

                         RACHEL'S STORY
                               "D"



This story includes situations of an adult nature that
may not be appropriate for all readers.

Please note that all characters and situations are fictional and
provided solely for the enjoyment of readers.

Any resemblence to
real persons is coincidence and strictly in the mind of the beholder.


=============================================================================

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

=============================================================================



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."  
                              ====================
  

Rachel lay in her bed with the lights out, listening  to the pops and creaks 
as the house cooled and settled in the  night air. Her thoughts turned to the 
sight of Annie throwing  up. Then, she imagined Annie lying on her back, receiving 
an  enema. The thought pleased her.   

And then, Rachel imagined it was she who was the one  administering it. That 
thought pleased her, too.        



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?"   

Rachel could feel perspiration forming at her temples.  "I ... I had a little 
rash. It's better, now."   

"All right but in the future if you need something you  can ask for it." Rose 
began closing the medicine cabinet door.  Rachel noticed the small bottle of 
Ipecac was now gone.        



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?"   

"It's ten thousand I won't have to borrow," Rachel  replied.   

"There are other scholarship opportunities out there  for a girl like you. I'll 
help you hunt them down and apply  for them. There's no reason you shouldn't 
go to whatever  college you want."        



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."   

"Then you must be a natural. It was perfect, Rachel.  You clued into me. It 
was like you were inside my head. I  couldn't have done it better myself."  

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Rachel said. "We can play all  day."   

"And all day Sunday, too."        



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."    


                              ====================


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