, cradling her head in her palm.
"That's better," I said.
"Thanks again. I'm sorry I wasn't much help ... but I
just can't seem to keep my mind on one thing." She began crying
again.
"Melody -- it's all right. You've suffered a brain
injury. Take your time to recover."
"You've been very sweet," she replied.
"I'm getting hungry -- aren't you?"
"I don't know... Nothing tasted right in the
hospital..."
"You would expect hospital food to taste right?" I
asked. She smiled and suppressed a giggle. "Now, that's the
girl. How about we share a pizza at my place?"
"Well... Only if you let me pay for it."
"Fair enough."
Melody locked up her apartment and followed me into
mine. I placed the call and we waited for the delivery.
I opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle. "Care
for a beer?" I asked.
"I'd better not." I replaced the bottle and began to
close the door. "Don't let me stop you," she said.
"I hate drinking alone."
She regarded me. "Do you have a Sharps?"
I regarded my fridge. "How about a Clausthaler?"
"That'd be fine. What beers do you like?"
"Anything German or English," I replied as I opened two
bottles and poured two glasses.
A buzz on the intercom sounded. "That must be the
pizza," she said. "I'll get it."
We sat across from each other. Melody picked up a slice
and took a bite. "Taste okay to you?" I asked.
She nodded. "I'm hungrier than I thought. This was a
good idea."
I regarded her. "You don't have to tell me..."
"Tell you what?"
"What led to the altercation the other night?"
Melody rolled her eyes. "I had discovered that Raymond
was cheating on me."
I nodded. "In that case -- I would have expected HIM to
be the one beaten up."
"I told him it was finished between us and I was
throwing him out. That's what started the fight..."
I sipped my beer. "I see. No second chances."
"He was on his second, second chance. I told him the
last time if it happened again he was history. He didn't take it
so well."
"Welcome to the club," I replied.
"What club?"
"The Grand Order of the Cuckolds," I replied. "I am a
charter member, myself."
"You mean..."
"She left me." I drained my glass and retrieved a refill
from the fridge. "It's not an easy thing to discover you're a
... chump. I guess I'm a bit heartened to learn it can happen on
both sides." Melody regarded me. "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to
sound bitter. I shouldn't take it out on you -- especially
after..."
"I understand." She helped herself to another slice of
pizza.
"Maybe you can explain something to me," I said.
"What's that?"
"You're a good-looking woman, Melody. How could you fall
for a guy like that?" She bit her lip and glared at me. "All the
time I see hot girls hanging out with these ... shlubs. What's
with that?"
"Did your ... partner..."
"My wife left me for a trainer at her gym -- a no-neck
knuckle-dragger."
Melody let out a little snort. "I think it's strictly a
matter of biology ... animal magnetism. A woman wants to mate
with the strongest in the pack -- the same way men are attracted
to the likes of ... Pamela Anderson."
I tapped my chest. "Not this man. I think she's
grotesque ... revolting."
"What do you like in a woman?"
"I like a woman like you," I replied. Melody recoiled
and I held up my hand. "I'm not interested. I'm still getting
over my own failure."
"And I need to get over mine." She drained her glass.
"Another?"
She pressed her hand to her stomach. "I'm full ... it
does feel good though. I'd better be going. Thanks for helping
me."
"No problem. I've wanted a chance to meet you. I wish it
were under better circumstances."
"It's better this way," Melody replied. "Raymond is
insanely jealous. Now I should get to bed ... and let the new
reality sink in. Good night."
The next day was Sunday. I was working at my laptop when
I heard a knock at my door. A glance through the peephole
revealed Melody. I invited her in.
She handed me a six-pack of Beck's beer with a red bow
tied to the package. "This is for helping me yesterday," she
said.
"This wasn't necessary, Melody."
"I wanted to do something for you. You said you like
German beer."
"Yes -- and Beck's is one of my favorites. Thank you." I
regarded her. "Your shiner looks better today."
"I'm feeling a bit better, too."
I gestured toward the sofa. "Have a seat. Can I get you
anything?"
She shook her head. "I'm fine. I just came from visiting
that attorney I told you about..."
"The one from the women's advocacy agency?"
"Yes -- I now have a restraining order."
"So what do you do now?" I asked.
"I contacted the super about having the lock changed. He
said that was okay so long as I paid for it. The locksmith is
coming out tomorrow, so I guess I take it easy for today; then I
meet with him tomorrow morning and then go to work."
"Work? Melody -- you have a concussion. Don't you think
you should take it easy for a few more days?"
"I can't afford to. I'm a manager at one of the big
Hallmark stores -- the one in the Dales. They had to scramble to
find coverage for me Thursday and Friday. I can't take any more
time ... we have to get the store ready for the holiday season."
"Holiday season? It's August for chrissake!"
"It comes faster than you think. We have a Christmas
ornament preview next weekend."
"Your health is more important than the store, Melody."
"I know... I'm feeling better and my brain doesn't seem
quite as scattered today." I heard a warble come from her bag.
She retrieved her cell phone and answered it. "Hello... No,
Raymond -- I don't want to see you... I have a restraining
order, Raymond..." She flexed her jaw muscles and gazed at my
ceiling. "No, Raymond ... only if you bring someone with you --
a police officer to make sure you don't violate my restraining
order. Do you HAVE to do it tonight?" She bit her lip and let
out an exasperated sigh. "Fine, Raymond. I'll find someplace to
go." She snapped shut her phone and stuffed it into her bag.
"Your ex?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes and nodded. "He wants to come over
and clear his stuff out of the apartment. I don't know why he
has to do it tonight. I should make myself scarce."
"You can hole up right here," I suggested.
"Maybe I should get some boxes and pack his stuff up for
him."
"I'll give you a hand," I replied. "I'll run down to the
corner grocery and see if they have any old cartons."
I knocked at her door. She opened it and I showed her a
half-dozen liquor cartons I had scavenged from the corner store.
"Are these enough?" I asked.
"It's a start," she said. "I'll go through his closet.
You can tackle the man-cave."
"Man-cave?"
She gestured toward a bedroom door. Her apartment was a
mirror image of mine -- two bedrooms, kitchenette and a small
study. I opened the door to the spare room and my jaw dropped.
Inside was a large-screen, high-definition television,
BluRay player, several high-end gaming consoles, a stack of
iPods and other assorted electronic gadgets. "Wow, Melody," I
called to her. "These are some mighty fancy toys..."
She stepped into the room. "I was persona non
grata in here. This was Raymond's personal sanctum
sanctorum. It's where he spent his down-time."
"This stuff must've cost a fortune. What does he do for
a living?"
"He works as a mechanic."
"He's doing all right as a mechanic, then."
"We never talked about money. We split common expenses
and then were on our own."
I regarded her. "Are you going to be able to afford this
place without a room-mate?" I asked.
"I hadn't thought about that... I think I can manage it
-- but it'll be tough."
Melody headed back toward the closet. I set one of the
cartons on the floor and opened a cabinet drawer.
"Melody!" I called. "Look at this!"
"Oh, my God!"
The drawer contained half-dozen handguns. "Don't touch
anything," I said and opened another drawer. Under stacks of old
magazines I found several white, brick-shaped objects. "No
wonder he's in such a hurry to clear his stuff out of here."
"I had no idea! What should we do?" she asked. "Do you
think we should call the police?"
"Are you kidding? Come on -- we need to put everything
back just like it was."
Melody and I carried the empty cartons back to my
apartment. She took her phone from her bag and began pressing
buttons.
I held up my hand. "Wait... If I were in his position,
I'd be watching the building. If I saw squad cars pull up, I'd
be pretty sure my secret was out. I might even have a police
scanner -- the guy is a major gadget junkie, after all. It would
be my cue to skip town."
"What do you think we should do?"
I scanned the perimeter of my own apartment. "I think I
have an idea..." I approached my door and turned the knob on the
deadbolt. "I needed this fixed once. I watched the super..." I
retrieved my toolbox and we headed next door.
Once inside I removed the cover to the deadbolt and
pried loose a restraining clip. The shaft dropped into my hand.
"Now," I explained, "the deadbolt can't be activated
from inside -- only from outside. The locks haven't been changed
yet, right?"
"Right."
"So he still has his keys. We'll watch from my
apartment. Once he lets himself in, one of us will lock the
deadbolt from the outside with your key while the other calls
the cops. That way they catch him in the act with his stash."
"We'll make sure to tell them he's armed," Melody added.
"Yeah -- with that arsenal in there."
I started to replace the cover. "Wait," she said,
"Raymond's a pretty good mechanic. Could he..."
"...could he open this up and release the bolt? Could
be..." I rummaged around my toolbox. "Let's see if this will do
the job..." I held up a machine screw. "It does appear to be the
correct size and thread..." Melody took it from me. "This is a
tamper-resistant screw. The head doesn't have a normal slot --
instead it has two dimples. You need a special screwdriver..." I
picked up a screwdriver bit that was shaped like a two-pronged
fork. "Not everyone has one of these in his toolbox."
"How do you have these?"
"I had occasion to use these a few years back. I never
throw anything away." I fitted the bit to my screwdriver handle
and used it to reattach the cover with the special screws. "At
the very least, this should buy us some time."
Melody and I sat in my apartment and watched the parking
lot. She put her hand against her breast. "I am so scared," she
whispered. "My heart is pounding ... skipping beats..."
"I'm scared, too," I replied. "One false step and we're
screwed..."
"I can't believe it -- I can't believe that right under
my nose, Raymond was involved in ... this."
"It explains how he could afford those high-end
gadgets."
We continued to watch the parking lot. "How much
longer?" she said under her breath.
"Did he say when he was coming?"
"No -- only tonight."
I scanned the roadway leading into the lot. Then I felt
Melody's hand squeezing my arm. "That's his car!"
We watched as the green sedan pulled into a stall. Both
doors opened and two figures emerged. "He has someone with him,"
I remarked. "Do you recognize him?"
"He looks like someone who'd visit from time to time."
"So he brought someone and not a police officer... Who'd
have thought..."
Raymond opened the trunk and removed two suitcases. Both
men extended handles and dragged the luggage toward the
building.
"Place the call," I hissed.
Melody flipped open her phone and punched buttons.
"Hello," she stammered, "we need the police. There are two men -
- drugs and guns involved. Highland terrace apartment 415..."
"417," I whispered. "415 is MY place. 417 is YOURS."
She flipped shut the phone and I could see she was
trembling. I pressed my finger to my lips.
We heard the elevator stop on our floor and footfalls in
the corridor. Then, the sound of metal on metal and the door in
the adjacent unit creaked open.
"Melody, babe?" I heard a muffled voice call. "She's
gone. Come on, let's hurry..." I heard the door latch shut
again.
In a motion I had rehearsed that afternoon I slipped out
of my apartment, used Melody's key to secure the bolt from the
outside and then rejoined her, throwing my own bolt after me.
The two men must've heard the bolt. I could hear
pounding against the door and bellowing inside the apartment.
"They're going to break down the door," Melody gasped.
"They'll find it much harder to break out than in...
Listen!"
Sirens wailed in the distance and grew louder. The squad
cars -- three of them -- pulled into the lot and vested officers
swarmed from them.
Shortly I heard them pounding on the door. "Police! Open
up!"
I ducked from my apartment and handed an officer
Melody's key; then ducked back inside. There was more pounding,
followed by the sound of the door swinging open and the knob
smashing against the wall inside. Shouting followed, then pops
of gunfire.
I could hear the radios crackling and soon more sirens
approached. Two ambulances pulled up and the medics brought
stretchers. I heard a knock on the door. Peering through the
hole I recognized a police officer and released the bolt.
"Good evening, folks," the officer said. "Would you mind
explaining your involvement in tonight's events?"
Melody emerged from the bathroom, my burgundy-
striped shirt still half-unbuttoned. I gestured her to a small,
wrought iron cafe table in the corner of our bedroom. After her
enema we usually had some sort of nightcap -- usually tea or
cocoa. Tonight it was Champagne: Nicholas Feuillatte Rose, and a
bowl of raspberries. I put a berry in each of our glasses. Then
I twirled the bottle in its ice bath, popped the cork and
poured.
Melody smiled and sipped. "You went all-out tonight,"
she said and reached across the table. I took her left hand and
caressed the rings on her finger -- a solitaire diamond and a
plain band. "You've made me very happy, Will."
We lifted our glasses and clinked rims. Melody sipped
from hers. I sipped from mine and recalled the night we first
made love. It was the same night as the police raid...
Melody and I rode a squad car back to our apartment
building. We had spent several hours at the police station being
questioned -- separately, in different rooms -- about the
night's festivities. The detective with whom I spoke indicated
he believed our version and we were released ... although
advised to stay in town and to be available for follow-up
questioning.
Both perpetrators had been shot, dead. I could see on
Melody's face that her emotions were frayed past the breaking
point. She sat, huddled beside me, in the squad car as we neared
home.
"That was a gutsy thing you two did," the officer
driving the car remarked. "A bit fool-hardy but gutsy. We think
this will break one of the bigger coke rings in town."
"I wasn't about to take them on one-on-one," I replied.
"Nor should you have... Mam, I'm afraid you'll need to
stay out of the apartment until our men can go over it."
"I don't want to go back," she replied, her voice
cracking.
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"She can use my guest room," I volunteered.
"Could I retrieve some clothes and personal belongings?"
Melody asked meekly.
The car pulled to the curb outside the building. The
officer nodded to his deputy. "Let her fetch some things but
make it quick."
Melody accompanied me into my apartment while the cops
wrapped police tape around the door to hers. She set down an
armload of clothes and toiletries. I opened my arms and she fell
into them.
"Oh, God," she exclaimed, "what kind of idiot do I look
like -- with that going on right under my nose?"
"I'd trade idiot for accomplice any day."
"I suppose you're right ... but still..." She looked
into my face. "Thanks so much for being here ... oh, God ... I
can't call you Ray or Raymond. Don't you have another name?"
"Call me Slim or Steve or whatever you want. What's in a
name?"
"Don't you have a nickname?"
"It's always been Ray," I replied.
"What's your middle name?"
"William."
"How about I call you Bill?"
"I've never liked Bill. How about Will?"
"Will..." She nodded. "That's a good name... I had an
uncle Will. He took care of me when I was little -- after my
parents were killed. I was about three ... I hardly remember
them. Uncle Will took care of me ... actually he was a great-
uncle ... but he was the only family I had. He's gone, now ...
I'm all alone again." She choked back tears.
"No, you're not, Melody. You have me."
She looked into my face with her eyes brimming. "Don't
you fuck with my head! Don't fuck with my head ... it's too
cruel..."
"I mean it Melody," I replied. "I'm not messing with
you. You're the woman for me -- I know it. I wasn't expecting it
so soon, but I know it. I know I'm a bit older than you but... I
want to care for you and take care of you..."
"I don't want to be cared for ... I don't want to be
taken care of... I want to be loved."
"I will love you, Melody... God, how I'll love you..."
I sat on the sofa and she sat on my lap. I held her for
the longest time with her clutching the fabric of my shirt in
her fist.
She seemed to be calming so I kissed her cheek and then
her eyelids ... and then her lips. We kissed again and again,
our tongues exploring each other's mouths. She unbuttoned one of
my buttons, slipped her hand inside my shirt and caressed my
chest.
"Do you think we should be doing this?" I asked.
"Probably not," she replied, "but I want it."
"My leg's falling asleep," I said. "You're not too heavy
-- just sitting in the wrong spot."
She lay on my sofa, her back across my lap as I gazed
into her pale, blue eyes and caressed her sides. "You don't wear
a bra?" I asked as I stroked her under her arm.
"I've never needed to. If I need to dress up -- like for
work -- I'll put on a camisole..."
I stroked her cheek and absent-mindedly caressed the
sides of her breasts while she touched my face and ran her hand
along my neck. Then she unbuttoned her blouse, lifted up and
threw it off her shoulders.
I was gazing at her compact breasts. "Oh, Melody --
you're beautiful." I traced her breasts with the backs of my
fingers. They were A-cup sized, firm with thick nipples and
small, pinkish-brown areolas.
"Wouldn't you like it better if I were bigger on top?"
she asked.
"Never, Melody -- you have gorgeous breasts ... they're
the perfect proportion for your frame. I think they're
beautiful."
"Raymond wanted me to have them augmented. He said he'd
pay for them. I was dragging my feet. Now I know where the money
was coming from..."
Tears began flowing down her cheeks again. I pressed my
fingers to her lips. "That's in the past, Melody. We're looking
forward, now. Agreed."
"Agreed..."
I cupped my hands around her breasts and stroked them,
running my fingers across her nipples and tracing her small,
round areolas.
"That feels good," she said. "Both sides like that..."
I worked both her breasts, caressing them from her chest
wall to her nipples. Her breathing deepened and she gave little
moans each time I squeezed her nipples.
With my hands under her shoulder blades I lifted her so
I could kiss her breasts. I drew her nipple and areola into my
mouth and tongued them, the taste of her skin filling my
sinuses. Then I scooped her up and carried her to my bedroom.
We unfastened each other's jeans and lay nude beside
each other. I cradled her, held her tight, parted her dense
brown bush and slipped my finger into her slit. Keeping a steady
cadence I stroked her clit until I brought her to a very sweet
orgasm.
Then I sat up and opened the nightstand drawer.
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
"A condom -- I know I have some..."
"Will -- I'm on the pill ... so unless you have
something wrong with you I need to know about..."
"I don't."
"Then, come..." She lay on her back and rolled apart her
thighs. I lay between her, sank into her and felt her legs lock
against mine. It only took me about four thrusts before I came
but I don't think she minded. We fell against each other,
exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally, and slept until
dawn's light awakened us...
Melody drained her Champagne and I refilled her
glass. Then, she put her hand against her belly. "I think some
more enema wants out," she said. "Please excuse me."
"Certainly."
I watched her head toward the bathroom again. This was
to be expected, and the quiet time we had between her enema and
bedtime was intended to give her colon a chance to drain in case
not all came out in her first go. And, usually, it didn't.
I carried the ice bucket with bottle and the glasses
into the bedroom and set one on each nightstand. I remembered
the first time I had to give her an enema.
Melody had come home from work. By now she had moved
into my apartment. The building management was more than happy
to let her out of her lease, when they learned of the goings-on
in the unit she had rented. She was outraged -- guilt by
association, she said, but I pointed out that she was now one
monthly rent payment richer by moving in with me.
Of course, once the building management discovered she
had simply moved in with me, they were happy to cancel MY lease,
too. That was okay -- by then the specifics of my divorce had
been worked out and I was looking to build a little house.
On the night in question I had made London broil -- one
of her favorites. She sat at the table and wolfed it down
without a word, then excused herself and sat on the sofa.
"Melody," I said, "is something wrong? You didn't say a
word at dinner."
"I'm sorry," she replied. "I didn't have much of an
appetite. I know you went through the effort of making London
broil so I forced myself to eat it."
"Are you not feeling well?" I regarded her. "Melody --
what's wrong? I don't think I've ever seen you that color."
She bolted to the bathroom. I followed her and saw her
standing, leaning over the toilet and projectile-vomiting into
the bowl. "Oh, God! Don't watch," she gasped and heaved again.
When she came out of the bathroom I handed her a damp
towel to mop her face; then I gave her a glass. "This is some
baking soda and water. Rinse your mouth and spit."
She returned beside me on the sofa. "I'm feeling better,
now."
"You know," I said, "I can't remember the last time I
vomited."
"You know," she replied, "I can remember the last time I
did."
"When was that?"
"I was twelve ... in the seventh grade. Science was the
last class of the day and our teacher was doing some experiment
that required cooking chunks of apple in some reagent --
extracting sugar or some such. The smell sickened me. Then, on
the bus my stomach kept feeling worse and worse. I got home,
went straight to the bathroom and puked."
"And, that was the last time?"
"That was the last time 'til now."
"You never had too much to drink in college..."
"I never drink much -- you know that. I have had upset
stomachs but none so bad as to make me throw up."
"I guess you have a strong constitution. That must've
been ... what? Twelve years ago?"
"Thirteen. It was also the last time Uncle Will gave me
an enema."
"An enema? One of those boxes at the drugstore?"
"Uncle Will believed an enema was an appropriate remedy
to an upset stomach. He was old-fashioned that way -- his mother
... my great-grandmother ... had been a nurse and taught him so.
Every time I had an upset stomach, the enema bag came out."
"Did it work?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I guess I felt better because of them..."
She held her belly. "I suppose I could use one, now."
"If you think it will help, I'll run over to the
drugstore and get one," I said.
"Yes -- you do take care of me. Look for a box that says
it's for administering an enema ... and NOT one of those little
squeeze-bottles."
I let myself back into my apartment. Inside the plastic
bag I carried was a box containing a combo syringe. I showed it
to Melody and she nodded.
"What next?" I asked.
"Well... First Uncle Will would try to determine if it's
my appendix or not."
"How did he do that?"
She stretched on her back on the sofa. "He'd have me lie
down and feel here..." She pointed to the right side of her
abdomen. "...and see if he could find a mass."
I palpitated her belly. "Feels soft to me."
"Then he'd press down and release. He said if it hurt on
release it was rebound pain and that could indicate an
appendix."
I pressed down and released. "Any rebound pain?" She
shook her head. "Now what?"
I followed her into the kitchen where she began running
the tap. "We fill this with warm water," she said as she opened
the package. "Then the cap goes on the bag, the hose goes on the
cap, the clamp and the nozzle go on the hose and the water goes
into me."
She adjusted the temperature of the water and held the
bag under the faucet until it was full. Then, she assembled the
apparatus, held it up and flushed air from the hose and carried
it to the sofa.
I watched as she removed her jeans and pulled down her
briefs. "Put some Vaseline on the nozzle," she said. Then, she
lay on her left side.
I crouched and spread her cheeks with my left hand. My
right was shaking as I touched the tip to her anus. I worked it
into her. "Is this okay?" I asked.
"Okay so far," she replied.
"How far in?"
"All the way."
I slid the nozzle into her. She rolled onto her back and
I regarded her stretched out on the sofa -- her long, shapely
legs, the tail of her blouse barely covering her mons and the
hose leading up under her thigh and into her bottom.
"Hold up the bag," she said, "and open the clamp."
I obeyed her command and watched. She rocked her hips
and took deep breaths. "Yes," she said, "this is the sensation I
remember..."
"What does it feel like?" I asked.
"It feels good ... like a flow deep inside ... inside my
bottom. There's some pressure at first but it releases and I can
feel the water reaching into me." She touched her left side.
"It's here now ... now I can feel here..." She touched her
stomach above her navel. "Now I'm starting to feel fullness ...
bloated almost."
"That feels good?"
"It does in a hard-to-describe way. I know the relief
from expelling it will feel really good."
"So -- pain, then pleasure?"
"There's no pain -- no real discomfort," she replied,
"if it's done right. The fullness is can be a little
uncomfortable -- but Uncle Will always said sometimes you need
to feel a little worse before you can feel better. You should
try it sometime."
"I'll pass..."
I continued to hold the bag and watched it deflate. Soon
it was empty. Melody rolled to the side, remove the nozzle and
handed it to me. Then she headed for the bathroom, pulling up
her briefs as she walked.
The whole procedure took less than a few minutes;
however I noticed that my pants had become tighter. Melody was
in the john for about twenty minutes.
She emerged and lifted her blouse. "Look how flat," she
said.
"Your stomach always is flat," I replied.
"Not this flat."
"Did it help you feel better?" I asked.
"Yes -- I think I feel better. I'll need another one in
a little while."
"Another?"
"Yes -- Uncle Will always gave me several until what
came back was clear."
"It seems like a strange procedure," I replied.
"He said it's giving my insides a bath. Uncle Will was
convinced that a common upset stomach was at least exacerbated
by toxins in the colon ... if not caused by them, outright."
I helped administer two more enemas to Melody that
evening. After the last one she put her arms around me and lay
her face against my shoulder. "Thanks for helping me," she said.
"I'd kiss you but you probably don't want to be kissed by
someone who's been throwing up."
"Are you feeling back to normal?" I asked.
"My stomach feels pretty good, now. I'll skip breakfast
and have some broth for lunch. If I feel okay tomorrow evening
I'll risk dinner -- something light, please."
"Not chili?"
She shook her head. "How about quiche?"
"Let's go to bed."
Melody undressed and climbed into bed. I lay beside her,
my chest to her back, and slipped my arm around her waist. She
took my hand, squeezed it and brought it to her lips.
Then she guided it to her chest. I cupped my fingers
around her breast.
"Feels good," she whispered.
"Do you really want something?" I asked. "Do you feel up
to it?"
"I think you giving me the enemas made me horny," she
replied.
"I think me giving you the enemas made ME horny." I
began nuzzling her neck and kissing her shoulders.
"Feels really good," she purred. Can you do both sides?"
I spread my hand so I could caress her left nipple with
my ring finger and her right with my thumb. Her breathing
deepened and she began to sing, "Mmm ... mmm ... mmm..." as I
stroked her breasts.
"Make me come," she said. "Hold me like your holding me
and make me come."
I worked my left arm under her to hold her and reached
my right hand down to her mons. With my finger I dragged some of
her juices up to her clit and stroked it while stroking her
breast with my other hand.
"Just like that," she whispered. "Oh my God oh my God
... more ... MORE!" I stroked her clit hard as she climaxed and
I could feel her legs trembling. "Okay -- stop. Can you take me
from behind?"
I shifted down. "Bring your legs up..." I rotated my
hips to bring my glans to her entrance and pushed in as far as I
could -- not very far in this position but far enough. I found
by rocking my pelvis I could get some friction.
I slid my hand along her smooth thigh; then, down again
to her mons and into her slit so I could stroke her clitoral
shaft. "Can you come again?" I asked.
"Maybe ... this feels pretty good..."
I continued stroking and rocking. Melody groaned, and
about the same time my own climax was approaching. I squeezed
her, pressed against her and ejaculated.
"Stay inside," she said. "Feels good..."
We both realized that night how much she enjoyed the
enemas. Melody said the sensations brought back memories of her
time with her Uncle Will. She also liked how the enemas kept her
tummy flat.
We fell into a routine of Saturday night enemas,
followed by very satisfying lovemaking. We even made sure to
take the enema bag with us on our honeymoon.
Melody stepped into the bedroom. "Sorry it took so
long..."
"It's fine -- I understand," I replied. "Let me cool off
your drink." I poured more Champagne into her glass.
I sat on the bed and she sat on my lap. "I'm really
feeling the wine," she said and then put her fist to her lips.
"And the bubbles..."
I stroked her face. "This is a first for me," I said.
"A first what?"
"First time making love with the expressed intention of
making a baby."
"You never tried for a family with your first wife?" she
asked.
"Nope. It wasn't on either of our radar screens. It
certainly is with you, Melody."
"It's not a sure thing," she replied.
"No... You've been off the pill for two months ... your
period is established ... we've been taking your temperature ...
making charts. All signs point to the next three days being the
optimal time. So, for the next three days -- it's sex morning
and night."
"Are you up to it?" she asked.
"If you are. If it doesn't work out this month, then we
keep trying. That's the beauty of it."
She set her empty glass on the nightstand. I touched her
cheek as an invitation to kiss. We kissed again as I caressed
her thigh.
I unbuttoned the shirt, slipped it off her shoulders and
regarded her nude figure. Melody began caressing my chest. I
stroked her breast, kissed her nipple and then drew it into my
mouth. She rolled her eyes upward and drew in a breath.
"Don't you think we're in a rut, love-making wise?" I
asked. "About the only thing we vary is who's on top."
"I love how we make love," she replied. "I love
anticipating what comes next." She kissed my lips. "I love how
gentle you are ... and how insistent."
"Insistent?"
"Yes -- it's like, 'now, little girl -- you are going to
come.' And I especially like how you make sure I'm satisfied
before you have yours."
"Ladies come first," I replied. "It's always been my
motto."
She kissed me again. "Your first wife was an idiot to
leave you. Not that I'm complaining..."
I eased her onto her back and watched her head sink into
a pillow. From the nightstand I retrieved a bottle of lavender
lotion and squirted some into my palm. Closing my fist around
the blob I held it for a moment to take off the chill.
Still holding the lotion in my left palm I caressed her
breasts with the backs of my fingers. Then I dipped in, smeared
it onto her nipples and began a deep massage of her breasts.
We had discovered, almost by accident, that I could
bring Melody to the verge of orgasm just by massaging her
breasts this way. The lotion made her skin slick so she felt my
touch deep in her breasts and less on the surface.
I watched her face as I worked her breasts, stroking
each from her chest out to her nipples and squeezing her
areolas. Her eyelids drooped, her lips parted and her breathing
became panting. "Oh, God, Will," she said. "This feels so good."
She raised her arms above her head, bit her lip and her belly
heaved with her breathing.
The lotion began to dry on her skin. I re-applied some
more and then turned my attention to her long, shapely legs. I
caressed her thighs, coaxed them apart and lay between them.
With my fingers I parted her bush, spread her labia and kissed
the little hood over her clit.
Working my face between her legs I began working my
tongue against her clit. Slipping my arms under her thighs I
cupped my hands over her breasts, sweet and slick from the
second application of lavender lotion. I kept a steady cadence,
working her breasts and tonguing her clit.
Melody stretched out her arms and lay, spread-eagle on
the bed. Looking up through her bush I watched her ribs expand
and contract as her breathing grew heavy. She began moaning,
"Ohhh... ohhh... ohhh..." with each exhale.
She was right -- by now we knew each other's responses.
The only question was, how long would it take her? Not long
tonight, I surmised. Some times, when she was in an off mood or
stressed from a bad day at work I began losing feeling in my jaw
before she climaxed. Tonight she was hurtling toward the
abyss...
Her breathing became panting. She remained still, arms
outstretched. I could feel her heart pounding under her breasts.
She was getting closer -- close enough for me to begin pinching
her nipples. At the same time I ramped up the pressure of my
tongue against her glans, and I could feel each stroke echoing
in her thigh muscles.
Her heart began racing and her breathing slowed a bit.
Her moaning stopped. I saw her eyes close; she bit her lip and
set her jaw. I knew she was very close to orgasm -- I could see
the concentration in her face and feel her tensing the muscles
in her bottom to drive herself over the edge.
Then her shoulders went limp, her face lifted and her
jaw dropped. She drew in a deep breath and let out a long, low
groan through wide-open mouth. Her thighs were trembling as she
gasped and panted.
Once I was sure she had crested her peak and was coming
down the other side I let go of her breasts and smoothed my
hands along her torso, caressing her ribs and the muscles in her
belly with my thumbs. I kept tonguing her clit, knowing that on
a good night she was far from finished.
She gasped and shrieked, panted, pounded the mattress,
shrieked and yelped again. I felt her hands grip my forearms and
her nails dig into my skin; then more yelping, an unearthly
sound like crying and laughing at the same time. Melody bit her
knuckle and then pounded the mattress again, clutching at the
sheets.
I could feel her orgasms -- a rhythmic throbbing of the
muscles in her pelvic floor against my chin. With each of her
cries I felt another spasm in her bottom. Finally she placed her
palm against my cheek. "Will ... Will -- you can stop."
I came up from between her legs. Her face was red and
her eyes were wet. I touched her face and she pulled me towards
her and covered my face with kisses. Then I lay on my back.
"Why me on top tonight?" she asked.
"So I can go in deep," I replied.
I held the base of my erect shaft to steer it into her.
We found the right spot and she lowered herself onto me. Then I
felt her legs lock with mine and we embraced. She was still
panting and I could feel her breath on my face.
"You are in deep," she said, "deeper than usual."
"I feel something inside you," I replied. "I think I
might be up against your cervix."
"You might be..."
Together we began rocking, working up a cadence. Melody
increased the force of her thrusting while I held her across her
back with my left arm. With my right hand I caressed her
buttocks, working my fingers into her crevasse and stroking her
up and down across her anus.
Melody didn't like me putting my finger in there, but
she didn't object to my rimming her with my fingertips. She
liked it, actually, I thought. I continued holding her tight,
feeling the muscles in her abdomen against mine and her legs and
buttocks tense.
I had practiced some techniques to help me last a bit
longer with her. I was no longer a two-pump chump, but I knew
I'd never be a sexual athlete. Tonight I was trying hard to hold
off as long as I could, but I could delay the inevitable only so
long.
I grabbed her bottom and pressed against her as my
climax swept over me. She arched her back and let out a
satisfied "Mmmm..." Then, she fell limp atop me.
I thought she would fall asleep but her eyes cracked
open and she kissed my lips. "Wonderful," she said.
"Do you feel any fallopian activity?" I asked.
"It's way too soon to tell... If any sex deserved to
make a baby -- tonight was it."
I coaxed her against me and she wrapped her leg around
mine. I felt her hand caress my chest. "Oh, Melody," I said, "I
would give a king's ransom to know what a woman feels during
orgasm. I've asked you and you tell me you can't describe it."
"I'll try... There's only one word to describe it --
ecstasy. It's better than alcohol and it must be better than any
drug. I enter an altered state of consciousness in which
pleasure becomes so strong it's tangible ... like a pool I can
sink into. When I come like I did tonight the glow doesn't fade
until well into tomorrow." She kissed my cheek. "Does that
help?"
"I still don't know what it feels like. Did you come
when I did? It looked like you felt something."
"I felt yours," she replied. "It was kind of like having
a parfait and saving the cherry 'til last."
"But -- you didn't have another orgasm."
"I don't know what I had. All I know is it felt really,
really good." She kissed my cheek again. "Still feels really,
really good. Good night, Will."
Copyright (C) 2008 by the author.
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