Synopsis: A young lesbian enemaphile comes of age and to terms with herself.

Originally posted 2006, updated 2017 for mobile devices.

I -- 1988

A bad dream woke Rachel. Then she realized the cramp in her stomach was no dream. She rolled onto her side clutching her abdomen and hoping it would go away. But it wasn't going away and now she felt tension building in the root of her tongue.

She flung herself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. There was nothing she could do but wait for it to happen. She stood before the toilet, lifted the lid, leaned over, opened her mouth and closed her eyes.

The spasm came and she vomited into the toilet; then again. She heaved four times --the effort made the muscles in her abdomen ache; and she stood, gasping to regain her breath.

Rachel slammed shut the lid and pressed the flush lever. Then she went to the other bedroom on the second floor of the old farmhouse and rapped on the door. "Aunt Rose," she called, "I just threw up."

"Did you make it all the way to the bathroom this time?" came a half- asleep reply.

"Yes."

"I'll be there in a minute."

She headed back to her bedroom and flopped on the bed. This had become an all-too-familiar routine. Rachel was ten and she was tired of stomachaches. Every four to six weeks, it seemed, she went through the same ritual.

Aunt Rose entered wearing a housecoat over her flannel nightgown. She carried a large plastic basin and a mercury thermometer with a glob of petroleum jelly on its tip. Rose set the basin on the corner of the bed. "Do you feel better after throwing up?" she asked.

"A little," Rachel replied.

"Let's check your temperature."

Rachel lay on her side. She reached under the hem of her nightgown, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underpants and pulled them down; then she drew up her knees. She felt her aunt slide the thermometer into her rectum.

"Still having cramps?" Rose asked as she stroked the girl's light brown hair. Rachel nodded.

Rachel was beginning to feel like she would vomit again. "How much longer?" she whined.

Rose checked her large-dial wristwatch. "Another minute." She slid her hand under the hem of Rachel's nightgown and stroked the small of her back. Then she plucked the thermometer from the girl's bottom and wiped it on a tissue.

Rachel sat up and held the basin between her knees. Rose held the thermometer at eye level, turning it to see the column of mercury. "No, you don't have a fever." She shook the thermometer to return the mercury to the bulb, her wrist making a snapping sound. Her niece leaned over the basin, opened her mouth and made a retching noise. Rose stroked her between her shoulder blades. "Just relax and let it up, dear. You'll feel better afterward."

Rachel vomited into the basin. This time the exertion made her cry. "I hate throwing up," she whimpered.

"I'll take this." Rose carried the basin away and Rachel heard the toilet flush. Her aunt returned a short while later and replaced the basin on the corner of the bed; then she set a glass of ginger ale with a bendy-straw on the nightstand. Rachel sipped through the straw. "Feeling better now?"

"Yeah..."

"Try to get back to sleep. No school for you tomorrow. Good night, Rachel."

"Good night."

Rachel lay on her side in a fetal position. Her stomach still hurt, but not as badly. She attempted to will the discomfort away. Slowly the cramps dissipated. She closed her eyes.

Morning light woke Rachel. She rubbed her eyes, swung her feet to the floor and stood. The smell of Rose's coffee filtered up from the lower level of the farmhouse. Rachel headed down the stairs and sat at the dinette in the kitchen.

"How are you this morning?" Rose asked.

"I feel better."

"Still -- like we learned in nursing school -- clear fluids for the first day."

"I know..."

Rose set a bowl of cracked ice before Rachel. The girl picked up a chunk with a spoon and sucked on it. "Maybe you can try some broth tonight. We'll go upstairs in a little while."

"Do I have to?" Rachel asked. "I'm feeling fine, now."

"We can't trust these stomach viruses, dear. It's either that or the Castoria."

"Not that," Rachel whined.

"Don't complain, dear. In my day it wasn't Castoria, it was castor oil."

That was little comfort to Rachel, since she had never experienced castor oil. She sucked on another piece of ice and watched as Rose rinsed her coffee cup in the sink. She hated taking Castoria. It was supposed to taste good, but she despised it. Rose would give her a minimum of three doses. The stuff gave her cramps and the runs. It was a cure that was worse than the affliction, at least in her opinion.

Rose dried her hands on a towel. "Let's go upstairs."

She led her niece to her room. "Lie on your back." Rachel complied and her aunt lifted her nightgown to her ribcage and began palpitating her abdomen. She pressed down near Rachel's right hip. "Any tenderness here?"

"No."

Rose pressed on Rachel's abdomen and drew her hand away. "Did that hurt at all?"

"No."

"It's not likely your appendix -- probably one of the stomach flus going around."

"What would happen if it was my appendix?" Rachel asked.

"In that case we would need to get you to the hospital for an operation. I don't think it's likely, but we must rule it out." Rose covered lowered Rachel's gown to cover her abdomen. "So what's it to be, dear? The Castoria or an enema?"

"An enema I s'pose..."

"I'll be back in a little bit." Rose turned and left the bedroom.

Rachel knew what was coming next. She followed Rose into the bathroom. On the vanity top she was laying out the necessaries: a flat box; a large, plastic measuring pitcher; a box of baking soda; a tablespoon; a jar of Vaseline.

"Rachel, do you want to help?" Rose asked. "Put this together while I run the water." She turned on the tap.

Rachel opened the box. Inside was a the red bag of a fountain syringe; and hose, clamp and nozzles. She picked up the bag and worked one end of the hose onto the fitting on the bottom. Then, she slid the clamp onto the hose, snapped it shut, affixed the small nozzle and coated it with petroleum jelly.

She picked up the other nozzle -- longer, larger and with outlet holes along its sides. "What's this for?" she asked.

"That's for adults," Rose replied as she adjusted the temperature of the water, testing the stream against her wrist. She began filling the measure.

"How much water?" Rachel asked.

"A full quart this time. You're getting to be a big girl, Rachel. You're almost five feet already -- you'll grow up to tower over me." Rose added a tablespoon of baking soda to the water, then another and stirred it.

"How much does the bag hold?"

"You're full of questions today. It holds two quarts - - that's what an adult would take." She held the pitcher so Rachel could see the level. Rachel poked her finger into the liquid. It felt warm, but not hot. Rose dumped the contents of the pitcher into the bag. Then she pointed the tip into the sink and opened the clamp to flush air from the hose. "Come along -- bring that towel."

Rachel grabbed the towel from the rod and carried it into her bedroom. She spread it on her bed, then lay on her back on it. She reached under her gown and slipped her underwear down to her knees.

"You might as well take those off, dear." Her aunt was approaching, holding the bag in one hand and the nozzle in the other. Rachel kicked her briefs onto the floor. Then, she lifted her legs and hugged her shins.

With a gentle twist Rose slid the tip into Rachel's anus and pushed it in. "Put your legs down... Are you comfortable?" Rachel sretched and nodded. Rose held the bag up and toward Rachel. "Grab hold of the hose, dear." Rachel reached for it. "You're getting to be such a big girl ... I'm going to let you help. If you start to feel crampy, just pinch shut the hose; and let go again once the cramp passes. Understand?"

Rachel nodded. She heard the snap as Rose released the clamp and held the bag up with her left hand.

She could feel the water flowing into her -- like a cool trickle inside her bottom. She thought it odd how the water felt warm to her finger but cool in her bottom. Feeling the flow of water from Aunt Rose's enemas was one of her earliest recollections.

The water was filling Rachel's rectum, and the pressure was making her uncomfortable. She bit her lip and tensed her buttocks to hold it back. Then, she felt the water begin to move up her left side.

"Remember," Rose said, "if it cramps, pant like a dog. If it gets real bad, pinch the hose."

A cramp was forming in her left side. Rachel began panting. The pressure continued to build. She grimaced and pinched the hose.

"Is it cramping?" Rose asked. Rachel nodded. "Let a little more water in." Rachel released the hose, then pinched it shut again. "Where is it?"

Rachel pointed to her left side, near her ribcage. Rose reached down, put her fingers against the girl's abdomen and began a circular massage.

The pressure released and Rachel felt the water begin to flow across her abdomen under her navel. "Is that better?" Rachel nodded. "Let go of the hose, dear."

Rachel complied. The water was flowing into her easily, now. She could feel the leading edge of the coolness above her right hip.

"Take slow, deep breaths," Rose coached. "The motion of your diaphragm will help distribute the enema. Rachel complied, taking deep breaths through her nose. She watched her belly rise and fall with each one. "Are you starting to feel full?" Rose asked.

"A little..."

"You're doing fine, dear ... almost done."

Another cramp formed in her belly and Rachel panted and pinched the hose. The discomfort passed and she released her grip. She was beginning to feel quite full, now. Coolness permeated her abdomen and along with it a sensation that wasn't quite a cramp, nor was it quite discomfort.

The bag emptied with a soft gurgle. Rose snapped shut the clamp. "Lift your knees, dear..." She pulled out the nozzle. "Okay, you're done -- you can put your legs down. You did a good job! Does it hurt at all?"

She shook her head. "I just feel full."

"This is your first full-quart enema." Rose felt Rachel's abdomen through the fabric of her nightgown. "Hmm... I suppose you could've taken a bigger one yet. No sense making you uncomfortable, though. A quart will get the job done."

"How much more?"

"I don't know ... maybe another pint. At the hospital we used to call enemas the triple-H treatment. It stands for High, Hot and a ... Heckuva lot. I don't like making them too hot ... and, like I said there's no need to make them too big." She ran her palm along Rachel's right side. "This one's definitely high enough."

"How can you tell?"

Rose guided Rachel's fingers. "Do you feel the fullness here? That's your cecum. It's the uppermost part of your bowel." Rachel probed her abdomen with her fingertips. "Are you having any trouble holding it?"

"No," Rachel replied. "I feel fine ... just full."

"Good. Let's see if you can hold it for five minutes." Rose sat beside her on the bed and caressed her leg.

"Why do I need enemas after I throw up?" Rachel asked.

"In case there's something in your bowel that's making you feel poorly," Rose replied. "It's like giving your insides a bath."

Rachel had been learning about human anatomy in her science class. "Does the enema go into my digestive system?"

"A little ways. Enemas are an old-fashioned remedy, Rachel dear. My mother -- your great-grandmother -- swore by them. When I was your age and had an upset stomach, it was the cure I received."

"Did you have a lot of stomach-aches?" Rachel asked.

"Not as many as you seem to have, dear... I also used to get an enema when I was sick with a fever." She checked her watch. "It's not such a bad thing to endure. You really don't mind them that much, do you Rachel?" She continued to caress Rachel's leg.

"I s'pose not." The longer Rachel held the enema the more accustomed to it she became and the less discomfort it gave her. She still felt bloated, that was dissipating. Now and then she could feel the fluid wanting to get out, but if she tensed her bottom that sensation faded.

"I make them as gentle as I know how," Rose continued. "The baking soda makes a soothing enema ... easy to hold. It not only cleanses your bowel but relaxes it, too. The ones I got had soapsuds in them, more likely than not. Those would hurt -- they gave me some pretty strong cramps. There's no reason to give a harsh one when a gentle one works just as well. Of course, my mother wasn't a trained nurse..."

Of course, Rachel had heard this litany countless times.

Rose checked her watch again. "It's been five minutes. Do you feel like you have to go?"

"Not really," Rachel replied.

"Why don't you get up and walk around a bit. That might get something moving. When you start feeling the urge, go sit on the toilet. Keep holding it as long as you can. The longer you hold it the better it works."

Rachel swung her legs to the side of the bed, stood and began pacing. Gravity was helping her colon move the fluid low in her bowel. Pressure was starting to build in her rectum, and with it a strong urge to expel. She trotted into the bathroom. She hiked up her nightgown and sat on the toilet, spreading her buttocks with her hands as she sat; and she waited, her elbows on her thighs.

She knew what to expect. The enema would give her a bowel movement like a massive case of diarrhea. Aunt Rose would want to inspect what she left in the toilet. Rachel fought the urge for as long as she could. She was mindful of her aunt's instructions -- the longer she held it the better it worked and she had a vested interest in making it work and work well. The better it worked, the fewer she would need. Unable to hold it any longer, she relaxed her bottom, bore down and expelled the sloppy stuff into the bowl.

This part of it she actually enjoyed, as it gave her relief from the distention. She relaxed, waited for another urge and then pushed, and did so until she was convinced all the enema had passed out of her and into the toilet. She reached for the toilet paper, cleaned herself and stood.

"Aunt Rose," she called. "I'm done!"

Rose entered and hung the bag on the shower rod, its hose draining into the tub. Then she lifted the toilet lid, looked down, closed it and pressed the flush lever. "Go curl up on the sofa and watch TV if you'd like," Rose said. "I'll bring you some ginger ale. We'll give you another enema in an couple of hours or so." Rose opened her arms and Rachel fell into them. "You're a good patient, Rachel," she said, "very cooperative." She kissed the girl's head.

Rachel stretched out on the sofa and probed her abdomen again. The fullness was definitely gone, now. She pulled a crocheted afghan over her and sat in a ball under it, watching the television. Rose set a glass of ginger ale on the coffee table and the basin beside her, but Rachel knew she wouldn't be needing it again. She did need to go back upstairs and sit on the toilet a couple of times, though, as more of the enema drained out of her.

Rose was right. Rachel really didn't mind the enemas. In fact, she liked how she felt after one. She didn't mind a day off from school, either; and the enemas were a small price to pay for the luxury. And, she liked the gentle way Rose cared for her when she felt poorly.

Rachel was an orphan. Her mother died before she was born, beaten into a vegetative state by her boyfriend, who was also Rachel's biological father. She was eight months pregnant. Rachel was cut from her mother's womb, nature was allowed to take its course, and the boyfriend was now in the penitentiary, serving life without parole for aggravated homicide.

Rose took Rachel in and was appointed her guardian. She wasn't Rachel's aunt -- she was Rachel's mother's aunt -- her grandmother's kid sister. Although Rose was a registered nurse, a modest life insurance policy provided enough income that she could quit her job and stay home full-time to care for the girl. They lived frugally in a farmhouse built in the 1930s.

Rachel watched about an hour's worth of television and began to get bored. She switched it off and strolled into the kitchen where Rose sat at the dinette, working on a crossword puzzle.

"Feeling better?" Rose asked.

"I feel fine."

Rose glanced at the clock. "It's time for your next enema."

"How many do I have to have?" Rachel asked, though she knew the answer.

"'Til the water comes back clean."

Rachel knew that meant three or four -- more. She headed up the stairs, comforted by the knowledge that the second and subsequent ones flowed in easier and came out easier.

The last dusky twilight faded and darkened the farmhouse windows. Rachel's dinner had been a bowl of broth and four soda crackers. Rose had given her three more enemas after the first one before concluding what came back was sufficiently clean.

Now Rachel was hungry and her stomach was growling, but she knew Rose wouldn't permit any other food 'til morning. "Aunt Rose," she called, "I'm going to take my bath and play in my room 'til bedtime."

"Take the basin with you."

"I won't need the basin -- I feel fine."

"Better be safe than sorry. Good night, Rachel.

"Yes, Aunt Rose. Good night." She picked up the basin and headed up the stairs.

Rachel ran water in the bathtub. The fountain syringe still hung from the shower rod. She moved the hose so it dangled outside the tub. As the tub filled she picked a fresh nightgown and pair of briefs from her dresser drawer and carried these into the bathroom.

She shampooed her hair in the tub, soaped and rinsed her body and dried herself. She slipped into the fresh nightgown and dropped the other into the hamper. Then, she ran her fingers through her wet hair and shook it out.

Rachel closed her bedroom door behind her, opened a drawer and removed a Barbie doll along with some doll clothes and other props. One was a plastic, Barbie-sized bed.

The doll represented Ilsa, a character in Rachel's imagination. She lay Ilsa on the toy bed and went into her closet to retrieve a shoebox carefully tucked in the far corner of a high shelf.

Inside the box were other props that Rachel had made herself, from paper, cardboard, tape and glue. The full collection of doll-sized furniture and accessories for the Barbie line would fill an adult-sized warehouse, but one item was lacking: A toilet. Rachel had filled that gap by constructing one from a small cardboard box. She had cut a hole and made a seat and lid from poster board. Pieces of Scotch tape formed the hinges.

Also in the shoebox was a doll-sized fountain syringe made from red construction paper and a length of string as the hose, a doll-sized quart pitcher and other accoutrements.

Rachel set these items on the floor and regarded Ilsa lying on her bed. "Ilsa how are you feeling today?"

"Not very good." Rachel's voice went up half an octave to assume that of Ilsa. "I just threw up."

"Well, Ilsa ... it looks like you're going to need an enema..."

The school bus stopped in front of the farmhouse. Rachel climbed aboard and scanned the seats for a familiar face. She sat beside another girl, one with strawberry-blond braids and freckles. "Hi, Rachel," the girl said. "Were you sick yesterday?"

"Yeah..."

"Again?'

"Yes, Annie -- I was sick again."

"I'm never sick," Annie boasted. "Last year I got a perfect-attendance ribbon."

"I remember." Rachel didn't think it was fair for the teachers to reward students for attendance. Getting sick wasn't something over which she had any control. "Aunt Rose says you may come home with me after school. You can stay for dinner if you'd like."

Annie smiled. "Okay."

The bus wended its way down country roads to the small village and pulled into the parking lot of a brick schoolhouse. Rachel grabbed her book bag and headed to her classroom.

She approached her teacher and handed her a note. The teacher read it. "Fine, Rachel. Take your seat."

Rachel sat directly behind Annie. She transferred her books and binders to her desk. The teacher began the day's lessons.

After lunch the children enjoyed a twenty-minute recess on the playground. Rachel sat with Annie on the swings. "Annie -- let's see how high we can swing."

"Naw I just wanna sit," Annie replied.

Rachel regarded her friend, who seemed subdued. She thought Annie looked pale. "Do you feel all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Let's swing." Annie pushed back and swung forward.

Their teacher rang a bell. Rachel hopped off the swing and followed Annie and the others into the classroom. "I'm passing out a little quiz," the teacher said. "You have fifteen minutes to complete it." She sat at her desk.

Rachel filled in her name on the top of the paper and began reading through the problems. Then, the sound of a plop and splatters shattered her attention and she looked up. Annie was leaning to the side of her desk and vomiting onto the floor.

The classroom erupted into pandemonium. Some of her classmates were holding their hands over their mouths and gagging. Others held their noses. Rachel closed her eyes, held her breath and pinched her lips together. The teacher escorted Annie out of the room. A short while later a janitor came in pushing a cart. He sprinkled orange powder over the mess and began sweeping it up, then sprayed the area from an aerosol can.

The teacher returned and ordered everyone back in his or her seats. "Calm down, everyone... Now remember," she said, "if you feel like you're going to throw up -- just get up and go to the restroom. If it's an emergency you don't have to ask my permission."

Annie won't be getting perfect attendance THIS year, Rachel thought to herself.

The bus dropped Rachel at her door. She climbed the steps and let herself into the house. "Aunt Rose, I'm home," she sang out.

Rose stepped from the kitchen. "No Annie?"

Rachel suppressed a giggle. "Annie threw up in class today -- all over the floor."

Rose nodded. "Poor girl, how humiliating... She must've caught the same bug that laid you low yesterday."

"This morning on the bus she was bragging how she never gets sick."

"How the mighty have fallen," Rose mused.

"Ex-ACT-ly," Rachel replied. "I wonder if Annie gets enemas when she has an upset tummy."

"I wouldn't know. Don't embarrass her by asking her about it, dear. Think how YOU'D feel if someone asked you about it."

"Yes, Aunt Rose."

II -- 1991

Rachel's alarm clock roused her. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and climbed out of bed. Aunt Rose had already left. About the time Rachel entered junior high, the insurance money ran out and Rose had to return to work. She was working four twelve-hour shifts per week at a community hospital about a half- hour's drive from the house.

Re-entering the workforce as she did gave Rose the distinction of being both the oldest and the most junior member of the staff. And now, Rachel was a latchkey kid.

The bus would be along soon, so Rachel rushed to ready herself. She bounded down the stairs and picked up her backpack. Rose had left a note on the kitchen dinette. Rachel figured she'd read it later.

She locked the front door and headed to the roadside to await the bus. The yellow vehicle pulled to a stop and she climbed aboard, scanning the seats for her friend.

Rachel spotted Annie. Sitting beside her was Russel Boyer. Rachel found an empty seat near the front of the bus, sat and folded her arms across her chest.

The bus stopped outside the junior high annex, a newer building attached to the old elementary school. Rachel hopped off the bus and headed straight to her locker; then she headed to her homeroom to sit through the morning announcements.

The bell rang and she headed for her first class, which was study hall. Rachel immediately requested a hall pass to the school library and headed there. From the reference stack she selected an illustrated atlas of human anatomy and sat in a study carrel poring over it. The book had overlaid transparencies to show anatomical details layer-by-layer. She found it riveting.

The bus stopped alongside Rachel's house and she hopped off and let herself inside. The clock on the kitchen wall was going on four. She spied the note she had neglected in the morning and read it.

Rachel -- there's a pizza in the freezer. Please put the towels in the wash. mach. and hang new ones. Rose.

Rachel ran upstairs, plucked the towels and wash cloths from the rods and scooped up the bath mat. She carried them in a bundle to the basement and loaded them into the washing machine, along with some detergent and softening agent. A tug on the knob started the machine and she headed back to the second floor.

She opened the closet in the hallway and surveyed the selection of linens. Her eyes stopped on a flat box peeking out from under a stack of folded towels. She withdrew the box, opened it and was gazing on the red bag of the fountain syringe.

Rachel realized how long it had been since she had last received an enema from Aunt Rose. It was before Rose started her job. Rachel must've been eleven or barely twelve. The upset stomachs and vomiting that had prompted the enemas had vanished. She thought back over the past two years... She couldn't recall a single instance of feeling ill.

Maybe she had out-grown the stomach-aches.

She regarded the contents in the box in awe. She could almost feel the cool water flowing into her rectum; and she was feeling an odd sensation deep in her pelvis. She wanted it.

Peering into the closet again, on the high shelf was the measuring pitcher Rose had used. Rachel lifted up on her toes and retrieved it.

She carried the box and pitcher into the bathroom. There she neatly laid out the components: bag, hose, clamp, nozzle... She thought for a moment and realized she needed a way to suspend the bag. A towel bar, now denuded of towel, caught her eye. She tested hanging the bag from it using the hook Rose had used to hang it from the shower rod to dry. It looked like the right level -- if she were lying on the floor.

Rachel surveyed the equipment laid out on the vanity and realized she was missing some items. She dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a box of baking soda and a tablespoon and carried these to the bathroom.

Next, she assembled the syringe by attaching the hose to the bag, sliding on the clamp and affixing the enema tip. She turned on the tap and ran water until it was warm to the touch, and then filled the pitcher. Into it she dumped a tablespoon of baking soda, and realized she couldn't recall if Rose had used one or two. With a shrug she stirred the water and dumped it into the bag, then flushed air from the hose.

With the bag hanging from the towel bar, and a small throw rug repositioned under the bag all was ready. Rachel unsnapped her jeans and slid them off; then she dropped her panties around her ankles and stepped out of them. She lay on her back on the bathroom floor and picked up the nozzle. She realized something else was missing.

A search of the vanity drawers yielded none. She pulled open the medicine cabinet and saw her prize -- a small jar of Vaseline. Rachel never went into the medicine cabinet - - she had no need, and it was Aunt Rose's domain. She surveyed the array of personal-care products her aunt. Her eye stopped on a small, brown bottle.

Rachel picked it up. The label read, Syrup of Ipecac. The fine print told her the product was to be used only on instruction from a physician in the event of accidental poisoning to induce vomiting.

She shook the bottle -- it felt about half empty. Unscrewing the cap revealed a torn foil seal on the mouth of the bottle. Rachel shrugged, returned the bottle to its place in the medicine chest and grabbed the Vaseline.

With her finger she dipped into the jar and smeared the glob onto the enema tip. She lay on her back again and grasped the nozzle.

She brought the hose between her legs. With her left hand she spread her buttocks and with her right she pressed the tip against her anus, relaxed her sphincter and worked the nozzle in a circle. It slid in easily and she pushed it into her rectum, up to the hilt.

Now, she moved her hand to the clamp. Her heart was pounding. With her thumb she snapped it open and then grabbed the hose to pinch it shut should a cramp raise the need.

Rachel could feel the cool flow in her rectum. She closed her eyes, took deep breaths and, recalling transparencies in the anatomy atlas, visualized her colon filling.

A cramp was building low in her belly. She pinched the hose and held it; and she took slow, deep breaths. The cramp subsided and a bolus of cool water moved higher up her left side. She let go of the hose and touched her abdomen where she felt the leading edge of the invading coolness inside, tracing an outline of her colon from up her left side and across above her navel.

Before she realized it, the bag emptied itself with a quiet gurgle. Rachel snapped shut the clamp, withdrew the tip and stretched her legs out. Her belly felt full -- not quite as bloated as some times, but it was a familiar sensation. She examined her abdomen with her fingers; then she locked her hands behind her neck, drew in a deep breath and relaxed as she waited for the enema to do its work.

Since she didn't have her watch, Rachel had no idea how long she lay there. The enema wasn't giving her strong urges to evacuate, but she was getting tired of feeling the bloat in her belly. She got up, turned around and sat down on the toilet seat to wait for the urge to build.

Sitting upright added gravity's influence to the volume of fluid in Rachel's bowel, and that was enough to start some cramping. She waited for a strong one; then she relaxed her sphincter and bore down.

Pushing out the enema felt good -- almost as good as feeling it flow in. Rachel could feel her colon shrinking and relaxing.

Rachel pressed the flush lever, stooped and picked up her briefs and jeans. She noticed dampness between her legs, so she slipped a panty liner into her briefs.

She rinsed the red bag and patted it with a paper towel. Rachel dared not hang it to dry in the tub. Instead she blew through the hose to dislodge water droplets and attempted to dry the separate pieces as well as she could. Even with her efforts, when she placed the bag into its box a drop of water came from the bag and left a round mark on the cardboard.

A realization struck her. She unlikely could use the fountain syringe without leaving evidence. She needed her own equipment if she was to continue indulging this guilty pleasure.

Rachel policed up the bathroom and replaced the flat box and measuring pitcher in the closet. She headed down the stairs and turned on the oven to heat the pizza.

She was sitting at the dinette reading her assignment when she heard Rose's car pull into the drive. Her aunt opened the door and headed up the stairs. The bathroom door closed.

A pang hit Rachel. What if she had left something behind to betray her clandestine afternoon enema session? What would Rose think of her -- of someone who derived pleasure from an enema?

"Rachel! Come here." Rose's voice called from the head of the stairs.

Rachel headed up and saw Rose standing before the open linen closet. Her heart leapt into her throat. "Yes, Aunt Rose?"

"I asked you to hang fresh towels. I see you took away the soiled ones. I went to use the bathroom and found no way to dry my hands."

"I'm sorry..." Rachel grabbed a stack of towels and hung them on the rods.

The next day was Saturday. Rachel slept late and arose well after sunup. She slipped into a pair of cutoff shorts, a tee shirt and sandals and headed downstairs. Rose was sitting at the dinette with a cup of coffee and a crossword puzzle.

"Good morning, sleepy-head," Rose said. "I'm surprised you didn't sleep 'til noon."

"I was tired. You have off today?"

"Obviously... This week at least. And tomorrow and Monday. This schedule I keep really disrupts my routine. I must drive into town today. Would you like to come along?"

"Where are you going?"

"Kritz's pharmacy and the market."

"No thanks... Wait -- yes I'll come along."

"Have some breakfast and we'll go."

Rachel climbed into the passenger seat of Rose's car, a five-year-old Ford Taurus. Rose started the motor and guided the vehicle along the country roads.

"Rachel, I'm sorry you must come home to an empty house. It must be terribly boring for you."

"I don't mind, Aunt Rose."

"I think I can trust you if you'd like to have Annie come home with you some afternoon."

"We're not speaking."

"You and Annie? Rachel, she's been your best friend since kindergarten."

"Not any more."

"Pray tell, what happened?"

"She was sitting on the bus yesterday morning with Russel Boyer!"

"You and Russel don't get along, do you?"

"No, and if Annie has made him her boyfriend -- it is OVER between us! He picked on me all last year. Thank GOD I don't have him in my homeroom or too many classes this year. Riding the same bus is bad enough."

"Rachel, dear... I'm going to suggest something that you consider as a possibility, only. Sometimes when boys -- especially boys Russel's age -- pick on a girl ... it's because they like the girl but don't quite know how to express themselves."

"Ewww!" Rachel exclaimed and shuddered.

"Just keep that in the back of your mind as a possible explanation."

"Boys are so GROSS. I hate them."

"Boys ... and men make up half the population of this planet. They're a necessary evil."

"Evil is the right word."

Rose pinched Rachel's knee. "Give yourself a few years, dear. You may change mind."

"I doubt it!"

Rose parked the car in front of Kritz's -- a small hole-in-the-wall, family-run drugstore that sold ... drugs. The place lacked a hardware department, didn't sell groceries or clothing and didn't even offer cosmetics.

Rose headed to the high counter behind which stood Tom Kritz in a white lab coat. While her aunt conducted her business, Rachel wandered the aisles looking at over-the- counter medications, bandage wraps and other home care items.

Her eye stopped cold upon the sight of a combination fountain syringe similar to the one reposing in its box back at the farmhouse. Rachel locked her hands behind her back and tried to appear to be thinking about something else as she studied the box from a distance.

The price was fifteen dollars ... too much, and besides it was too bulky to sneak into the house and conceal in her room. Rachel resumed strolling the aisles but paying attention to the other products on the shelf in this department.

She saw packages of laxative tablets, squeeze-bottle enemas... Those intrigued her but she figured if they were appropriate, then Rose would have them at home; but she didn't.

On the bottom shelf she spotted a small box, labeled Bowel Prep Kit 2. The box listed the contents and included a "disposable large-volume bagenema." She couldn't see the price sticker.

Rachel poked her hand into her pocket and withdrew a quarter-dollar, which she let slip out of her hand so it would fall near the shelf. She dropped to her knees to retrieve the quarter and used the opportunity to read the box.

In addition to the bagenema, the box contained some other items. The price was only eight dollars, and it was compact enough to hide in her backpack. Rachel decided that was what she wanted. Now, she had to figure out how to get hold of one.

"Rachel, dear," Rose called. Rachel popped up from the floor. "What were you doing down there?"

Rachel held up the coin. "I dropped a quarter."

"Come along, dear. We'll go to the market."

The grocery store was located in a square of other shops, plus the village offices and library. In order to draw business into the failing downtown, the merchants had chosen this day for a sidewalk sale, and had card tables and pipe racks lining the sidewalk with sale items.

Rose pointed to a rack of blouses in front of a clothing boutique named "Duds."

"I want to take a minute to look here," she said.

Rachel felt snookered. She hated shopping for clothes with Rose. Her aunt never liked anything stylish, but she could look all day through rack after rack of frumpy, old-lady blouses. But, she dutifully followed her aunt to the shop and stood, hands behind back as Rose flicked through the rack.

Then, Rachel's eye caught a table in front of the village library. "Aunt Rose," she said, "the library is having a used-book sale. I'm going to look over there."

"Fine, Rachel. I'll meet you there, or you can come back here but don't wander off anywhere else."

"Yes, Aunt Rose."

Rachel began perusing the rows of dusty old books being discarded from the stacks. Not one was priced above one dollar. There were old, forgotten novels and hardcover books on animal husbandry and livestock maintenance ... crop rotation and automobile repair. Here was a shop manual for the 1957 Desoto.

Then, her eye fell upon a thick book, a hardcover with a navy cloth binding. She picked it up. It was a nursing manual from the 1930s and it was in a row priced at fifty cents.

She flipped through it; then went to the index in back and searched for the word "enema." There were a page-and-a- half of entries. She began to get that feeling in her pelvis, the longing to feel the flow of water into her colon. If she couldn't have an enema, reading about one was the next-best- thing.

Rachel snapped the book shut and looked for someone to pay. She found a cardboard box on the table with a slot cut in its top and a sign that read, "honor system." She dug two quarters out of her pocket, dropped them into the box and headed back to the clothing store.

Rose was scanning the last rack of blouses. "Nothing here I want," she muttered. This was no big surprise to Rachel. "Come along dear, we'll go to the market." Rose spotted the book Rachel was non-chalantly holding. "What did you buy?"

Rachel showed Rose the book. "It was only fifty cents."

"My goodness, it's a nursing manual from 1930! Why would you want that?"

"It looked interesting. Maybe I want to be a nurse some day."

"That thing is older than I am, dear -- which should give you some idea of how out-of-date it is. If you want to look at nursing manuals, I have the ones I used when I trained in the sixties. Even THOSE are out of date, but not ancient history like that one."

Rachel shrugged. "It looked interesting and it was only fifty cents." What she didn't tell her aunt was, that she had already discovered Rose's books, had already looked through them and had found them sadly lacking in useful information about enemas.

Letting Rose see the book had been a gamble, but Rachel believed she had pulled it off. She knew no other way. She HAD to have that book, so she played it as an adolescent's impulse purchase, and Rose seemed to buy it. Now, she had to figure out how to get hold of one of the prep kits.

Rachel closed her bedroom door behind her and dug into the far corner of the top shelf of her closet. She retrieved a spiral-bound steno pad that she had been filling with sketches. Though she wasn't an adept artist, she didn't let it stop her from rendering her impressions of the enema experience, including sketches of how she believed a colon distended from receiving an enema appeared.

Now she wanted to use the notebook for another purpose -- note taking as she studied the nursing manual she had bought. She crawled into bed with the book, notepad and pencil.

At first she considered indexing the material with a pad of Post-its, but rejected that notion. Instead her plan was to hide the nursing manual in plain sight -- in the bookcase alongside a Funk and Wagnall's encyclopedia and a collection of juvenile literature from her elementary school days. She figured Aunt Rose would believe it was out-of-sight and out-of-mind; and with no colored slips of paper poking out between the leaves to betray which sections were of interest.

She intended to study each entry on enemas, to learn the material and assimilate it as if she were studying for a history exam on nineteenth-century Italian geography. There was a difference. Rachel didn't care a rat's tail about Italian geography.

The book was a treasure trove -- a gold mine. A platinum mine in fact. She found recipes for solutions. Some of these she couldn't believe were prescribed by early 20th century physicians and appeared too brutal for her to try. The description of isotonic saline made perfect sense to her, though. Then, there were sections on procedures ... how high to hang the reservoir ... nozzles ... and positions. She learned about Sim's and knee-chest. The on-her-back approach Rose advocated wasn't considered the best by the authors of the book.

By the time she had read every word that remotely concerned enemas, she figured, there was a very good chance she'd know more about the topic than Aunt Rose.

All the words, the descriptions, the line drawings and illustrations made her want an enema; and want it badly. She even considered waiting until Rose was sound asleep and sneaking one in the middle of the night. It wouldn't work. Rose was a light sleeper and her bed was on the other side of the bathroom wall. She sound of water running and the toilet flushing would certainly disturb her. Besides, she didn't yet have the prep kit. She would have to enjoy it vicariously 'til then.

And, the material was giving her a throbbing in her pelvis, and making her damp between her legs. Her heart would beat harder and faster, too. She enjoyed the excitement these sensations brought.

Rachel studied the book for a couple hours, 'til her eyes grew bleary. She hopped out of bed, hid the spiral notebook in her closet, slipped the book into the bookcase, climbed into bed and switched of the light.

Monday morning Rachel headed downstairs to catch the bus. Aunt Rose sat at the dinette with her coffee and crossword. "I have my schedule for this week," she said. "I work tomorrow and Wednesday; I'm off Thursday and Friday and work Saturday."

"Why can't they let you work a regular schedule?" Rachel asked. "Something like Monday through Thursday?"

"Because I'm the low one on the pole. I'm the one that fills in around the others. Have a good day at school, dear."

Rachel bent over and hugged her aunt, then bounded down the steps to the roadside. The bus stopped and she boarded it.

She scanned the seats and pretended not to see Annie sitting alone. Instead she sat in an empty seat near the front.

The bus pulled onto the road. "May I sit here?"

Rachel looked up and saw Annie. She turned her face away. "It's a free bus."

"Rachel, what's wrong? Why are you mad at me?"

Rachel sighed. "I couldn't believe it -- seeing YOU sitting with Russel Boyer!"

"I wasn't," Annie replied. "He was sitting with me. I get on the bus first -- remember? He sat next to me and I couldn't kick him out."

"It looked like you were having a real good time talking with him."

"I was being friendly, Rache. I know how he tormented you last year, but I think he's different, now."

"Hmmph!"

"Well, that's what happened -- the truth." Rachel looked out the bus window at the landscape whizzing past. Her eyes began to fill. "Are we still friends?"

"Oh, Annie," Rachel sniffled. "I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay, Rache... Really it is. We've been friends too long for a misunderstanding."

"You mean it?"

"Of course."

The two girls rode in silence as the bus approached town. Rachel glanced at her friend and regarded her face in profile. Annie was without a doubt the prettiest girl in her class, with her strawberry blond hair, upturned nose, china blue eyes and freckles.

The bus stopped at the school. Annie stood in the aisle. "Annie," Rachel said, "can you come home with me tonight? Aunt Rose says you're welcome any time."

Annie smiled. "Sure, Rache."

The bus stopped in front of Rachel's house and Annie headed for the door. "Annie," the driver said, "next time have a pass."

"Aw come on, Mr Hudson," Rachel protested. "You know we go to each other's houses all the time."

"That's why I'm letting her this time. Next time you need a note. See you, girls."

Rachel led Annie up the steps. "Aunt Rose," she called. "I'm home."

Rose stepped from the kitchen. "So I see... Hello, Annie."

"Hello..."

"I told Annie she could stay for dinner," Rachel added.

"Rachel can I have a word in the kitchen?" Rachel followed her aunt. "I see you and Annie have made up," Rose said in a whisper. "I wish I had known she was coming."

"You said she's always welcome."

"Yes, I know. But I didn't make enough dinner for three."

"Just stir another handful of macaroni into it," Rachel replied. "Annie won't care."

"What are you two going to do?"

"I dunno -- hang out maybe."

Rachel headed up the stairs. "Come on up, Annie." Her friend bounded up the stairs after her. "I'm gonna change."

"I'll wait here."

"You can come in." Rachel gestured Annie into her room and closed the door.

Annie sat on the bed while Rachel selected shorts and a tee shirt from her dresser. She pulled out her shirt tail, unsnapped her twill pants and remove them. As she pulled on her shorts Rachel regarded her friend.

Annie was almost a year older than Rachel, but she could pass for eighteen. Today she was wearing a skirt, the hem of which was within nanometers of the school's dress code for height-above-the-knee. On top Annie wore a blouse with a ruffled collar -- collars were de rigueur, but she had left open the top two buttons, and someone standing at the correct angle could get an excellent glimpse of her décolletage.

Rachel unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off. Underneath she wore a cotton sport bra from the kids' department. She wouldn't wear it at all, except to satisfy the "appropriate underwear" clause of the dress code. Annie, no doubt, wore adult underwear. Rachel pulled her tee over her head. She approached Annie and grasped both her hands. "Okay, what do you wanna do?"

"I dunno..."

"Wanna go swing in back?"

"Not in these clothes. If I had known I'd have brought a bag."

"I know..."

"Besides, Rache -- my shoulder's sore." Annie lifted her elbow up and down. "I think I strained it at swim practice."

"You know," Rachel replied, "when my shoulders hurt Aunt Rose gives me a massage."

"I couldn't ask her..."

"I know what she does. Let me massage you."

"I dunno..."

"What's the harm?"

"What do I do?"

"Lie on your stomach." Rachel grasped the tops of Annie's shoulders and pressed her thumbs against her back. "You know ... it would work better if you took your blouse off."

Annie rolled over, unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off; then rolled back onto her stomach. Rachel began massaging her again.

"This is in the way..." She unhooked Annie's bra strap and began rubbing her back.

Rachel was engrossed in rubbing her friend's back -- watching her peaches-and-cream skin flow under her fingers. She didn't hear the door open.

"Girls," Rose said, "dinner's read... Rachel, what are you doing?"

Rose's voice startled her. "I... Annie strained her shoulder and I was massaging it ... the way ... the way you do."

"Except, I know what I'm doing and you don't." Rose sat on the bed near Annie. "Dear, where does it hurt?"

"Under my shoulder blade." Annie pointed to the right side of her back.

Rose began palpitating Annie's back. "Rachel... Feel here." Rose guided her fingers. "Feel that knot in her muscle?"

"Yes..."

"We'll try to work that loose..." Rose directed pressure at the spot.

"OW!" Annie cried out.

"Relax, Annie," Rose said. "Sometimes you need to feel a little worse before you can feel better." She continued to massage Annie's back. "There -- how does that feel?"

Annie worked her shoulder blade. "Better I think."

"Rachel, hook her back up and the both of you come down for dinner."

Rachel sat in the passenger seat as Rose drove home from dropping Annie at her house. "I'm pleased to see you and Annie have patched things up," Rose said. "I think she's a nice girl."

"Uh-uh..." Rachel muttered.

"I do think, though, it would be better if Annie didn't come to the house when I'm not at home."

"But Aunt Rose... You said you trusted me."

"This isn't about trust, Rachel. If anything happened -- if she needed to go home in a hurry -- how would you manage that?"

"I dunno..."

"Exactly. Annie is welcome ... when I'm at home. Do you understand, Rachel?"

"Yes, Aunt Rose."

Rose parked the car in the driveway. Rachel walked to the front door, unlocked it and went into the house. "I'll take my bath and go to bed," she said.

"Fine, Rachel."

Rachel headed to her room. Sitting on her dresser was a tin can filled with coins. She picked it up, dumped it on her bed and began counting. In the can was just over five dollars' worth of pennies, dimes and quarters.

She shoveled the coins into the can and headed downstairs. "Aunt Rose," she said, "can you change these coins?"

"How much is in there?"

"Five dollars and thirty-five cents."

"Do I look like the First National Trust?" Rose opened her bag and withdrew a five-dollar bill from her wallet. "Here -- put them in the milk bottle."

Rachel dumped the coins into a glass milk bottle that collected spare change between trips to the bank. Then she took the fiver from Rose. "Thank you Aunt Rose."

"I thought you were taking your bath."

"Yes I'm going now."

Rachel bounded up the stairs and into her room. She pulled a small, leather change purse from her drawer and opened it. Inside were four singles, what was left of this month's allowance. She added the five-spot to them and realized nine dollars would be enough to buy the prep kit. Next, she needed to figure out how to get to the drug store.

It was mid-afternoon on Thursday. Shortly the junior high would dismiss early, in order to permit the students to attend religious instruction. A study hall was provided for those not going to church; but the school never paid much attention to who left and who stayed.

Rachel usually went to study hall. Today she congregated with a group headed to the Baptist church. They walked in a loose crowd down the street. At the intersection Rachel headed left when the others went right. She knew she could get in trouble for doing this, but she didn't care.

She headed for the drugstore -- not Kritz's but a newly built chain store on the corner. Inside she located the aisle for fibre supplements, laxatives and such. Sure enough on the shelf was a box marked Bowel Prep 2.

Rachel picked it up and turned it over in her hands. The price was nearly a dollar less than at Kritz's. Was she really crazy enough to blow the rest of her allowance on this? Perhaps she was...

She headed to the checkout and stood in line behind an old woman arguing over coupons. Her turn came and she plunked the item on the counter and handed over the nine dollars. Rachel's heart was racing. The clerk counted the bills and handed her back a single. "Someone in your house having surgery?" the clerk asked.

Rachel managed an embarrassed "Uh-uh..."

"Tell them good luck. Would you like a bag?"

"Please..."

The clerk put the kit into a white paper bag and handed it to Rachel. She headed for the door.

"Oh, miss..." the clerk called after her. Rachel turned around. "You forgot the rest of your change."

Rachel stuffed the kit in her backpack and loitered outside the store until it was time to return to school and catch the bus home. She saw the crowd of Baptists headed down the street, so she walked at a pace to meet up with them at the corner and head back.

The bus dropped her off and she went straight to her room, opened her backpack and tucked the kit between her mattress and box spring. Then she carried her books to the kitchen and sat at the dinette doing her homework.

Rachel headed for her room, her hair wet from her bath. She closed the door and retrieved the kit from under her mattress. Already her heart was accelerating and throbbing was building in her pelvis. She knew she'd have to wait. Aunt Rose was off tomorrow but worked on Saturday. It would be worth the wait. With Rose working from six to six, Rachel had a stretch of twelve hours for a leisurely series of enemas, and thinking about it made her want them.

She broke the seal on the box. Inside was a bottle of liquid and some tablets -- these she didn't need. She withdrew the prize -- the flexible plastic enema pouch with its thin, clear tube.

Rachel found an instruction sheet. "How to administer the large-volume enema," read one side. She read through the instructions and looked at the line drawings. The sheet recommended plain tap water, and it recommended starting on one's left side, rolling over onto one's back and finishing on the right side.

Saturday came and today Rachel did not sleep in. She was awake at dawn, giddy with anticipation. She waited in her room until she heard Rose leave the house; then she peered out her bedroom window and watched the car head down the road.

Rachel took the enema pouch from its hiding place and carried it into the bathroom. She took the jar of Vaseline from the medicine chest and made a mental note to obtain her own supply next Thursday.

The instructions called for warm water -- like what Rose used. Rachel turned on the tap and adjusted the temperature. She attempted to fill the bag under the tap, but it wouldn't fit. Instead, she used the tap in the bathtub and filled the bag to the 1,500 mark and flushed air from its tube.

Then, Rachel realized she had a problem. The bathroom floor was too small for her to comfortably roll over. She carried the bag into her bedroom. Here was enough space but no way to hang it.

She had an idea and retrieved a folding music stand from the days in which she attempted to learn the flute. This she pressed into service and hung the bag. Finally she smeared some Vaseline on the tip and spread a towel on the floor.

Her nightgown was knee-length of cotton tee-shirt material. She hiked it to her waist and then slid her briefs off. They were getting damp anyway -- inevitable whenever she thought seriously about enemas.

She lay on her left side, her knees drawn up; grasped the tube, led it between her legs and pushed the tip into her rectum. Then, she released the clamp and felt the cool spray of the enema. She began breathing slowly and deeply so her diaphragm would help distribute the enema in her colon.

Rachel endured the early cramps and watched the level in the bag drop. When it reached the 1,000 mark she shut off the flow and rolled onto her back. She opened the clamp and felt more of the enema flow. The level reached the 500 mark and she stopped the flow in order to roll onto her right side.

Fifteen hundred millilitres was the largest enema she had ever taken. As the last of it drained into her she was beginning to feel seriously full. She had to stop the flow a few times to alleviate cramping. The bag emptied, she closed the clamp, pulled out the tip and rolled onto her back to hold it. She had remembered to wear her watch, and she timed it for five minutes.

She headed to the toilet to expel. She wouldn't rush it, she told herself. She had plenty of time to do it right.

Her stint on the toilet reached a point of diminishing returns. She decided it was time for another enema. This one would be done according the nursing manual.

Rachel consulted the notes she had taken -- the water hot but not unbearably so. She filled the pouch to the 1,500 mark, carried it to her room and hung it on the stand.

She hiked up her nightgown, and then decided it was in the way. She lifted it from herself and lay it on her bed; then lay nude on her left side. The tube went into her rectum and she rolled into Sim's position.

Rachel opened the clamp and soon felt the full warmth of the hot water. It felt very different than the familiar lukewarm enemas. This one flowed easily without cramping.

As the level dropped past the 500 mark, Rachel began to feel pressure. She stopped and started the flow and she panted. Eventually she admitted the last of the enema in short bursts.

She felt a bit nauseated from the warmth and the fullness, so she decided to expel this one right away. Most of it came out in a single, long gush and that afforded her considerable relief.

When she thought she was done on the toilet, it was time for enema number three. This she decided would be a reprise of the first one -- lukewarm taken in thirds and rolling over between parts. She filled the bag, hung it, assumed the position and started the flow.

The first two thirds flowed in easily. Like in enema number two, she was having trouble taking the final third, but she was determined to do so. Once the bag drained into her she rolled onto her back to rest for a few moments before getting up. She had never felt so full.

Then, she noticed something. Usually, when she lay on her back and looked toward her toes, her stomach was flat. Now, she noticed a definite bulge.

Rachel stood and opened the door to her closet all the way so it was flat against the wall. On the back was a full- length mirror. She regarded herself and could see the distention, especially when she turned to the side.

She was tall for her age -- nearly five-foot-six and two inches taller than Aunt Rose. But, she was slim -- thin to the point of scrawny. Rachel was a late bloomer. Even though she had been having her periods for a couple years, her breasts were just now beginning to develop.

Rachel had an adequate frame, but there wasn't much on it. Her ribs, hip bones and knees stood out. Lack of surplus flesh made the distention of her colon all the more noticeable. She stood, examining her abdomen in the mirror, and recalling the illustrations in the anatomy book. On her right side, she identified her cecum, inflated like a football. She traced her transverse colon, across her abdomen just below her ribcage. Low on her left was another bulge -- her sigmoid colon.

She ran her hands along her sides, contemplating the firmness of her distended belly. This, and her image in the mirror was making the throbbing in her pelvis even more intense.

Gravity was doing its work and the enema was wanting out. She headed for the toilet and expelled another long gush. The water was coming back quite clean.

She felt like she was expelling more than she had taken, but she recalled from Aunt Rose's enemas this was misleading. She felt the temperature of the water she was passing change from cool to warm, and she realized what had happened. Some of the first two enemas remained behind and added to the volume of the third. Now she had taken sufficient volume to force this water down.

She also realized why Aunt Rose spread out the series of enemas over a whole day -- to give each one a chance to drain.

Rachel began feeling a dull cramp as the bolus of water moved across her abdomen and filled her descending colon; then she felt the urge to expel. She bore down and pushed out the last of it.

She couldn't believe how good she was feeling. Her stomach felt empty and relaxed; and she felt energized. Back to the mirror she went and examined herself. Now her abdomen was as flat as a board. She looked at herself head on and from each side.

Next, she thought, she'd fill the bag all the way to the top. It would be nearly two quarts and she wanted to see how much she could hold. But first, she'd give her colon a chance to rest a while...

Rose returned, exhausted, from work around six-thirty. By then Rachel had stashed her gear, returned the Vaseline to its place in the medicine chest - - next to the brown bottle of Ipecac; cleaned up the bathroom and double, triple ... quadruple-checked to make sure everything was in order. When Rose walked in, Rachel was lounging on the sofa reading a book.

"What did you do today?" her aunt asked.

Rachel shrugged. "Just goofed off."

"Lucky you... I have a splitting headache. I'm going to get an aspirin." Rose headed up the stairs. "Rachel!" she called. "Come here!"

Panic washed over her. She must've forgotten something -- left something behind in the bathroom. Rachel headed up the stairs, her heart pounding. "Yes, Aunt Rose?"

Rose was standing before the open medicine cabinet. "Were you in the medicine chest?"

Rachel knew better than to lie under the circumstances. "Uhhh... Yes..."

"You KNOW this is off-limits. What were you looking for?"

"Some... some Vaseline."

"What do you need that for?"

III -- 1994

Rachel sat across from Annie in the school cafeteria. "What's your next class?" Annie asked.

"Today it's Advanced biology," Rachel replied.

"With Lizzie-Lez."

"Who?"

"Miss Dunphy. Her name is Elizabeth."

"I know."

"And she's a lesbian."

"How do you know that?"

"It's what the boys are saying," Annie replied. "Take a look at her and tell me if she's not one."

Miss Dunphy was a heavy-set woman perhaps ten years younger than Aunt Rose. She wore her hair short, in a flat-top and was partial to oversized, denim work shirts. And, she had a stern-looking visage that belied a deep compassion toward her students.

Rachel had connected with Miss Dunphy during tenth grade, in biology class. The teacher had encouraged Rachel's interest in human physiology, and Rachel had exploited her knowledge and interest by using it as the basis of term papers and projects, even in other classes.

As a result Rachel developed a reputation as the kid who "wants to be a doctor." She had made the honor roll both freshman and sophomore years. Miss Dunphy told Rachel she had a good shot at salutatorian.

"I wouldn't want that," Rachel had replied. "I'd have to make a speech."

"It's a good skill to have," her teacher replied.

Rachel looked Annie in the eye. "I don't think we should be talking about Miss Dunphy that way."

Annie rubbed her nose. "Yours is getting brown, Rache."

The bell rang and Rachel picked up her tray.

The next free period Rachel went to the library. One privilege of honor roll was carte blanche wandering the corridors. She went to the big dictionary to look up the word lesbian.

She had heard the word but wasn't quite sure what it meant. Hers was an isolated and insular town and sexual topics were not discussed openly. She found the entry and read the definition. Lesbian: A female homosexual. A woman who prefers other women to men aesthetically and for sexual gratification.

Rachel closed the dictionary and rolled the definition around in her mind. She wasn't sure it applied to Miss Dunphy. But, she was pretty sure it applied to her.

Rachel rode the school bus toward her home. She was sixteen and she had her learner's permit but Rose had little time to ride with her to practice driving. Most of the other kids had leapt at the chance to get their driver's licenses as soon as they were eligible. Annie had hers for nearly a year now. Many of the high school students drove themselves to school, but Rachel had to ride the bus.

It was a Friday afternoon. Rose was working. It had been dress-up day at school and Rachel was wearing a nicely tailored skirt and blouse. She was uncomfortable and wanted nothing but to get out of her clothes and take an enema.

It had been a week since her last one. They were part of her routine, something she did for fun, to relax, and for the arousal they gave her. She wasn't dependant on them, she told herself, but she did enjoy them. For the past week the combination of Rose's schedule and her own hadn't meshed well. Today was her first opportunity and she would use it.

The high school was further away than the elementary and junior high, so Rachel had to endure a longer bus ride. When she got home it was nearly five -- time enough for one or perhaps two enemas, if she got right to it.

The bus dropped her off. She headed straight for her room, unbuttoning her blouse on the way. Then she unsnapped her skirt and peeled off her pantyhose. Off came her briefs and the uncomfortable under-wire bra Rose had bought her for dress-up. She preferred to wear soft cotton sports bras, but for dress-up she wore the under-wire.

Now nude she went to her closet and retrieved the clear plastic enema pouch and her own tube of Vaseline. She had gone through several of the prep kits in the past couple or years. They were inexpensive, compact and discreet, but not built for durability.

Rachel had been careful to conceal this aspect of herself from Rose. It was, she rationalized, a matter of privacy. There was nothing wrong with what she was doing. Even though she was a minor, she had a right, she believed, to some personal privacy. This activity was between herself and her enema bag and was no one else's business.

The familiar throbbing in her pelvis had begun on the bus ride home and now it intensified as she made her preparations. She filled the pouch up to the top from the bathtub tap and hung it from the music stand.

Then she lay on her left side, drew up her knees, slid the lubed tip into her rectum and released the clamp. Rachel felt the cool spray inside her bottom. She closed her eyes, relaxed and began taking long, slow breaths as the water flowed.

She rolled onto her back and continued to take the water, working her belly with her hands. Two quarts would fill her and since it had been a week since her last enema, she expected this one would be uncomfortable. That was all right - - the payoff would be the good feeling that comes after.

With a little more than a pint left in the bag she rolled onto her right side. She reached under herself and shook the right side of her abdomen to encourage the water to flow deep into her cecum. She had changed her breathing. Now instead of distributing the enema, deep breathing caused her diaphragm to compress her colon; so she took short, shallow breaths with her ribcage and she purposely relaxed her belly with each one to make more room for the water.

The last of the water drained from the bag. Rachel was full, and her stomach hurt from it. She stood and paused to admire her bloated abdomen in the mirror. She stood sideways to it. Her stomach bulged from her sternum to her pubis.

Rachel headed for the bathroom to expel. The enema came out easily, carrying with it a week's worth of accumulation, and it felt good. She was having a good purge. She had learned over the years that the secret to a successful enema could be summed up in two words: enough volume.

Even stuff from high in her cecum was coming out. If she didn't have time for a second enema, that was okay. This one was good enough.

Rachel cleaned herself off, pressed the flush lever and went back into her bedroom. She stood, nude, before the mirror and admired the flatness of her abdomen.

Then, she stepped back and regarded her image from head to toe. She didn't recognize what she saw.

Rachel's body image was still that of a gawky thirteen-year-old. What she saw reflected was a woman's body. The woman had her face, and her hair -- light brown, shoulder- length and nicely cut, and her clear, pale blue eyes. Rachel had blossomed into womanhood almost overnight.

The woman in the mirror had breasts -- not large ones, but round and firm and nicely proportioned, with perfectly circular, pink, half-dollar-sized areolas. She looked at her legs. They weren't the skinny sticks of an adolescent, but shapely with nice muscle definition in the calves, firm thighs and cherub-faced dimpled knees. Her torso no longer revealed every bone. She could see traces of her hip bones and her ribs. Roundness had replaced angularity. Her abdomen was flat with hints of the musculature beneath, and with a cute, oblong navel. Even her arms were no longer skinny but shapely.

Rachel ran her hands up and down her legs and the woman in the mirror did the same. Her skin was smooth. She had begun shaving her legs and under her arms in junior high, after being teased by some boys. She ran her hands up her thighs to her lower abdomen and was startled by how thick of a pubic patch had developed.

She smoothed her hands up her body and down her breasts. The stimulation caused nipples the size and shape of pencil erasers to protrude. Looking at the woman in the mirror aroused her like an enema did and gave her the same throbbing in her pelvis and the same dampness between her legs.

Some of the dampness was trickling out. Rachel slipped her finger between her legs to catch the drip and began exploring her anatomy there. She couldn't see it well, but she could feel the landmarks. With her finger she traced the structures. There was a little knot perched above the entrance to her vagina. For some time she had been aware that, along with the throbbing and the dampness, enemas made this knot become firm. She explored it with her finger. Stroking it felt good, and it intensified the throbbing in her pelvis.

She continued to rub it. The throbbing turned into tension. The more she rubbed it the better it felt. Her heart accelerated and her breathing deepened. Her left hand wandered to her breast and squeezed her nipple. That amplified the sensations.

Rachel rubbed it harder and faster. Now her heart was racing. Her lips parted and she began panting through her mouth. The tension in her pelvis was nearly unbearable and the muscles in the backs of her legs were beginning to tense. She didn't know whether to stop or continue, but she continued. Each stroke reverberated in her thigh muscles.

Then she felt an explosion of sensation in her pelvis, and spasms from muscles in her pelvic floor. Each contraction sent a electric waves of pleasure through every fiber in her body.

The raw power of her orgasm startled her and she staggered backwards. Her calves collided with her mattress and she sat hard onto the bed; then she lay on her back, her arms outstretched, and she panted and gasped to regain her breath as echoes of the pleasure waves damped out in her pelvis.

Her hand returned to her mons. She slipped her finger inside and jumped -- she was almost painfully sensitive there, now. She rested a few more minutes on her bed; then finished picking up and putting away her enema materials.

When Aunt Rose returned from work Rachel was in jeans and tee, lounging on the sofa with a book. "How was your day, Rachel dear?"

"Boring."

Rachel sat in her advanced biology class -- the last class of the day. The bell rang and the students stood and headed toward the door.

"Oh, Rachel," her teacher called.

"Yes, Miss Dunphy."

"Can you stay behind for a moment?"

"Yes..."

Miss Dunphy waited for the classroom to empty. She removed an envelope from her desk. "This is a letter from the committee that runs the state science fair. They have accepted your proposal for an entry." Rachel's eyes grew wide. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss Dunphy."

"It means you'll have your work cut out for you. We have between now and April to realize this proposal, assemble an exhibit and write a presentation. I'll help you all I can, but it must be your work, Rachel. And, it must be undergraduate-quality research."

"I understand. Top prize is a full-ride scholarship, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. You'll be competing with seniors, and with the best and brightest from school districts with far more resources than we have here. Just being accepted to this competition is an honor, Rachel, and it will look very attractive when you apply to college. Just do your best."

"I intend to."

"I know you will." Her teacher opened her closet and removed a light overcoat.

"Miss Dunphy..." Rachel's heart was in her throat anticipating what she had just worked up the nerve to do.

"Yes, Rachel."

"May I ask you a very personal question?"

"What's your question, Rachel?"

She swallowed. "Miss Dunphy -- are you a lesbian?"

Her jaw dropped. "Oh, my... Rachel, you had better come with me."

Rachel followed her teacher toward the principal's office. Oh, God, am I in for it now! she thought.

"Mr O'Brien, may we use your conference room?" Miss Dunphy asked.

"Certainly, Liz."

"We can have some real privacy in here. Sit down, Rachel." Her teacher gestured Rachel inside, hung a sign reading "occupied" on the outside doorknob and shut the door.

"Rachel, what brought that about?"

"There are rumors, Miss Dunphy. I wondered if they were true."

"Rumors?"

"Spread by the boys."

She nodded. "It's not the first time..." She looked Rachel in the eye. "I'm going to be absolutely honest with you, Rachel. The answer is no. I'm unmarried for personal reasons but they do not involve my orientation."

"Oh, God!" Rachel buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Miss Dunphy -- I am so, so sorry."

"Rachel -- you have nothing to be sorry for. You asked and I told you."

Miss Dunphy regarded the girl for a long moment. Rachel dried her eyes and looked up at her teacher.

"I was sort of hoping you were, because..."

"Because of what, Rachel?"

"Because I think I am." The tears began to flow again.

"Rachel, I shouldn't be talking to you about this. You should go to your aunt..."

"I can't..."

"Or, your minister..."

"We don't go to church. Miss Dunphy, you're the only one I can turn to."

She nodded. "What makes you think you are?"

"I don't like boys. I think they're ugly ... repulsive... As they get older they get more unattractive... more hairy..."

Her teacher put her hand over her mouth and laughed. "I'm with you on that one -- I don't care for hairy men, either."

"I like girls," Rachel continued. "I like being with girls. I like looking at girls ... at girls' bodies. I like going to gym class because the girls all wear shorts. I joined the summer swim team because I like being around girls in swimsuits. When I fantasize it's not about boys ... it's about ... girls."

"It does sound like you tend that way."

"There must be something terribly wrong with me..."

Miss Dunphy reached for Rachel's hand. "I could get into deep trouble if the school board knew I was telling you what I'm about to, for it is not what's shared by this community. Rachel, watch my lips. There is nothing wrong with being a lesbian."

"You don't think so?"

Her teacher shook her head. "I know so."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"I don't care in the least one way or the other. Rachel, I grew up here -- two towns over. I know the attitudes. This part of the country tends to lag the coasts by about twenty years...

"If I had been your age and discovered this about myself, I would've been in a real quandary. However, I went to college on the west coast -- at Berkeley. It was there I learned the importance of tolerance and acceptance. Diversity is what makes us so interesting."

"But..."

"Your orientation is only one dimension, Rachel -- like your gender. It's part of you but it doesn't define you. What matters is what you do with your life."

Tears again began to flow down Rachel's face. "Miss Dunphy, you can't know how much it means to hear you say this. I thought I was some sort of freak."

"You're you, Rachel. You must to thine own self be true..."

"...for then you may be false to no one ... to no man, actually, but no one fits the occasion better." She looked up at her teacher. "We're reading Hamlet in English."

"I'll give you a word of advice. If, in order to actualize who you are, you find you must move away from here; then move away you must."

"I understand."

"I'll tell you something else I shouldn't be saying. Rachel -- you are my favorite student. Teachers aren't supposed to form favorites, but you are mine. A teacher hopes a student like you comes along once in her lifetime."

Rachel started crying again. "Thank you... Oh, Miss Dunphy I'm sorry -- I kept you late."

"I have no one to go home to. I was going to go soak my feet, but this is a million times more important. Do you have a way to get home?"

"I'll ride the late detention bus."

"Oh, no you won't. I'll drive you. Would you like a few moments to compose yourself? You probably don't want to come out of here with red eyes." She opened her bag and handed Rachel a handkerchief.

"Yes... Thank you."

Rachel sat in the passenger seat as Annie drove toward the farmhouse. "This way we don't need no stinkin' pass for Mr Hudson," Annie said. She stopped the car beside Rose's Taurus.

Annie grabbed a duffel from the back seat and followed Rachel into the house. "Aunt Rose, we're home," she called.

Rose poked her head from the kitchen. "Hello Annie."

Rachel headed up the stairs. "Come on -- let's change." She closed the bedroom door behind them.

Annie opened the duffel and laid out a pair of cutoff shorts and a tank top. She removed her skirt and blouse.

Rachel regarded Annie's legs and body through the corner of her eye as she slipped into jeans and a tee.

"Hey, Annie -- guess what?"

"What?"

"You guessed it!"

Annie rolled her eyes. She always fell for that one. "What really?" she asked.

"Next spring I'm going to the state science fair. My project was accepted!"

"How are you getting there?"

"Miss Dunphy will take me."

"Ol' Lizzie-Lez? Don't let yourself get alone with her, Rache."

"Don't say that about her," Rachel replied. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I do. Lizzie's not just a lesbian -- she's a DYKE! She's so BUTCH!"

"It doesn't mean anything. Appearances are deceiving."

"Eww... The thought of it turns my stomach."

"The thought of what?"

"Of two lesbians doing it."

"What do they do, Annie? Do you know?"

"They go down on each other -- eat each other. I get sick thinking of it... Of course, it's nowhere nearly as gross as two faggots going at it. You know what THEY do, don't you Rache?"

"I think I can imagine."

"Think of Ol Liz going at it with one of her middle- aged dyke friends."

"Annie I happen to know that Miss Dunphy is not a lesbian."

"How are you so sure?"

"'Cuz I asked her."

"You ASKED her? Flat out?"

"Yep."

"She'd say anything. Rache -- If she's straight then I'm ... I'm ... I don't know what I am. I do know a lesbian when I see one."

"Do you really? I don't think so, Annie."

"And, I suppose you do."

"Yes, Annie, I do. Do you want to know what a lesbian looks like?" She stood before her. "Take a good look, Annie." Rachel tapped her chest. "'Cuz I'm a lesbian!"

Annie's jaw dropped. "Rachel!"

"That's right. You have a mighty fine body, Annie." Rachel approached and Annie backed away until stopped by a wall. "I really like being in gym class with you. You have the best legs in school. Care for a back rub?"

"Rachel -- you're creeping me out!"

"And, do you know the real reason I joined the summer swim club? It's 'cuz I like being around other girls in swimsuits. Wanna know what I REALLY like? The shave-downs before a meet."

"Rachel! That's sick!"

"And, I'm not the only lesbian in the swim club. There are others who're getting the same thrills."

"How do you know?"

"How? I can ... sense it."

"The thought of you and another girl... It's disgusting!"

"Disgusting, is it? Not any more than the thought of you and Russel Boyer going at it."

"Rachel!"

"I suppose Russel has never gone down on you, has he? That thought turns MY stomach... Or you on him?" She made a gesture of poking her finger down her throat. "Or do you two limit yourselves to the old in-out?"

"RACHEL! How do you know about..."

"It's written all over you. It might as well be tattooed across your forehead. I can't be the only one to see it -- or am I?"

"Rachel -- if this is the way you really are... Then, you're no longer my friend!"

"If that's the way you really feel, Annie, then I can live with it -- because it means you were never my friend in the first place."

"Wait 'til I tell them all at school!"

"You won't, Annie."

"And, why won't I?"

"Because I'll be forced tell everyone about you and Russel. I haven't done anything yet, Annie -- I'm still a virgin, and I'm saving myself until I find that certain, special partner -- that special woman..."

"GROSS!"

"...but you've been sleeping with Russel since eighth grade. I hope you're being careful. When lesbians do it, we can't get pregnant." Annie glowered at her. "Look, Annie -- we were friends for a long time. That must count for something, and I don't want to hurt you. If we're going to part like this, let's at least agree to respect each other's privacy. Okay?"

Annie folded her arms across her breasts. "All right - - fair's fair. Now, I had better be going."

Rachel opened the door to her room. Annie stuffed her school clothes in her duffel and zipped it up.

The two descended the stairs and stepped into the kitchen. Rose looked up. "What was the commotion?"

"Annie has to go home."

"I'm sorry I won't be staying for dinner," Annie added. "Good bye." She turned and walked out of the house.

"What was that about? Did you two have a fight?"

"We're no longer friends," Rachel replied.

"You've had arguments before."

"This time, it's over. We're through."

"Pray tell, why?"

"Because... Because Annie is a slut." Rachel was sure to enunciate the word distinctly.

"Watch your language, Rachel. You don't know what that word means."

"I certainly do and Annie certainly is one. She's been sleeping with Russel Boyer since eighth grade ... and maybe others."

"Goodness gracious me..." Rose pondered for a moment. "You know, I recall once years ago you were upset with her over Russel. You had her pegged then, Rachel. I'm impressed."

Rachel strolled among the benches in the biology lab. Miss Dunphy had asked her to help the sophomores in lab and she had agreed. Today the assignment was to determine the sugar content of some fruits and vegetables.

Rachel's stomach hurt. It had started as a dull ache after lunch. Now it was beginning to feel like cramps.

The lab required cooking the samples in a test tube along with some solution. The smell of the apples cooking in the chemical soup was making Rachel's stomach hurt more.

She helped supervise the students as they cleaned up and put away equipment. Her teacher approached her. "Thanks for helping, Rachel..." She looked in her face. "Are you all right? Your lips are white."

"I have an upset stomach, but I think I'll live. See you tomorrow Miss Dunphy."

Rachel rode the bus. Diesel exhaust entering the coach not only made her stomach hurt more but gave her a headache as well. Then, she felt tension in the root of her tongue. She was going to throw up. She hoped she could stave it off until she got home -- vomiting on the bus would be the ultimate humiliation.

The bus stopped outside her house. Rachel ran up the steps, pinching her lips together and fumbling with her keys. The door opened and she dashed upstairs, flipped open the toilet lid, leaned over and heaved.

Up came her lunch, her breakfast and a cheeseburger from last week. It was the worst episode of vomiting she could remember. And, she realized it was the first one since before starting junior high. She went into her bedroom to lie down.

Rose's car pulled into the drive. Rachel's stomach was still tender. She went down the stairs to greet her aunt.

"Rachel," Rose said surveying the kitchen. "You didn't have dinner?"

"I didn't feel like it," she replied. "I have an upset stomach. I threw up when I came home."

"Do you feel better after vomiting?"

"A little. I think I'll take the basin to bed with me."

"If you don't feel like going to school tomorrow, I'll be happy to write an excuse."

"Aunt Rose..." Rachel selected her words carefully. "Won't you be wanting to give me an enema?"

Rose stared at her for several long moments, her lips pursed. "I think that would be inappropriate, at your age. Besides, I have to work tomorrow. If you think you need one, you know where the bag is kept, and I think you can remember how. If not -- that book of yours ought to have it chapter and verse."

Rachel sat in Miss Dunphy's car on the return ride from the state capital. In the trunk was Rachel's science fair project, and in her hand was a ribbon and a certificate.

"You can't know how proud I am of you," her teacher said. "Third place is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know."

"You're not disappointed you didn't win first prize, are you?"

"I would've liked to ... but, no."

"A ten-thousand dollar scholarship is better than a sharp stick in the eye, don't you think?"

IV -- 1996

Rachel stood in line for her dorm room assignment. The building was from the early 1960s and was built on the suite plan. Two rooms, both doubles, shared a common bathroom -- except for the corner rooms. Those were triples but with a private, unshared bath.

The upperclassman volunteer handed her a slip of paper. She signed it and he handed her the key. "Corner room," he said. "You're lucky."

"Those are triples, aren't they?"

"Yes -- but the school never uses them as such except for an overflow. They're cramped as triples but spacious as doubles."

Rachel dragged her suitcase to the elevator and rode to her floor. She had carried enough clothes to last a week or so -- Aunt Rose would ship boxes of other belongings once she had established her address.

She unlocked the door and stepped into the room. It was empty -- her roommate had not checked in yet. This gave Rachel dibs on which bed.

Rachel inspected the bathroom. It certainly was small: toilet, pedestal sink and standing shower. The good news was, she only had to share it with one other person.

She regarded the furnishings. Along one wall was a double-decker bunk bed. On the other side of the room was a mattress on a frame, underneath an upholstered bolster fastened to the wall. When the mattress was pushed in, it served as a sofa; pulled out it made a bed.

Rachel made her decision on one basis -- what would work best for giving herself an enema. This had been her one anxiety going to college in the first place. She had lobbied for a single room, but those cost an extra thousand dollars a semester and she really couldn't justify the expense.

She chose the lower level of the bunk bed, figuring she could hang the bag from the frame of the upper bunk. Then, she set about unloading her clothing into the adjacent dresser and closet. In her suitcase were two fresh prep-kits. She buried them in the bottom of her drawer.

Rachel didn't know much about her roommate. They had exchanged letters over the summer, shortly after learning of their dorm assignments. Her name was Kylie, and she was from a ways down the coast. Kylie had sent a photograph. She had short, black hair, brown eyes and what appeared to be a hint of an Asian influence in the shape of her face, especially her eyes. Rachel wondered if she might be mixed-race.

One thing she noticed about the room -- it was warm. A heat wave was on and the building was old enough not to be air-conditioned. She flung opened the windows and hoped for a breeze. The heat didn't bother her too much, though. It got plenty hot in summer where she grew up, and there wasn't air conditioning at the farmhouse, either.

She set about making the bed, then flopped onto it in order to relax. Then she heard the sound of a key in the door. Rachel went to the door and opened it. "Kylie?"

"You must be Rachel..." Kylie was petite, maybe five feet at most. She was wearing a tank and cutoff shorts. The tank clung to her like a coat of varnish and left little to the imagination. Rachel could see she was built like a twelve- year-old boy on top. Her legs were on the stocky side, but muscular. She put her hand to her mouth and giggled.

"What's funny?" Rachel asked.

"It's just... Rachel -- you look more clean-cut in person than in your photograph. Those clear blue eyes ... if you had blond hair I'd swear you'd be a Mormon. I hope you won't keep me up nights thumping your Bible."

"I'm not like that, Kylie. I don't even go to church. Just because I'm from the midwest it doesn't mean..."

"I was kidding."

Rachel gestured toward the bunk bed. "I picked that bed. I hope you don't mind."

Kylie examined the day bed with bolster. "This will be fine, I think..." She lifted a cushion on the bolster. "Look - - extra storage!"

"I guess that comes with the bed."

"I have a crapload of stuff to bring up," Kylie said. "My folks packed the car and drove me. Where's all your stuff?"

"It's coming. I'll help you bring it up, Kylie."

The next day Kylie accompanied Rachel to pick up their class schedules. "Let's compare," Rachel said and they looked at them side-by-side.

Enema lovers crave privacy and large chunks of it. Rachel realized there was only one time during the week in which she'd have enough uninterrupted privacy for an enema session. Thursday evenings Kylie had an evening class.

"What's your major?" Kylie asked.

"Pre-med."

"I'm in Electrical Engineering," Kylie replied. "Let's go get some dinner before the line gets too long."

After dinner they walked together back to the dorm. Rachel opened the room with her key. "Man," Kylie exclaimed, "what lousy food. I'm either gonna get fat or thin this year."

"You look pretty thin to me," Rachel replied.

Kylie grabbed her thigh and shook it. "Not here."

"That looks like muscle, not fat."

"Muscle, fat -- what's the difference? They're still thunder-thighs." Kylie opened a book and sat at her desk. She aimed a small electric fan at herself. "This heat ... I hope it breaks soon." She looked up at Rachel, lying on her bed. "How can you stand it?"

"It's not any worse than back home. I guess I'm acclimated to it."

"We have air-conditioning back home," Kylie replied. "I'm not. It's made me soft." Kylie read through a few more pages. "I'm sweating," she said, "and I can't concentrate. Rachel -- would you mind if I took my top off?"

"No -- go ahead."

"It's just... I don't wear a bra -- I can't find one small enough ... except in the little girl's department."

"It's okay, Kylie. I went through that myself."

"Yeah ... when you were twelve..." Kylie lifted her tank over her head, adjusted the fan and resumed reading. "That feels so much better..."

Rachel gazed at Kylie, then lay on her back and closed her eyes. No, she didn't mind at all seeing Kylie topless. She realized she was falling in love. She wasn't sure what it was about her roommate -- maybe raw animal attraction. This she hadn't expected, and she feared it was shaping up to be a long school year.

She glanced Kylie's way again. Her roommate was looking up from her book. They made eye contact. Rachel looked into Kylie's brown eyes for a long moment before she looked down at her book again.

That was all it took. Rachel was convinced -- she and Kylie had something in common. Her heart began pounding as she worked up her nerve.

Rachel got off her bed and sat at her desk, directly across from Kylie. Kylie looked up at her. "What?"

"Kylie... There's a freshman mixer at the union this weekend. Wanna go? It might be a chance to meet some boys."

"No thanks ... mixer's not my thing. You go ahead if you'd like." She returned to her book.

"What? Do you already have a boyfriend back home?"

"No ... no boyfriend back home."

Kylie had passed the first part of the test. Now, Rachel's heart was racing. If what came next fell the wrong way, then she'd have no choice but to curl up and die on the spot from terminal mortification. "Kylie," she said. "I think I know why you don't want to go to the mixer. You don't like boys, do you."

Kylie's gaze snapped up at her. Her jaw dropped.

"That's it! You don't like boys. Kylie -- are you a lesbian?" Her eyes grew wide. "I think you ARE a lesbian." Kylie started to speak but words wouldn't come.

Then Rachel smiled. "If you are, it's okay with me ... because I'm one, too. And, I think you're the hottest girl I've ever met."

Relief washed over Kylie's face. She reached for Rachel's hand and squeezed it. "I think you're pretty hot, too, Rachel."

"Would you like ... you and me... to..."

Kylie smiled. "I can't," she said sweetly. "I already have a steady partner."

Rachel sighed. "The story of my life."

Kylie pulled an envelope from her desk drawer and removed a photograph of a stunning blond. "Her name is Stephanie."

"She's gorgeous, Kylie. You're so lucky."

"Next month is homecoming. We'll get together then. I can't wait." She replaced the photo in her drawer. "When I came for orientation I checked out the scene. The local gay alliance has weekly mixer parties. Maybe we could go -- you might meet some friends that way."

"Maybe..."

"I'm glad we talked about this, Rachel. It helps us understand each other better."

"Yeah..."

"How did you know?"

"I felt it. I usually can."

"You must be equipped with gaydar," Kylie replied. "You had me fooled. I thought you were straight."

"You thought I was straight?"

"Yeah -- I thought you were some wholesome, corn-belt, squeaky-clean homophobic..."

"No, not me."

"...a little nerdy, maybe."

"Nerdy? Thanks a lot."

After a couple of weeks Rachel fell into a routine. She kept Thursday evenings free for her enemas. The diet in the cafeteria was hardly healthy, and by the time Thursday came, she was ready for one.

The heat wave had broken, though the days were still warm. Rachel sat at her desk reviewing her notes and watching for Kylie to go to her evening class.

Kylie picked up her backpack and keys and headed out the door. Rachel waited a few minutes in case she forgot something.

Then she retrieved the enema pouch from her dresser, opened the tap in the sink and filled the bag with lukewarm water. She grabbed one of her bath towels and tucked it between the mattress and box spring of the top bunk, climbed behind the screen it made and hung the bag from the frame of the upper bunk.

She removed her shorts, dropped her briefs, greased the tip, lay on her left side and slid the tube into her rectum. Then she opened the clamp, closed her eyes and took long, slow breaths as the cool water began to fill her colon.

Rachel had rolled onto her back and was taking the second third of the enema when she heard the doorknob rattle. Her heart jumped into her throat and she could feel her cheeks reddening. The door opened.

"Rachel? Are you behind there?"

"Yes... What are you doing back here?"

"My class was cancelled." Kylie poked her head behind the towel. "What on earth are you doing?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm giving myself an enema."

"I thought an enema was one of those little squeeze bottles at the drugstore."

"This is a REAL enema -- you fill your whole colon with plain, warm water."

"Doctor's orders?"

"No..."

"Then, why?"

"Because ... I like how they make me feel." The bag emptied and she pulled out the tube.

"How do they make you feel?"

"Relaxed ... invigorated."

"Have you been doing this every Thursday while I was at class?"

Rachel sighed. "Yes, Kylie. If I go too long without one I start feeling really bogged down."

"It must from be the crappy food here."

"It has something to do with it..." Rachel pulled up her briefs and stood. She lifted her tee shirt and faced Kylie. "Feel."

Kylie put her hands against Rachel's abdomen. Her eyes popped. "Wow..."

"Excuse me..." Rachel headed for the bathroom.

When she returned Kylie was sitting at her desk copying notes. Rachel approached her and lifted her shirt. "Now feel."

"So THAT's how you keep your tummy so flat."

"You really do feel great after a good enema."

"If you say so."

Rachel retrieved her second prep-kit from her drawer. "If you'd ever like to try one, I have another kit. Look -- it's sealed -- never been used."

"I think I'll pass."

"You probably think this is a little strange."

Kylie looked at her. "I think you're a nice girl, Rachel. If this is your thing -- if you enjoy it or even if this is how you get your kicks -- it's okay with me."

"Thanks, Kylie. I think gays are more accepting of other folks' kinks." She rolled up the tube and started folding the pouch. "Lots of famous folks used enemas -- Mae West, Marilyn Monroe... Ballerinas use them before performances to keep their abdomens flat in their leotards."

"Rachel -- you don't need to justify anything. I said I'm okay with it."

"Admit it -- you do think it's a little strange."

Kylie looked Rachel straight in the eye and shook her head. "No, I don't think it's a little strange." She covered her mouth and laughed. "I think it's REALLY, REALLY strange!"

Rachel pouted as she put away the kit. "I don't think you should laugh until you've tried it yourself."

Kylie looked up at her. "You know -- you're absolutely right. I shouldn't have laughed. I'm sorry, Rachel."

"It's all right. You're the only person who knows about it."

Kylie gazed at Rachel for a moment. "Okay -- I'll try it."

"Are you serious?" Rachel asked.

"Of course I am. The food here makes ME feel bogged down, too." She pulled up the hem of her tank top and pressed her hand against her abdomen. "I'm always open to a new experience."

Rachel broke the seal on the prep kit and removed the pouch. "I'll go fill this."

She filled the pouch, flushed air from the tube and carried it into the room. Giving herself an enema aroused her. The thought of was she was about to do made her hands shake.

"What do I do?" Kylie asked.

"Before we start," Rachel replied, "how much do you know about the anatomy of your colon?"

"I'm an electrical engineering major -- not pre-med."

Rachel traced the outline on her own body. "It starts here, goes up your right side, across under your ribs, down your left side and out your rectum."

"Okay..."

"You take an enema lying down. We fill you from the bottom up -- start on your left side, then on your back and finally on your right."

"...okay..."

"We need to get to your bottom."

Kylie kicked off her flip-flops and removed her running shorts and briefs -- the hem of the tank she wore was long enough to afford her some frontal modesty. "Now what?"

Rachel spread a towel on Kylie's bed. "Lie on your left side. and draw up your knees." Kylie had a cute, round bottom and seeing it intensified the throbbing in Rachel's pelvis.

She smeared some Vaseline onto the tip of the tube; then set down the pouch -- the disposable's flap sealed the mouth well enough so that Rachel could lay it on the bed without it spilling ... much. With her left hand she spread Kylie's buttocks to expose her brown anus. Rachel didn't have nerve enough to lube her hole with her finger. Instead she made sure a big glob was on the tip, pressed it to the spot and worked it in. Then, she slid the tube into Kylie's rectum a bit past the mark.

"Ready?" she asked.

"As I'll ever be," Kylie replied.

"Take slow, deep breaths -- it'll help distribute the water. If you feel a cramp, start panting like a dog. If it starts to hurt, tell me and I'll stop the water. Okay?"

"Got it." Rachel held up the pouch and opened the clamp. "Oh, my God!" Kylie exclaimed. "That feels so strange! Kylie started panting. "It's starting to hurt!" she exclaimed.

Rachel pinched the tube. "It's just a cramp. Tell me when it passes."

"It's not passing. I've gotta go!"

"No -- there's probably a constriction low in your colon. It just needs to relax and open up."

"Rachel -- it's not going away." Rachel gave Kylie short bursts of water. Kylie's eyes popped.

"What happened?"

"It felt like a valve opened inside me."

"Is the pressure gone?"

"Yeah..."

Rachel released the tube. "Do you feel it flowing now?"

"Oh, yes..."

"Remember, slow, deep breaths."

Rachel watched Kylie's chest move with her breathing. She knew what an enema felt like, and projecting those feelings onto Kylie was making her more aroused than she'd ever been in her life. Her heart was throbbing, her pelvis was throbbing, her clit was hard and she was becoming very damp between her legs.

She also watched the level of the water. After a third had flowed into Kylie she closed the clamp. "Okay -- now roll onto your back. I'll mind the tube..."

Kylie rolled over with the tube between her thighs. Rachel opened the clamp. "How are you doing?" she asked Kylie.

"All right I guess..."

"Any cramping?"

"Nothing bad. I can feel where the water is."

"Where is it now?" Kylie pointed to her stomach above her navel. "You're doing great, Kylie."

"I'm starting to feel bloated."

Rachel watched the pouch. About a pint and a half remained. She closed the clamp. "Now, lie on your right side and bend your legs. We'll let you rest for a moment." Kylie rolled over and Rachel guided the tube. "Does that help?"

"I guess..." Rachel opened the clamp. "I'm starting to feel bloated again."

"Take short, shallow breaths with your ribs. Keep your diaphragm relaxed, and relax your abdomen."

"I'm trying but I'm feeling REALLY full."

"About half a pint to go, Kylie. You're almost done."

The bag emptied and Rachel pulled out the tube. "Oh, God, I feel like a balloon," Kylie exclaimed. "Do you really do this for FUN? Man, Rachel -- you have a warped sense of fun. Now what?"

"Hold it until you can't stand it any more."

"I can't stand it now!"

"You can go sit on the toilet," Rachel replied. Kylie swung her feet to the floor. "Wait ... let me feel your stomach." Rachel put her trembling hands against Kylie's belly. It was hard and distended. "Gosh, Kylie -- I think maybe two quarts was too much for someone your size."

"You think? Excuse me." Kylie folded her arms across her abdomen, bent over and waddled toward the bathroom. "I think I'm gonna throw up!"

Rachel wiped off the tube and shook water from the pouch. Kylie came from the bathroom with her hand on her abdomen. "Well -- my stomach certainly is flat, now."

"Did you throw up?"

"No."

"Whew... I'm sorry -- I shouldn't have given you so much. You do feel better, now -- don't you?"

"Better than a few minutes ago."

"I mean better than when before we started."

"Maybe a little. I'll be honest with you, Rachel... This experience didn't do anything to make me want to repeat it. I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

"That's okay. At least you tried it -- I'll give you credit for that."

Kylie made several more trips to the bathroom that evening as the remains of the enema drained from her.

"I hope I'm really done this time," she said to Rachel. "My asshole is getting sore. How long have you been doing this?"

"All my life."

"Then, your bottom must be toughened up."

Kylie sat at her desk for another half hour copying notes. She stood and stretched. "I think I'm gonna turn in."

"Me, too."

Rachel stripped to her bra and panties and lay in her bed with the lights off. "Kylie," she said, "I'm really sorry..."

"Stop beating yourself up, Rachel. I asked for it and I got what I asked for. I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Now, go to sleep."

"Good night."

Rachel couldn't sleep. The evening's events kept scrolling through her mind. And, she was still as horny as hell -- she was so hot you couldn't spit on her.

She waited until she was sure Kylie as asleep. Then, she sat up and lifted the bottom of her bra to expose her breasts. She lay on her back and pulled the sheet to her chin.

Rachel ran her hands up and down her breasts until her nipples firmed. She licked the fingers of her left hand and began squeezing and stroking her breast. She slipped her right hand under the waistband of her briefs, worked her finger between her labia and moistened it with her copious juices. Then, she started massaging her hard little clit.

Her heart began to pound and she struggled to keep her breathing under control. Rachel continued to stroke her clit and alternated pinching her left and right nipples. She felt herself approaching orgasm and started flexing muscles in her pelvic floor to prime her pump. Then it happened -- the explosion of sensation. She swallowed a moan and clamped her jaw shut, forcing herself to pant through her nose. Her orgasm left her trembling and perspiring.

She needed the release -- after this evening she needed it. Now she could sleep.

"Rachel?" Kylie called. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Rachel replied, forcing herself to be calm.

"It sounded like you were having trouble breathing."

"I'm fine. I just had a bad dream ... or something."

"Okay. Good night."

"Good night, Kylie."

Rachel pulled the envelope from her mailbox and headed to her room. She unlocked the door and walked in, reading the letter inside. What she read made her laugh.

PS: Tongues are all atwitter. Did you know your old friend Annie was secretly married to Russel Boyer the week after graduation? Now they're saying she's expecting, probably sometime this fall.. When the baby comes I'm sure there's going to be finger-counting. Thought you'd like to know. -- Rose

"What's funny?" Kylie asked as she zipped up her suitcase.

"Just a note from my Aunt Rose -- some gossip from my hometown." She looked up at her roomie. "Kylie, I don't think I can go back there to live."

"No one says you have to."

"Are your folks picking you up?"

"Yeah -- my dad is coming to get me."

"Have a great homecoming, Kylie."

"Oh, I intend to." She gave Rachel a big smile and a little wave, picked up her bag and headed out the door.

Rachel lay on her bunk and locked her hands behind her head. Kylie's absence gave her the sort of uninterrupted privacy that she got when Aunt Rose worked on Saturday -- more so. She had planned a leisurely series of enemas. By the time Sunday afternoon arrived, she would be one cleaned-out girl.

Rachel sat at her desk, reading. She heard the door open. Kylie walked in and she knew right away something was wrong. Her eyes were red and swollen. She dumped her bag on the floor, flopped on her bed and buried her face in her pillow.

Rachel approached her and sat on the bed. She put her hand on Kylie's back. "Kylie -- what's wrong?"

"Leave me alone!"

"Oh, my God! It's Steph, isn't it? She dumped you!"

Kylie looked up at her, tears streaming down her face. "She's engaged! That slutty, two-timing, bisexual bitch has been secretly..." She blubbered and buried her face again.

Rachel returned to her desk. Her heart ached for her roommate, but she figured Kylie needed some space to recover.

Rachel watched Kylie sitting, her elbow planted on her desk and her head in her hand. "You're not going to your evening class?" she asked.

"I'm not in the mood. Go ahead, Rachel -- do your enema thing. Don't mind me -- just pretend I'm not here. I won't bother you."

"I wasn't going to this week. Over the weekend I gave myself a pretty thorough purge while you were gone."

"Yes... My wonderful homecoming weekend." She started crying.

"Oh, Kylie -- I'm so sorry. I didn't intend to open a wound."

"It's not your fault." She sniffled.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No... I'm going to bed." Kylie stripped to her briefs, leaving her clothes in a pile, climbed into bed and pulled the covers to her chin, her back to Rachel.

"I'll turn in, too."

Rachel lay in her bunk, hands locked behind her neck and stared into the darkness. Kylie sniffled and sobbed softly.

She couldn't take it any longer. Rachel got out of her bed and climbed into Kylie's.

"Kylie," she said, "let me hold you... It's the lying -- the betrayal ... the deceit that hurts, isn't it?"

"Yes..." Kylie wailed.

"Here... You need a shoulder to cry on. Use mine -- it's waterproof."

"Oh, Rachel!" Kylie blubbered and held Rachel tight. Rachel caressed her shoulder blades as she sobbed out the story of Stephanie's betrayal. She held her and listened; then held her more until Kylie exhausted herself and fell asleep against her. Then, she closed her eyes.

Rachel was awakened by the sound of her alarm clock ringing across the room. Kylie was still clinging to her. Rachel didn't want to get up and she hoped the clock would wear itself out. It didn't.

Rachel disentangled herself from Kylie and turned off the clock. She went to climb back into Kylie's bed, but her roommate was already up, sitting with her feet on the floor.

"Rachel," she said, "thanks for last night. I needed it."

Rachel sat beside her. "Forget about Stephanie. She's not worth it -- not worth the tears and the upset."

"You're right... I know."

Rachel had been practicing what she was about to say. Her heart was pounding. "Kylie," she said, "I might not be as beautiful as Stephanie, but I'm better than she -- because I'll be faithful. I love you, Kylie. I was smitten with you when I first met you. I've never wanted anyone the way I want you, and I never will. I love you and that's forever."

Tears streamed down Kylie's face. "Oh, Rachel..."

Rachel patted her thigh. "Come here."

Kylie climbed onto Rachel's lap. They kissed and stroked each other's faces. "You're wrong, Rachel. You're more beautiful than Stephanie ever was."

She put her hand on Rachel's breast. Rachel covered Kylie's hand with her own. "Kylie -- I want this... I want it so badly, but we can't now. I have a class and we're having a test. I can't miss it. I have to get ready."

"I know, I know... Tonight! Tonight will be special."

"I don't know how I'll keep my mind on my work today."

Rachel met Kylie in the cafeteria. They ate their dinners in silence and then walked together to the dorm, rode the elevator and walked to their room. Rachel unlocked the door with her key and closed it behind them. Before the latch could engage they were in an embrace, kissing and stroking each other.

"Kylie," Rachel said, "this is my first time."

"First lesbian sex? You are in for a treat."

"No -- first time ever. I'm a virgin."

"A virgin? Then this IS a special night."

"I was saving myself for the right girl. You're the right one, Kylie."

"I'm honored, Rachel... Seriously, I am."

Kylie grabbed the hem of Rachel's shirt and lifted it from her. Rachel lifted Kylie's tank top and then removed her own bra and let it fall to the floor. "Rachel," Kylie said, "this is the first time I've seen your breasts. You see mine all the time, but I've never seen yours. They're beautiful!"

They fell together onto Kylie's bed. Kylie caressed Rachel's breasts and covered them with soft kisses. Then she began tonguing her nipple. The sensation of Kylie's warm, moist tongue against her flesh sent a jolt straight to Rachel's pelvis.

"Oh, God, Kylie -- that feels soooo good," Rachel panted.

"I'm not as big as you on top," Kylie said sweetly, "but I like the same sort of things."

"Of course you do." Rachel began kissing and tonguing Kylie's compact breasts and tiny nipples.

Kylie held Rachel's face to her breast. "Take my whole breast into your mouth. You can do it -- I'm not big ... only a mouthful."

Rachel opened her mouth and drew in Kylie's left breast. Kylie's scent filled her nostrils and the taste of her skin filled Rachel's mouth. She massaged her nipple with her tongue and could feel her heart pounding through her flesh.

"Other side," Kylie said and rolled onto her back to give Rachel access to her right breast. She tongued it and cupped her hand over her left breast, still wet with her saliva.

Kylie took her hand and led it down her abdomen and under the waistbands of her shorts and briefs. Rachel felt her smooth mons. She looked into Kylie's face. "You keep yours shaved?"

"Uh-uh," Kylie replied.

Kylie coaxed Rachel onto her back and pulled off her jeans and briefs. She kissed her legs from her knees, up her thighs to her mons and ran her finger through her dense pubic patch. "You're a natural girl," she said as she parted her hair.

"I don't have to be," Rachel replied.

"Don't change anything." She spread Rachel's legs and kissed her labia. "You ARE a virgin," Kylie exclaimed. "You still have your cherry!"

"I told you so."

"Well -- we're going to take real good care of it." She kissed Rachel's hymen. Then she began massaging her clit with the tip of her tongue. Kylie slipped her arms under Rachel's thighs and cupped her hands over her breasts, her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

"Oh, God Kylie," Rachel gasped. "This feels SOOO good..." She felt her body relaxing; she closed her eyes and let her head fall to one side.

Kylie ramped up the pressure of her tongue. Rachel put her hands on Kylie's forearms and stroked her fine, dark arm hair. She began panting and she felt her heart racing. "Ohhh," she moaned.

Kylie stopped and looked up. "Did you almost come?" she asked.

"Almost," Rachel replied, panting.

Kylie covered her thighs and abdomen with kisses. "You have a terrific bod, Rachel." She worked her tongue between her labia and began tickling Rachel's clit again. She put her fingertips against her nipples and rubbed them in a slow, circular motion.

Rachel felt the tension building again. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensations. Her heart was pounding and her breathing grew heavy. "Oh, Kylie," she panted. "Oh, this feels good ... mmm ... mmm..."

She was a hair's breadth away from climax when Kylie lifted her face again. "How close did you get that time?"

"Oh, God Kylie -- I was almost there. A few more seconds..." Kylie tongued Rachel's navel. "Kylie -- you're just teasing me. Why are you doing this?"

"What's your hurry? We have all night."

"I want you to have ... I want to give you..."

"I assure you, Rachel -- I'm enjoying this as much as you are. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes -- it feels really good."

"Then stop complaining." She peppered Rachel's mons with kisses. "Are you ready to come this time?"

"Yes -- please!"

"Don't beg, Rachel... It's so undignified..."

Kylie buried her face between Rachel's thighs again. Her tongue on Rachel's clit was just smooth enough, just slippery enough and just supple enough -- It was a heavenly sensation.

Kylie's right hand went to Rachel's left breast and she massaged her mons with her left. Rachel's heart accelerated and her breathing grew heavy again. She was getting close and she started tensing the muscles in her pelvic floor.

Kylie looked up. "That's a no-no, Rachel."

"What?" Rachel panted.

"You were trying to help. I could feel you flexing. I have to do this, Rachel -- by myself. All you need to do is relax, go with it and just let it happen. Okay?"

"I'll try."

Kylie returned to stimulating Rachel's clit and massaging her mons and breast. Rachel let her body go limp. She closed her eyes and imagined herself dissolving in a pool. Again her heart accelerated and her breathing grew heavy.

She touched Kylie's left hand. "Both sides," she whispered. Kylie moved her hand to Rachel's right breast.

The tension in Rachel's pelvis was growing unbearable. Her heart was now racing and she was panting, making a moaning whimper with each exhale. "Kylie, don't stop," she muttered. "Please don't stop... Oh!"

Rachel's thighs were beginning to tremble. She tried to relax them, lest Kylie stop and scold her again. She drew in a deep breath and bit her lip. "MMMmmmmm... OH!"

She arched her back and groaned as her orgasm swept over her. It was stronger and longer than any time she had masturbated. Kylie kept up the pressure. Rachel pounded the mattress and grabbed Kylie's forearms.

"Oh, God! Too much!" Rachel cupped her hands over her mons, rolled to her side and gasped.

Kylie brought her face to Rachel's. They hugged and Kylie brushed tears from Rachel's face. "Rachel -- what is this? I thought you were such a grounded girl."

"Oh, Kylie!" she sniffled. "I knew you were the one. Now I know without a doubt."

"You're not going to cry every time we make love, are you?"

"I don't think so... I hope not."

"Was it good?"

"It was incredible. I have so much to learn from you." Rachel hooked her arm around Kylie's neck, drew her face to her lips and covered her with kisses. "Now it's my turn. How do you want me?" Kylie led Rachel's hand to her mons. "You feel so smooth..."

"You like?"

"I like, yes..."

She guided Rachel's fingers between her labia and positioned them. "Right here. Like that... On the side a little more... Perfect." She looked into Rachel's face. "Now hold me." Rachel squeezed Kylie against her as she stroked. "Keep holding me, Rachel. Hold me and make me come." Rachel held her and gazed into her dark eyes. Kylie caressed Rachel's face. "You have such pretty eyes ... so clear ... so blue... I love the name Rachel."

Now, Kylie's breathing was deepening. Rachel watched her small breasts move with her ribcage. She leaned over, kissed her breast and began tonguing her nipple.

"That's good," Kylie said. "Just keep holding me. Oh, God Rachel, I need this so badly..."

Rachel moved her free hand so it was on Kylie's shoulder blade and pressed her body against her face. Her heart was pounding so hard Rachel could almost hear it.

Kylie began panting. "A little more... I'm almost there. Oh, Rachel ... feels good ... feels so good..."

Rachel lifted her face from Kylie's breast and kissed her lips. Kylie held her behind her neck, caressed her hair and pressed her mouth to Rachel's Their tongues touched.

"Mmm ... more!" Kylie gasped. "More! I'm coming! MORE!"

Rachel stroked Kylie's clit as hard as she could. Kylie held her, squeezed her, closed her eyes and moaned.

Rachel lifted her hand from between Kylie's legs and caressed her cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Feel good?"

"It was a nice, little one," Kylie replied. "I needed it."

"Little?"

"I needed to feel you hold me. Now I'll show you how to make me REALLY come." Kylie climbed off the bed. She opened her desk drawer and withdrew a set of keys. Then she pulled a suitcase from under her bed, unlocked it, removed a box and handed it to Rachel.

Rachel slipped off the cover. Inside were a pair of vibrators. "You have your quality time with your enemas," Kylie said. "I have my quality time with these."

Rachel picked them up. They were of smooth plastic and cigar shaped, each about eight inches long. One was about the diameter of her thumb, the other the size of a flashlight. "I've never seen anything like these."

"Of course not, you wholesome, corn-belt girl." Kylie took them and twisted their bases. The thin one made a buzz and the thick one a rhythmic pulse. She handed them to Rachel. "These are probably illegal where you come from."

"I'm not from Alabama."

Kylie adjusted her pillow so she was half-sitting and half-lying. "Hold the thin one against my clit and work the thick one inside me. I'll come real hard like that. It won't take me long."

Rachel ran the thin one up and down Kylie's slit, and she jumped when it touched her glans.

"That's the spot," Kylie said. "Put the other one inside." Rachel slid it into her vagina about half way. "All the way in, deep." She pushed it in until she felt resistance. "Now, work it in kinda circles... Oh, this is good..."

Rachel looked toward Kylie as she manipulated the device. Kylie had closed her eyes and was massaging her breasts with her fingers. "Don't be too gentle," she panted. Rachel increased the vigor of her thrusting with the vibrator. "That's perfect ... don't change it."

"I love you, Kylie," she said.

"I know you do. I love you, too. Oh, God! I'm coming! MORE!"

Kylie's body tensed and she moaned. Then she reached and pushed the small vibrator away. Rachel began to withdraw the big one.

"NO!" Kylie panted. "Leave it in -- I'll come more."

Rachel began thrusting the vibrator. Kylie moaned again and grabbed the bedcovers. Then another climax washed over her. Rachel began to read her body. When an orgasmic wave built, Kylie closed her eyes and tensed her buttocks. This was Rachel's cue to work the gadget hard. As her climax peaked, Kylie panted and clawed at the bedcovers. Rachel kept up the pressure until her body relaxed -- then, she eased up and let her rest ... until the next one. She lost count of the number of times Kylie came.

"Enough," Kylie gasped. Rachel removed the device and switched it off. A deep flush had spread across Kylie's face and chest, and her skin glistened with perspiration. Two wet lines ran from the corners of her eyes down her face.

Rachel cradled her in her arms and kissed her. Her lips were dry from mouth breathing. "That was amazing, Kylie," she said. "I didn't know you could do that."

"You're sure this is your first time?" Kylie panted.

"Yes -- I'm sure."

V -- 2005

Rachel pulled the car into the driveway and hopped out. Kylie stepped from the passenger side. The two women held hands as they headed up the walkway.

Rachel dipped into her pocket and held a key toward Kylie. "Here, you do it."

"No -- you. You found the house."

"Then you go in first." She slipped the key into the lock and swung the door open.

"Our house," Kylie said.

"The movers come tomorrow. Even with our stuff it'll look empty for a while."

They joined hands again and headed up the stairs. "This will be the nursery," Kylie said.

"It'll be dark soon. I'll get the sleeping bag."

Rachel held Kylie inside the sleeping bag. "Do you remember the first time we made love?" Rachel asked.

"I'll never forget it."

"It was a heady time -- those first weeks of new love intoxication. It was the only time my 4.0 was in jeopardy."

"You and your 4.0."

"We've never slept apart since that time."

"Yes we have -- when one of us was traveling."

"It doesn't count."

"Are you sorry you never made it to medical school?" Kylie asked.

"Not at all. I'm glad I switched my major to bio- mechanical engineering. It means we can work for the same company -- we're a team."

Rachel poured some coffee as Kylie looked at the notebook spread open on the kitchen table. "I think tonight's the night," she said.

"Let's see..."

"Do you see the spike in the temperature curve?"

"Yeah... You think it's a go?"

"I do."

"Then I'll call Marty and let him know."

That afternoon the doorbell rang. Rachel opened the door to a young man. He handed her a paper bag. "Here it is."

"We won't say a word."

"I know. I trust you girls."

"Tell me, Marty... Was it good for you?"

"It was GREAT," he said with a little giggle. "Any time -- I mean it. Are you coming to the gay alliance meeting tomorrow?"

"I don't know yet."

"We love seeing you two there... Well -- good luck."

Rachel gave him a peck of a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks."

She carried the bag into the kitchen, reached inside and withdrew a vial containing some white fluid. She put it into the refrigerator.

Kylie poked her head in from the dining room. "Dinner is served."

"Mmm... Candles and our bottle of Chateneuf-du- Pape from our trip to Paris."

"It's a special night, don't you think?"

"Make sure to save enough for a couple of glasses at bedtime."

After dinner they retired upstairs. Rachel went into the bathroom and retrieved a fountain syringe from a closet and filled it. She carried it into the bedroom, hung it on an I.V. stand and adjusted the height. Kylie approached in a short silk robe. "Ready?" she asked.

"If you are."

Kylie lay on her back on the bed. Rachel spread open the robe. Kylie lifted her legs and held them against her chest.

Rachel put a dollop of Vaseline on her finger and worked it into Kylie's anus, going in to the first knuckle. Then she slipped the nozzle into her anus and slid it in up to the hilt. Kylie put her legs down.

Rachel opened the clamp and handed the hose to Kylie. Then, she smeared some lavender body lotion onto Kylie's abdomen and began massaging.

"Water's warm," Kylie said. "And I like how you're touching me."

"Did I ever tell you? You have a cute tummy."

"I think you've told me."

"I really appreciate you letting me do this, Kylie. I know I get more from it than you do. You're so generous and trusting this way."

"I dunno... I've learned to appreciate it. Enemas are an acquired taste I guess."

"True fact... This one's only a quart and a half. I have to keep reminding myself that's like two quarts for me. No cramping?"

"No -- it's flowing in real easy. That deep breathing trick really works."

Rachel pinched the bag. "Yes ... almost empty ... done." She closed the clamp and removed the nozzle. Kylie stretched her legs out and Rachel began caressing them. "Do you feel full?"

"Yes but not uncomfortably so. I take it this is more than just plain water."

"I put a little soap in it -- just enough to encourage your colon to expel it all. That way you won't need to get up in the middle of the night. It shouldn't be enough to cause you any discomfort." Rachel leaned over and covered Kylie's abdomen with soft, lingering kisses.

"I'm starting to feel it."

"If you want to go, then go. I'll make other preparations."

Kylie hopped off the bed. "Look..." She pulled open her robe and modeled her mildly distended belly. Then, headed for the bathroom.

Rachel descended to the kitchen and removed the vial from the refrigerator. She warmed it in her hands and then transferred the contents to a hypodermic syringe -- minus needle -- that she had swiped from the labs where they worked.

She poured the last of the wine into two glasses, carried them and the syringe to the bedroom and set them on the nightstand. Then she lit a jasmine- scented candle.

She and Kylie had agreed their child should be conceived in love. They had worked out the details and had practiced the procedure a few times using a syringe loaded with water. Rachel dimmed the lights, undressed and slipped into her own silk robe.

Rachel heard water running in the bathroom. She poked her head in. "Tub's about ready," Kylie said and dropped some fragrant, effervescent tablets into the water.

Rachel slipped her robe from her shoulders and stepped into the tub. Kylie followed and lay in the water with her back against Rachel's chest. Rachel pressed a button to activate the jets.

"Mmm," Kylie said, "the water feels so good." Rachel put her arms around Kylie and hugged her. She cupped her hand over Kylie's breast and began a gentle massage. "You know I like that," Kylie said. "It feels even better with the warm water."

They soaked in the whirlpool until the timer cut out the jets. Kylie sat forward, Rachel stepped out and held a terrycloth robe. They dried each other, clasped hands and walked into the bedroom.

"It smells so good in here," Kylie said. "So romantic."

Rachel handed her a wine glass, they clinked them together. "Cheers."

"Cheers." They drained the glasses. Kylie pressed her hand to her abdomen. "Wine feels warm in my tummy."

"You know -- if this works tonight, that'll be the last wine for a while."

"There's nothing stopping you."

"I hate drinking alone."

Rachel peeled back the bedcovers and they slid between the sheets. Some vigorous foreplay ensued, and as was their custom, Kylie brought Rachel to orgasm first.

Then Rachel lay between Kylie's thighs. She reached for the syringe and lay it on the bed. Then she slipped two fingers into Kylie and began massaging the roof of her vagina. With her other hand she massaged her lower abdomen and mons.

Rachel worked her tongue against Kylie's clit while rubbing her inside. It didn't take long for Kylie to reach her first climax. Rachel kept up the stimulation on her clit, backing off after each orgasm and then building it up again.

Then, as Kylie approached another climax Rachel removed her fingers and inserted the syringe. She pressed hard against her clit with the tip of her tongue. Kylie moaned as she came, and Rachel pressed the plunger.

Kylie lifted up on her elbows. "Did you do it?"

"Yes!"

She got on all fours and dropped onto her forearms. "How long should I stay like this?"

"I'm not sure you need to do it at all," Rachel replied.

"I don't want a drop oozing out."

Rachel caressed Kylie's back. "It's been twenty minutes. If he's not inside you by now..."

Kylie lay beside Rachel, lazily caressing her breast. "You know, Rachel... I have a good feeling about tonight. I think we're going to have a baby."

Rachel drove the rental car from the airport.

"I'm nervous," Kylie said.

"To meet Aunt Rose? No need to be."

"You said she's the one who initiated you to enemas."

"She is indeed," Rachel replied. "Every time I had an upset stomach the enema bag came out, and I had LOTS of stomach-aches."

"You know some might regard what she was doing as borderline child abuse. She was penetrating and violating you."

"Maybe. I think her intentions where good ... mostly. I love her, Kylie. Aunt Rose took care of me when there was no one else. I never doubted that she loved me."

"Still... Didn't you ever consider going to therapy and resolving those issues?"

"Therapy? Not on your life. I'm perfectly happy with who I am; and I certainly don't care to be cured of something I enjoy so much. Would you ever go to therapy to be cured of being a lesbian?"

"Touché."

"Kylie, do you remember taking that course in abnormal psychology?"

"Yeah..."

"Do you remember discussing Munchausen Syndrome By Proxy?"

"Vaguely."

"That's the one in which a caregiver purposely sickens a child."

"It's coming back to me."

"Well," Rachel continued, "I think I may be a victim."

"At the hands of your Aunt Rose?"

"Perhaps."

"What makes you think that?"

"Like I said, Rose gave me enemas when I had an upset stomach -- and like I said, I had a LOT of stomach aches. Then, about the time I started getting my periods ... which was about the time Rose had to go back to work, they vanished -- overnight."

"Maybe you grew out of them?"

"That's what I thought. One time when I was giving myself an enema, I spotted a bottle of Syrup of Ipecac in the medicine chest."

"Ugh!" Kylie shuddered. "Not Ipecac!"

"What do you know of it?"

"I had an experience with it," Kylie replied. "When I was about twelve I had a horrible argument with my mother. I decided to get even. I found a bottle of aspirin with a couple dozen tablets left. I dumped it into the toilet; then I went to my mother, showed her the empty bottle and said pretty soon she wouldn't have Kylie to kick around any more."

"What did she do?"

"She freaked. She called the poison control center and they said if she had Ipecac to use it. She had it so she told me I had to take it. I asked what it was for and she said it would make me throw up the aspirin. I refused.

"Then she said it was either take the Ipecac or go to the hospital where they'd force a tube down my throat and pump my stomach."

"So the choice was tube-down-throat or Ipecac."

"Right -- it was either barf of go to the hospital. I figured, what's a little barf, so I chose Ipecac. It is vile stuff. She gave it to me in one of those little cups, and then I had to force down about four big glasses of water.

"In about five minutes I started having the worst stomach cramps and in about another five I was puking -- I was puking my guts out. I had to puke in a bucket so my dad could take what I threw up to the lab.

"I was as sick as a dog for half a day and I must've puked eight times -- with dry heaves. After that I got the runs. Then, my folks got the lab report -- no aspirin. I had to admit I never swallowed them in the first place; and THEN I got a birching. From that point on every time I hear the word Ipecac my skin crawls."

"I think, actually," Rachel replied, "it served you right."

"It probably did, come to think of it. What was your involvement with the stuff?"

"Like I said I found some Ipecac. The bottle was about half full, and I know there weren't any poisonings in the household. I think perhaps Aunt Rose was slipping it to me so I'd have a stomach-ache and give her an excuse to give me enemas."

"The stuff is vile. I don't thing someone could slip it to you unawares."

"I've read about Ipecac. A normal dose is a tablespoon -- in order to guarantee you vomit. Only one in a thousand stomachs is strong enough to withstand that much. On the other hand, nine out of ten adults will vomit if given only a teaspoon. I imagine a little kid with a tender tummy would respond to even less than that."

"But why?" Kylie asked.

"I know what a kick it is to administer an enema to you. Perhaps Rose got the same kick. Think about it. If I were to blurt out that my Aunt Rose gives me enemas on a whim, it might reflect badly. If I said she gives me enemas when I have a stomach-ache ... well, worst-case it would be considered a well-meaning but ill-advised treatment."

"Rachel -- if you think she did this to you... You must call her out on it. Confront her."

"I'll do nothing of the sort. Like I said -- it's only a possibility."

"You don't want to know? If it were me, I'd want to."

"What good would it serve?" Rachel replied. "If this is what she did, then I've long since forgiven her. If she didn't -- then there's nothing to forgive. So, either way we reach the same destination." Kylie picked up Rachel's hand and kissed the back of it. Then she wiped a tear from her face. "What's wrong?" Rachel asked. "Are your hormones raging again and making you maudlin?"

"Maybe. Oh, Rachel -- you are so good. You're such a good person. I'm so lucky to have you."

Rachel drove past a Wal-Mart that had succeeded in finally driving a stake into the heart of the village's downtown. She turned onto a country road and pulled into the farmhouse driveway.

She and Kylie held hands and walked to the house. Rose was waiting at the door and she hugged Rachel.

"Aunt Rose, this is Kylie."

Rose hugged her. "Kylie, Rachel has told me so much about you I think I know you already." Her gaze fell on Kylie's bulging belly. "How far along are you?"

"Five months."

"May I?"

"Of course."

Rose pressed her hands against Kylie's abdomen. "Feels like a healthy one. Boy or girl?"

"We want to be surprised," Rachel replied.

"We told the doctor no ultrasound without a medical indication," Kylie added.

"Come on in -- dinner's ready."

Kylie helped Rachel wash dishes and clean the kitchen -- her job as a youth. Rose was sitting in the living room with her feet up.

"Come in, you two and sit and visit."

"If you don't mind," Kylie said, "I'd like to go lie down. It's been a long day."

"Of course -- we can talk tomorrow."

"I'll be up in a few minutes," Rachel said. "I have some things to discuss with Aunt Rose."

Kylie headed up the stairs. "What's on your mind, Rachel?" Rose asked.

"What do you think of my unconventional lifestyle?"

"In my years at the hospital I saw plenty of unconventional lifestyles that worked -- and enough conventional ones that didn't. What matters is that you have someone to care for and to care for you. Judging from the way you two interact, I'd say you have it."

"We do indeed."

"How did you decide which one would carry the child?"

"It was never a question. Kylie wanted it more. Are you disappointed?"

"A bit. I've wanted to meet your child, Rachel."

"This isn't Kylie's baby, Aunt Rose. It's OURS."

"I suppose, but still..."

"We haven't ruled anything out."

"I am proud of you, Rachel."

"Aunt Rose -- I wanted to thank you for caring for me. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but I do now and I know it wasn't anything you were obligated to do."

"It was the least I could do. Your mother was my favorite niece, Rachel. When she perished, I had to take you in, because she lives on in you. Your resemblance to your mother is quite strong. Having you brought me much comfort and joy."

"I'm pleased to hear it. Well -- I think I should go upstairs. I'm tired, too. It was a long journey."

"I'll see you in the morning."

Rachel headed up the stairs and paused. "Oh, Aunt Rose... Thanks for all the enemas when I was growing up."

She stepped into her bedroom. Kylie came in from the bathroom and slipped out of her robe. She ran her hands along her belly. "Look how big I'm getting. I already look like one of those roly-poly dolls. You push me over I'll bounce right back up."

"You're so petite," Rachel replied. "There's no place for the baby to grow but out."

"If I'm this big at five months -- I don't want to know how big I'll be full-term." Look at this..." She traced a dark line from her mons to her navel. "And these!" She cupped her hands under her breasts.

"How does it feel having boobs?"

"Odd... I know you like them."

"You know I'm a leg girl."

Kylie slipped into bed with Rachel and snuggled against her. "Rachel..."

"What?"

"Do you intend to give our children enemas?"

"No... I don't think so."