Perverts 'R' Us

Interview with Reginald Collins III

By Grade School Nurse ( M+/F/m+, enema, voy, ir, inc, nonsex )

We're talking to Colonel Reginald Collins III. The "Colonel" was the terror of boys and the delight of nurses in a half-dozen cities and towns for over fifty years. He retired from the Army in 1982 at the age of 70.

GSN: How do you suppose you got this obsession?

RC: Grandmother was excessively influenced by my father and grandfather. We lived near Peabody in Baltimore. My father was given enemas several times a week at his father's insistence. I think it increased grandfather's potency with grandmother in a weird way. Father hated the enemas from the time he started getting them regularly at the age of three to around twelve by which time he had developed a real obsession for them.

Strangely, his father lost interest in watching about this time, just when father was really hooked. Funny too how grandmother got really "into it" when Reggie or "Junior" started showing blissful appreciation of her expertise and carried this on until he went to West Point after high school.

During this period, he and two of his buddy cadets went into New York City regularly for enemas which they got from hookers. Father told me he really couldn't enjoy it though unless he dressed up like a ten-year-old boy. That really excited him to the point that usually all he had to do was lie down on the bed over a pillow with his BVDs hauled down to half-mast and the minute the "nurse" walked into the room with the syringe, he would "shoot his load" without the slightest stimulation and they would have to take a quarter-hour break for him to be ready again by which time he was able to take it slow and easy for the next couple of hours.

GSN: How do you know that watching your grandmother give your father enemas made your grandfather more potent?

RC: Just from the way father said he got really goofy. He would have a chair positioned right at the side of the bed and he would be sitting on the edge, craning his neck. He had this half-bashful, half-gleeful grin on his face, and his face would be flushed. He would usually be holding an opened newspaper over his lap, and father could see how he would be timing his excitement and now and then he would drop the newspaper to one side and be holding it with one hand. Every now and then he would pull it back up and by the time grandmother had pulled the thermometer out of my anus the third or fourth time and held it up to the light to read it and then reinserts it with great delicacy and a lustful smile on her face, he would be winking at me and drooling and the old paper would be shaking like a leaf in the wind and he would have his first orgasm right in his pants.

Later on I found out he was wearing a big, soft, doubled-up washcloth like a napkin as a kind of diaper. Just the way father did when grandmother started giving me the enemas and there would be two men, an old one and a middle aged one, sitting in chairs and watching father and grandfather.

GSN: You told me about the old man next door. How old was your father when this happened?

RC: Father said it was about the time he was seven or eight. The house next door was owned by an old man in a wheelchair who was carrying on a feud with my grandfather for years and they never talked. I don't know what it was all about, but at one point grandfather thought the old codger might be mellowing, so he had an idea. Grandfather and father were sitting on the porch one beautiful Sunday afternoon in May and the old man was sitting on his porch. He was half-deaf, so grandfather had to raise his voice quite a bit for the old man to hear. Grandfather put his hand up beside his mouth and turned his head toward next door and said so even the deaf old man could hear, "All right, Junior, now get inside, boy. Mother's getting your enema ready."

Then he winked at the old man.

"W-W-What's that? ... W-W-What's that?" says the old man. "Enema? ... Who's gettin' an enema?" He was grinning from ear to ear and slapping his knee and looked ready to fall out of his wheelchair.

Grandfather pointed to father and said, "He's getting an enema, mister! There's the one who's getting the enema!"

From that moment forward, grandfather and old Mr. Singleton were fast friends. It turned out the old man used to hear Junior's bawling from his bedroom, which was just eight or so feet away from the old man's. The window shade was pulled down and the old man was too timid to ask if grandmother could leave it up just a few inches once in a while.

Grandfather, on the other hand, didn't know if the old man could be trusted with the whole story. Once the ice was broken, old Mr. Singleton was stationed aforetime at his bedroom window. Grandmother went so far as to invent a signal. She told Mr. Singleton that the old fashioned, red-rubber, bulb enema syringe would be placed on the window ledge outside the blind each afternoon when Junior's enema session was to be held that same evening.

GSN: That's a wonderful story. Can you tell us in some detail just what happened with old Mr. Singleton watching from next door?

RC: Needless to say, old Mr. Singleton spent a lot of time in front of that window. He had a big blanket which was more like a carpet over his lap and was holding an old white towel in his hands. He had a pair of old navy binoculars on the window sill, which he used for close-ups and a large tablet on an easel next to his chair. He would write on the tablet with a red crayon and point to his literary masterpieces while laughing uproariously, sending graffiti messages to grandfather such as:

WHY'S HE BAWLING? IS HE EM-BARE-ASSED?

LORD HAVE MERCY, WHAT AN ASS!

OH, MRS., STICK IT IN THERE! ... OH, LOVELY LADY, STICK IT UP THAT BAWLING BRAT'S LOVELY ASS!

OOOPS! GUESS IT'S A TIGHT FIT!

Father told me the enemas doubled once Mr. Singleton was "in on it," both in incidence and duration. He said the maids must have noticed a marked increase in dirty towels in the hamper as well.

GSN: Tell us about your ever growing interest in enemas for boys.

RC: Not ever growing. More like an epiphany - from aversion to obsession. As I hinted, it all happened like Paul's conversion. One day I was bawling my head off and the next day I was begging her not to stop. By the time I was a young lieutenant, I was hopelessly enmeshed in enema mania. Grandfather was dead. Father had long since started having neighbor boys over for the "sessions" I used to star in. Old man Singleton was also dead but a young Bible student was renting his room and according to his salvation or damnation almost week by week either calling down on father fire and brimstone or begging him to raise the window shade once more and he would never call down Heaven's wrath on him again.

Father's new mistress was naturally a nurse and there was a steady stream of boys being sent upstairs with their fathers or uncles hurrying after them. Clayton Rodgers, the off-and-on Bible student, kept the upstairs bedroom well supplied with "pump boys" by convincing their hillbilly fathers that the enemas would dispel impure thoughts. The fathers, passionately attracted to Nurse Reynolds' superbly majestic, plump, round buttocks tightly encased in her white nurse's uniform as she bent over to fill the syringe with a gurgling hiss of warm almond scented water, were easily convinced.

GSN: You've lived around and in and out of the army. You were medically discharged as a Captain, yet they call you the Colonel. How come?

RC: That's on account of I dress like an old Dixie plantation owner. I was a Captain in the medics at Walter Reed, where my best friend was a black medical officer whose wife was his "off duty" nurse in their home in Georgetown. Fathers came from miles around, mostly servicemen, bringing their young sons to refresh indelible boyhood memories for them. Those were some of the best years when it comes to boys and enemas. But the best of all were in Naples.

GSN: That was before D.C.?

RC: Right. Enema obsession and a real fascination with nice, big, rotund, female buttocks seem to go hand in hand. Maybe it goes back to the way grandmother or nurse looked while the boy eyed them from his embarrassing position in his bedroom. I mean, when she would bend over with her big ass in her tight fitting dress or uniform right in his face as she bent over to stick the thermometer in a jar of Vaseline or with the tip of the syringe nozzle in the warm almond-scented water as she filled it.

The Officer's Club had several men who were friends with some of the locals. I'm not sure how they first got together but the story was that CPO Swede Olsen was taking one of his daily constitutionals up Spaccanapoli one beautiful afternoon in May. He started to get a hardon and didn't know exactly why it happened so suddenly, but after a few more steps he heard bawling from quite a distance up the street. He stepped on it and the bawling got closer and louder 'til he came up to a basement apartment with an old man sitting outside with one of those vile stogies in his mouth holding a little boy in his lap.

The adorably plump kid with gardenia white skin, jet black curly hair, and huge dark eyes was pounding the old man with might and main and howling. Grandpapa seemed to love it though and the harder the boy hit him, the more he laughed and once he caught sight of the Chief, he winked. Swede knew Italian, or I should say Neapolitan, quite well and he sure was no prude, but he blushed red as a beet when the old man, mincing no words, told him that Gino was mad because he just told him that grandma was getting ready to "pump-fuck" his lovely chubby ass.

Swede took a peek in the window on the right wing of the building where the white linen curtain was flapping in the breeze and saw little Gino's grandma readying her ensemble on a chipped white enamel tray on the bedside table. A white linen cloth covered the table from the top to a couple of inches from the floor.

Chief could clearly see silhouetted against the bright light from a rear window the objects on the tray: a liter-sized flask with etched measurements, filled with steaming almond-scented water, an opened jar of Vaseline, a blue glass of alcohol with nine or ten thermometers in it, a box of cotton gauze and a classic 1935 model Sears & Roebuck red-rubber bulb syringe set on its smooth disc butt-end, with the shiny black hard rubber nozzle sticking straight up like a soldier at attention. Chief was warmly contemplating how much it reminded him of his stiff hardon.

GSN: You're starting to sweat.

RC: (Laughs heartily) I'm glowing. A carpenter sweats. A plumber sweats. The Colonel is "glowing." Or as my longtime nurse used to say, "The Colonel be glowing" as she parted the boy's butt cheeks with her light chocolate thumb and forefinger and "sent the nozzle home." (Laughs raucously again).

GSN: My apologies. You're glowing. Go on.

RC: With pleasure. Well, Lord, my dear, don't you know that Chief stepped over to see more of the room and there was Gino's papa sitting on one of two chairs placed one next to the bedside table and the other at the foot of the bed and at a 45-degree angle for optimal viewing of the "theater of operations."

Needless to say due to Chief's linguistic facility the formalities were few and brief. Their chatting drowned out by Gino's blustery roaring and his continuing battery of grand-papa's arms and chest, Swede, and the old man were forming a strong friendship. Every detail of the reason for Gino's extreme displeasure was revealed in a matter of minutes and it amounted to a few facts.

Grand-mama and her daughter-in-law had differences regarding the proper hygiene of young boys, and it amounted to more than washing behind his ears. You might say that grand-mama adhered to the "Old School," so that if you were going to decide the matter democratically, Gino lost out big-time. Papa, grand-papa, and grand-mama were a grand alliance against the boy's mother who believed a weekly enema for a young boy was quite enough. Her feelings on the matter were based on reason she explained. Theirs were based on a vile obsession. Claudia lost out.

GSN: Just how often did they think a boy needed an enema?

RC: Lord, who knows? Daily? Three, four times a day? I'm afraid I can't set a number on it but I can assure you it answered to however often the, er, the spirit moved papa's or grand-papa's libido - which was pretty well constant.

GSN: (Smiling sarcastically) That's not good. It's not natural. It defeats the purpose.

RC: I see you're a victim of the "diminishing returns" philosophy. But I can also see you're kidding. So for the benefit of our readers, let's explain.

GSN: Go ahead. Explain.

RC: This is show biz, dear lady. It's spectacle, or as grandpapa would say "spettacolo." A few squirts of almond-scented warm water ain't gonna hurt nobody. And more often than not, it's little more than unwilling exposition and stimulation on one side and satisfaction of masturbatory fantasy on the other. Comes a point in a boy's life when mother's or nurse's attentions to his nether regions loses its awfulness and becomes an obsession. Call it sexual abuse. Call defending it rationalization. Where do you draw the line? Showing a little boy his sister's cunt is criminal. Once he's in puberty, he would think he died and went to heaven.

GSN: Are you saying Chief Olsen was just in time for one of little Gino's as you called it "pump-fucks"?

RC: That's right. Not more than a quarter hour after he set eyes on Gino on grand-papa's lap, he was on the third chair which Renzo, his father, had ceremoniously placed for him on the other side of the bed. The windows had been closed and the shutters latched and muffled yells and pounding were coming from upstairs where Claudia - the boy's mother - was calling down imprecations on the "sporcaccioni," or the dirty old men below her, which were met with equally vociferous shouts translating roughly as, "Just mind your business, you evil bitch! ... Grandma knows what a boy needs! ... All you do is spoil him! ... A nice little squirt of hot fluid up his ass will show him what grandma's pump is for! ... A nice little squirt up the ass is good for him once in a while!"

Gino obviously disagreed. He'd already been divested of his knee pants and was lying propped up on a pillow in the middle of the bed with a thermometer in his mouth bawling his head off. His drawers were stuck into the crack of his plump round ass, which was arched at an angle well-calculated to produce the desired effect once grandmother was ready to haul them down to half-mast.

He grabbed at the seat of the drawers to free them from the tightly-closed arse cheeks, raising peals of laughter from the men in the room and a rude comment from his father like, "Atta boy, Ginino! ... Pull the slack out of the way. ... But you really needn't bother. ... Grandma's gonna see to it that she's got a nice clear field when she's ready to stick the "other" thermometer in the "other" place!"

He didn't have long to wait for that. The grandmother beamed a smile at Chief Olsen. The boy's father and grandfather were grinning from ear to ear and pointing to the glass with the thermometers and, winking at Swede, taunted Gino, "What's she doing, now, Gino dear? ... Making a move on the "other" one? ... Don't tell me she's gonna stick you down there too? ... Huh? Huh? Huh? ... Ooooh, I do declare she's heading for the "other" one. ... Ooooohhhh, this is gonna be goood!"

In a moment Gino, the thermometer still sticking out of the corner of his mouth, felt grandmother's cold forefinger and thumb of her left hand delicately parting the plump, alabaster-smooth, ivory-white cheeks of his warm, naked hinder as with the "other" greasy one she tickled his immaculate pink anus. After many long seconds, she slowly inserted it to the hilt. Loud applause and laughter reverberated in the room as Gino roared apace and father and grandfather supplied a rude commentary on the embarrassing situation of the boy being "stuck at both ends."

After numerous extractions and reinsertions of the well-used thermometer, along with corresponding readings and frowns of displeasure on grandmother's part, she pulled the thermometer slowly from the wailing boy's anus for the last time and turned again to the bedside table. A telling silence reigned in the room, disturbed only by heavy breathing as she picked up the syringe and, cupping it in the palm of her right hand, the shiny, black, hard-rubber nozzle poised between her first two fingers, she grinned proudly and presented it for inspection to each of the men in turn.

She invited them to feel it and her cold white hand, which they did, eagerly caressing her hand and running their fingers over the smooth oval rubber of the bulb halved at the equator with a finely-formed raised ridge and pressing with their thumbs the smooth disc butt end so that quick puffs of air exit the rounded tip of the nozzle. She brought the nozzle tip to each man's ear and, pressing the butt end, sent a sharp hiss of air into each.

One by one they shuddered with delight and whispered, "Oooohhh, b-beautiful sound! ... Such a b-beautiful sound!"

At last grandmother raised a finger in warning and said, "Now you can watch, but you cannot touch. No touching. This is woman's work."

General applause confirmed their perfect agreement. The men leaned forward in their chairs, their eyes glued in turn and in serial repetition, first on the roaring boy's lovely naked buttocks so invitingly arched for his grandmother's minute attentions, and then on the red rubber syringe, which she dipped into the warm, deliciously-scented water. She squeezed the bulb and the water rushed into the syringe with a low gurgling sound, followed by an abrupt pop.

She didn't bother standing free of the men's lustful stares as she knew each one had an unimpeded view, craning his neck as he did from whatever vantage point proved best at the moment. She lifted the syringe from the flask and approached the boy's lovely arse, its plump smooth white cheeks exquisitely framed between the tails of his capacious white cotton shirt and his lowered drawers. Below them the bed sheets had been brought down to just below his knees.

Grandmother delicately parted the screeching boy's chubby rump cheeks with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand and, gesturing to her son, says, "Talk to him, Renzo. Give him a kiss to comfort him."

The father jumped up eagerly and, sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing Gino's hair, kissed his cheek and behind his ears and whispered in his ear, "Cheer up, buddy. Grandma's just doing what grandmas are s'posed to do. ... Come on now. ... It's not that bad. ... Just a little squirt, okay, pal?"

Needless to say, here we had a case of "suggestion rejected." Gino let out a bawl that resounded like a touchdown shout at the Super bowl and sticking his tongue out at his father set to pounding the pillow and, looking behind him at Swede, roared, "What's he doing here? ... What's he doing here? ... S-S-Send him away! ... S-S-Send him away! ... A-A-Arrrrgggghhhh!"

Renzo could hardly stop laughing, but finally managed to say, "He's a nice man, Gino. He's just a nice man who wants to watch. Okay?" He winked at Swede and grandpapa. "You don't mind if he watches, do you?" Raucous laughter and applause from the men.

Gino roared, "Y-Y-Yes! ... Y-Y-Yes! ...D-D-Don't l-let him w-watch! ... D-D-Don't l-let him w-watch! ... S-S-Send him away! ... A-A-Arrrrgggghhhh!"

He might as well have been talking to a wall. Grandmother took aim and with steady hand brought the tip of the nozzle to an inch of the roaring boy's tightly-squeezed anus and, warning him to relax, slowly inserted it, and squeezed the bulb. Pandemonium reigned in the room.

To be continued