


                             Melody
                              "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: Melody gets help from a sympathetic neighbor after a knock-down, bruising 
fight with her brutal ex-boyfriend. They fall in love, and ... there's an enema in 
here, somewher, maybe two. This is an experiment in non-liner storytelling.

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



Melody approached me. She was wearing nothing but one of  my shirts -- a burgundy-striped, 
long-sleeved button-down. I  liked how it showed off her long, sweet legs. "Ready 
for round  two?" I asked. "Or, do you need to rest a bit?"  

She pressed her hand against her belly. "I think I'm  ready." Then, she climbed 
onto the bed, lay on the towel on her  left side and hugged her knees. I hung 
the bulging, red bag of  the fountain syringe onto a homemade stand. Then I 
squeezed a  blob of lube onto my finger and coated the nozzle with it. I  lifted 
her hem to expose her smooth, round bottom, spread her  cheeks with my left 
hand and  with my right I worked the nozzle  into her using a circular motion. 
Once it cleared her sphincter  I slid it into her rectum, all the way up to 
the hilt.  

Melody rolled onto her back, stretched her legs, crossed  her ankles and adjusted 
a pillow under her head.   

"Ready?" I asked.  

"Ready."  

She was taking her second and last enema of the evening.  This had become our 
Saturday-night ritual, although tonight was  extra special. I snapped open the 
clamp and immediately pinched  the hose. Sitting in the syringe's reservoir 
was two quarts of  quite warm tap water. I pinched and released, pinched and 
released the hose to administer it into Melody's lower colon  slowly.  

"Warm," she said.  

I slipped my hand under the shirt she wore, past her  luxurious, brown bush, 
to stroke her abdomen, gently, in  counter-clockwise circles, and I watched 
her face for any sign  of distress.   

About half a pint had gone into her -- enough to begin  to relax and open her 
colon. I continued to pinch and release  the hose, but now I permitted longer 
bursts of water into her.  As I stroked her belly I heard a faint gurgle from 
under her  left ribcage. This told me the water had reached her splenic  flexure 
and it would be easy going for now -- at least until she  started to feel the 
fullness.  

I let go of the hose so the enema would flow unimpeded  into her. Then I unbuttoned 
the lower half of the shirt and  spread it open so I could caress her belly 
more easily with both  hands.  

"Warmth feels good," she said, "especially after such a  cold day today... I 
like feeling your hands on me. When Uncle  Will gave me enemas -- sometimes 
he'd rub my tummy like you're  doing."  

"Did Uncle Will's enemas make you horny?" I asked.  

"I was in grade school," she replied. "They made me feel  good ... just like 
yours do. Now that I'm older ... now that I  have you in my life ... the good 
feelings express themselves ...  differently."  

"Sexually?" I asked.  

"Yes, that..."  

I watched the bag deflate as she filled. It was now down  nearly three pints 
and I could start feeling the firmness of her  distended colon.  

"Feeling full?" I asked.  

"Starting to..."  

"You know," I remarked, "I think there's always some  sexual element between 
children and their care-givers -- between  little girls and their fathers, and 
little boys and their  mothers. Usually it's submerged pretty deep, but it's 
there..."  

I watched the bag deflate until it emptied with a soft  glug. Melody lifted 
her buttocks from the towel so I could reach  under and retrieve the nozzle. 

She put her hands on her abdomen, stroking it up and  down and admiring the 
distention. "Do you know how sexy it is to  see you do that?" I asked.  

"How sexy?"   

"Very sexy." I placed my palms against her belly and  could feel her colon bulging 
under her abdominal wall. "I think  there was some of the first enema left in 
you. How much longer  are you going to hold this one?"  

"Not much longer." Melody swung her feet to the floor  and stood. She turned 
sideways, pulled back the shirt and  caressed her bulging belly. "What do you 
think?"   

"I think maybe that's a preview of how you'll look in  three or four months." 

"With some luck..." She headed for the bathroom while I  put away the enema 
gear. And I recalled how I had met her...   


I had been standing at the window of the shabby  apartment I rented while the 
terms of my divorce were settled.  It overlooked the parking lot and I saw a 
green sedan pull in. I  recognized it as belonging to my next-door neighbors. 
From the  driver's side emerged a young woman, perhaps ten years younger  than 
I. From the passenger's side was her companion, a large,  brutish looking man. 
His neck was as thick as his head and he  walked with a swagger. He looked like 
an honest-to-God knuckle- dragger.  

I was accustomed to their routine. I would hear them  talking as they stepped 
out of the elevator; then as they  approached the corridor the two of them fell 
silent. Quietly  they would tread past my apartment door and I'd hear the key 
in  the next unit's lock. The door would slam shut and they'd resume  their 
conversation. Often it was accompanied by arguing and  sometimes shouting.  
But, nothing prepared me for what happened  on a Wednesday night in August. 

A heated argument started the evening. Shouting  escalated and I thought I heard 
her crying.   

Then, a door slammed and I heard a commotion -- objects  thrown against walls 
and to the floor ... glass and china  breaking. I heard her voice, screaming, 
"Help! Please! Someone!  Call the police!" She screamed it over and over.  

I punched in 911 and told the dispatcher that a violent  domestic argument was 
in progress. It took the cops about  fifteen minutes to show, although it seemed 
like an hour.  

In the meantime I heard more pounding and thrashing next  door, followed by 
a blood-curdling shriek. About the same time I  heard the officers in the corridor 
-- their police radios  squawking and pounding on the door.  

I heard more sirens and looked out the window -- an  ambulance was pulling up. 
Paramedics brought a stretcher into  the building. Another squad car arrived 
and I saw a pair of  officers escorting the man, his hands cuffed behind his 
back,  into the car. It drove off.  

A short while later I saw the EMTs loading the stretcher  into the back of the 
ambulance. The other occupant of the unit  next door was strapped onto it. My 
heart sank as I watched them  drive off, sirens wailing. And, I wondered if 
there had been  anything else I could've done. 
                              ====================
  

The following Saturday I was performing my household  chores when I heard a 
knock at my door. This was unusual -- I  had no friends in the building and 
normally, visitors would buzz  me through the intercom. I opened the door and 
saw the girl from  next door standing in the hallway.  

"May I come in?" she asked.  

I stepped aside, gestured her in and regarded her. She  was of medium height 
and slim, with a round face, pale blue eyes  and a band of freckles across the 
bridge of her straight nose.  Her hair was medium-brown and wavy, and it came 
halfway down her  back.   

Her left eye was black-and-blue and I could see other  bruises on her face. 

"Were you the one who called the police the other  night?" she asked.  

"I called, but you were making such a commotion I can't  believe I was the only 
one."  

"I wanted to thank you," she replied. "And I wanted to  apologize for disturbing 
you."  

"It's ... it's all right," I said. "I'm just happy to  see you alive. When they 
took you out in that ambulance I was  convinced you had been killed."  

"It was just a concussion ... or a contusion I can't  remember what they said. 
I was out cold for a couple hours and  they kept me in the hospital 'til this 
morning."  

"I'm surprised they released you."  

"The insurance company wouldn't pay for any more  confinement," she replied. 
"The doctors think I'll be all right  -- with time. I do have to go back for 
some CAT scans, though.  They said I'm at some risk for a stroke or aneurysm." 

"How are you doing otherwise?"  

"I'm a little shaky ... having a hard time keeping my  concentration... My head 
hurts something awful..."  

"I am happy that you're all right."  

"Thanks," she replied again. "Thanks for your concern...  Well, I'd better go. 
My place is a total disaster. I'd better  start cleaning up the mess."  

"How about if I help you straighten up?" I asked.   

"You don't have to -- you've done enough."  

"I'd like to -- and I don't have anything better to do."  

I accompanied her next door and followed her inside. The  place indeed was a 
shambles. Book cases where knocked over,  furniture upended, papers and decorative 
objects were strewn  around the room. Dishes had been broken on the floor and 
shards  of glass were everywhere.  

"I locked myself in the bathroom," she said, "but I left  my cell phone outside, 
so I couldn't call the cops myself. My  only hope was screaming. As it was, 
Raymond broke down the door.  The next thing I remember was waking up in the 
hospital."  

I regarded the splintered door jamb. "Raymond?" I asked.  

"Yes ... Oh, I'm sorry -- my name is Melody."   

"Melody ... unusual ... pretty name. I'm also Raymond --  call me Ray." I held 
out my hand. She took it and squeezed it.  

"I'll have to pay to get this fixed," she said.  

"Raymond broke it -- have Raymond pay to fix it."  

"Oh, no -- I'm having nothing more to do with him." She  buried her face in 
her hands. "One of the nurses got me in touch  with someone from a women's advocacy 
group -- an attorney who  volunteers for them. She filed for a restraining order 
for me --  a temporary -- to hold me until I can get one that's permanent.  
She also told me that Raymond was booked and released on bond  for domestic 
battery."  

I began straightening her living room. After restoring  the book cases to upright 
I began picking up books. "Quite a  collection," I remarked.  

"Yes -- I enjoy reading."  

"Any way you want me to organize them."  

"Here -- I'll do that..."   

I turned my attention to her kitchen, picking up broken  pottery and larger 
pieces of glass. Once the larger shards were  swept up I began running the vacuum 
around the floor.   

Melody sat on her sofa, cradling her head in her palm.  "That's better," I said. 

"Thanks again. I'm sorry I wasn't much help ... but I  just can't seem to keep 
my mind on one thing." She began crying  again.  

"Melody -- it's all right. You've suffered a brain  injury. Take your time to 
recover."  

"You've been very sweet," she replied.   

"I'm getting hungry -- aren't you?"  

"I don't know... Nothing tasted right in the  hospital..."  

"You would expect hospital food to taste right?" I  asked. She smiled and suppressed 
a giggle. "Now, that's the  girl. How about we share a pizza at my place?"  

"Well... Only if you let me pay for it."   

"Fair enough."  

Melody locked up her apartment and followed me into  mine. I placed the call 
and we waited for the delivery.  

I opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle. "Care  for a beer?" I asked. 

"I'd better not." I replaced the bottle and began to  close the door. "Don't 
let me stop you," she said.  

"I hate drinking alone."  

She regarded me. "Do you have a Sharps?"  

I regarded my fridge. "How about a Clausthaler?"  

"That'd be fine. What beers do you like?"   

"Anything German or English," I replied as I opened two  bottles and poured 
two glasses.  

A buzz on the intercom sounded. "That must be the  pizza," she said. "I'll get 
it."  

We sat across from each other. Melody picked up a slice  and took a bite. "Taste 
okay to you?" I asked.  

She nodded. "I'm hungrier than I thought. This was a  good idea."  

I regarded her. "You don't have to tell me..."  

"Tell you what?"  

"What led to the altercation the other night?"  

Melody rolled her eyes. "I had discovered that Raymond  was cheating on me." 

I nodded. "In that case -- I would have expected HIM to  be the one beaten up." 

"I told him it was finished between us and I was  throwing him out. That's what 
started the fight..."  

I sipped my beer. "I see. No second chances."  

"He was on his second, second chance. I told him the  last time if it happened 
again he was history. He didn't take it  so well."   

"Welcome to the club," I replied.  

"What club?"  

"The Grand Order of the Cuckolds," I replied. "I am a  charter member, myself." 

"You mean..."  

"She left me." I drained my glass and retrieved a refill  from the fridge.  
"It's not an easy thing to discover you're a  ... chump. I guess I'm a bit heartened 
to learn it can happen on  both sides." Melody regarded me. "I'm sorry -- I 
didn't mean to  sound bitter. I shouldn't take it out on you -- especially  
after..."  

"I understand." She helped herself to another slice of  pizza.   

"Maybe you can explain something to me," I said.  

"What's that?"  

"You're a good-looking woman, Melody. How could you fall  for a guy like that?" 
She bit her lip and glared at me. "All the  time I see hot girls hanging out 
with these ... shlubs. What's  with that?"  

"Did your ... partner..."  

"My wife left me for a trainer at her gym -- a no-neck  knuckle-dragger."  

Melody let out a little snort. "I think it's strictly a  matter of biology ... 
animal magnetism. A woman wants to mate  with the strongest in the pack -- the 
same way men are attracted  to the likes of ... Pamela Anderson."  

I tapped my chest. "Not this man. I think she's  grotesque ... revolting."  

"What do you like in a woman?"  

"I like a woman like you," I replied. Melody recoiled  and I held up my hand. 
"I'm not interested. I'm still getting  over my own failure."  

"And I need to get over mine." She drained her glass.  

"Another?"   

She pressed her hand to her stomach. "I'm full ... it  does feel good though. 
I'd better be going. Thanks for helping  me."  

"No problem. I've wanted a chance to meet you. I wish it  were under better 
circumstances."  

"It's better this way," Melody replied. "Raymond is  insanely jealous. Now I 
should get to bed ... and let the new  reality sink in. Good night." 
                              ====================
  

The next day was Sunday. I was working at my laptop when  I heard a knock at 
my door. A glance through the peephole  revealed Melody. I invited her in.  

She handed me a six-pack of Beck's beer with a red bow  tied to the package. 
"This is for helping me yesterday," she  said.  

"This wasn't necessary, Melody."  

"I wanted to do something for you. You said you like  German beer."  

"Yes -- and Beck's is one of my favorites. Thank you." I  regarded her. "Your 
shiner looks better today."  

"I'm feeling a bit better, too."  

I gestured toward the sofa. "Have a seat. Can I get you  anything?"  

She shook her head. "I'm fine. I just came from visiting  that attorney I told 
you about..."  

"The one from the women's advocacy agency?"  

"Yes -- I now have a restraining order."  

"So what do you do now?" I asked.  

"I contacted the super about having the lock changed. He  said that was okay 
so long as I paid for it. The locksmith is  coming out tomorrow, so I guess 
I take it easy for today; then I  meet with him tomorrow morning and then go 
to work."   

"Work? Melody -- you have a concussion. Don't you think  you should take it 
easy for a few more days?"  

"I can't afford to. I'm a manager at one of the big  Hallmark stores -- the 
one in the Dales. They had to scramble to  find coverage for me Thursday and 
Friday. I can't take any more  time ... we have to get the store ready for the 
holiday season."  

"Holiday season? It's August for chrissake!"  

"It comes faster than you think. We have a Christmas  ornament preview next 
weekend."  

"Your health is more important than the store, Melody."   

"I know... I'm feeling better and my brain doesn't seem  quite as scattered 
today." I heard a warble come from her bag.  She retrieved her cell phone and 
answered it. "Hello... No,  Raymond -- I don't want to see you... I have a restraining 
order, Raymond..." She flexed her jaw muscles and gazed at my  ceiling. "No, 
Raymond ... only if you bring someone with you --  a police officer to make 
sure you don't violate my restraining  order. Do you HAVE to do it tonight?" 
She bit her lip and let  out an exasperated sigh. "Fine, Raymond. I'll find 
someplace to  go." She snapped shut her phone and stuffed it into her bag.  

"Your ex?" I asked.  

She rolled her eyes and nodded. "He wants to come over  and clear his stuff 
out of the apartment. I don't know why he  has to do it tonight.  I should make 
myself scarce."  

"You can hole up right here," I suggested.   

"Maybe I should get some boxes and pack his stuff up for  him."  

"I'll give you a hand," I replied. "I'll run down to the  corner grocery and 
see if they have any old cartons."  

I knocked at her door. She opened it and I showed her a  half-dozen liquor cartons 
I had scavenged from the corner store.  "Are these enough?" I asked.  

"It's a start," she said. "I'll go through his closet.  You can tackle the man-cave." 

"Man-cave?"   

She gestured toward a bedroom door. Her apartment was a  mirror image of mine 
-- two bedrooms, kitchenette and a small  study. I opened the door to the spare 
room and my jaw dropped.  

Inside was a large-screen, high-definition television,  BluRay player, several 
high-end gaming consoles, a stack of  iPods and other assorted electronic gadgets. 
"Wow, Melody," I  called to her. "These are some mighty fancy toys..."   

She stepped into the room. "I was persona non  grata in here. This was Raymond's 
personal sanctum  sanctorum. It's where he spent his down-time."  

"This stuff must've cost a fortune. What does he do for  a living?"  

"He works as a mechanic."  

"He's doing all right as a mechanic, then."  

"We never talked about money. We split common expenses  and then were on our 
own."  

I regarded her. "Are you going to be able to afford this  place without a room-mate?" 
I asked.  

"I hadn't thought about that... I think I can manage it  -- but it'll be tough." 

Melody headed back toward the closet.  I set one of the  cartons on the floor 
and opened a cabinet drawer.   

"Melody!" I called. "Look at this!"  

"Oh, my God!"   

The drawer contained half-dozen handguns. "Don't touch  anything," I said and 
opened another drawer. Under stacks of old  magazines I found several white, 
brick-shaped objects. "No  wonder he's in such a hurry to clear his stuff out 
of here."  

"I had no idea! What should we do?" she asked. "Do you  think we should call 
the police?"  

"Are you kidding? Come on -- we need to put everything  back just like it was." 

Melody and I carried the empty cartons back to my  apartment. She took her phone 
from her bag and began pressing  buttons.   

I held up my hand. "Wait... If I were in his position,  I'd be watching the 
building. If I saw squad cars pull up, I'd  be pretty sure my secret was out. 
I might even have a police  scanner -- the guy is a major gadget junkie, after 
all. It would  be my cue to skip town."  

"What do you think we should do?"   

I scanned the perimeter of my own apartment. "I think I  have an idea..." I 
approached my door and turned the knob on the  deadbolt. "I needed this fixed 
once. I watched the super..." I  retrieved my toolbox and we headed next door. 

Once inside I removed the cover to the deadbolt and  pried loose a restraining 
clip. The shaft dropped into my hand.   

"Now," I explained, "the deadbolt can't be activated  from inside -- only from 
outside. The locks haven't been changed  yet, right?"  

"Right."   

"So he still has his keys. We'll watch from my  apartment. Once he lets himself 
in, one of us will lock the  deadbolt from the outside with your key while the 
other calls  the cops. That way they catch him in the act with his stash."  

"We'll make sure to tell them he's armed," Melody added.  

"Yeah -- with that arsenal in there."  

I started to replace the cover. "Wait," she said,  "Raymond's a pretty good 
mechanic. Could he..."  

"...could he open this up and release the bolt? Could  be..." I rummaged around 
my toolbox. "Let's see if this will do  the job..." I held up a machine screw. 
"It does appear to be the  correct size and thread..." Melody took it from me. 
"This is a  tamper-resistant screw. The head doesn't have a normal slot --  
instead it has two dimples. You need a special screwdriver..." I  picked up 
a screwdriver bit that was shaped like a two-pronged  fork. "Not everyone has 
one of these in his toolbox."  

"How do you have these?"  

"I had occasion to use these a few years back. I never  throw anything away." 
I fitted the bit to my screwdriver handle  and used it to reattach the cover 
with the special screws. "At  the very least, this should buy us some time." 

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

Melody and I sat in my apartment and watched the parking  lot. She put her hand 
against her breast. "I am so scared," she  whispered. "My heart is pounding 
... skipping beats..."  

"I'm scared, too," I replied. "One false step and we're  screwed..."  

"I can't believe it -- I can't believe that right under  my nose, Raymond was 
involved in ... this."  

"It explains how he could afford those high-end  gadgets."  

We continued to watch the parking lot. "How much  longer?" she said under her 
breath.  

"Did he say when he was coming?"   

"No -- only tonight."  

I scanned the roadway leading into the lot. Then I felt  Melody's hand squeezing 
my arm. "That's his car!"  

We watched as the green sedan pulled into a stall. Both  doors opened and two 
figures emerged. "He has someone with him,"  I remarked. "Do you recognize him?" 

"He looks like someone who'd visit from time to time."  

"So he brought someone and not a police officer... Who'd  have thought..."  

Raymond opened the trunk and removed two suitcases. Both  men extended handles 
and dragged the luggage toward the  building.  

"Place the call," I hissed.   

Melody flipped open her phone and punched buttons.  "Hello," she stammered, 
"we need the police. There are two men - - drugs and guns involved. Highland 
terrace apartment 415..."  

"417," I whispered. "415 is MY place. 417 is YOURS."  

"417 ... 417," she corrected herself. "Yes 417 -- please  hurry..."  

She flipped shut the phone and I could see she was  trembling. I pressed my 
finger to my lips.   

We heard the elevator stop on our floor and footfalls in  the corridor. Then, 
the sound of metal on metal and the door in  the adjacent unit creaked open. 

"Melody, babe?" I heard a muffled voice call. "She's  gone. Come on, let's hurry..." 
I heard the door latch shut  again.  

In a motion I had rehearsed that afternoon I slipped out  of my apartment, used 
Melody's  key to secure the bolt from the  outside and then rejoined her, throwing 
my own bolt after me.  

The two men must've heard the bolt. I could hear  pounding against the door 
and bellowing inside the apartment.  

"They're going to break down the door," Melody gasped.  

"They'll find it much harder to break out than in...  Listen!"   

Sirens wailed in the distance and grew louder. The squad  cars -- three of them 
-- pulled into the lot and vested officers  swarmed from them.  

Shortly I heard them pounding on the door. "Police! Open  up!"  

I ducked from my apartment and handed an officer  Melody's key; then ducked 
back inside. There was more pounding,  followed by the sound of the door swinging 
open and the knob  smashing against the wall inside. Shouting followed, then 
pops  of gunfire.   

I could hear the radios crackling and soon more sirens  approached. Two ambulances 
pulled up and the medics brought  stretchers. I heard a knock on the door. Peering 
through the  hole I recognized a police officer and released the bolt.  

"Good evening, folks," the officer said. "Would you mind  explaining your involvement 
in tonight's events?"    


Melody emerged from the bathroom, my burgundy- striped shirt still half-unbuttoned. 
I gestured her to a small,  wrought iron cafe table in the corner of our bedroom. 
After her  enema we usually had some sort of nightcap -- usually tea or  cocoa. 
Tonight it was Champagne: Nicholas Feuillatte Rose, and a  bowl of raspberries. 
I put a berry in each of our glasses. Then  I twirled the bottle in its ice 
bath, popped the cork and  poured.  

Melody smiled and sipped. "You went all-out tonight,"  she said and reached 
across the table. I took her left hand and  caressed the rings on her finger 
-- a solitaire diamond and a  plain band. "You've made me very happy, Will." 

We lifted our glasses and clinked rims. Melody sipped  from hers. I sipped from 
mine and recalled the night we first  made love. It was the same night as the 
police raid...   


Melody and I rode a squad car back to our apartment  building. We had spent 
several hours at the police station being  questioned -- separately, in different 
rooms -- about the  night's festivities. The detective with whom I spoke indicated 
he believed our version and we were released ... although  advised to stay in 
town and to be available for follow-up  questioning.   

Both perpetrators had been shot, dead. I could see on  Melody's face that her 
emotions were frayed past the breaking  point. She sat, huddled beside me, in 
the squad car as we neared  home.  

"That was a gutsy thing you two did," the officer  driving the car remarked. 
"A bit fool-hardy but gutsy. We think  this will break one of the bigger coke 
rings in town."  

"I wasn't about to take them on one-on-one," I replied.  

"Nor should you have... Mam, I'm afraid you'll need to  stay out of the apartment 
until our men can go over it."   

"I don't want to go back," she replied, her voice  cracking.  

"Do you have a place to stay?"  

"She can use my guest room," I volunteered.  

"Could I retrieve some clothes and personal belongings?"  Melody asked meekly. 

The car pulled to the curb outside the building. The  officer nodded to his 
deputy. "Let her fetch some things but  make it quick."  

Melody accompanied me into my apartment while the cops  wrapped police tape 
around the door to hers. She set down an  armload of clothes and toiletries. 
I opened my arms and she fell  into them.  

"Oh, God," she exclaimed, "what kind of idiot do I look  like -- with that going 
on right under my nose?"  

"I'd trade idiot for accomplice any day."  

"I suppose you're right ... but still..." She looked  into my face. "Thanks 
so much for being here ... oh, God ... I  can't call you Ray or Raymond. Don't 
you have another name?"  

"Call me Slim or Steve or whatever you want. What's in a  name?"  

"Don't you have a nickname?"  

"It's always been Ray," I replied.  

"What's your middle name?"  

"William."  

"How about I call you Bill?"  

"I've never liked Bill. How about Will?"  

"Will..." She nodded. "That's a good name... I had an  uncle Will. He took care 
of me when I was little -- after my  parents were killed. I was about three 
... I hardly remember  them. Uncle Will took care of me ... actually he was 
a great- uncle ... but he was the only family I had. He's gone, now ...  I'm 
all alone again." She choked back tears.  

"No, you're not, Melody. You have me."  

She looked into my face with her eyes brimming. "Don't  you fuck with my head! 
Don't fuck with my head ... it's too  cruel..."  

"I mean it Melody," I replied. "I'm not messing with  you. You're the woman 
for me -- I know it. I wasn't expecting it  so soon, but I know it. I know I'm 
a bit older than you but... I  want to care for you and take care of you..." 

"I don't want to be cared for ... I don't want to be  taken care of... I want 
to be loved."  

"I will love you, Melody... God, how I'll love you..."  

I sat on the sofa and she sat on my lap. I held her for  the longest time with 
her clutching the fabric of my shirt in  her fist.    

She seemed to be calming so I kissed her cheek and then  her eyelids ... and 
then her lips. We kissed again and again,  our tongues exploring each other's 
mouths. She unbuttoned one of  my buttons, slipped her hand inside my shirt 
and caressed my  chest.  

"Do you think we should be doing this?" I asked.  

"Probably not," she replied, "but I want it."  

"My leg's falling asleep," I said. "You're not too heavy  -- just sitting in 
the wrong spot."  

She lay on my sofa, her back across my lap as I gazed  into her pale, blue eyes 
and caressed her sides. "You don't wear  a bra?" I asked as I stroked her under 
her arm.  

"I've never needed to. If I need to dress up -- like for  work -- I'll put on 
a camisole..."  

I stroked her cheek and absent-mindedly caressed the  sides of her breasts while 
she touched my face and ran her hand  along my neck. Then she unbuttoned her 
blouse, lifted up and  threw it off her shoulders.  

I was gazing at her compact breasts. "Oh, Melody --  you're beautiful." I traced 
her breasts with the backs of my  fingers. They were A-cup sized, firm with 
thick nipples and  small, pinkish-brown areolas.  

"Wouldn't you like it better if I were bigger on top?"  she asked.  

"Never, Melody -- you have gorgeous breasts ... they're  the perfect proportion 
for your frame. I think they're  beautiful."  

"Raymond wanted me to have them augmented. He said he'd  pay for them. I was 
dragging my feet. Now I know where the money  was coming from..."  

Tears began flowing down her cheeks again. I pressed my  fingers to her lips. 
"That's in the past, Melody. We're looking  forward, now. Agreed."  

"Agreed..."   

I cupped my hands around her breasts and stroked them,  running my fingers across 
her nipples and tracing her small,  round areolas.   

"That feels good," she said. "Both sides like that..."  

I worked both her breasts, caressing them from her chest  wall to her  nipples. 
Her breathing deepened and she gave little  moans each time I squeezed her nipples. 

With my hands under her shoulder blades I lifted her so  I could kiss her breasts. 
I drew her nipple and areola into my  mouth and tongued them, the taste of her 
skin filling my  sinuses. Then I scooped her up and carried her to my bedroom. 

We unfastened each other's jeans and lay nude beside  each other. I cradled 
her, held her tight, parted her dense  brown bush and slipped my finger into 
her slit. Keeping a steady  cadence I stroked her clit until I brought her to 
a very sweet  orgasm.  

Then I sat up and opened the nightstand drawer.  

"What are you looking for?" she asked.  

"A condom -- I know I have some..."  

"Will -- I'm on the pill ... so unless you have  something wrong with you I 
need to know about..."  

"I don't."  

"Then, come..." She lay on her back and rolled apart her  thighs. I lay between 
her, sank into her and felt her legs lock  against mine. It only took me about 
four thrusts before I came  but I don't think she minded. We fell against each 
other,  exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally, and slept until  dawn's 
light awakened us...    


Melody drained her Champagne and I refilled her  glass. Then, she put her hand 
against her belly. "I think some  more enema wants out," she said. "Please excuse 
me."  

"Certainly."   

I watched her head toward the bathroom again. This was  to be expected, and 
the quite time we had between her enema and  bedtime was intended to give her 
colon a chance to drain in case  not all came out in her first go. And, usually, 
it didn't.  

I carried the ice bucket with bottle and the glasses  into the bedroom and set 
one on each nightstand. I remembered  the first time I had to give her an enema. 

Melody had come home from work. By now she had moved  into my apartment. The 
building management was more than happy  to let her out of her lease, when they 
learned of the goings-on  in the unit she had rented. She was outraged -- guilt 
by  association, she said, but I pointed out that she was now one  monthly rent 
payment richer by moving in with me.  

Of course, once the building management discovered she  had simply moved in 
with me, they were happy to cancel MY lease,  too. That was okay -- by then 
the specifics of my divorce had  been worked out and I was looking to build 
a little house.  

On the night in question I had made London broil -- one  of her favorites. She 
sat at the table and wolfed it down  without a word, then excused herself and 
sat on the sofa.  

"Melody," I said, "is something wrong? You didn't say a  word at dinner."  

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I didn't have much of an  appetite. I know you went 
through the effort of making London  broil so I forced myself to eat it."  

"Are you not feeling well?" I regarded her. "Melody --  what's wrong? I don't 
think I've ever seen you that color."  

She bolted to the bathroom. I followed her and saw her  standing, leaning over 
the toilet and projectile-vomiting into  the bowl. "Oh, God! Don't watch," she 
gasped and heaved again.  

When she came out of the bathroom I handed her a damp  towel to mop her face; 
then I gave her a glass. "This is some  baking soda and water. Rinse your mouth 
and spit."  

She returned beside me on the sofa. "I'm feeling better,  now."  

"You know," I said, "I can't remember the last time I  vomited."  

"You know," she replied, "I can remember the last time I  did."  

"When was that?"  

"I was twelve ... in the seventh grade. Science was the  last class of the day 
and our teacher was doing some experiment  that required cooking chunks of apple 
in some reagent --  extracting sugar or some such. The smell sickened me. Then, 
on  the bus my stomach kept feeling worse and worse. I got home,  went straight 
to the bathroom and puked."  

"And, that was the last time?"  

"That was the last time 'til now."  

"You never had too much to drink in college..."   

"I never drink much -- you know that. I have had upset  stomachs but none so 
bad as to make me throw up."  

"I guess you have a strong constitution. That must've  been ... what? Twelve 
years ago?"  

"Thirteen. It was also the last time Uncle Will gave me  an enema."  

"An enema? One of those boxes at the drugstore?"  

"Uncle Will believed an enema was an appropriate remedy  to an upset stomach. 
He was old-fashioned that way -- his mother  ... my great-grandmother ... had 
been a nurse and taught him so.  Every time I had an upset stomach, the enema 
bag came out."  

"Did it work?" I asked.  

She shrugged. "I guess I felt better because of them..."  She held her belly. 
"I suppose I could use one, now."  

"If you think it will help, I'll run over to the  drugstore and get one," I 
said.   

"Yes -- you do take care of me. Look for a box that says  it's for administering 
an enema ... and NOT one of those little  squeeze-bottles."  

I let myself back into my apartment. Inside the plastic  bag I carried was a 
box containing a combo syringe. I showed it  to Melody and she nodded.   

"What next?" I asked.  

"Well... First Uncle Will would try to determine if it's  my appendix or not." 

"How did he do that?"   

She stretched on her back on the sofa. "He'd have me lie  down and feel here..." 
She pointed to the right side of her  abdomen. "...and see if he could find 
a mass."  

I palpitated her belly. "Feels soft to me."  

"Then he'd press down and release. He said if it hurt on  release it was rebound 
pain and that could indicate an  appendix."  

I pressed down and released. "Any rebound pain?" She  shook her head. "Now what?" 

I followed her into the kitchen where she began running  the tap. "We fill this 
with warm water," she said as she opened  the package. "Then the cap goes on 
the bag, the hose goes on the  cap, the clamp and the nozzle go on the hose 
and the water goes  into me."  

She adjusted the temperature of the water and held the  bag under the faucet 
until it was full. Then, she assembled the  apparatus, held it up and flushed 
air from the hose and carried  it to the sofa.   

I watched as she removed her jeans and pulled down her  briefs. "Put some Vaseline 
on the nozzle," she said. Then, she  lay on her left side.   

I crouched and spread her cheeks with my left hand. My  right was shaking as 
I touched the tip to her anus. I worked it  into her. "Is this okay?" I asked. 

"Okay so far," she replied.   

"How far in?"  

"All the way."  

I slid the nozzle into her. She rolled onto her back and  I regarded her stretched 
out on the sofa -- her long, shapely  legs, the tail of her blouse barely covering 
her mons and the  hose leading up under her thigh and into her bottom.  

"Hold up the bag," she said, "and open the clamp."   

I obeyed her command and watched. She rocked her hips  and took deep breaths. 
"Yes," she said, "this is the sensation I  remember..."  

"What does it feel like?" I asked.  

"It feels good ... like a flow deep inside ... inside my  bottom. There's some 
pressure at first but it releases and I can  feel the water reaching into me." 
She touched her left side.  "It's here now ... now I can feel here..." She touched 
her  stomach above her navel. "Now I'm starting to feel fullness ...  bloated 
almost."  

"That feels good?"   

"It does in a hard-to-describe way. I know the relief  from expelling it will 
feel really good."  

"So -- pain, then pleasure?"  

"There's no pain -- no real discomfort," she replied,  "if it's done right. 
The fullness is can be a little  uncomfortable -- but Uncle Will always said 
sometimes you need  to feel a little worse before you can feel better. You should 
try it sometime."   

"I'll pass..."  

I continued to hold the bag and watched it deflate. Soon  it was empty. Melody 
rolled to the side, remove the nozzle and  handed it to me. Then she headed 
for the bathroom, pulling up  her briefs as she walked.  

The whole procedure took less than a few minutes;  however I noticed that my 
pants had become tighter. Melody was   in the john for about twenty minutes. 

She emerged and lifted her blouse. "Look how flat," she  said.   

"Your stomach always is flat," I replied.  

"Not this flat."  

"Did it help you feel better?" I asked.  

"Yes -- I think I feel better. I'll need another one in  a little while."  

"Another?"  

"Yes -- Uncle Will always gave me several until what  came back was clear." 

"It seems like a strange procedure," I replied.  

"He said it's giving my insides a bath. Uncle Will was  convinced that a common 
upset stomach was at least exacerbated  by toxins in the colon ... if not caused 
by them, outright."  

I helped administer two more enemas to Melody that  evening. After the last 
one she put her arms around me and lay  her face against my shoulder. "Thanks 
for helping me," she said.  "I'd kiss you but you probably don't want to be 
kissed by  someone who's been throwing up."  

"Are you feeling back to normal?" I asked.  

"My stomach feels pretty good, now. I'll skip breakfast  and have some broth 
for lunch. If I feel okay tomorrow evening  I'll risk dinner -- something light, 
please."  

"Not chili?"  

She shook her head. "How about quiche?"  

"Let's go to bed."  

Melody undressed and climbed into bed. I lay beside her,  my chest to her back, 
and slipped my arm around her waist.  She  took my hand, squeezed it and brought 
it to her lips.  

Then she guided it to her chest. I cupped my fingers  around her breast.  

"Feels good," she whispered.  

"Do you really want something?" I asked. "Do you feel up  to it?"  

"I think you giving me the enemas made me horny," she  replied.   

"I think me giving you the enemas made ME horny." I  began nuzzling her neck 
and kissing her shoulders.    

"Feels really good," she purred. Can you do both sides?"  

I spread my hand so I could caress her left nipple with  my ring finger and 
her right with my thumb. Her breathing  deepened and she began to sing, "Mmm 
... mmm ... mmm..." as I  stroked her breasts.  

"Make me come," she said. "Hold me like your holding me  and make me come." 

I worked my left arm under her to hold her and reached  my right hand down to 
her mons. With my finger I dragged some of  her juices up to her clit and stroked 
it while stroking her  breast with my other hand.   

"Just like that," she whispered. "Oh my God oh my God  ... more ... MORE!" I 
stroked her clit hard as she climaxed and  I could feel her legs trembling. 
"Okay -- stop. Can you take me  from behind?"  

I shifted down. "Bring your legs up..." I rotated my  hips to bring my glans 
to her entrance and pushed in as far as I  could -- not very far in this position 
but far enough. I found  by rocking my pelvis I could get some friction.  

I slid my hand along her smooth thigh; then, down again  to her mons and into 
her slit so I could stroke her clitoral  shaft. "Can you come again?" I asked. 

"Maybe ... this feels pretty good..."  

I continued stroking and rocking. Melody groaned, and  about the same time my 
own climax was approaching. I squeezed  her, pressed against her and ejaculated. 

"Stay inside," she said. "Feels good..."    


We both realized that night how much she enjoyed the  enemas. Melody said the 
sensations brought back memories of her  time with her Uncle Will. She also 
liked how the enemas kept her  tummy flat.   

We fell into a routine of Saturday night enemas,  followed by very satisfying 
lovemaking. We even made sure to  take the enema bag with us on our honeymoon. 

Melody stepped into the bedroom. "Sorry it took so  long..."  

"It's fine -- I understand," I replied. "Let me cool off  your drink." I poured 
more Champagne into her glass.  

I sat on the bed and she sat on my lap. "I'm really  feeling the wine," she 
said and then put her fist to her lips.  "And the bubbles..."  

I stroked her face. "This is a first for me," I said.   

"A first what?"  

"First time making love with the expressed intention of  making a baby."  

"You never tried for a family with your first wife?" she  asked.  

"Nope. It wasn't on either of our radar screens. It  certainly is with you, 
Melody."  

"It's not a sure thing," she replied.  

"No... You've been off the pill for two months ... your  period is established 
... we've been taking your temperature ...  making charts. All signs point to 
the next three days being the  optimal time. So, for the next three days -- 
it's sex morning  and night."  

"Are you up to it?" she asked.  

"If you are. If it doesn't work out this month, then we  keep trying. That's 
the beauty of it."  

She set her empty glass on the nightstand. I touched her  cheek as an invitation 
to kiss. We kissed again as I caressed  her thigh.  

I unbuttoned the shirt, slipped it off her shoulders and  regarded her nude 
figure. Melody began caressing my chest. I  stroked her breast, kissed her nipple 
and then drew it into my  mouth. She rolled her eyes upward and drew in a breath. 

"Don't you think we're in  a rut, love-making wise?" I  asked. "About the only 
thing we vary is who's on top."   

"I love how we make love," she replied. "I love  anticipating what comes next." 
She kissed my lips. "I love how  gentle you are ... and how insistent."  

"Insistent?"   

"Yes -- it's like, 'now, little girl -- you are going to  come.' And I especially 
like how you make sure I'm satisfied  before you have yours."  

"Ladies come first," I replied. "It's always been my  motto."   

She kissed me again. "Your first wife was an idiot to  leave you. Not that I'm 
complaining..."  

I eased her onto her back and watched her head sink into  a pillow. From the 
nightstand I retrieved a bottle of lavender  lotion and squirted some into my 
palm. Closing my fist around  the blob I held it for a moment to take off the 
chill.   

"You know what's coming next, don't you?" Melody smiled  and nodded. "You're 
anticipating it, aren't you?"  

Still holding the lotion in my left palm I caressed her  breasts with the backs 
of my fingers. Then I dipped in, smeared  it onto her nipples and began a deep 
massage of her breasts.   

We had discovered, almost by accident, that I could  bring Melody to the verge 
of orgasm just by massaging her  breasts this way. The lotion made her skin 
slick so she felt my  touch deep in her breasts and less on the surface.   

I watched her face as I worked her breasts, stroking  each from her chest out 
to her nipples and squeezing her  areolas. Her eyelids drooped, her lips parted 
and her breathing  became panting. "Oh, God, Will," she said. "This feels so 
good."  She raised her arms above her head, bit her lip and her belly  heaved 
with her breathing.  

The lotion began to dry on her skin. I re-applied some  more and then turned 
my attention to her long, shapely legs. I  caressed her thighs, coaxed them 
apart and lay between them.  With my fingers I parted her bush, spread her labia 
and kissed  the little hood over her clit.   

Working my face between her legs I began working my  tongue against her clit. 
Slipping my arms under her thighs I  cupped my hands over her breasts, sweet 
and slick from the  second application of lavender lotion. I kept a steady cadence, 
working her breasts and tonguing her clit.  

Melody stretched out her arms and lay, spread-eagle on  the bed. Looking up 
through her bush I watched her ribs expand  and contract as her breathing grew 
heavy. She began moaning,  "Ohhh... ohhh... ohhh..." with each exhale.   

She was right -- by now we knew each other's responses.  The only question was, 
how long would it take her? Not long  tonight, I surmised. Some times, when 
she was in an off mood or  stressed from a bad day at work I began losing feeling 
in my jaw  before she climaxed. Tonight she was hurtling toward the  abyss... 

Her breathing became panting. She remained still, arms  outstretched. I could 
feel her heart pounding under her breasts.  She was getting closer -- close 
enough for me to begin pinching  her nipples. At the same time I ramped up the 
pressure of my  tongue against her glans, and I could feel each stroke echoing 
in her thigh muscles.  

Her heart began racing and her breathing slowed a bit.  Her moaning stopped. 
I saw her eyes close; she bit her lip and  set her jaw. I knew she was very 
close to orgasm -- I could see  the concentration in her face and feel her tensing 
the muscles  in her bottom to drive herself over the edge.  

Then her shoulders went limp, her face lifted and her  jaw dropped. She drew 
in a deep breath and let out a long, low  groan through wide-open mouth. Her 
thighs were trembling as she  gasped and panted.  

Once I was sure she had crested her peak and was coming  down the other side 
I let go of her breasts and smoothed my  hands along her torso, caressing her 
ribs and the muscles in her  belly with my thumbs. I kept tonguing her clit, 
knowing that on  a good night she was far from finished.  

She gasped and shrieked, panted, pounded the mattress,  shrieked and yelped 
again. I felt her hands grip my forearms and  her nails dig into my skin; then 
more yelping, an unearthly  sound like crying and laughing at the same time. 
Melody bit her  knuckle and then pounded the mattress again, clutching at the 
sheets.  

I could feel her orgasms -- a rhythmic throbbing of the  muscles in her pelvic 
floor against my chin. With each of her  cries I felt another spasm in her bottom. 
Finally she placed her  palm against my cheek. "Will ... Will -- you can stop." 

I came up from between her legs. Her face was red and  her eyes were wet. I 
touched her face and she pulled me towards  her and covered my face with kisses. 
Then I lay on my back.   

"Why me on top tonight?" she asked.  

"So I can go in deep," I replied.  

I held the base of my erect shaft to steer it into her.  We found the right 
spot and she lowered herself onto me. Then I  felt her legs lock with mine and 
we embraced. She was still  panting and I could feel her breath on my face. 

"You are in deep," she said, "deeper than usual."  

"I feel something inside you," I replied. "I think I  might be up against your 
cervix."  

"You might be..."   

Together we began rocking, working up a cadence. Melody  increased the force 
of her thrusting while I held her across her  back with my left arm. With my 
right hand I caressed her  buttocks, working my fingers into her crevasse and 
stroking her  up and down across her anus.  

Melody didn't like me putting my finger in there, but  she didn't object to 
my rimming her with my fingertips. She  liked it, actually, I thought. I continued 
holding her tight,  feeling the muscles in her abdomen against mine and her 
legs and  buttocks tense.  

I had practiced some techniques to help me last a bit  longer with her. I was 
no longer a two-pump chump, but I knew  I'd never be a sexual athlete. Tonight 
I was trying hard to hold  off as long as I could, but I could delay the inevitable 
only so  long.  

I grabbed her bottom and pressed against her as my  climax swept over me. She 
arched her back and let out a  satisfied "Mmmm..." Then, she fell limp atop 
me.  

I thought she would fall asleep but her eyes cracked  open and she kissed my 
lips. "Wonderful," she said.  

"Do you feel any fallopian activity?" I asked.  

"It's way too soon to tell... If any sex deserved to  make a baby -- tonight 
was it."  

I coaxed her against me and she wrapped her leg around  mine. I felt her hand 
caress my chest. "Oh, Melody," I said, "I  would give a king's ransom to know 
what a woman feels during  orgasm. I've asked you and you tell me you can't 
describe it."  

"I'll try... There's only one word to describe it --  ecstasy. It's better than 
alcohol and it must be better than any  drug. I enter an altered state of consciousness 
in which  pleasure becomes so strong it's tangible ... like a pool I can  sink 
into. When I come like I did tonight the glow doesn't fade  until well into 
tomorrow." She kissed my cheek. "Does that  help?"  

"I still don't know what it feels like. Did you come  when I did? It looked 
like you felt something."   

"I felt yours," she replied. "It was kind of like having  a parfait and saving 
the cherry 'til last."  

"But -- you didn't have another orgasm."  

"I don't know what I had. All I know is it felt really,  really good." She kissed 
my cheek again. "Still feels really,  really good. Good night, Will."  


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


Copyright (C) 2008 by the author. Redistribution in any form is strictly prohibited 
without the expressed, written consent by the author. 

For more works by the author visit K-Files Home at:
www.asstr.org/files/Authors/klisma/index.html