Perverts 'R' Us

The Enema Voyeur

By Grade School Nurse ( M/Fdom+/b+, enem, voy, ir, nosex )

As told by Jared Roy Collins.

GSN: Jared Roy Collins has been either a seen or unseen presence at the enemas of young boys for three generations and it's a predilection that still occupies as much of his "horniest" (his word) hours as ever. Let's welcome Mr. Jared Roy Collins to "The Enema Connoisseur."

You asked me to call you Jared. Jared, what got you so interested in nurses, vis-à-vis enemas and little boys.

JRC: Well, I swear I don't know just exactly where to begin. I was born in Richmond in the mid thirties. My father was a naval officer at Norfolk and my mother was a teacher in the grade school. Daddy had this real strong fascination about women with big buttocks, preferably nurses, and a powerful obsession focused on them giving enemas to boys. (All I can think of right now is how this came about is he would drop hints about how he and his twin brother were given regular hot, soapy enemas by his step-mother at his Daddy's insistence. And this always happened with his older brothers watching and his sisters assisting the step-mother, who was the grade school nurse.

Sometimes his daddy who was an accountant at the bank would drive over to the school to pick her up and whenever he went along with him he would wait for them in a room next to the nurse's office. Once he noticed two twin boys waiting outside in the hall with their daddy. They were sobbing and they went all red in the face when they saw him. Their daddy just laughed and winked at him and said in a real off handed way, "Don't be mindin' them, Sonny. They just waitin' to go in for the same treatment. I expect your mama will give you when she gets you home."

He ran around to the back of the school when they went in. He climbed up on a trash bin underneath a window and could see right into the nurse's office. One twin was sitting on my grandaddy's lap and the other one on his own daddy's. The nurse had just popped a thermometer into one of the twins' mouths and was shaking a second one down to put in the other's. The twins were real cute light-skinned black boys named Jerrold and Maynard Hollister. Both daddies had big grins on their faces and they were winking at each other and the twins and bouncing them up and down on their knees.

The twins were bawling so loud you could hear them outside the window but there was no one left around the school except the old black janitor Clarence who was pretending to sweep the hallway, but was really taking way too long on the little hill of dust at his feet and peering around the half-open door with a big toothy grin on his face. Grandaddy and Mr. Hollister were smiling at him in an approving way and pointing to the table against the wall next to the nurse's low cot with the sheet pulled halfway down and four pillows set two by two on the cot. The lower pillows were very plump and fluffy and covered with thick white cotton towels.

The table was covered with a white linen cloth that reached to the floor. On it were: a large flask of steaming grayish water with a cake of soap melting at the bottom; a clear glass with etched lines and numbers, half-filled with alcohol and holding several thermometers; a blue glass with etching, alcohol and six more thermometers; a large opened jar of Vaseline, a glass stuffed with cotton gauze; and last, but far from the least, one of Mr. Goodrich's brand new red rubber bulb enema syringes standing on its smooth disk butt end with the shiny hard rubber black ball tipped nozzle sticking straight up.

Daddy could see from the window my step grandmamma taking several readings of the thermometers protruding from the corners of Jerrold and Maynard's mouths, polishing them on her apron, shaking them down and putting them back in before she shook her head and said,

"Normal, as usual. But, Lord, these glass sticks tend to lie when it comes to hot blooded little boys I can tell you that right now."

She frowned and, winking at Mr. Hollister and granddaddy, added,

"But what afore' says aft' is mor'n like to correct."

She smoothes her immaculate white uniform over her immense globular buttocks and, sitting down on a cushion on a straight backed chair next to the table, nods in old Clarence's direction. The janitor sets his long handled broom against the door jamb and, pacing deliberately into the room with a wide grin on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eye, grabs hold of Jerrold and starts to pry him out of his daddy's arms.

His daddy is giddily trying to disengage his arms from around his chest and hand him over which as usual enrages the roaring boy so he sets to pounding him with his little fists with might and main. But strength and determination triumph over impotent flailing and rage and soon to the extreme delight of both the twins' father and my granddaddy's Jerrold finds himself face downward over Mrs. Collins' lap, his plump round BVD clothed buttocks divested of the knickers she has just handily lowered to his knees. Clarence holds him by the ankles to restrain his frantic wiggling.

Maynard is held standing next to his father now though trying with all his might to escape. Mrs. Collins raises her right foot on the balls of her toes and arches bawling Jerrold's ass up while delicately grabbing hold of the waistband of his BVD's which she hauls slowly down or, as her husband calls it, "hauls 'em right straight down to the southward." His smooth deep cleft chubby milk chocolate rump cheeks fairly pop out of the descending drawers. He jerks his ankles though tightly held in Clarence's iron grasp and, looking behind him to his father and granddaddy, bawls, "W-W-W-Whhhhaaaahhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... W-W-W-Whhhhaaaahhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!"

He looks behind him toward the window where I am peeking into the room and howls with rage, "H-H-He's l-l-looking! H-H-He's l-l-looking! W-W-W-Whhhhaaaahhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo! H-H-He's l-l-looking! H-H-He's l-l-looking!"

Far from pretending not to notice, the men merely laugh heartily and say, "Oh, do tell." ... "Like we didn't know that.... Whatever is the matter, boy? As if your brothers and sisters didn't always watch mama when she's pumpin' you twins at home. Lord, let the boy have a little peek. Never mind, Mrs. Collins'll be givin' him a good dose of the same medicine when she gets him home I promise you that."

Beaming with delight, Mrs. Collins rolls her right sleeve higher up on her smooth thick white biceps and cups the boy's cool plump ass cheeks in her palms. She caresses them lovingly, gliding the edge of her hand delicately between the cleft of the tight clenched cheeks and from time to time lifting her hands to show the men the beauties of the roaring boy's smooth plump buttocks in all their naked naughtiness. She giggles softly as she teases, "Oh, for shame, Jerrold, darling. For shame. Letting these men see your, er, your lovely naked hinder is so naughty. Aren't you ashamed, you naughty, naughty boy?"

Naturally, both young Mr. Jerrold and his twin fail to see the humor in the situation.

The men are on the edge of their seats, breathing heavily, grinning lustfully, craning their necks, their eyes all but popping out of their heads, applauding, whistling and cat calling, "O-O-O-Ohhhh! Uh huh! Uh huh! Uh huh! Uh huh! S-Show it to us, Mrs.! S-Show us his n-nice b-big b-bare ass! O-O-O-Ohhhh, Eugenia dearest. Show us his big naughty bare ass! Show it to us! O-O-O-Ohhhh That's it! That's it now! That's the way! O-O-O-Ohhhhhhhhhh!"

Eugenia Collins reaches over for the thermometer. She lifts it with thumb and forefinger out of the alcohol, running the bulbous tip around the inner rim of the blue glass to let the liquid slip down the side. Clarence releases the boy's ankles and leans over to pick up the jar of Vaseline. He holds it for the nurse. She dips the thermometer into the sweet, greasy smelling ointment as the aroma mingles with that of strong soap wafting from the flask. She picks up a glistening gob on the round tip and, smiling coyly at the men, delicately parts the roaring boy's smooth plump buttocks at their lower curves just outside his immaculate pink arsehole.

She softly tickles his tight squeezed anus and warns him to relax it. He whines and blubbers but obeys. She inserts it slowly by the minutest fractions, pulling it back by turns and twisting it to left and right until it protrudes the barest half of its shaft. The men are drooling and rolling their eyes heavenward and seem to have had explosions in their trousers. I guess you know the enemas come next but not until both twins have been thoroughly "thermometer fucked" by the intrepid nurse.

GSN: Well, we don't have to go into all that now anyway. I expect it's pretty much like what's coming up from your own experiences. And gladly we are so looking forward to that. But it's pretty clear that those early experiences had a significant influence on your father's lifelong fixation. Would you say that these obsessions were formed about that time?

JRC: Oh, without a doubt, dear lady. Lord, yes. That experience was a watershed. To his immense surprise he found when he got home that day that he carried the ineradicable impression of Jerrold's gaping wide buck toothed mouth, the torrents of hot tears running down his, er, his "front" cheeks, the thunderous roarings of shame and rage from both twins, the lecherous grins and fixed staring and applause and rude shrill whistling and laughter of the men, my step-grandma's obvious delight in plying her favorite pastime to an adoring audience, all were essential elements in the formation of his obsession.

That day marked the transition from quaking and dread to an actual intense craving for enemas at the hands of a stern woman.

GSN: So just what happened that day when they "got him home"? Did he get his regular enema? Did he let on that he liked it?

JRC: Oh, Lord, no. That would spoil everything. The tears and wailing, the rude "expositions," the far from "captive" audience, the ravings and pleas on his part and the laughter and applause, the blissful satisfaction of the voyeurs, all this had to stay the same. That day froze forever in place his lifelong obsessional fixation. The probably centuries old Collins family romance was being perpetuated.

GSN: Sounds like your father completely turned the tables on them.

JRC: Oh, with a vengeance.

GSN: And you think all this happened just like that? Did he have a date and time set for it? And he let you in on all this? Just how explicit was he?

JRC: When you've got a memory like I have, especially where boys and nurses and enemas are concerned, you pick up the most seemingly insignificant things and store them in a special data base in your brain. But that's just 'cause I'm obsessional. He was sure not subtle about it. But even so I found out years later that the pieces of the puzzle I picked up from suggestion or innuendo fit into the finished jigsaw perfectly, starting with his epiphany. Old St. Paul didn't hit the ground any harder than daddy did on that lovely afternoon in May in Baltimore in 1891. That was the day he got power. Up 'til then he was powerless. He was totally at the less than tender mercies of a majestic callipygian step mother who married into wealth and knew how to hold onto it.

His own daddy married her cause she was already a nurse and adept in the fine art of "pumping" boys. He found himself almost every day of the week bare ass upwards on his bed with a room full of applauding gawkers. He shed his torrents of tears and bawled himself hoarse every step of the way as she probed his pink immaculate anus with her greasy thermometer and delicately sent the nozzle of her red rubber bulb enema syringe filled to spilling over with warm almond scented water true to target. And it was always at his daddy's insistence and it went on 'til that fateful day when he was eleven and the spectacle of the Hollister twins getting their regular enemas from the school nurse, his own step mother, triggered something inside him.

GSN: But with hot water laced with Fels Naphtha? You're not serious.

JRC: The Fels Naphtha was strictly for shock value. Actually it was enough to smell the vapors to instill terror in any boy. She would use a squirt or two of hot water in oil of almond. The whole scene centered on the wait in the antechamber, the oral temperature taking, the ritual raising of the nightgown or lowering of the BVD's (referred to by Mrs. Collins as the "exposition"), the sensual caressing and delicate pinching of the lovely rotundities of the boy's naked buttocks, the deft application of a gob of Vaseline at the end of a thermometer and the long drawn out probing, the insertion and slow extraction of the thermometer, finally the literal "pump fucking" of the roaring twins' ass holes that fixated daddy's libido forever. And which he bequeathed in a final irony to me.

GSN: So what about fixing a date?

JRC: Well, surely with daddy it was that day. Mr. Hollister's prediction was right on target:

"They just waitin' to go in for the same treatment I expect your mama will give you when she gets you home."

They got him home and he carried the image of the furiously bawling twins in his step mother's nurse's office in his brain right to bed with him. And though he didn't let on how much he loved his enemas from that day forward Mrs. Collins sensed it immediately though it took longer for his father to realize it to his great and utter disappointment.

Actually, to his despair. Suddenly he lost all interest in watching the elaborate enema rituals. That is, where daddy was concerned. Real fear and loathing was the sine qua non. Luckily for granddaddy, his three year old twin sons (daddy's little brothers) were ripe to take daddy's place. It was time to move on. And that's when daddy started looking elsewhere for the next candidate in his long line of enema nurses.

GSN: Your father must have been really jealous. Of the twins I mean.

JRC: Oh, Lord, yes. He lost his iron grasp on a visceral family romance where his step mother, his daddy, and his own emerging passion for enemas were a kind of love triangle. But when you're that young and in love you never lose out entirely. He got something in return. Something almost as good. For the next eight years or so he watched his little twin brothers bare ass uppermost on their bed bawling their head off while his daddy and older brothers were sitting in blissful anticipation on the edge of their chairs and his arrogant callipygian step-mother was "fixin' to put some liquid heat to the seat." He had graduated from victim to voyeur. In his mind it was a painful but strangely satisfying rite of passage.

GSN: You make it sound like some shamanistic ritual. Do you know how close this comes to primitive initiation rites?

JRC: My Lord, you really are perceptive. You hit the nail right on the head there. Who knows just what went on in those ancient torch-lit crossings to manhood? Maybe a boy had to be violated by a woman to achieve true manhood. Mother's last "sting" to the boy's burgeoning pride let's say.

GSN: Exactly. But that was a one time slam dunk kind of thing. Once it was over it was over.

JRC: Ah, yes. But you have got to understand just how obsessional this passion for women pumping boys is once it's got a hold of a man's fantasy life. It's a case of testosterone rerouted. He's as dependent on this fantasy as an over-the-hill fucker is on Viagra. These guys take this picture to bed with them and ask any woman with a husband with this "affliction" and she will tell you they never saw them so "hot to trot."

GSN: You realize you're preaching to the choir?

JRC: I do.

GSN: Don't you think this all goes back to an intimate health procedure and the inherent polymorphous sexuality of children? The boy's subconscious craving for this kind of attention from his beloved mama? Without the sting of course?

JRC: I've never seen a case where the man was not actually often in that specific situation as a boy or was an envious witness of it.

GSN: Not surprising. Give me an example of the latter case.

JRC: Oh, brother. There are so many.

GSN: Just one or two. Choose some with strong contrasts.

JRC: Alvin Smith was my best friend. He lived a block away. His father was a cop and his mother a nurse. He had two older brothers, Lester and Steve, and an older sister, Susan. Bert Everett Smith was your classic "ass man." Inside the door of his locker at work was pasted with big as life color glossy pics from "Big Butt" magazine. He would walk looking backwards for a block when he saw a pair of huge woman's ass cheeks tightly encased in their mini-skirt sashaying down the street and put his fingers in his mouth and let out shrill whistles you could hear a mile away. His wife was ten years older which is par for the course for men with fixations on their mothers. Needless to say and right in line with my long experience of nurse-boy-enema obsession, his mother gave his sister regular enemas at his daddy's insistence and it was taken for granted that this would always be with his daddy and his brothers present and lewdly watching in an atmosphere of overt voyeurism.

Alvin was about nine at the time and Susan twelve. She was a gorgeous roses and cream complexioned, round faced angelic sweetheart with jet black hair and huge dark eyes but the parts her daddy prized above all the others were in public safely hidden from view. I say in public cause most of her waking hours at home when she was not at meals or on her homework were spent laying on her bed propped up on cushions with her pink silk white laced trimmed panties "hauled down to half mast" (as her daddy called it) and her nice big lovely fat cheeked deep cleft alabaster smooth gardenia white bare naked buttocks holding tightly squeezed in her immaculate pink anus a Vaseline slippery thermometer. This was the "aft" one. The "fore" one was tightly clenched in her mouth.

Her brothers Lester and Steve were sitting in straight backed chairs with his daddy in between on his. Lester and Steve were cracking lewd jokes about Susan's "em-bare-ass-ing situation" or engaged in loud sparring or Lester would be browsing a comic book and Steve twirling a yo-yo. Mr. Smith though would have his eyes glued on the plump round perfect orbs of Susan's lovely bare naked ass cheeks the whole while and never take them off except to survey the flask of steaming hot water, jar of Vaseline, red rubber bulb enema syringe and instruments in readiness on the bedside table or go over to the side of the bed from time to time and kneel on the floor and fondle her face and caress her hair and kiss her behind the neck and whisper audibly,

"What'sa matter, sweetheart? ... Worried 'bout what mama's gonna do to you when she comes in? Huh? Huh? ... Embarrassed? ... (Chuckles) Tee-hee-hee! ... Tee-hee-hee! ... Ohhh, I think you are! ... I think you are! ... Tee-hee-hee! ... Tee-hee-hee! ... Well, I'm real real sorry, sweetheart, but you know what a woman's like when she gets it in her head to give a big assed girl an enema, right? ... Right? ... Right? ... Tee-hee-hee! ... Tee-hee-hee! ... Those panties ain't hauled down to your knees for nothin' and that's for sure! ... Right? ... Right? ... Tee-hee-hee! ... Tee-hee-hee! ... And that there thermometer stickin' so cute out of your lovely pink ass hole ain't in there for nothin' either! ... Aw, shucks, sweetheart, what'sa matter? ... Let mama do it. ... Let her do it, sweetheart. ... Let her do it now, okay?"

Alvin and I are standing in the hallway peeking around the open door. I'm hard as granite in the front of my pants and feel a warm sticky wetness in my BVD's. Alvin's obviously in the same condition but he whispers in my ear,

"I wish that was me up there on that bed."

Susan is looking behind her as she spits the thermometer out of her mouth. She clenches her fists and pounds her delightedly laughing daddy and roars, "Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let her! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let her! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let her! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let her! O-O-O-O-Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! ... T-T-T-They're w-w-w-watching! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let them! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let them! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let them! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let them! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... T-T-T-They're w-w-w-watching!"

Finally she embraces her daddy and covers his beet red face with kisses and, tears rushing in hot torrents down her rosy cheeks pleads, "Y-You can watch, daddy! Just You! ... But not them! ... O-O-O-O-Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! ... T-T-T-They're w-w-w-watching! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let them! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let them! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let them! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let them! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... T-T-T-They're w-w-w-watching! ... Y-You can watch, Daddy! Just You! ... But not them!"

Bert Everett Smith is the spitting image of David James Elliot in JAG. Susan's encircling his head with her arms. She's excited by the sight of the thick black hairs of his armpits curling up around the strap shirt that constricts his massive chest and spare tire and the strong scent of Old Spice on his grinning face. She gives him her most beguiling attempt at a smile through her tears and says again, "D-D-D-Don't let them w-watch, D-D-Daddy! ... Don't! ... Y-You can watch. Just You! ... But not them!"

Mr. Smith bursts into a loud guffaw and whoops, "Don't let 'em? ... Don't let 'em? ... Well, why not, darlin'? ... Aw, you know how much they love watchin' mama pump your nice big bare ass, sweetheart? ... So why not? .. Why not?"

Susan's pleas and her daddy's obvious delight in denying them are interrupted. The clickety-clack of heels are heard approaching on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Alvin and I are waved grandly aside as Sybilla Smith, a handsome, majestic woman with an enormous fat cheeked ass filling her skin tight nurse's uniform like two wind filled sails strides in with aplomb, announcing, "They can and they will watch, Susan darling. And don't believe your father. There's nothing in this world that would drag him or your brothers away from the bedside where it will take place. And sooner than you think. ... Been lying to her again, Bert? ... Tsk, tsk, tsk. ... Just cut out the sham pity and admit that you won't be satisfied 'til I agree to give the girl an enema every night in the week. ... Now let go of daddy, dear. He neither can nor wants to have you spared."

Lester, Steve and their daddy are sitting on the edges of their chairs now with craning necks, wide eyed and mouths agape. Alvin and I are getting more excited by the second to the point where we can't bear it. Mrs. Smith delicately removes the thermometer from the girl's anus and reads it. She shrugs. She wipes the bawling girl's anus with a pinch of cotton. She surveys the ardent auditors with a coy smile. She picks up the syringe and nestles it in the palm of her right hand. She presses the smooth disk butt end and emits a number of hissing gusts of air. Utter silence broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and five hearts pounding reigns.

She dips the round tip of the shiny black hard rubber into the jar of Vaseline and picks out a gob. She sinks the nozzle halfway into the warm grayish fluid and squeezes the bulb. It fills with a swishing sound that seems much louder than it is because of the silence of the room. She delicately parts the smooth cheeks of the girl's lovely buttocks at their plumpest curves at the "southernmost" end of their cleft and sends the nozzle with expert aim and deliberate ease straight into the roaring girl's anus.

Her wails are almost drowned out by shrill whistles, loud laughter and uninterrupted applause. One by one the vociferous voyeurs fall silent, squeezing themselves at the crotch. Then silence reigns again supreme.

GSN: Alvin surely follows your own line of development in almost as classic a way. So many of my boys were madly jealous of the enemas their mothers gave their sisters. As usual, this was always at the father's insistence. But the much commoner model was the father insisting on enemas for the boys with the sisters in a markedly ancillary role, or the aunt's, or the mother's ancillary to the grandmothers or mothers in law. Does this point to a homoerotic subconscious motive or (and I have my own ideas on this) a strictly heterosexual case of transference? In other words, is it the best of all possible worlds? The father is in a perpetual playback of reversion to his boyhood. He's hit the fantasy jackpot. His irresistible voyeuristic impulses have liberated him from his boyish dread and at the same time provide ample fantasy material which is in an hour or a day transferred to the normal performance of the conjugal act.

JRC: Well, obviously, dear lady, you already know the answer to that. In my experience ninety-nine out of one hundred of the bone fide confirmed and certifiable male enema voyeurs I have known on any basis of intimacy have been red blooded sexually potent heterosexuals. To put it in a somewhat cruder way: they are emotionally pimping their sons to the women they hope to get into bed. And this is either with or without the sine qua non that half of them demand: that the woman, after (either sooner or later) performing on the boy, favor him in like manner prior to natural copulation.

GSN: That's surely borne out in my experience judging from the large families I encountered in my practice. What's the other opposite case.

JRC: Opposite, yet still the same. That is, the reverse in the superficial yet the same in the underlying dynamic.

By the 50's we had moved to Norfolk. Daddy would bring a consummate voyeur officer friend of his over to watch all the twins' enemas and after a while he would bring his son Forrest who was a year or two younger than me. For some reason the Commander's wife was advised to pass young Forrest by when she gave his younger twin brothers their regular enemas. According to Forrest he obviously took great pleasure in denying him this favor. Maybe it was because he looked way too eager. Also because his faked resistance did not quite wash with his daddy.

Probably too because it was his daddy's way of getting back at him for preferring reading and dramatics to algebra and physics. But mostly because of the wonderful valor and spunk shown by the twins, decidedly his kind of boys. It took all three of his sisters to subdue Waylon and Leroy three or four times a week when their daddy would whisper in their ear (though loud enough for Forrest to hear) that mama was "fixin' to take care of some unfinished business." To his extreme delight the twins would charge the messenger with flailing arms and kicking legs. Susan, Janice and even little Sally would come to the rescue and extricate them with no little trouble.

Forrest used to hike all over town and I guess I don't have to tell you what he was looking for but I will. He would survey back alleys in the sleazy parts of town with his eagle eye and whenever he came on a "honey pump" like he called it standing on its smooth red rubber disk butt end in a bedroom or a bathroom window he would strike up a casual conversation with one or two of the black greybeards on the back porch and guess what. The conversation always ended up in a lot of questions about the syringe and the mama of the house and what she used it for. Once in a while it was for little Jamesetta or Aleisha but usually it was for one of the boys and when it was for the twin boys in the house Forrest thought he died and went to heaven. Which is what happened when he popped the question with an old retired mariner.

Jefferson Wilkins' mouth broke into a broad gap toothed grin and his eyes narrowed as he studied Forrest's face and asked, "What yo wanna know that for?"

"Just curious."

"Just curious? S--t, man, what you think she be usin' it for? There's twin boys in that house and I sure as hell hope I don't hafta 'splain what they be needin'."

He shrewdly studies Forrest's red face and chewed nails and breaks into a raucous laugh and says, "Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh! .. Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... I got a feelin' you got your own share of what we be talkin' bout when you was a li'l boy youself, right? ... Right?" His eyes widen with curiosity as he guesses the answer.

Forrest lies and stutters, "Y-Y-Yes. ... F-From m-my g-grandmother."

Mr. Wilkins falls to unrestrained giggling and says, "Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh! .. Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... I thought so. I see it wrote all over your face which be red as a beet for blushin'. ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh! .. Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh!" He flips his exhausted cigar butt into the flower bed and says, "That there red rubber bulb syringe you see up there belongs to my daughter-in-law. She made a gift out of it to my twin grandsons on their ninth birthday. She done put it to real good use since then. Least three or four times a week and all in front of their granddaddy and my son Colbert. Sometimes we let one or two other dudes watch if they know how to behave."

GSN: And just what did Mr. Wilkins mean by knowing how to behave? Dare I assume the accepted wisdom of the classic voyeur?

JRC: Precisely. You can look but you cannot touch. You can peek if that's your thing but accomplished voyeurs are beyond that. That doesn't mean that a few peekers here and there aren't welcome. On the contrary, they enhance the experience. Usually they're pubescent "youths" or decrepit old men. As you'll find out later, in a lot of scenes they're embedded at the request or demand of the active or passive partner. In some circles there is real cachet in peeking.

But to get back to Forrest, it wasn't long before he found himself in the third floor bedroom of Jefferson Wilkins' house. The red rubber bulb syringe he had seen on the window sill had been removed to its usual place on the chipped white enamel tray on the twins' bedside table. A white linen table cloth covered the table to an inch or two above the carpet. Also on the table were: a big jar of Vaseline with the top laying next to it, a blue glass half filled with alcohol and six or seven thermometers, another clear glass one with more thermometers, a large flask of steaming water with a cake of Fels Naphtha melting at the bottom and a box of gauze. An old stained armchair with stuffing showing through the upholstery was placed next to the bed between two straight back chairs. That was granddaddy's chair.

Old Mr. Wilkins (who bears a striking resemblance to Morgan Freeman) is sitting in the armchair with his son Colbert (who looks a lot like Eddie Murphy) sitting on his left and Forrest on the right. Colbert's older sons Tyrone and Delmore are standing in obvious blissful anticipation in the hallway. They are visiting from next door. Colbert's twin boys, Raymond and Shelton, are laying face downward on the bed propped up on huge cushions covered with thick cotton towels. The muslin sheet is pulled down to the middle of their thighs. Raymond and Shelton are ten and staring each other in the face and bawling with tears streaming down their cappuccino cheeks onto the pillows. Their nightgowns have been hiked up to their waists and their plump alabaster smooth light chocolate deep cleft bare naked buttocks are arched up so you can almost see the tight pink immaculate ass holes between the chubby curvatures at the "south end" of the cleavage.

Granddaddy Wilkins turns to his son and, nudging him with his elbow, laughingly says, "Tole you we'd be honored by a visit from a young man who loves to watch a good pumpin', din't I son? ... Well, what's it look like to you so far, Mr. Forrest? Are you enjoyin' the show so far?"

Forrest continues chewing his nails and says shyly, "V-very much, Mr. Wilkins. Very v-very much. Much m-more than I can say."

Both twins turn to the seated watchers and shriek, "O-O-O-O-Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! ... H-He's w-w-w-watchin'! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... H-H-He's w-w-w-watchin'!"

Mary Margaret Wilkins, the twins' mother suddenly marches in as Tyrone and Delmore step apart like soldiers on parade. She's dressed in a nurse's uniform and is followed by her daughters Susan and Peggy. Her enormous buttocks sway alluringly under the tight stretched starched white fabric.

Granddaddy whistles shrilly as he makes his usual announcement to the bawling twins, "Ta ta! Here she is! ... Mama's here to be doin' what she does best. ... Let the games begin!"

In a matter of minutes all under the din of the roaring twins and rude whistles and applause from the chairs and the hallway a thermometer is passed from Peggy to Susan to mama and from her is shaken down and deposited in Raymond's mouth. After several minutes it is retracted and read and put in Shelton's with the same result. Finally another thermometer reaches mama from the daughters and is dipped into the jar of Vaseline duly held at arm's length by Susan. From there a gob of grease coats the bulbous tip and amid louder roars from the twins and shriller whistles from the chairs and the hallway Mrs. Wilkins nods to Susan who hands Peggy the Vaseline and sets to hiking Raymond's night gown well out of the way of the "firing line" (as granddaddy calls it) of mama's silver tipped glass missile. She delicately parts the boy's smooth chubby bare naked buttocks with the thumb and index finger of her left hand and with the right sends the thermometer with steady hand and expert aim straight into his tight squeezed clean pink anus.

He roars, "W-W-Waaaahhhh! ... A-A-Arrrrgggghhhh! ... W-W-Waaaahhhh! ... A-A-Arrrrgggghhhh! ... W-W-Waaaahhhh! ... A-A-Arrrrgggghhhh!"

The men and boys explode in a paroxysm of shrill whistles, laughter, and rude comments. By the time mama is ready to withdraw the thermometer from the hoarse Raymond's anus, read it and insert it into his twin's, silence and an atmosphere of rapt attention has fallen on the room. Granddaddy, Colbert and Forrest are craning their necks and sitting on the edges of their chairs, shy grins of something close to embarrassment on their faces, eyes almost popping out of their heads, breathing heavily.

Granddaddy breaks the ice by saying in a half whisper, "Oh, Lord have mercy, Mr. Forrest. I believe you're gettin' all red in the face."

He points to the thermometer mama has just pulled out of Raymond's butt and is reading, points to Shelton's arched naked buttocks and says, "G-Guess you know where that's goin' in next, don't you?"

Cool beads of sweat are appearing on Forrest's brow. He's hyperventilating.

Colbert Wilkins breaks his reverie of lustfully staring from nurse to twin and back again in regular sequence by turning to Forrest and asking, "Oh, don't be losin' control. Mr. Forrest. ... It's sure affectin' you here, ain't it? ... Don't tell me you ain't never seen a nurse pump a boy before."

Forrest is on the point of tears. He blurts out, "M-My daddy made mama g-give them all to m-my sister! ... I w-w-wanted it s-so -b-bad! ... I w-wanted it s-so b-bad! ... It-s b-b-beautiful! ... It's so f-f-fucking b-beautiful!"

GSN: So that's the opposite you've been talking about? It often takes the form of envy? It sounds like Raymond and Shelton surely don't begrudge anyone taking their place.

JRC: Exactly. It's the other side of the coin.

I started accompanying Forrest on his several times weekly visit to the Wilkins' about this time. It was a formative experience for me. Which brings us to high school graduation.

Coming from a long line of sailors I enlisted in the navy and was sent to Great Lakes. Forrest came along but we lost touch after basic. I met my first wife at an enema session. It was in Milwaukee. This Chief Petty Officer had a mother who pumped his boys several times a week. We'll call him Chief Larson. Christina Larson put her daughters to good use. The older boys would watch like their dad. I once asked Chief why the boys never touched the syringe. He just laughed and asked,

"What do you think they are? Queer?"

But both father and boys loved it when grandma held the syringe in her hands and passed it ritually just inches from each one's eyes as she announced,

"Daddy wants you to see up close just what grandma is going to put in ... in where it fits very well."

The girls would assist grandma in much the same way I described just now with the Wilkins. Eva was the eldest and the one who became my bride. She was beautiful. She looked like Lili Palmer with an even bigger arse on her. It was high set and plump, deep cleft and round as two balloons so filled with hot air they're ready to burst. She shook it slowly and majestically when she walked. What's more she was going to be a grade school nurse and you better believe she had a lot of experience in what turned me on most so obviously I couldn't have been happier.

We moved around a lot during those twenty or so years. There were always busybodies who made it rough for Eva at work but she was adept at avoiding scandal. I was a big help. Every base had sailors who got off on our hang-up. The fathers were easy to peg. Believe it or not there is something physical that tips you off. Why this is I don't know.

Call it body language or call it subliminal. This made me move in. A casual remark at first and then a question or two and there was no need for probing 'cause they were always anxious to let it all hang out as soon as they got my drift. After a while I started making sense out of it all. When an initial reference to a superb pair of female buttocks like, "Get a load of the ass on her!" elicited a more than usually enthusiastic reaction I would not so subtly ask how it would be to see her bent over with an enema syringe in hand.

That did it. The guy would go nuts. As for the victim, it was easy to judge just which sex he had in mind. And it usually had to do with whether they got the enemas themselves as boys or watched their sisters get them. Except in the cases I talked about before where there was a heavy residue of what you might call "pump envy." Like when Alvin wished he was in his sister's place and his father would not allow it. He would put himself in the boy's place in later life experience.

GSN: Your wife and I were in the same line of fun, not to say work. Tell me how it worked.

JRC: She would have one or two boys in every grade. We both liked the ten year olds best. And ten year old twins would be a windfall. Sometimes she would read the father herself but more often than not she would defer to me. Boys that were spanked a lot were easy targets. Their fathers were always dropping hints like,

"Wait'll my wife gets him home. She's got a nice hardwood hairbrush in the drawer next to his bed and there's just his knickers and his BVD's in between it and what she calls his "hot zone." But once the knickers and BVD's are hangin' at half mast the "firing line" is all clear. And she's a real expert artillery woman, you can bet on that!"

A dead giveaway. And in the rare instances where there are spankings in the home but not enemas. Well, Eva takes care of that in short order.

GSN: She teaches the mother?

JRC: A past mistress at it. You never saw such excitement when she tells the father when she's taken him and the wife aside at the PTA that she would advise him to bring his wife in for the first several enemas so she can show her how it's done. They are absolutely in the Seventh Heaven.

GSN: But he's seen her at it before this?

JRC: Yes. Usually he takes time off work to bring the boy to her. Once I've pegged him as a devotee this is set up in advance. That done, he puts a whole lot of pressure on the wife.

GSN: Tell us a couple of stories.

JRC: Oh, Lord. Where to begin?

GSN: How about the father who drops the hint about the hairbrush in the bedroom drawer at home.

JRC: Oh, one of my favorites. That was early in my career, around the early 60's. We were living in naval quarters in Annapolis. Eva was in her first job in D.C. Though we had no kids I used to hang around the PTA meetings in her grade school. You could tell which of the fathers were strict with their kids just by the way they dressed or talked. They were either real right wing Republicans or lower middle class blue collar and I soon learned to leave the "touchy feely" liberal social justice types alone. I met a middle aged sailor who was a real likely type and we started up a conversation. His wife was home taking care of their twin boys.

Turns out, Art Vanarelli was a mama's boy whose mother died several years earlier and he married a widow with five kids: a fifteen year old girl, a fourteen year old boy, another girl, eleven, and twin boys, ten. I started asking him about the twins and he really got into it. He pulled out his wallet and showed me their pictures. They were angels with curly jet black hair, round dimpled faces, roses and cream cheeks and huge dark eyes. I complimented him on how handsome they were and right out of the blue without missing a beat he volunteered,

"Yeah, and she's got somethin' up in the drawer next to their bed that keeps them in line."

I faked ignorance,

"What do you mean?"

He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Oh, come on, man, you can't be serious. What do you think?"

I had pity on him. He was beginning to blush. I looked around. We were being ignored by all the babbling parents around us. I let out a nervous laugh and said, "You're talking about a hairbrush?"

"W-Well sure!"

"Talk to me."

"Lisa takes no s--t from them. Just like my mom with me."

I grinned and asked, "Your mom had a hairbrush too?"

"You better believe she did and me and my brothers got it on the bare ass if we so much as looked guilty. Even if we wasn't."

"I'll bet your father raised no objections"

"You must be kidding! He would raise hell with her if she didn't cover all the ground til it was beginning to blister! ... Of course, he would sit there and hide his mouth with his hand 'cause he was laughing so hard and he faked telling her to go easy but that was all an act."

We continued in the same vein until the meeting began. But not until I got in my final and best salvo. I lowered my voice and asked, "So far so good for dry heat. Does she ever give them a little of the wet kind?"

You would have thought I touched him with a live 120 V wire. His eyes kept shifting back and forth and he got a big stupid grin on his face and stuttered, "Y-Y-You m-mean an e-e-enema?"

GSN: That's just too great. So? What did he say?

JRC: Well, then the meeting started. After the meeting there was cake and coffee. I was held a very willing prisoner in the corner by PO1 Arthur Vanarelli and before Eva showed up I learned that his mother not only gave the boys regular bare ass spankings but regular Fels Naphtha enemas. True to the proven history of the enema voyeur, these were not only encouraged but insisted on by papa.

By the time I introduced PO Vanarelli to Eva I had learned a lot about him and his obsessions. He worshipped his mother and would remain a bachelor until after her death. Lisa was ten years his senior. He began courting her not long after his mother's death and made sure she wasn't the tolerant kind when it came to little boys and their petty misadventures. She probably exaggerated her strictness with Gino and Gerry to clinch the proposal but there's no doubt they saw eye to eye on the subject of young boys and hairbrushes. What worried Art was that she might not be just as devoted to enemas for them. He had nothing to worry about on that score.

He was just bowled over by Eva. She could finesse the tongue off of a Komodo dragon. She got captivated his attention from her first word and her beautiful face and big majestic ass had a lot to with it. But mostly it was what she said. We were out of hearing distance from the others in a hallway but she spoke in a half whisper anyway. She sipped her club soda delicately and caressed the edges of her lovely red lips with the tip of her tongue. She put on a show of concern for Gino and Gerry which Art saw through instinctively right away. And the overt phoniness of it excited him.

GSN: I love it! Sounds like me. What did she say?

JRC: I can quote her from memory.

"Er, Petty Officer Vanarelli, do you think ... do you think ... besides the spankings ... that Gino and Gerry are being given enough attention of another kind in the ... in the same lower regions?"

Art turns red as a beet and averts his eyes. He smoothes down the mist of vapor on his plastic cup. He shrugs his shoulders. He looks away. He wets his lips and stares Eva straight in the eyes. He stutters,

"W-Well that all depends on j-just w-what you m-mean b-by 'a-another k-kind' of att-attention."

Again I have to come to his rescue, "I think she means what we were talking about before, Art"

Art looks like he's ready to pass out. He almost looks cross eyed. A big toothy grin comes over his face. He takes a couple short steps to the left and, lowering his head, turns it to a 50š angle and stares down at Eva's double size majestic ass.

Finally he looks her right in the face and says, "I think you should be the judge of that, Nurse Collins. But please don't disappoint me."

Eva shoots him a smile that could glow in the dark and says, "Not to worry, Petty Officer Vanarelli."

That lovely Saturday morning, May 13, 1961, at precisely 09:30 hours Arthur Vanarelli and his wife Lisa with their ten year old twins Gino and Gerry in tow pull up in front of the YMCA in D.C. Frank Vanarelli, Arthur's widower father, is standing inside the front entrance. Belying his seventy-three years he skips jauntily down the steps to the car and grins mirthfully at the boys in the back seat in spite their profound frowns.

He gestures to Gerry to move over and seats himself between them with an evil grin on his face, rubbing his hands and taunting, "Mama's gonna get a lesson today, right, fellas? ... Ohhh, yeah! ... She's gonna get a coupla tips on perfecting her technique, no? ... Ohhh, whaddya so mad about? ... A boy's gotta expect these things. ... And a woman's gotta do what she's gotta do."

Gino and Gerry's frowns turn to protests and then to outright bawling when grandpa starts on one of his typical rants, "Hey, Gino! Hey, Gerry! You boys don't like the nurse, right? ... How come? How come you don't like her?"

They shout in unison, "Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... We hate her! ... We hate her! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... We hate her! ... W-We don't w-want t-to g-go there! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... W-We don't w-want t-to g-go there!"

Grandpa gives each one a big hug and kisses on the cheeks and giggles, "They don't want to go there, Arthur. They don't want to go." He stretches his hands out in an imploring gesture and says, "Whatsa matter? Did she do something to them? What'd she do? Tell me. What'd she do?"

Arthur is grinning and nodding his head. He ignores the question. The twins just wail and bawl all the harder.

Finally he turns halfway to the back and says, "What did she do? You know damn well what she did, Dad. Stop lettin' on like you don't know. Tell the twins what she did. I'd much rather that you tell them. They heard all about it from me many times over. Go ahead. Tell them"

Dad pretends to be whispering and says, "I heard Nurse Collins keeps you two after school a couple times a week for a ..." He lowers his voice even lower and grins and whispers, " ... for a enema. A enema."

The twins start punching him and stamping their feet and roar, "Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... W-We don't w-want t-to g-go there! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... W-We don't w-want t-to g-go there!"

GSN: Ohh, marvelous! His father is a real expert at boy teasing, Mr. Collins. I presume I don't have to ask if they ended up going there?

JRC: No. Hardly. My wife had left the front door of the school unlocked. But grandpa Vanarelli and his son had quite a handful getting them down the hall and into Eva's office. One final look of warning from Lisa though and it worked all the wonders grandpa and Art could not manage. In a matter of minutes the formalities of introduction were concluded with Lisa and Eva embarked on a long series of questions and answers involving the twins', shall we say, prior "acquaintance with the syringe" interrupted at frequent intervals with very amusing (to all present but the twins) comments from grandpa on his daughter-in-law's great expertise in its regular and conscientious application.

All the while, Larry was being closely guarded between his father's legs and Gerry between his grandfather's. The twins surveyed the room with alarm as great as their elders' pleasure. At the far end of the room under the long range of high placed windows was an examination table covered with parchment. On it were two pairs of overstuffed cushions side by side with a thick white cotton towel covering each of the bottom two.

Next to this was another lower table covered with a white linen cloth that reached to a few inches above the carpet. On the table on a chipped white enamel tray were: a big jar of Vaseline with the top laying next to it, a blue glass half filled with alcohol and six or seven thermometers, another clear glass one with more thermometers, a large flask of steaming water with a cake of Fels Naphtha melting at the bottom and a box of gauze.

Eva noticed with delight the worried look in the twins' eyes as they searched the room for a missing object. The men were also very aware of its absence. I was in on the joke and noticed all eyes fixed on the high glass fronted white enamel framed case with the battleship grey window shade pulled down inside the door. Eva was concluding her interview with Lisa when she got up and stepped to the case. She studied the faces of the men and the twins' reaction with a gleeful smirk as she opened the door and, pulling smartly on the tassel at the bottom of the shade, sent it spinning with a snap to the top of the door. The glass shelves were packed with a diverse assortment of medical instruments, thermometers in blue glasses etched with measurements, jars of Vaseline, boxes of gauze and cotton, bandages et cetera.

One object stood out conspicuously among the others. Next to a large jar of Vaseline on the middle shelf standing alone on its smooth red disk butt with its shiny black round tipped nozzle sticking straight up like a soldier at attention was a beautifully shaped oval red rubber bulb enema syringe. The instant the shade was raised the twins' eyes stared at it with looks of recognition and consternation. They broke out suddenly in fits of bawling and rage. At the exact same time the men broke into laughter and applause mixed with shrill whistling and rude comments.

Eva gave the word for Lisa to divest Larry of his knickers. His resistance was such that his father and grandfather had to hold him while this was being done as well as when they carried him over to the table and placed him face downward on the cushions, his plump round buttocks uppermost, filling his thin cotton BVD's like ripe apples in a gunny sack. Lisa was instructed in every step of the operation and Eva reiterated that this was to be the procedure she would use in future at home. Eva handed Lisa a thermometer and watched her shake it down and insert it into Larry's mouth.

She advised her when to take it out and showed her how to read it. She was told it read "normal." Nurse Collins never trusted a "normal" oral reading for boys. There was, she said, no such thing, that for accuracy a "lower" reading would be required. This announcement elicited howls of rage from Larry and Gerry as was expected and desired as well as applause and whistling from the men.

All eyes were focused on Lisa as she lifted Larry gently from underneath so Eva could demonstrate the proper and correct way to perform what she called the "exposition." Obviously one of her favorite parts of the ritual, she waxed eloquent about its importance in the total scheme:

"Cup the boy's buttocks softly in each palm and caress the rotundities through the drawers first. Take your time. While it shames the boy it relaxes him. And it's far from the shame that's coming in due time."

She directs Lisa to put the thermometer she just removed from Larry's mouth and wiped with alcohol into Gerry's. She beams at the grinning, staring men and grabs hold of the waistband of Larry's BVD's and slowly lowers them to the middle of his thighs. The plump alabaster smooth gardenia white buttocks fairly pop out inch by inch.

She turns to the aroused men and, directing her remarks to Lisa, says, "No further down. The lovely bare naked rump is fully exposed for your inspection. Still the lowered drawers furnish a nice restraint to prevent a sudden attempt at escape. Most important, though: leave ample room for wiggling. The poor boy is embarrassed after all. Let him shake his naughty bare arse at will if it makes him feel better. The men will love to watch it. I think it reminds them of their own embarrassment at their mothers' hands in their boyhood."

Addressing grandpa, Art and me at once, she asks, "Takes you back, doesn't it gentlemen? But I dare say you're happier on that side of the bed looking on, eh what?"

They respond with, "Ohhh! ... You said it! ... You can say that again!" and laughter and whistles.

Suddenly my wife's smile fades and she stares at the howling boy's exquisitely smooth and plump lovely naked buttocks as if in a trance. She cups each cool rump cheek in her lust warmed palms and caresses it lovingly. She runs the edge of her right hand delicately up and down between the deep cleft of his naked arse and murmurs softly to herself.

She seems to be saying, "S-Shake it, Larry darling. ... That's a good boy. ... Shake it for nurse. ... It's lovely to see you wiggle your nice big bare naughty naked arse for shame. ... The men love to see it. ... It reminds them of when their mothers lowered their drawers for their enemas."

Instead of handing Lisa the "other" thermometer, Eva holds out her hand. Lisa extends the blue glass of alcohol with three or four thermometers and Eva selects one. She then nods toward the jar of Vaseline and Lisa holds it out. Eva dips the thermometer into the Vaseline and pricks out a gob of grease on the tip.

She speaks solemnly, "Five times, three at least a week, my dear." She looks at the men. They are all craning their necks forward, smiling shyly, breathing heavily. Gerry is now in his place next to Larry on the bed with a thermometer in his mouth. They face each other, tears streaming down their cheeks.

"He needs it. .. So does his twin. ... Boys have very naughty arses that itch at the holes and and they need lots of enemas."

She gauges each man's excitement. They can't take much more. Each one shows a dark wet stain at his crotch. She grins, puts her finger to her lips in a hushing gesture, and delicately parts the howling boy's plump ass cheeks with the thumb and index finger of her left hand, exposing a tight squeezed pink immaculate anus. She aims the greased thermometer with precision. She sends it true to its target with steady hand and perfect aim, inserting it slowly and pulling it back by minute degrees with an in and out twisting motion to half its shaft.

The boy howls with shame and rage sending his brother into the same fit of bawling in anticipation of the same treatment, "Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo!"

My wife leaves the thermometer like a ship in its destined port for several minutes while Larry and Gerry howl again and the men fall to grabbing themselves at the crotches and drooling at the mouth. She inserts and extracts the thermometer several more times and finally pulls it out, reads it with indifference and wipes it clean. Then she nods to their mother who hands her the dreaded syringe. Both boys have their eyes glued to the red rubber bulb and fly into fits of rage.

Eva dips the shiny black nozzle into the now tepid flask of grayish fluid. She squeezes the smooth disk butt end, filling the bulb with a loud swishing sound. She delicately parts the plump cheeks of the boy's buttocks with the thumb and index finger of her left hand and slowly inserts the syringe into his anus.

He howls in unison with his brother, "Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo! ... Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-Noooooooo!"

Well, Hedwig, that was probably the first scene of a recurring drama that had many command performances. The actors change and it would take volumes to describe each party in detail but I hope I gave you a pretty good idea of a typical session. If there is such a thing. Certainly grandpa Vanarelli and his son and daughter-in-law brought Larry and Gerry to Eva's grade school many times after that. And we visited their home from time to time as well.

GSN: That's truly heart warming. I'm looking forward to more of your visits to "The Enema Connoisseur." Many thanks, Jared.

End

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