

                          ELEANOR
                            "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 woman returns to graduate school after a failed marriage and 
strikes up a relationship with the university's glass blower. With his 
guidance she discovers the path to sexual bliss starts at the back door. 


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



Part I

I was bent over a hot torch, absorbed in my work -- attempting to seal a platinum 
electrode into a glass tube -- when I was startled by the whack of a stack of 
paper hitting the  bench, followed by a woman's voice.   

"Dr Rosen thinks you can make one of these."   

I jumped. "Please don't startle me," I replied.   

"I'm sorry..." I looked at my botched job and tossed the electrode into the 
trash. "Did  I make you do that?"   

"No -- I did it all by myself." I stretched, got off my stool and faced her. 

Standing before me was a woman in her late 20s to early 30s. She was petite 
and  looked to be Amerasian, with her features tending more to the Asian side. 
She had pronounced  epicanthic folds to her eyes and her hair was thick, pin-straight, 
shiny and reached to the tops of  her shoulder blades. Her color was western. 
She had light-brown, almost hazel eyes; light skin  and her hair was light brown, 
bordering on auburn. Her face had an Asian shape with high cheek  bones, but 
her nose was European.   

"You don't sound English," she said.   

"What?"   

She pointed to a poster on the wall. It featured the Union Jack and read "British 
to  the core."   

"I'm not," I replied. "That was left behind from the previous tenant. I keep 
it as a  tribute to him."   

"I'm sorry I barged in and disturbed you," she said. "I can leave the journal 
and come  back later."   

"No, we can talk about it now." I picked it up. "Let's walk over to the union 
for some  coffee."   

"I'm not on the meal plan and I don't have any change..."   

"I'll buy. Come on." I shut off the torch and locked the workshop. "We haven't 
met  I'm..."   

"I know who you are," she interrupted. "Dr Rosen has nothing but good to say 
of  you. My name's Eleanor."   

"Eleanor... Pleased to meet you. Are you his new grad student?"   

"Yeah..."   

"I figured. I hadn't seen you around before. You'll like Rosen. He's a good 
prof ...  and a good guy. If you don't mind me asking..."   

"My mother's Korean and my father's from Iowa." I looked at her. "It's the second 
question everyone asks."   

"No, I was about to ask how you came here. You don't look like a typical new 
grad  student."   

"I took a few years off after getting my B.S."   

I nodded. "To get some field experience."   

"You could say that."   

We reached the union. I bought coffee and we sat at one of the tables.   

"What made you decide to become a glassblower?" Eleanor asked.   

"I was one of Rosen's students," I replied. "Then I came into some money. I 
dropped  out and for the next several years I spent my inheritance traveling 
the world -- in particular, India  and the Far East."   

"You're a grad-school dropout?" she asked.   

"Yeah... Matt Groening said a graduate-school dropout is the bitterest person 
in the  world. Well, I'm not bitter. Eventually the money ran out. I found myself 
back in the States, so I  decided to drop in on Dr Rosen. Even though I dropped 
out, we remained on friendly terms.   

"It was from Rosen I learned my old drinking buddy Mick met an untimely end. 
He  was run over by a bus after one too many pints. Mick was the Department's 
glass blower, and  they had yet to find a replacement.   

"One of Rosen's students came into the lab holding some glassware in two pieces. 
I  had always been handy and good at repairing things, and I was confident I 
could repair it. I  convinced Dr Rosen to open up Mick's shop -- he had shown 
me a trick or two. I fired up the  torch and in a few moments had the piece 
of gear back in one piece.   

"They offered me the post on the spot ... that was five years ago. The pay's 
not so  hot, but I get to live in cheap, on-campus housing; I can more or less 
set my own hours and I can  get around with no need for a car. Now, let's take 
a look at your project." I scanned the journal  and made some sketches. "Yeah," 
I said, "I can do this. Give me a week or so." I sipped my  coffee. "What are 
you doing for dinner?"   

She looked at me slack-jawed. "I ... I hadn't thought about it."   

"Do you like Indian veg? I'm making some aloo ghobi tonight. There'll be enough 
for two."   

"Are you always so forward?"   

"Never. I see a great many pretty girls come and go through this school. My 
number  one rule is, they're off-limits. I made an exception with you."   

"Why me?"   

"Because you're different. I've been enjoying your company and I'd like to enjoy 
more of it. The recipe makes too much for me. I end up wasting some and I'd 
rather share it."   

"What time?"   

"Around six."   

She nodded. "All right. You seem like a nice enough guy. But, I want you to 
understand something, up front. I'm accepting your offer because I'm hungry 
and I'm broke and  it's another week before I get my first stipend check. I'm 
not interested in a relationship.  Understood?"   

"Understood. There is no quid-pro-quo, Eleanor."   

That evening I heard a knock on the door of my apartment. I opened it and there 
she  was. "Come in," I said. "Aloo ghobi's almost ready."   

"I could smell it in the hallway. It smells delicious."   

She sat and wolfed down the portion I set before her. "There's more," I said. 

"I can get it." She returned with another helping. "This truly is the first 
decent meal  I've had in days. I wasn't kidding about being broke and hungry." 
She pressed her hand against  her stomach. "I'm sorry if I was crabby earlier. 
Hunger puts me into a bad mood."   

"It's okay. Tell me about your job."   

"What job?"   

"You said you took time after your degree ... to get some field experience." 

"Oh... I'd rather not talk about it."   

"Okay."   

She walked over to me. "I'll show you my field experience."   

She lifted the hem of her blouse and pulled down the waistband of her jeans. 
Below  her navel was a scar nearly three inches long. It looked like an appendectomy, 
except it wasn't in  the right place.   

"My husband did that ... ex-husband to be precise. I married him right out of 
college.  It was five years of hell. He'd get drunk and become belligerent. 
I told him I'd had enough and  was leaving him. He stabbed me with a kitchen 
knife ... almost nicked my aorta. He came within  two centimeters of killing 
me."   

"Gosh, Eleanor... I'm sorry..."   

"It's not your fault."   

"Where's he now?"   

"In prison. It took me six months to recover from this. I started having nightmares. 
I  was afraid once he's released he'll find me and finish the job. I needed 
a fresh start, so I applied  to graduate schools ... got accepted here. It's 
halfway across the country, so I figure I'm safe. I  didn't tell anyone where 
I was going ... say goodbye to anyone. I don't know why I'm telling you  any 
of this."   

"Does your family know where you are?"   

"I don't have a family. My mother left us and my father's dead."   

"Brothers? Sisters?"   

She shook her head. "The fewer people who know where I am the better."   

"I feel sorry for you."   

"Save your pity..." She shook her head. "I shouldn't have said that." She picked 
up  her bag. "I think I had better be going."   

"Is it something I did?" I asked her.   

"No ... nothing you did..." She sighed. "I'm not comfortable with strangers 
who're  kind to me." She headed for the door.   

"We're not strangers. We know who we are. Eleanor, it's not my thing to take 
advantage of someone."   

She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "I'm not ready to get into the dating 
scene."   

"I respect that. I like you, Eleanor. It's why I invited you. I was hoping we 
could be  friends."   

"I have to go. I have work to do." Her features softened. "Thank you for dinner. 
It  was delicious."   

"You're always welcome here."   

"I'll remember that."   

"Same time tomorrow?"   

She smiled. "Okay."   

Eleanor started spending a lot of time at my apartment. We'd share Indian vegetarian 
and we'd have long talks about her experiences and mine -- my travels abroad, 
and about the  ayurvedic yogi I studied under for a year. Saturdays were our 
days. We'd go places or just enjoy  unstructured time. I knew I was falling 
in love with her. I remembered what she said about not  being ready for anything 
physical, and I respected that.   

One Saturday evening I noticed she had no appetite for dosais and dahl. "Something 
wrong?" I asked.   

She shook her head. "What makes you think something's wrong?" I pointed to her 
plate. "I'm just not hungry."   

"You haven't eaten all day," I replied. "Are you sick? Coming down with  something?" 

"I'm coming down with the usual."   

"What's that?"   

"I'd rather not discuss it."   

I had learned whenever she said she didn't want to discuss something she was 
getting  ready to discuss it.   

"I took something last night, and I was hoping it would ... resolve itself by 
now. I  feel rotten."   

"Take what?" I asked. "What resolve itself?"   

"I get ... bound up, okay? It happens when I'm stressed and overworked. I had 
all  those papers to grade ... two exams this week ... a preliminary proposal 
for Dr Rosen..."   

"You're an overworked girl, Ellie. What do you take for it?"   

"I took some milk-of-magnesia before bed last night. It works about half the 
time.  When it doesn't, I'm supposed to..." She paced back and forth in front 
of the sofa where I sat.  "I'm embarrassed to talk about it."   

"We're friends, Ellie," I replied. "You can be open with me."   

"He said I should..." She shook her head. "I can't..." She continued pacing. 
"I'll bet  that Indian yogi of yours could concoct some herbal tea or something 
that would set me right."   

"He taught me a thing or two. When was the last time you were able to..."   

"Three days ago," she interrupted. "Maybe longer. I was wondering what your 
yogi  would do about it."   

"He'd say you need to be cleaned out," I said. "A rather simple problem to deal 
with.  What he'd recommend is called in the ayurveda, basti. A cleansing enema." 

She gave me a wry smile. "That's exactly what I'm supposed to do -- take an 
enema.  You wouldn't happen to have one, would you?"   

"As a matter of fact... No, I don't."   

"I'll survive, I guess."   

"Let's walk to the Walgreen's on the corner. It's only about ten minutes."  

"I can't do a ten-minute walk feeling like this."   

"It's really bothering you, isn't it?"   

She nodded. "It's been getting worse all day."   

"If you can't walk to the corner, how are you going to get to the bus stop for 
the ride  back to your place?"   

"I don't know. I hadn't thought about it."   

"Then, I'll go." I stuffed my wallet into my pocket and slipped into my sandals. 
"I'll  be back in a jiff."   

"Do you know what to buy?" she called after me.   

"I certainly do," I called back.   

I arrived at the pharmacy, picked up one of the squeeze-bottle disposables and 
began  reading the label. I didn't care much for what I saw. Eleanor needed 
a real enema -- not one of  these. I turned toward the aisle where they kept 
the fountain syringes. The drugstore stocked only  a combo hot water bottle/enema/douche 
kit -- not my first choice, but it would do. I bought one  and headed back to 
the apartment. I opened the door and showed Eleanor my purchase.   

"That's not what I use," she said. "It's a little squeeze-bottle."   

"Those things aren't the best for you ... I don't think so, at least."   

"It's what the doctor suggested. Why would he suggest something that's bad for 
me?"   

"Probably because they're quick, easy and convenient," I replied. "Oh, they 
work, all  right; but I wouldn't use one. They're concentrated salt solutions 
that work by irritating your lower colon."  

"They certainly do that," she replied. "They work but they make me feel awful 
afterward. I get cramps and I sit and strain even after there's nothing left." 

"The rectal equivalent of dry heaves," I observed. "That's real bad for you 
-- it's how you get hemmorhoids."  

"Sometimes its so bad I break out in a sweat and even afterwards it feels like 
I have to go so I'll sit and push and grunt -- it makes my stomach muscles ache. 
I hate using them..." I could see her eyes brimming. "...but it's the only way 
I can  get relief when it's this bad. I hate having this ... problem."  

I held her against my chest. "Wouldn't you want to try something that'll give 
you relief without all the misery?"  

"Of course I would..."  

I held up the fountain syringe. "Then, try this. It's a kinder, gentler approach 
-- and, more effective. You take a large volume of warm water. The water softens 
what's in  your colon and the mechanical distention induces you to expel it. 
It also empties your entire  colon, not just the lower third. It's a good feeling 
afterward, not an awful one. Ellie,  I'd be happy to help you take a proper 
enema. It's a topic I know something about. I'll  explain everything..."   

She eyed me. "I'm pretty desperate..."   

I looked around the apartment. "We need to find a way to hang this." I looked 
in the  bathroom. "You could lie on the floor and we could hang it from the 
towel-bar... It's not quite the  right height. I should've picked up some string 
at the store. They didn't have enemas in mind  when they designed this apartment. 
You could lie on the sofa and I could hold the bag."   

"Fine," she said. "What's next?"   

"We need access to your bottom. You'll need to lose the jeans... I know." I 
took one  of my tee shirts from a drawer. "Put this on. It'll give you some 
coverage."   

She took the shirt into the bathroom. While she was changing I started my  preparations. 
I ran water in the kitchen sink until it was quite warm. Into the bottom of 
a quart  pitcher I dropped a freshly unwrapped bar of Kirk's castile soap and 
ran water over it until it  reached the line. This I dumped into the bag; then 
I installed the stopper and hose, attached the  nozzle and flushed out the air. 

Eleanor emerged from the bathroom barefoot and wearing my shirt -- it came  
halfway to her knees. It was the first time I had seen her legs. They were short 
-- I don't think she  was more than five feet -- but they were athletic and 
shapely. She had sturdy thighs, cute  dimpled knees and nice muscle definition 
in her calves. I think Asians have the sexiest legs on  the planet and hers 
were no exception.   

She turned sideways to me and pulled the fabric taut against her belly. "Look 
how bloated I am... Now what do we do?"  

I held up the bag. "This is filled with warm water and a touch of castile soap." 

"Soap? Why that?"   

"It's a mild irritant that'll stimulate your colon."   

"I thought you said irritation is bad."   

"Castile is mild enough to use on an infant, but effective enough to cure the 
most  stubborn case of constipation," I replied. "Besides, I didn't use enough 
to cause you any  discomfort -- just enough to give the enema a little kick." 
I held up the nozzle. "This goes into  your rectum."   

Eleanor regarded the bag. "How much is in there?"   

"You're pretty petite. I figure a quart is enough for your first one -- especially 
if  you're as bound up as you claim to be." I looked into her face. "Are you 
scared?"   

"A little."   

"It's not too late to call it off."   

"Do you promise it won't give me those awful feelings?"  

"Ellie, I can't promise because everyone responds differently. I do know that 
with the proper technique an enema like this can be administered with almost 
no discomfort."  

"How do you know so much about this?"   

"My mother used to give me enemas. She gave them to all her kids. When I was 
a teen I  started using them by myself."   

"Why did you stop?"   

"That's a real good question. I got out of the practice during my stint in India 
and  never got back into it. Do you trust me?"   

She nodded. "I think I do."   

I put a towel on the sofa. "We'll start you on your left side. Draw up your 
knees ...  good." I rested the bag on the back of the sofa -- being of the closed-top, 
hot-water-bottle variety  I could lay it down with no fear of spillage -- one 
advantage, I guess.   

I smeared a dab of petroleum jelly onto the nozzle and handed it to her. "This 
goes  into your..."   

"I know where it goes."   

"I'll turn my back."   

"Okay, it's in." I turned to face her. She was tugging the hem of the tee shirt. 

This was the first time I had administered an enema to another person. Seeing 
Eleanor lying with the hose leading to her bottom was doing something to me. 

It was taking me back to my childhood, when I used to spy on my mother giving 
enemas to my younger sister. I remember once when she was about ten.  She was 
lying on  a towel on the bathroom floor, her nightgown pulled up and the hose 
plugged into her rectum.  The door was ajar and I was standing in the hallway, 
spying. Watching  gave me a raging hard-on, then. Seeing Eleanor was doing the 
same thing to me, now;  and I was hoping she didn't notice. Anyway, to the business 
at hand...   

"It's not supposed to hurt," I said picking up the bag. "You might feel some 
fullness, pressure, or minor cramping -- that's normal. You shouldn't experience 
any real pain.  That means something's going very wrong. Tell me right away 
if you do."   

"Oh, rest assured..."   

"If at any point during the procedure you want me to stop the flow -- just say 
so and I  will. It'll give your colon a chance to relax and open up. Any cramping 
should pass ... okay?"   

"Uh-uh..." She nodded. I opened the clamp.   

"I feel it!" she gasped. "It's warm. What an odd sensation..."   

"I made it warm to relax your colon. Is it too hot?"   

"No ... It's starting to hurt! It hurts ... it hurts! I'm full -- I have to 
go!"   

"We just started -- you have hardly any in you. It's only a spasm." I stopped 
the flow.  "Relax. Your colon needs to open up and the pressure will subside. 
Take some slow, deep  breaths."   

She moaned and whimpered. "Yes. It feels better now. It felt like ... like a 
valve  opened. I could feel it flow in."   

"Some cramping like that is normal, especially since you're sooo full..." I 
snapped open the  clamp again. "The remedy is to go slow and try to relax your 
abdomen. Can you feel the flow?"   

She nodded. "Uhuh."   

I knew what Eleanor was feeling. The whole procedure was taking me back to my 
childhood. The sensation of the water flowing in was something I recalled as 
if it were yesterday.  "If you start feeling pressure," I coached, "take slow, 
deep breaths. The motion of your muscles  on your colon will help distribute 
the enema."   

After a little more than a pint had flowed into her I closed the clamp. "Now, 
roll  over. I'll watch the hose." She rolled onto her stomach. "Stretch out 
and get comfortable. This  posture will help straighten kinks out of your colon. 
How are you feeling?"   

"Okay ... a little sloshy maybe."   

"Support yourself on your elbows to take pressure off your belly," I told her 
as I opened  the clamp again. I regarded the backs of her legs -- her shapely 
calves  and her sturdy thighs. Eleanor's legs looked like they belonged on a 
figure skater.   

And, I regarded the hose between them, leading up and under the hem of the tee 
shirt. "Remember -- deep  breathing will help distribute the enema."   

"I feel pressure build and then release," she said. "I feel it moving up..." 
She pointed  to her left side near her ribcage. "I feel it here, now... bubbles 
inside... My stomach's starting to  hurt."   

"Pain?" I asked. "Pressure? Cramping?"   

"More like bloat."   

I clicked off the clamp. "I want you to take the whole quart if you can, comfortably. 
If you're getting uncomfortable, we can stop."   

"Let me rest a minute ... that helped."   

"You're almost done. You should try to take a little more. Okay?" She nodded. 
I  opened the clamp. "Tell me if it gets real bad."   

I held the bag fairly low to keep the flow gentle. She took he rest of the bag 
and I  closed the clamp.   

"You're done," I said.   

"Good thing -- I'm starting to feel really uncomfortable."   

"Does it hurt?" She shook her head. "Sick to your stomach?"   

"Not really -- more like gas pains."   

"You did well. I'll take this..." I pulled on the hose and the nozzle slipped 
out from  under her hem. "I want you to lie here and let the enema do its work." 

"How long?"   

"As long as you can stand it, but try to hold it at least five minutes."   

"I can barely stand it now."   

"I know in this situation five minutes feels like five hours. You need to hold 
it a little  while to soften things up so you can get rid of them. When you 
go to expel ... don't force it..."  

"Ohhh!" she moaned. "I feel cramping. It feels awful. I'm sorry I agreed to 
this."   

"You're doing great, Ellie. Try to hold it a little longer."   

"I don't think I can." She grimaced and groaned. "Yes... It's passing. Oh! Another 
cramp. They're coming in waves."   

"That's good. The enema is stimulating your colon. Hold it just a little longer." 

"I'll try."  

"As I was saying ... when it's time to expel -- wait for the urge, then relax 
and let it come out on its own. It's okay to bear down if you have something 
to push out,  but don't strain if there's nothing there. Can you remember that?" 

"Uh-huh," Eleanor mumbled and nodded; then she grimaced and groaned. A long, 
groaning  gurgle came from somewhere in her belly. "I have the urge now," she 
gasped and grimaced again.  She clamped shut her eyes, bit her lip and grunted. 
"I almost had an accident. I can't hold  it any more."  

"Why don't you go sit on the toilet before the next one comes along?"   

Eleanor stood and waddled to the bathroom, bent over and clutching her stomach. 
Meanwhile, I flushed the soap out the equipment and made ready with a clear 
water rinse. I filled  the bag with two quarts of very warm water from the tap. 
Then I capped it, flushed air from the  hose and carried the inflated apparatus 
to the sofa.   

She came out of the bathroom. "Wow!"   

"Wow?"   

"That's the word for it. I had no idea I held so much. It just kept coming out" 

"Did it work better than the squeezie kind?"   

"I'd say... You were right -- I didn't have any ... rectal equivalent of dry 
heaves. It wasn't difficult -- just ... a lot." She pressed her hand to her 
abdomen. "Look at how much flatter I am now."   

"How do you feel?"   

"Pretty good. A lot better than before." She ran her hands along her sides. 

"Come here," I said. "I'll give you another."   

"Another?"   

"Yes. This one's clear water to flush any soap residue out of your colon. Remember, 
the soap's an irritant, and you don't always get all the first enema out. You 
don't want   to become inflamed, do you?"   

"No..." She glanced at the bag. "How much is in that thing?"   

"Two quarts. Don't worry, Ellie -- you don't have to take it all. But I do want 
to take  as much as you can. The object is to inflate your colon from one end 
to the other. Let's take this one on your back" I gestured toward the sofa and 
she lay on it.   

"Why on my back?"   

"You'll do better if you're horizontal and stretched out. On your back you won't 
be  putting any pressure on your belly." I approached her with the apparatus 
and handed her the lubed  nozzle. "I'll turn my back again."   

"You don't have to.." She bent her legs, lifted up and slid the nozzle in.  

"Stretch out and get comfortable." I held up the bag. "You should find this 
one easier  to take. You're quite a bit emptier, now."   

"I should hope so."   

"And, there's no soap in it." I opened the clamp and could hear the water gurgling 
softly through the tube. "Now, just relax and take deep breaths if you feel 
any pressure.   

"I feel it," she said. "It's very warm."   

"Is it too hot?" I asked.   

"No... Actually, I like the warmth."   

I watched her belly rise and fall with her deep breathing.   

"Any discomfort at all?" I asked.   

"No ... actually ... this feel kinda good. I can feel the water flowing in ... 
the warmth reaching deep inside me ... it's kinda ... I dunno ... kinda..." 

"Arousing?" I asked.  

"...relaxing..."   

By the time the bag was about half-empty I was noticing her abdomen was falling 
less and less with each exhale.   

"I'm starting to feel full," she said.   

"You're starting to look full."   

She ran her hands along her stomach. "Yeah ... I guess I am... I can see my 
stomach  getting bigger." Eleanor watched the bag as it continued to deflate. 
"Better stop," she said, "I think I'm full."  

I snapped off the clamp and set down the bag. "Roll onto your right side," I 
said.  "Let gravity move it in deep."  

She rolled over and felt her belly. "My stomach's so big."  

"Lying on your side emphasizes the distention," I replied.  

" I feel like I have a bulge here. Is that normal?"  

"Where?" I asked. She took my wrist. As her hand touched mine I felt a jolt 
run up my arm;  or, maybe I imagined it. I looked at her face to see if she 
felt it, too; and gazed for a moment  into her hazel, Asian eyes.   

"Here," she said and guided my hand to her right side.  

"That's your cecum," I said. "That's the furthest reaches of your colon. The 
water is flowing  downhill into it. That should make some room in your lower 
colon for a little more. Wanna try?"  

"'Kay..."  

"I'll give it to you in short bursts." I held up the bag and opened the clamp, 
then closed it again. "Relax your abdomen. Let it fill. That's it. Every time 
you exhale, relax your  belly a little more to make room for the water." I clicked 
the clamp on and off again. I opened the clamp for another burst, and then another. 
"You're doing great. This is the secret to a good enema -- to get really full..." 

"Stop," she said. "I don't think I can hold any more."   

I clicked off the clamp and felt the bag. "You did real well -- nearly two quarts. 
Impressive for someone as petite as you are." She rolled onto her back again 
and probed her  belly with her fingers. "How do you feel?"   

"Really bloated."   

"Does it hurt?"   

She shook her head. "No ... doesn't hurt, hurt. It's kinda uncomfortable, that's 
all."  She ran her hands along her abdomen. "My stomach is huge."   

I guided her fingers. "You can feel the outline of your entire colon... Your 
sigmoid  on the lower left..."   

She pressed her hands against her sides. "What did you call this?" she asked, 
palpitating her right side.   

"Your cecum."  

"I'm starting to feel a little nausea."  

"Then go ahead and do your thing. Remember -- don't force it."   

Eleanor stood, turned sideways to me and ran her hands along her belly, pulling 
the tee  shirt taught against her abdomen. "Look," she said. Then, she headed 
into the bathroom and I started cleaning up and putting away the equipment. 

I heard the toilet flush and she emerged with a big smile.   

"That didn't take very long," I remarked.  

"Oh, God I feel good! I can't describe it. It felt so good pushing out all that 
water ...  the relief from distention. I could feel it working its way out of 
me -- I couldn't believe how much came out. Now, I feel empty ... relaxed inside 
but invigorated at the same time. And, I'm so flat!"  She took my hand and pressed 
it against her abdomen. "Feel. My tummy hasn't been this flat since  I was ten 
or so."   

"You had a good enema," I said. "You feel great after a good enema. I could've 
told you how it would make you feel, but you probably wouldn't have believed 
me."   

"I wouldn't have," she replied. "I had to experience it myself. I feel so much 
better now.  All-over better..."  

"An enema is a great way to get hydrated. That contributes to the good feeling." 

She approached me and kissed my cheek. "You were so gentle and patient with 
me... Thank you."   

"Would you do it again?" I asked.   

"Mmm... I would." She kissed me on the cheek again, and then on my lips. "Especially 
if you help..."   

I kissed her lips. "Any time, Ellie." We kissed again and her tongue touched 
mine.   

She unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it from my shoulders. I picked her up and 
carried her into the bedroom.   

She unfastened my jeans and dropped them to the floor. I took the hem of the 
tee  shirt, lifted it from her and gazed at her nude body. She was flawless, 
except for the scar under  her navel. I coaxed her onto my lap, fondled her 
compact breasts and tongued her half-dollar-  sized, darkly pigmented areolas. 

Eleanor lay on her back. I slipped my arm under her shoulder blades and kissed 
her  breasts. She held my face against her chest and I began sucking on her 
nipple, the taste of her  skin filling my mouth. I caressed her belly with my 
free hand, fingered her navel and explored  her scar.   

"Don't touch that," she said.   

I looked up. "I love you, Ellie. I love this scar. It's part of you and a testament 
to  surmounting adversity. You stood very near the edge of the abyss, but you 
stepped back and you  prevailed. Wear it with pride."   

I moved my hand lower and felt her thick pubic patch. My finger slid into her 
slit.  She was very wet down there. I lubed my finger with her juices and began 
a gentle massaging of  her clit. It was as hard as a pebble. I could feel her 
heart pounding through the flesh of her breast.   

She arched her back and moaned, then pushed me onto my back and climbed atop. 
I  slid into her, locked my legs with hers as she rocked her hips. We thrust 
together. She worked  her fingers under me and held tight.   

I ran my hand along her crevasse between her buttocks. I put my finger against 
her  anus.   

"Uh-uhn," she said and shook her head. I slid my hand higher and held her around 
the small of her back. Her skin was becoming damp. I continued thrusting and 
felt my own  climax approaching. Grabbing her buttocks with both hands I pushed 
deep into her and ejaculated.  She wiped some dampness from my face.   

She kissed me. "Oh, I love you," she said. "You take such good care of me." 

"What changed your mind?" I asked.   

"What to you mean?"   

"You told me you weren't ready for anything physical. Something made you decide 
you were."   

"Mmm..." She kissed my cheek. "You're so gentle. I figured if I could trust 
you with  my colon -- I could trust you with the rest of me."   

I held her against me, still inside her and ran my hand along her back. "Maybe," 
I  said, "we should talk about you moving in with me."   

"Mmm... Not now ... in the morning..."   

I felt her legs twitch as she began to drowse. I closed my eyes let a delicious 
sleep  wash over me.        



Part II

At the start of the next semester Eleanor moved into my apartment. We had many 
opportunities to test our compatibility before then, as she frequently had slept 
over. I was ready  for a companion. We never fought and rarely argued. Arguing 
with a woman is like playing  chess. You gotta think a few moves ahead.   

She told me no matter what happened in our relationship she'd always remember 
me  as the guy who introduced her to enemas. She loved them. The converts are 
always the most  devout, I suppose. Eleanor enjoyed her enemas. She liked feeling 
the water flow in, and she liked  feeling it flow out again. She liked the feeling 
of being full, and she liked feeling empty. She  liked them hot and she liked 
them cool.   

She especially liked how she felt afterwards, and she never again suffered as 
she had  that fateful night last term. Enemas became the focal point of our 
Saturday night ritual. On  Saturdays it was a light veg dinner, followed by 
a stroll around campus.   

Then it was back to the apartment for playtime. I started by giving her a mild 
soapsuds cleanser and finished with a large-volume rinse. Eleanor could take 
two quarts into her  petite belly, though it made her bulge like she was nearing 
the end of her first trimester. She'd  take it lying on her back and would stroke 
her abdomen as it filled. It all made me unbelievably  horny.   

Our sex was better after the enemas, I thought; and I suspected Eleanor was 
anal-  erotic. She denied she was; she didn't like hearing me talk about it 
and she never let me touch her  there sexually. She even wouldn't let me use 
my finger to lube her. I always had to use the tip of  the nozzle for that. 

But I could tell that, after the enemas she was more eager. It took less to 
get her  aroused, and she was a more active participant than other nights. When 
I mentioned this  observation to her she said, yes, the enema did that -- by 
making her feel more relaxed and  invigorated. That, plus the knowledge we could 
sleep in on Sunday morning.   

I suggested we try making an enema part of our love play. She refused, saying 
she  was afraid of leaking water at the wrong moment.   

I decided to eliminate that particular excuse.   

Early one Saturday morning I let myself into the department workshop and used 
the  lathe to turn a piece of teflon rod into a custom nozzle for her. The finished 
item looked like a  blunted, elongated ace of spades. It was a bit thicker than 
my thumb at the widest point, and  tapered a slender waist before flaring out 
to a wide hilt.   

I drilled a series outlet holes around the body of the gadget and then polished 
the  surface until it was a smooth as an 18-year-old's bottom. Instead of a 
barb fitting I cut threads  into the end to accept a nylon compression fitting. 
A hose would not pull off the end of this bad  boy.   

That evening we prepared for our enema ritual. Eleanor came into the bedroom 
wearing a short nylon slip that clung to her small breasts like a coat of paint. 
Its hem cut across  the upper thirds of her muscular thighs. I handed her a 
gift wrapped box.   

"What's this for?" she asked.   

"Nothing," I replied. "Now, do something to deserve it."   

She unwrapped and opened the box and held the nozzle. Then she looked up at 
me.   

"Guaranteed not to leak," I said.   

"You expect to put this ... inside me? It's so big."   

"You regularly pass objects out that're bigger, don't you?"   

She flushed. "I suppose..."   

I led her into the bedroom where the soapsuds awaited. I had bought a pair of 
open-  top two-quart bags and put a quart and a half of hot Castile soap solution 
in one of them. This  now hung from an IV stand I had expropriated from the 
medical college. We had moved from  Kirk's Castile on to Dr Bronner's -- a teaspoon 
and a half of unscented liquid packed just enough  wallop.   

She lay on her left side, her knees drawn up. I squeezed some petroleum jelly 
onto the tip of the  nozzle, held it in one hand and lifted the hem of her slip 
with the other.   

"Mmm," I said, "that delectable bottom..."   

"Stop it. You know I hate my bubble-butt."   

"I love it ... it's round and gorgeous."   

"It would be okay, I guess," she replied, "if I weren't so small on top. I need 
bubble-boobs to match. Instead I'm bottom-heavy with my big legs and butt." 

"I think you're incredibly sexy, Ellie." I spread her buttocks and worked the 
nozzle in  a circular motion to lube her. It slid into place easily.   

Then I minded the hose as she rolled onto her back, stretched out her legs and 
crossed her ankles. I handed her the clamp. "Here," I said.   

She snapped it open and modulated the flow at first, until the lower part of 
her bowel  relaxed and opened to admit the flow. Eleanor had learned how to 
take deep breaths and work the muscles in her abdomen in order to flex her colon 
to keep the enema flowing. I watched  her as her abdomen rose and fell, and 
as she pinched and released the hose.   

"Cramping?" I asked as  I smeared some lavender body lotion onto her  legs and 
began massaging her calves.   

"Not any worse than usual," she replied. Then she let go of the hose,   drew 
in a deep breath and released it. "It's flowing in easy, now," she said, crossing 
her arms under her head. "Good temperature. What you're doing feels good ... 
mmm ... really good."   

The bag emptied with a soft gurgle. I snapped shut the clamp and pulled the 
nozzle  from her.   

"Feeling the soap yet?" I asked.   

"Not yet. Maybe I'm getting used to it."   

"Maybe we need to up the dose," I suggested.   

"Maybe... Here's a cramp ... small one..."   

She grimaced as it passed. "Two more like that one," I said.   

She nodded. I continued massaging  her thighs. "Another..."  She moaned. "That 
was  a good one. I think you got the soap just right... Another ... oh! They're 
getting stronger ... uhh!"   

She groaned and grimaced and a long gurgle came from deep inside her. "I think 
you  can go," I said. She swung her feet to the floor, stood and headed for 
the bathroom.   

I rinsed out the equipment and refilled it with two quarts of warm water -- 
46  degrees C according to my lab thermo -- 115 F. Eleanor returned from the 
bathroom.  "Everything come out okay?" I asked.   

"It was a good purge," she replied.   

She lay on her back on the bed and eyed the big nozzle as I tightened the hose 
fitting  and slathered it with a coat of petroleum jelly.   

"Why do you want to use that ... thing?" she asked.   

"We've talked about it, Ellie," I replied. "I think you're somewhat anal-erotic. 
I  thought something like this might be a ... kick."   

"A kick for who?" she asked. "You or me?"   

"For both of us. Would you rather not use it?"   

She rolled her eyes. "No. Go ahead and use it -- if it'll help you get your 
rocks off."   

"Ready?" I asked.   

She hooked her forearm under her knees and pulled her thighs against her chest. 
I  put the tip of the nozzle on her spot and began a gentle, circular motion 
to open her up. "Bear  down a bit," I said.   

Her anus opened for it and I started sliding it in. Once I got the widest point 
past her  orifice, her rectum swallowed the thing whole up to the hilt and her 
sphincter closed tight around its  narrow waist.   

"Are you okay?" I asked.   

"I'm okay. It feels so big."   

I handed the hose to her and she snapped open the clamp; then stopped it down 
a  notch. "Mmm," she said, "good temperature. I like feeling the warmth reaching 
deep into me."  She drew in a deep breath. "...so relaxing..." She began running 
her hands along her abdomen.   

I put some lotion on my hands and began massaging her arms. Then, I slipped 
the  straps of her slip off her shoulders and turned down the fabric to expose 
her breasts.   

"What are you doing?" she asked.   

"A different sort of massage," I replied.   

I began massaging her chest. I poured a dab of the lotion into the palm of my 
hand  and held it for a moment to warm it. Then, I smeared it onto her nipples 
and began a deep  massage of her breasts.   

"Ohhh!" she gasped. "This feels really good..."   

"The enema or what I'm doing?" I asked.   

"Both... Mmm...The warm water flowing in ... and the way you're touching me... 
Mmm..."   

"And you don't believe you're anal-erotic," I said, watching the bag. She continued 
to  stroke her belly and I could begin to see distention. "You don't have to 
take it all."   

"I want to take it all," she replied. "It's a matter of pride..."   

There was about a pint remaining in the bag. "Why don't you roll over?" I suggested. 
Eleanor closed the clamp and rolled onto her right side. I lay on the bed and 
reached around to  massage her abdomen with one hand and her breasts with the 
other. She opened the clamp and  modulated the flow. Her belly was becoming 
firm and heavy.   

The bag emptied. I coaxed her onto her back and began caressing her stomach. 
"I can  feel the outline of your whole colon," I said. She ran her hands along 
her stomach. "Are you  uncomfortable?"   

"I'm very full," she replied. "But not uncomfortable."   

"Can you hold it for a while?"   

She nodded. "For a little while, I think."   

"Good."   

I slipped my hand between her legs and a finger into her vagina. "You're very 
wet."   

"Its from what you were doing. You know that always makes me wet."   

"I know an enema makes you wet. Admit it." I dipped into her pool of juices 
to lube  my finger. I began massaging her clit, and with my free hand I pinched 
and rolled her nipples,  alternating from breast to breast.   

Her breathing grew heavy and she started to pant.   

"Oh, God," she said. "Don't look!"   

"What?"   

"I said don't watch me!"   

I closed my eyes and turned my face, but continued rubbing her clit and pinching 
her  nipple. "I'm not looking," I said.   

"Don't stop what you're doing either... More!"   

I rubbed her clit hard. She let out an unearthly moan. She gasped, groaned, 
panted  and moaned again. I could hear her pounding the mattress with her fists. 

"Stop!" she gasped.   

"Can I look, now?"   

"Yes," she panted.   

"What happened? Why couldn't I watch?"   

"I came. Now, I gotta go to the bathroom."   

"Here," I said. I made sure the clamp was closed and disconnected the hose from 
the  bag. "I'll walk with you," I said following her and holding the hose.  

We reached the bathroom. "Sit on the toilet and I'll pull out the nozzle." She 
complied and I reached between her legs. "Relax..." I pulled on the hose, which 
was firmly  attached. "Bear down a bit..." The nozzle popped out along with 
a torrent of water. "I'll let you  do your thing."   

"No -- don't go. I have to say something to you. I really came -- harder and 
longer  than ever in my life. It's never happened before."   

"Never? This couldn't have been your first orgasm."   

"It was of sorts..." She closed her eyes, lifted her faced and expelled a long 
gush of  water. "Mmmph," she grunted. "There's something very wrong with me. 
You see ... I've never  been able to come in the presence of someone else -- 
especially if they're watching me. It's a  hang-up of mine."   

"You're embarrassed to have someone watch you have an orgasm?" I asked.   

She nodded. "It's like not wanting someone to watch me vomit or go to the toilet." 

"I'm watching you now."   

"This is different. This is only water." She grunted and released another long 
gush. "I  mean... I can ... come ... by ... by myself. But not... with..."  

"With a partner?" She closed her eyes and nodded. "Do you mean all those times..." 

"I was faking it." A tear ran down her face. "I'm so sorry ... it's like I was 
lying to  you. Don't get me wrong. I do love our sex. I love feeling you inside 
me. I love feeling you fill  me and squirt into me and I love knowing I satisfy 
you."   

"But you get so aroused during our foreplay. Doesn't that leave you ... frustrated?" 

"Sometimes ... afterwards ... once you're asleep ... I come in here and..." 

"And get yourself off."   

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I do enjoy our lovemaking... Believe me, I 
do."   

"But I wasn't satisfying you."   

"Yes you were. It was all very satisfying. It's just..."   

"You weren't coming."   

"That's right." She expelled another gout of water. " ...'till tonight. I don't 
know what  it was. It happened so fast -- maybe you caught me off guard. You 
looked away and then I could  come."   

"Maybe it was the enema."   

"No, that wasn't it." She folded her arms across her abdomen, leaned over and 
let out  a groan. "Stuff from way up is starting to come down. In a few moments 
it's gonna start smelling  pretty bad in here."   

"I'll go make the hot chocolate."   

I heard the toilet flush and she sat at the kitchen table. I set a cup of hot 
chocolate  before her and sat across from her. She looked at me, her eyes moist. 
"It's not you. Please believe  me it's not you -- there's nothing wrong with 
what you do. You're the gentlest, most giving lover  I've ever known -- not 
that I've know too many. It's not you. It's me. It's my problem."   

"I know what it is," I said. "You're anal-erotic. That nozzle and the water 
pressure  gave you enough stimulation so you could come."   

"No. That's not it," she replied.   

"I think it is. There's no shame in it, Ellie. The nerves back there are close 
to the ones  in the genitals. Sometimes they're ... criss-crossed. You know 
-- wire A connected to post B. If  that's how you are, you should learn to exploit 
it."   

"It's not how I am."   

"We both know how much pleasure you get from the enemas."   

"Yes. I like how they make me feel afterward."   

"And, you like them during, too."   

"Because it feels good. It doesn't mean it's anything sexual. It doesn't have 
to be  sexual to feel good -- or is that a concept a man can't grasp? I enjoy 
them the way someone  might enjoy ... a backrub."   

"A backrub can be erotic, too."   

She rolled her eyes. "I am not anal. I might have stuff wrong with me..."   

"It's what I keep saying," I interrupted. "There's nothing wrong with being 
anal-  erotic."   

"Look," she replied, "I don't need to finger my butt to get myself off. Okay?" 

"You should try it sometime. I don't want to argue with you, Ellie..."   

"Take my word for it and there'd be no argument." She sipped her chocolate. 
"No --  I'm inhibited. That's my problem -- I'm inhibited. I have all these 
hang-ups. I'm so fucked up and  I can't believe you want to put up with me." 

"Ellie, I love you. Of course I'll put up with you." I bit my tongue. She had 
me  trapped in one of those female lose-lose arguments. I always was a rotten 
chess player.   

"See? I'm such a terrible burden you have to put up with. You said so yourself." 
She  pressed her knuckle to her lips and looked away.   

I drew in a deep breath and paused to re-group. "Ellie, If you're inhibited 
then  tonight was a victory, don't you think?"   

"Sort of, I guess."   

"Sort of? You went from can't to can. Is it a coincidence it happened during 
your  enema?"   

"Yes. I only could because you weren't watching me."   

"I think it was more than that."   

She let out an exasperated sigh. "What about you?" she asked. "If either of 
us has an  anal fixation it's you. You're the one with a prurient interest in 
my butt. There's no hiding the fact  you get plenty hard when you're giving 
me an enema."   

"You have great legs and a great bottom, Ellie. Of course they make me hard." 

"Oh, no. It's more than that. I think you enjoy my enemas as much as I do -- 
maybe  more."   

"But..."   

"It's okay with me," she continued, "if you get your rocks off that way. I think 
it's  why our sex is so much better afterward. I've been wondering, though, 
how long it would take  you to ask to go to the next level."   

"Next level? I'm not following."   

"You know what I mean." She looked me in the eye. "Anal sex. Those enema  nozzles 
are simply surrogates for your dick."   

"That's ridiculous. Ellie -- when have I ever mentioned anal sex? I don't seek 
it with  you and I have never sought it with you."   

"Do you mean to say if I offered it you'd turn it down?"   

Her reply blindsided me. It sounded like another lose-lose argument. "Uhhh..." 

"I knew it! Well, you can forget about it. And, maybe next time I have an enema 
I'll  do it myself ... alone!"   

A long gurgle came from her abdomen. She pressed her hand to her stomach. "The 
last of that enema is calling. I'm going to get rid of this and then I'm going 
to bed."   

She stood, stalked into the bathroom and closed the door. Loudly.   

I went into the bedroom, undressed and slid under the covers. There I lay, with 
my  fingers laced behind my neck, thinking. There was truth to what Eleanor 
had said. I did find  giving her enemas arousing. There was no denying it. And, 
I don't think any guy would turn  down an opportunity to try it the back way 
once, even if only out of curiosity.   

I didn't want her to go to sleep angry with me. I knew what had to be done. 
Sometimes to secure victory a guy has to concede defeat.   

Eleanor came into the bedroom. She tied her hair into a ponytail and hung her 
slip on  a hook behind the door. Without saying a word, and without eye contact 
she climbed into bed,  lay with her back to me and pulled the covers to her 
chin.   

I touched her shoulder. She jerked it away from me. "Ellie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't 
have argued with you. It was pretty arrogant of me. You know your body better 
than anyone.  You're right -- I do find giving you an enema a turn-on. I don't 
know why, but I do; and I  appreciate how ... trusting and giving you are to 
let me do it. And, if you offered me anal sex I  would try it -- but only if 
I was certain you really wanted it, too."   

"If you had admitted that up front, we wouldn't have argued, and I wouldn't 
have  come to bed angry with you."   

"I know. It's just my way of working things out in my own thick head. I love 
you,  Ellie. I love you more than anyone in my whole life. And, we have such 
a good physical  relationship. Who cares what kind of pleasure we get, and how? 
I don't want us to argue about  something we both enjoy so much."   

She rolled over to face me. "I'm sorry we argued, too."   

"And, Ellie -- if you have a hang-up about me seeing you climax... I promise 
I won't  ever watch. I'll wear a blindfold if it'll help you."   

Eleanor giggled, then laughed out loud. "The thought of you, naked and wearing 
a  blindfold..." She hooked her arm around my neck, drew my face to hers and 
kissed me full on the  lips. "I love you so much."   

Maybe I did salvage something.   

"And, I'll help you work on your inhibitions," I said. "Sex is one of the beautiful 
things about being human and mutual pleasure with someone you love is a wonderful 
part of  being alive. But, I believe sex is a learned activity. Sure the motions 
are simple enough, but good  sex requires three things: You need to love your 
partner. You need to love yourself. And, you  need to be in touch with your 
own body -- your own responses, as well as those of your partner.  You've learned 
your inhibitions. You need to un-learn them, that's all. It's like any activity. 
It's all  technique and you get better with practice." I lay facing her and 
gazing into her hazel almond-  shaped eyes. "Any time you'd like to try some 
un-learning, I'm more than happy to help."   

She looked at me and I could feel her breath on my face. "Okay, let's try some 
un-  learning."   

"Now? Do you mean it? You're not angry with me any more?"   

"No. That was one of the nicest apologies I've ever received." She looked me 
in the  eyes and hers began to brim. "Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve 
you."   

We kissed. We kissed again, our tongues exploring each other's mouths and us 
sharing each other's airways. I kissed her neck, tasted her skin and inhaled 
her scent under her  arms -- the blend of her own body chemistry and the deodorant 
she wore. She led my face down  her neck to her breasts. I fondled them and 
admired her small, brown areolas. "You have  beautiful breasts," I said, "lovely 
nipples. Did I ever tell you that?"   

She giggled. "Only about every night." I began to tongue them. They responded 
by  becoming erect -- not hard, but erect. She handed me the bottle of lavender 
lotion. I poured some  into my palm to warm and smeared some onto her breasts. 

I began massaging her breasts and rolling her nipples.   

"Mmm," she said. "That feels so good. The lotion makes my skin slippery."   

"Yes -- I can stimulate you deep without the tickly sensations on the surface." 

"I feel it deep in my breasts," she said. "It's wonderful." She touched her 
lower  abdomen. "I feel it in here, too."   

"Did you know there's a wire running from your nipples to your clit?" I asked. 
"Every woman is hooked up that way." I continued to roll her nipples. Her legs 
began to twitch.   

"Speaking of which," she said and guided my hand between her thighs.   

I dipped my finger into her juices and began rubbing her clit. "Tell me when 
not to  look." She nodded. I watched her lie there as I stroked her, her eyes 
closed and her lips pursed. I  stroked and stroked. She wasn't responding.  

"This isn't working, is it?" I asked.   

"I get close and then it slips away from me... You'd better stop. I'll just 
get  frustrated."   

She bit her lip and turned from me. I knew she was trying not to cry.   

"It's all right, Ellie. You can't unlearn years' worth in a few minutes." I 
caressed her  shoulder blade.   

"I was trying so hard," she said, sniffling.   

"That's your problem -- you try too hard. You become so obsessed with failure 
it  becomes self-fulfilling."   

"Maybe you're right."   

"Let's rest a while. I probably over stimulated you. Too much stimulation and 
your  nerves shut down. Your clit becomes numb." I touched her chin to turn 
her face so I could look  into her eyes. "There's nothing sadder than a numb 
clit."   

She giggled; then coaxed me on my back and began caressing me. "While I recover 
I'll do you." She began kissing and caressing me, running her hands along my 
body and touching  me the ways she knew I liked. "You go ahead and have yours," 
she said.   

"No, not like that. I want it to be mutual."   

"Maybe we need to work up to it. I came once tonight. If you have yours -- then 
at  least I won't feel I like let you down. Afterward if we want to try some 
more un-leaning..."   

"Fair enough."   

She got on her hands and knees. I started to approach her from the back. I slipped 
my  finger into her vagina. She was still plenty wet there.   

"No," she said. "Back door."   

"Are you serious?"   

"I'm going to knock down my inhibitions one-by-one. Maybe you're right. Maybe 
I  AM anal. Maybe you want anal. I'm nice and clean back there. It'd be a shame 
to waste it."   

I opened the nightstand drawer and retrieved the jar of petroleum jelly. "I'm 
going to  get you good and lubed up," I said. I dipped into the jar, spread 
her and put a big dab on her  anus. I worked my finger into her, past the second 
knuckle; then stretched her some more with  two fingers.   

I spread some onto my rock-hard member and knelt behind her, adjusting my stance 
to align with her hole. "Ready?"   

"Ready."   

I spread her buttocks with both hands and pressed my glans to the spot. "I'm 
not  going to force anything," I told her. "Bear down so you'll open up for 
me."   

She grunted as she complied. At first she tightened up, but then she began to 
open. I  went in glans-deep and paused. "Tell me if it hurts."   

"Don't worry, I will. It doesn't hurt."   

I pushed myself in further. "I'm about half-way in. Okay?"   

"Okay. Keep going." I went in deeper and she giggled. "Your hair is tickling 
me."   

"How does it feel?" I asked.   

"It feels okay -- a bit like that big nozzle. Go ahead and do your thing."  

"I want to savor," I said. "This is the first time for me."   

"I don't believe that."   

"Believe it. I'm a butt-sex virgin, Ellie." And, if there was any virginity 
left to lose,  she was the girl to lose it with.   

"How does it feel to you?"   

It felt ... indescribable. The warm, moist velvet of her rectum enveloped me. 
It took  all my self-control to keep from blowing my load then and there. "It 
feels really good," I said. I  got hold of myself, crouched over her and reached 
between her legs from the front with my right  hand. I helped myself to some 
of her juices and began massaging her clit again.   

I cupped my left hand over her breast with her nipple between my second and 
third  fingers. I massaged her breast and squeezed her nipple; but my ulterior 
motive was to monitor  her heart.   

"That feels good," she said.   

"Can you come like this? I promise I won't watch."   

"I'll try."   

"No. Don't try. Just let it happen. Don't think about it. Earlier when you came 
-- you  weren't thinking about coming, were you?"   

"No -- I was worrying that the nozzle would pop out."   

"Think about something else, now."   

"Okay, I'm thinking about something else."   

I counted under my breath to keep a steady rhythm on her clit: 1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4...; 
and  I rolled her nipple in synch with my stroking. I could feel her heart accelerate. 

Her breathing grew heavy. "Mmm.... mmm... mmm..." she moaned with each exhale 
and each time I could feel her tighten her sphincter around me. I knew what 
she was thinking  about: me in her butt. Each time she squeezed it was a warm 
velvet caress.   

I was taking my own advice and thinking about other things, too: Having to file 
my  taxes ... the President's latest speech ... baseball statistics... Anything 
to keep my mind off the  tension building deep in my pelvis 'til I was ready 
to unload.   

I was also paying attention to her heartbeat. It grew stronger and faster, and 
I knew  she couldn't fake that. It told me tension also was building in her 
-- building to an inescapable  conclusion. If I didn't mess up, that is.   

She touched my right wrist. "Over to the left a little."   

"You're thinking about it. Stop it."   

"No, I'm not -- but you need to be over to the left a little." I adjusted my 
stroking.  "That's it ... perfect ... don't change it ... feels good..." Her 
breathing became panting and her  heart began racing. " ... feels good ... almost 
... little more... Oh, God!" she gasped. "Don't  watch."   

"My eyes are closed."   

"Don't look at me!   

"I'm not!"   

"More! Oh, God! MORE! MORE!"   

I stroked her clit as hard and fast as I could. She let out the unearthly moan, 
gasped,  grunted and moaned again. I knew she was coming. I could feel it -- 
the rhythmic pulsing of the  muscles in her pelvic floor.   

For the first time in my life I knew without a doubt my woman came. I had never 
felt  anything like it the front way. I felt the involuntary contractions in 
her bottom and there I was in  the thick of it. The sensations pushed me over 
the edge. I tried to hold back but it was too late. I  was past the point of 
no return. I grabbed her around her waist with both hands, pushed deep into 
her. "Ellie!" I grunted and pumped my fluids into her rectum.   

She moaned again and I felt more pulsations. Then, she gasped and looked back 
at  me. "Are you finished?" she panted. I nodded. "Me, too."   

I pulled out of her, grabbed some facial tissues and cleaned us both off. "You 
did it!"   

"I did," she said, "I came hard -- twice."   

"I felt you both times."   

"I felt you come, too. You got bigger and firmer -- then I felt you ... squirting 
into  me. It made me come again. What did it feel like to you?"   

"I could feel your muscles pulsing. It felt so good it made me come. I was trying 
to  hold back but I couldn't." She kissed me, put her arms around me and squeezed. 
"Not bad for the  first time, huh?"   

"Not bad at all. Thinking about it makes me want to do it again."   

"Not right away. I'm spent. I need to recharge."   

"No ... next time." She cuddled up to me and I switched out the light. "You're 
so  good for me ... and so patient. How did you learn such patience?"   

"It must be my studies in the East," I replied. "It's a Zen thing. Sometimes 
the best  way to grasp something is not to reach for it -- to achieve something 
is not to desire it."   

"That doesn't make sense."   

"It does in a Zen way. You have Asian heritage, Ellie. Your mom was Korean. 
Didn't she teach you any of this?"   

"I never knew my mom," she replied. "My dad tried to raise me as an ordinary 
American kid."   

"How boring."        



Part III

Important: Please read the disclaimer, below.   

I sat at my laptop computer scrolling through some of the off-the-beaten path 
news  sites. I liked to do that in the morning. Eleanor stood behind me and 
put her hand on my  shoulder. "Tea's ready," she said. "What weird news is there 
today?"   

"This is one you might be interested in," I said. "It's a story about a guy 
who died  after overdosing on an alcohol enema."   

"Alcohol enema?" She sat and read the story. "It says the guy took three bottles 
of  sherry."   

"Not ordinary bottles -- big ones. Three one-and-a-half litre bottles," I replied. 
"That's like six regular bottles. Sherry's pretty strong stuff -- between thirty 
and forty proof. "   

"It says here his colon absorbed the alcohol so fast it killed him."   

"It was the quantity that killed him. The same thing would've happened if he 
drank  that much. It would be like drinking two bottles of vodka in one sitting." 

"I'd be throwing up after this much of the first bottle," she replied, holding 
up her  thumb and forefinger.   

"If you could drink -- and, keep down two bottles of vodka you'd be just as 
dead." I  thought for a moment. "The poor guy in that article ingested at least 
seven hundred mililitres of  pure alcohol. That's what killed him."   

"How do you figure that?"   

"Four and a half litres of a fifteen percent solution is around seven hundred 
mils of  the concentrant ... closer to six-seventy-five, actually."   

She shook her head. "I don't believe you."   

"It's true." I poked the keyboard to bring up the calculator on the laptop. 

"No -- I believe you -- the numbers. I don't believe you can work those dilution 
formulas in your head."   

"Practice," I replied. "I've done a few alcohol enemas myself. I got interested 
in the  topic during my undergrad years. I would never use that much."   

"How much would you use?" she asked.   

I went into my apartment's study and retrieved a spiral notebook. After flipping 
through the pages I found what I sought. "Here are my notes... Alcohol is a 
drug and the same  rules apply for any drug. Dosage needs to be calibrated to 
body weight. My guideline for  rectally-administered alcohol is one millilitre 
per kilogram of body mass."  

"One millilitre per kilogram?" she asked.  

"Yes -- one ml of pure ethanol per kilogram of body mass."  

"How did you arrive at that formula?"  

"It's another simple dilution problem. You're putting a small amount of ethanol 
into a  large bag of water."  

"The human body comprising the bag, that is."  

"Correct. The human body is between fifty and seventy percent water. One millilitre 
per kilogram works out to a blood alcohol concentration that's about  0.16% 
by weight. So, for someone your size...  What do you weigh? One-twenty?"   

She gasped and looked at me agape. "One-twenty? Oh! How could you think I weigh 
one-twenty?"   

"I'm a lousy judge of that sort of thing."   

"I have never weighed one-twenty in my entire life!"   

"How much do you weigh?" She folded her arms across her chest stuck her nose 
in  the air. "Ellie, how much?"   

"Try one-twelve."   

"A hundred twelve?"   

"You don't believe me! You must think I'm so wide..."   

"You do have muscular thighs..."   

"Oh!" She gasped again. "Yes, you're right -- my big, heavy legs must weigh 
fifty  pounds each."   

"You have great legs, Ellie."   

"Yes, great -- as in huge, monstrous ... gi-norm-ous!"   

"I love your legs. I think they're very sexy. I've always thought they'd look 
good on a figure skater."  

"They'd look good on a Steinway," she replied.  

"That's nonsense. Ellie -- if you say you're a one-twelve, then I believe you." 
I  thought for a moment. "Your mass is around fifty kilograms ... so, someone 
like you shouldn't  take more than fifty mililitres of pure alcohol in an enema. 
The guy in the news  took more than  ten times that amount."   

"Fifty millilitres?" She held up her thumb and forefinger. "It seems so small. 
Is it  really enough to make me drunk?"  

"No. It's enough to make you very drunk. Remember, it works out to a blood  
concentration of 0.16%."  

"I suppose twice the legal limit is pretty well hammered," she replied.  

"You don't reach quite that level," I explained. "That figure assumes you absorb 
all  the alcohol at once and don't eliminate any of it. In reality you don't 
absorb it right away, but  your body does start metabolizing it immediately." 
I turned over a page in my notebook and  showed her a computer printout stapled 
in. "I wrote a spreadsheet using some rather gross  assumptions about absorption 
and metabolic rates. According to my computation, you peak at  between seventy 
and eighty percent of the maximum -- about 0.13% -- still well above the legal 
limit. I wouldn't attempt driving in that state." I showed her another page. 
"If you plot blood  concentration versus time this is what you get. The concentration 
peaks around twenty to thirty minutes and then tapers off as the alcohol is 
metabolized."  

"Do you have experimental data to corroborate this?" she asked.  

"I've never had access to a brethalyzer. My own experience is consistent with 
it."  

She looked over my notes. "Wow... you really have given this some thought ... 
leave  it to a Chem major..." She held up her thumb and forefinger again. "So 
this much alcohol..."  

"Remember, we're talking pure alcohol here. If it were, say,  80-proof vodka, 
it  would be ... a hundred twenty-five mils -- a little less than a quarter 
of a bottle. Of course I would  never introduce pure alcohol -- or, even hard 
liquor -- into anyone's colon. That could cause  tissue damage. It must be diluted, 
first." I consulted my notes. "My other guideline is the  concentration of alcohol 
must be seven percent or less."   

"Like wine?" she asked.   

"Even wine is too strong. It must be mixed with water. If it's too strong you'll 
have a  nasty reaction -- trust me."   

"You certainly have figured this all out," she remarked. "What's it feel like?" 

"You feel it going in. You get pretty impaired ... enough for a really good 
buzz."  

"I've never seen you touch alcohol."  

"I gave up consuming it -- from either end -- after studying under my yogi in 
India."   

"Before then?"   

"I never was a big drinker. I did it once a month or so as a diversion."   

"Interesting." She took my notebook and studied it. "Very interesting..." She 
turned  the pages. "This is fascinating."   

"Don't tell me it's something you'd like to try."   

"Maybe I would," she replied. "I've never been able to drink alcohol -- it makes 
me  sick to my stomach. I've always wondered what being drunk feels like."  

"You don't suffer from that Asian alcohol gene disorder, do you?"  

"What's that?"  

"Did you ever hear of the Asian Flush?" She shook her head. "Some Asians have 
an inherited intolerance of alcohol. If that's the case, an alcohol enema would 
make you just as sick."  

"I don't think that's what it is," she replied. "I think I just have a weak 
stomach."  

"Let's hope that's what it is, then. Worst case you'd just expel the enema and 
spend the day sleeping off a bad hangover."  

"If that's worst case, then I'm willing to risk it."  

I made some mental computations. "For someone  like you who weighs ... a hundred-twelve, 
I would administer about one-hundred-twenty-five  mililitres of 80-proof vodka 
diluted with just over a pint of tap water."   

"A pint. That's not much."   

"You need to hold it long enough to experience the buzz. You wouldn't want it 
larger, believe me. You would want to be thoroughly cleaned out first, too." 

"Why's that?"   

"I discovered alcohol is irritating -- much more so than soapsuds. If my colon 
wasn't  empty, I got powerful cramps and couldn't hold it. It all depended on 
my colon's mood. If it was  cranky I couldn't hold it five minutes. Most of 
the time I could hold it long enough for a real nice  buzz. Besides, your colon 
will absorb it better if it's empty."   

"This Saturday night when we do our ritual," she said. "I want to try an alcohol 
nightcap -- just to see what it's like."   

"Okay -- I'll pick up some vodka and borrow a graduated cylinder from the labs." 

"Why vodka?"   

"Because it's neutral grain spirit in water. Would you rather we pinch some 
95% lab  alky?"   

"...No... Vodka sounds safer."   

"By the way ... I should mention that sex feels really good behind one of these." 

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

Saturday came. I sat with my laptop across from Eleanor as she graded a stack 
of blue books for Dr Rosen. She flipped the last one onto the stack and stretched. 
"I'm glad that's done," she said.  

I closed the lid on my laptop. "Shall we start your cleansing series?" I asked. 

"So early? We haven't had dinner."  

"I thought we should do your Saturday series before dinner, to give your colon 
a chance to relax before we do our special thing after dinner."  

"I suppose that's not a bad idea..."  

"Then," I replied, "I'll get the equipment ready."  

I carried the red bag into the bedroom, hung it on the I.V. stand and adjusted 
the  height. Eleanor stripped off her jeans and briefs.   

"So what do we have first?" she asked as she stretched out on the towel I had 
spread on the bed.  

"This is a one quart salt-soda enema," I replied. "One tablespoon of baking 
soda and a teaspoon of good old table-grade sodium chloride."  

"What'll that do? How come no soap?"  

"The soda makes the enema soothing to the colon and the salts make it slightly 
hypertonic to reduce the amount of water you absorb."  

"Okay..."   

I approached her with the hose and a tube of petroleum jelly. Eleanor lifted 
her legs, held them behind her knees and pressed her thighs against her breasts. 
I lubed her brown orifice and slid the douche tip into her rectum.  

She lowered her legs and made herself comfortable. I handed her the clamp and 
she snapped it open.  

"How's the temperature?" I asked.  

"I can barely feel it."  

"It's very close to body temp," I replied.   

"You usually make them warmer... I can feel the flow. It's flowing in real easy..." 

The bag emptied with a soft glug and I retrieved the nozzle from her. Then I 
stretched out on the bed beside her. "How does the enema feel?"  

"I feel some fullness but no cramping ... yet."  

"Ellie, I want you to hold this one for twenty minutes."  

"Twenty! I've never been able to hold one for more than a few minutes."  

"Yes, I know. If you want any benefit from the alcohol enema you'll need to 
hold it at least that long. This will give you some practice. Remember your 
alcohol enema will be smaller but more irritating." I took my PDA from my pocket, 
brought up a timer program and set it for twenty minutes. "If it feels like 
the enema wants out, roll onto your right side. Gravity will cause it to flow 
higher into your colon and away from the nerves in your rectum that trigger 
the urge to expel."  

She rolled onto her side. "How long has it been?" she asked. "How much longer?" 

"You'll have an awful time if you're clock-watching," I replied. "The best way 
to  make the time pass is to get occupied with something else."   

"Like what?"  

I kissed her lips. Then I nuzzled her neck and kissed her down her chest to 
her breasts and began unbuttoning her blouse.  

"If you start something, you'd better be prepared to finish it," she said.  

"I'm prepared..." I pulled open her blouse to expose her breasts -- she was 
small enough on top so she never wore a bra -- reached around her and held her 
across her shoulder blades as I traced her brown, coin-sized areola with the 
tip of my tongue until her nipple began to firm.  The taste of her skin filled 
my mouth as I began nursing.  

"That feels so good," she said. Her breathing grew heavy. She caressed my hair 
and held my face against her breast. "I love how you're holding me ... both 
strong and tender..."  

I eased her onto her back, still holding her around her shoulder blades. My 
leg was  between hers and she clamped onto my knee with her thighs. I moistened 
my finger on my tongue, parted her pubic patch and slid it into her slit.  I 
found her clit and began stroking. Keeping her rolled onto her right side meant 
I had to stimulate her left-handed -- that was okay; it meant I needed a bit 
more concentration...  

"Oh ... feels good..." She let her eyelids relax and her face fell to one side. 
"Just a little faster ... don't change it..."  

I regarded her as I stroked. She was lying half on her right side and I could 
discern some distention in her belly from the quart of saline I had administered. 
I could also see  her pulse pounding in her neck.   

Her lips parted and she began panting. I could see her pulse racing. I used 
this as a  cue to lean over and begin sucking her nipple again.   

"Oh, God," she gasped, "don't watch!"  

I closed my eyes and turned away. "I'm not looking."  

"More ... MORE!" I stroked her hard and could feel the muscles in her thighs 
trembling. Then I heard the unearthly wail that heralded her orgasm. She groaned, 
gasped and panted. "Stop..."  

I looked at her. A flush covered her face and neck. "Good one?" I asked. She 
nodded,  still panting.  

I eased her onto her back. She began tugging at my belt.  

"I'm saving myself for later," I said. "I want to be fresh for you then. It's 
okay.  I enjoyed your orgasm as much as you did."  

"That I doubt."  

"I do wonder what it's like to be a woman -- to have no refractory period." 

"What's that?" she asked.  

"It's a fancy word for a guy needing to rest before coming again. How's the 
enema feel?"  

"I almost forgot I had it in me. How much longer?"   

I held my PDA so she could see the screen as it ticked down the final seconds. 
The handheld beeped. "You did it! Twenty minutes."  

"A new record," she replied. "Soon to be broken this evening ... I hope..." 

"See? You just needed to take your mind off it."  

She swung her feet to the floor and headed to the bathroom while I prepared 
a very warm,  very full two-quart rinse for her.    
                              ====================
  

It was a warm evening so she had slipped into a pair of running shorts, bikini 
top and  flip-flops for our after-dinner stroll. Whether it was a healthy diet, 
our walks around campus, the enemas or a  combination, Eleanor had developed 
a flat, sexy abdomen; and she liked to show it off with  midriff-baring outfits 
-- despite her scar.  

"I am absolutely giddy with anticipation," she said as we walked.  

"Don't get your hopes up too high," I replied. "You may react poorly to the 
alcohol  and be unable to hold it long enough to enjoy it."  

"I'm certainly giving it the old college try."  

"The old graduate-school try you mean."  

"Enemas certainly have changed my life," she replied. "After a tense week I'm 
ready for our Saturday night routine. I feel relaxed and mellow all day Sunday." 

"Isn't it what we do after the enemas that makes you mellow all day Sunday?" 
I asked.  

"That makes me feel good here," she replied placing her hand low on her abdomen. 
"The enemas make me feel good here." She pressed her palms against her sides. 
"I never would've thought that some warm water could make me feel so good." 

"Wait 'til you try the alcohol."  

"I can't wait to try it. What made you try it?"  

"I told you," I replied, "that my mother gave me enemas as a kid."  

"Ah, no wonder it's a turn-on for you. It's a latent mommy-thing."   

"It sounds like you applied the full force of an undergrad psychology course 
to come  up with that assessment."   

"Psych-101," she replied.  

"My mother got it from her mother. My grandmother was a registered nurse who 
trained in the '30's and '40's. Back then every household had an enema bag hanging 
from a hook  behind the bathroom door.  

"In Grandma's day medicine was considerably more barbaric. I ran  across some 
of her training manuals. Did you know it was common practice to give ether enemas 
to pregnant moms about to deliver?"   

"Ether? The anesthetic?"   

"Diethyl ether, yes. It was a sort of Neolithic epidural, I guess. They'd mix 
a couple  ounces of diethyl ether with some olive oil and inject it into the 
mom's rectum. This was, of  course, after she had been thoroughly cleaned out 
with a series of hospital-strength soapsuds  enemas. The ether would be absorbed 
into her bloodstream through her rectum and within a couple  of minutes she'd 
begin tasting it. It induced a twilight sleep to take the edge off the delivery." 

"I never imagined..."  

"I wondered what it would feel like to experience an intoxicant delivered rectally. 
So  I did some experiments with myself as the subject."   

"You put your life on the line in the name of science. How noble. How ... fearless." 

"Hardly. I wasn't about to experiment with ether, as I had no desire to die 
... or, to  blow up my apartment. Ethyl alcohol is a kissing cousin to diethyl 
ether, so I experimented with  it, instead. I started small and worked up to 
the parameters we discussed."   

"You say it takes about fifteen minutes to feel it?"   

"No, you start feeling it right away. It takes about fifteen minutes to start 
feeling  intoxicated."  

"I Googled some websites on the subject. Some of them said an enema is like 
mainlining the stuff. They said you should take it slowly."   

"You do absorb alcohol faster through your colon than through the oral route, 
so you  do get drunk faster.  I doubt it's like mainlining the stuff, though 
-- not that I've ever mainlined it. There is no rush. Once you expel it, your 
head starts to clear right away. That's not an  option when you drink it, either." 

"I always throw it up," she said,"that's why I can't get drunk."   

We reached the apartment and I unlocked the door. "So -- are you ready to try 
the  alcohol?" I asked.  

"I'm way beyond ready."  

"I want to show you something first." I went into the study and returned with 
a three- ring binder. From it I removed some photocopied sheets.  

Eleanor looked at them. "Journal of the Canadian Medical Association ... 1932. 
What  the..." I pointed halfway down the page. "Rectal Ether Analgesia in Childbirth," 
she read. "...I'll  be... Where did you get this?"  

"You know as well as I do that one of the things Chem majors learn is how to 
use the  literature. It's all there, and then some."  

She scanned the pages. "It sure is ... how to prepare and how to administer... 
You're  right -- this does make me curious about the experience ... the enema 
that is -- not childbirth."  

"You're about to experience something quite similar. I'll start preparing it." 

"And -- I'll go change into something more comfortable."  

I laid out the necessaries by the kitchen sink: a bottle of cheap, 80-proof 
vodka, the  graduated cylinder, measuring pitcher, a box of baking soda and 
a teaspoon. Then I opened a  packet containing a hospital-style single-use enema 
kit made of clear plastic.  

Eleanor approached wearing a black baby-doll negligee. Its hem barely covered 
her  bottom. Her gown had a matching pair of briefs but tonight she had dispensed 
with them.   "I want to watch," she said and picked up the plastic apparatus. 
"Why use this?"  

"You'll note the thin tube has no attached nozzle," I replied. "I can slide 
it deep into  your rectum. The further into your colon the fewer nerve endings." 

"...Like the long catheter described in the paper."  

"Indeed. How's your colon feeling?"  

"Really relaxed and empty," she replied.  

"Good."   

Eleanor watched as I measured 125 ml of the vodka into the graduated cylinder. 
Then I put half a litre of rather warm water into the pitcher and added a teaspoon 
and a half of baking soda to it.   

"What's that for?" she asked.  

"Remember, baking soda is soothing to the colon. It'll make it easier to retain. 
And, you WILL need all the help you can get."  I poured water/soda mix into 
the bag and opened the clamp to flush out  air, catching the outflow in the 
pitcher. This I poured back into the bag.   

Then I dumped the contents of the cylinder into the pouch and rocked the apparatus 
to mix it. I held it up to the light. "Here it is..."  

Eleanor gazed on the pouch with an awe bordering on reverence. "It doesn't look 
like a lot ... not compared to some."  

"You wouldn't want it larger. You'd never hold it long enough to feel the buzz. 
Ready?" I asked.  

"Let's do it."  

I nodded toward the bedroom. and followed her in. "How about some mood  lighting?" 
I asked as I lit candles on the nightstands.  

"You put away the I.V. stand," she observed.  

"We won't need it. I'll just hold up the bag."  

"What position?" she asked.  

"We want to invert your belly so the fluid  flows straight to your transverse 
colon. Can you stand on your head?"  

"Stand on my head? Are you kidding?"  

"Can you touch your toes, then?"  

"Of course I can touch my toes."  

"Then we'll try it standing. Bend over." Eleanor stood facing the bed with her 
back to me; then she leaned and supported herself with her hands on the mattress. 
I lifted her hem so it rested on the small of her back and beheld her gorgeous, 
round bottom, and the backs of her muscular thighs and  calves. "This is a beautiful 
view back here..."  

"My bubble-butt and big legs?" she remarked. "I know you like them..."  

"I do indeed."  

"...But I have no idea why."   

I spread her buttocks to expose the little delta of pigmented skin that  surrounded 
her pinkish-brown pucker; then I worked a glob of lube into it with my finger. 
"I'm going to slide this in as far as I can," I said as I picked up the tube 
and eased the  tip past her sphincter. "Tell me right away if you feel any discomfort." 

She nodded and I gently slid the tube into her until I felt some resistance. 

"I felt it poke me inside," she said.  

"Did it hurt at all?"  

"No -- I just felt it."  

"Okay then," I said, "bottoms up."  

"I'm a little scared," she said.  

"Nothing to be afraid of -- worst case you'll get cramps and have to expel it." 

Eleanor bent over and grabbed her ankles. "Is this okay?"  

"Should be..." I regarded her. "It's a good thing you're flexible. I'd never 
be able  to assume that posture... I thought you said you could touch your toes." 

"That's nothing -- watch..." Eleanor bent over more and, with her knees locked, 
pressed  her palms flat on the floor.  

"Amazing. I get a pain just watching you do that," I remarked. She resumed grasping 
her ankles.  "Can you hold that position for a couple of minutes?"  

"No problem."  

"I'm going to start the flow..." I opened the clamp, lifted the pouch and resumed 
holding the tube in  place so it wouldn't slip out.   

"I feel it..." It took about five seconds for the flow to flush the clear water 
out of the  tube and for the alcohol mixture to begin flowing into her rectum. 
Eleanor  gasped. "OH! It burns!"   

"I told you you'd feel it going in. Slow, deep breaths."   

She took deep, slow, deliberate breaths, her mouth wide open. "Oh! Oh! I feel 
it all  the way down my legs to my feet -- they feel like they're on fire!" 

"It's referred pain," I replied. "You're doing great."  

"Oh, my God!" She curled her toes. "My toes feel like they're red-hot!"   

"About half done," I said.   

"It's starting to feel better, now..."   

"It's flowing deeper into your colon. Your rectum is loaded with  nerve endings, 
but further up you have far fewer."   

"I feel a dull ache in my stomach."   

"It's pretty irritating stuff," I replied. The bag emptied. I closed the clamp 
and pulled out the tube. "It's all inside you."   

"Now what?" she asked.   

"Maintain that position until any acute discomfort dissipates; then lie on your 
right side.  Massage your stomach. Try to get it in deep."   

She flopped on the bed on her right side and worked her belly with her fingers. 
Then she pressed her  hand below her ribcage. "Now I feel it here... I think 
I can taste alcohol in the back of my throat."   

I ditched the equipment in the bathroom. Then I  undressed, slipped into a terrycloth 
robe and returned to the bedroom. Eleanor was still lying on  her right side, 
her knees flexed. I ran my hand along her leg. "How are you doing?" I asked. 

She pressed her hand against the right side of her abdomen below her ribcage. 
"It's all here,  now. I can feel the fullness."   

I could see the fullness -- a slight bulge as she lay on her right side. "So 
now we know how much it takes to fill your cecum," I replied.  

"I suppose that's good to know..."  

"I'll bet it's a cute little cecum in that cute little abdomen of yours."  

"I had a couple of cramps but they're subsiding. I'm starting to feel it, now." 

"How?"   

"I have this funny, light-headed feeling..."   

I glanced at the clock. "It's been about five minutes. It'll be another ten 
before you  start feeling the full effects."   

"My stomach stopped hurting," she said. "Maybe I'm getting used to it."   

"We'll see how long your colon can tolerate it." I peeled off my robe, lay beside 
her and  kissed her. "I can smell it on your breath."   

"How can it be on my breath if I didn't drink it?"   

"It's in your blood and you're excreting it through your lungs."   

"Oh... When I close my eyes it feels like I'm falling..."   

I looked at the clock. It was just past ten minutes since she had taken the 
mixture  into her colon. I kissed her again and could detect more alcohol on 
her breath.   

"Try rolling onto your back," I suggested. "We'll keep you flat... If it starts 
feeling  like the enema is wanting out, roll onto your right side. Okay?"   

"'kay..." She stretched out on her back.   

I smoothed my palm along her abdomen, thinking about the intoxicating mixture 
swirling inside her belly. "The enema must've flowed back lower in your colon. 
You don't  feel big at all, now."   

"No... Volume-wise this was no big deal. I can feel a burning sensation  inside 
my ... sphincter."  

"Any cramping or major discomfort?" I asked.  

"No... Just a slight burning sensation."  

"Good. You should be able to hold it for a while. Remember to roll to your right 
if you start to cramp."  

She closed her eyes. "Oh, God... I am really feeling it now."   

"You should absorb the alcohol faster lying on your back."  

"Why?" she asked.  

"You're exposing more surface area in your colon to it." I ran  the backs of 
my fingers down her chest between her breasts; then caressed one breast and 
the  other. I traced one of her dark, coin-sized areolas through the sheer fabric 
with my fingertip.   

When I brushed my fingers across her nipple she closed her eyes and drew in 
a  breath. "Oh!" she said.   

"Is that okay?"   

"Oh, yes. It surprised me -- that's all."   

I began fondling her breast through the fabric. Her nipple became erect and 
I stroked  it and rolled it between my fingers.   

"Both sides like that," she said. She was taking slow, deep breaths. "Oh, God, 
This  feels sooo good." She put her hand on my thigh and squeezed. Her body 
was very limp.   

"Does the alcohol help?" I asked.   

"Oh, yes," she replied. "Everything feels twice as intense." She touched her 
mons. "I  feel it here."   

I slipped the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders and began to uncover 
her  breasts. "No," she said, "through the fabric. I like how it feels ... slippery..." 

"You want slippery?" I remarked. "I've got slippery..." I grasped the bottle 
of lavendar lotion from the nightstand and held a glob in my palm to warm it. 
Then I smeared it onto  her nipples and pinched and rolled them.  

Eleanor's back jerked. "Oh, God..." I continued massaging her nipples. Her thighs 
began to tremble and her breathing grew heavy. "Oh, God," she gasped. "This 
feels so good..." Her enunciation was becoming less distinct. "I'm still going 
deeper..."   

"Into the alcohol?"   

She nodded. "Uh-uh... I never been this drunk. I alw's throw up first. It's 
odd to feel  this drunk and not feel any alcohol in my stomach..." She drew 
in a deep breath and released it.  "Oh, this feels good..."   

She hooked her arm around my neck and kissed me. "I need to take a break on 
my right side," she said, rolled over and palpitated her abdomen.  

I lay beside her. She opened my robe and ran her hands along my chest. "I almost 
came  juss then," she said.  

"When I was working your..."  

"Uh-huh," she replied, nodding.   

"Have you ever had a nipple orgasm?" I asked.  

"Unh-unh," she said, shaking her head.  

"Wanna try again?"  

"I lost it," she replied, "loss my concentration." She fingered her belly. "Feeling 
better now... almost ready. I wanna go a li'l deeper yet... Oh, God how I love 
you."   

"I love you, too, Ellie." I kissed the top of her head and inhaled the scent 
of her hair.  "Don't let yourself go too deep -- you won't feel anything."  

She rolled onto her back. I adjusted a pillow under her shoulders and then ran 
my hands along her abdomen.  "How's your colon doing?" I asked.   

"Iss okay now... Doesn't hurt..."   

I rolled her thighs apart, lifted the hem of the negligee and kissed between 
her legs.  Her musky cassolette filled my nostrils as I worked between her lips 
and pushed my tongue into  her vagina as far as I could.   

Then, I moved my tongue upward to her clit and began a gentle tickling. "Your 
clit is  very hard," I said, looking up at her through her dense pubic patch. 

"I been thinging about this all day," she replied, "made me sooo horny..."  

I slipped my arms under her thighs and cupped my hands over her compact breasts. 
With the tip of my tongue I found the glans of her clit poking out from under 
its little hood. I  began sucking it and rolling her nipples, still slick with 
lotion, my pinching in  synch with my tongue.   

Her body was as limp as a dishrag. She rolled her head to one side. Her lips 
parted  and she took deep, slow breaths through them. She lifted and crossed 
her forearms above her  head, pulled together her shoulder-blades and rocked 
her torso to press her breasts against my  fingers.   

"Oh," she slurred, "I'm molting... I mean I'm melting ... and I'm floating... 
it feels so  good."   

I continued working her clit with my tongue and rolling both nipples. Her heart 
was  beginning to pound and I could feel it through the flesh of her left breast. 

She had reached a plateau, I sensed. I maintained a steady rhythm on her clit, 
but I  didn't want to over stimulate it. Each of her breaths consisted of a 
slow, deep inhale and a sharp,  huffing exhale. I thought she needed some other 
stimulation, so I slipped my left hand off her  right breast and slid it under 
her hem. I massaged her abdomen, fingered her navel and caressed  her mons. 

She stayed on her plateau, her heart pounding. I slid my left hand under the 
fabric of  her negligee until I reached her breast. Then, I slipped my right 
hand under and began rolling her  nipples hard and rubbing my fingers against 
their tips.  

That did it. She exploded into orgasm, arched her back, moaned and gasped. I 
could  feel her pelvic muscles pulsing against my chin as I continued to work 
her clit with my tongue.   

Another orgasmic wave washed over her, and then another. I felt her pelvic floor 
move with each one. She grabbed my forearms in a white-knuckled grip. Then, 
she let out a  moan that was almost a shriek, and she started crying.   

Eleanor pressed her fist to her lips and wept. I came up from between her legs 
and  cradled her in my arms.   

"Ellie, are you all right?"   

Her body was wracked with sobs. She pressed her fist to her mouth again, nodded 
and sniffed.   

"Ellie, what's wrong?"   

"Nothing. I love you. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."   

"Can you sit up?"   

"I'll try..."   

I helped her sit and grasped the hem of the negligee to lift it from her. She 
sat, nude  and cross-legged on the bed. I knelt beside her, held her and kissed 
her. Her eyelids were droopy  and her eyes looked glassy. She peppered my face 
with kisses. Her tears subsided.  "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou," she said.   

I held her face against my chest. She started caressing me and exploring my 
skin  with her fingers. Then I ran my hand along her thigh, put my finger between 
her labia, pressed it  against her clit and began stroking.   

Eleanor began panting as I stroked her toward another climax, her breath now 
smelling strongly of alcohol. Then she moaned as a mini-orgasm swept over her. 

I let go of her so she could catch her wind. "Can you be on top?" I asked.  

"I thing so..."   

I lay on my back and helped her atop. She held me around my shoulders and I 
slid  inside her easily. I grabbed her hips and began moving them up and down. 
She got into the swing  and started pushing on her own.   

With my left arm across her shoulder blades and my right hand on the small of 
her  back I pressed her against me. She continued thrusting. I ran my right 
hand between her buttocks  and paused when I reached her anus. I slipped my 
finger in.   

It was like throwing a switch. She doubled and redoubled the vigor of her thrusting. 
"Uhh ... uhh ... uhh.." she grunted as she pushed against me. I could feel her 
sphincter pulsing  with her orgasms, and I knew my own climax was moments away. 
I tried to hold on, but lost it. I  grabbed her buttocks, pushed into her and 
ejaculated.   

She groaned. Her thrusting became a trembling of her hips and thighs against 
mine.  Her back was moist and her face was red. I stroked loose hair from her 
forehead, kissed her and  she started crying again.   

"Ellie, what is this? Why are you crying?"   

"I can't help it," she blubbered. "I love you so much!"   

I held her until she calmed again. "Are you okay?" I asked. She nodded. "How 
does  your colon feel?"   

"It's been cramping but I don't care."   

"Do you want to try and expel?"   

"I think I better."   

"I'll help you to the bathroom." I got up and helped her to her feet. She was 
having  trouble standing. "Let's try to walk -- one foot in front of the other." 

She stumbled. I supported her and ended up carrying her to the toilet. "You 
are  drunk, little girl."   

She sat on the toilet, folded her arms across her belly and leaned over. "Don't 
leave,"  she said. Then, she grunted and released a stream. It hit the water 
in the bowl with considerable  force.   

"Hey -- don't bear down," I said.   

"I can't help it." She grunted. More water came out. "It burns coming out, too." 

"It sounds like you're getting rid of most of it," I said.   

She grasped her abdomen, shook it up and down; then leaned over, grunted and 
released more. "Ohhhh..." she groaned. "I think my colon's gonna be grouchy 
for a couple of  days."   

"That can happen. You might feel a little hung-over in the morning, too." I 
watched  her tense her abdomen. She closed her eyes, grunted again and a vein 
in her neck began to stand  out. "It's not good to push so hard."   

"Feels good to push..."   

"At least wait 'til you have something to push out."   

"I'm trying... Oh! I have cramps." Eleanor folded her arms across her abdomen 
and  leaned over. A gurgle came from her stomach. She grunted and expelled another 
stream.   

"Think about what it would feel like if you hadn't had those cleansing enemas 
first."   

"The thought had crossed my mind ... ugh!" Eleanor closed her eyes and bore 
down. She  sat up and took a deep breath. "I'm starting to feel a little better, 
now. My stomach feels very  empty. It's a better purge than I ever had from 
castile soap."  

"Alcohol is considerably more irritating," I replied. "It's very purgative." 

"You're right about something else. My head's starting to clear ... now that 
I'm rid of it."   

"Do you remember making love?"   

"How could I forget it? It was wonderful. You were right about that, too. It 
was the  best sex I've ever had ... uhhh..." She paused to bear down again. 
"About the crying..."   

"Alcohol does funny things to people, Ellie. We don't have to discuss it if 
it  embarrasses you."   

"It wasn't the alcohol that made me cry. It was you."   

"Me?"   

"Yes. Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it. I felt really loopy..." 

"Loopy? You couldn't walk."   

"I've never been that drunk. Still, parts of my brain were functioning just 
fine --  better than normal. While you were down between my legs ... I suddenly 
felt the full force and  power of your love." She sniffed away a tear. "It overwhelmed 
me. I'm not sure I deserve a love  like yours."   

"You let me decide who's worthy of my love. Trust me on this one, Ellie."   

"Fair enough."   

"Sex is communication. It's what I've been trying to communicate to you since 
our  first time together."   

"Your message came through loud and clear. Its why I ... didn't ask you to look 
away  when I started coming."   

"I know that was one of your hang-ups," I replied. "I figured the alcohol lowered 
your inhibitions."   

She shook her head. "It heightened my awareness. I felt ... I knew I had nothing 
to  fear from you. I could expose myself -- my body and my psyche in all my 
vulnerability -- to you  and ... and you'd protect me. That's why I never wanted 
anyone to watch me climax -- I felt so  vulnerable. But not with you. Not now. 
Not anymore. I opened myself to you and you gave me  the most powerful orgasms 
I ever had. They went straight to my core. I feel inadequate to  reciprocate. 
I don't know what I can do for you in return."   

"Ellie -- I assure you I enjoy your orgasms as much as you do. I lost count 
of how  many you had."   

"Five, I think."   

"Including the one with you on top?"   

"Six then."   

"And the one with you sitting up?"   

"Seven? Does it matter? Maybe it was just one long one... I think I'm done here." 
She reached for the toilet tissue and cleaned herself off. "I still feel pretty 
loopy."   

"You need to sleep it off. You might feel a bit hung over in the morning. We 
can sleep in as long as you like."  

"Sounds good..."  

"Can you walk?"   

"Carry me."   

I scooped her up, carried back to the bedroom, turned down the covers and we 
slid in  together. She cuddled against me. I held her in my arms and she was 
asleep before her head hit  the pillow. I kissed her and pulled her tight against 
myself.   

She roused for an instant. I looked into her eyes and she smiled. "I love you, 
Ellie," I  said.   

"I know you do. I know." She let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes.  

                              ====================
DISCLAIMER  

Notice: The above story is fiction and is provided as  entertainment only. The 
events described should not be regarded as an endorsement,  recommendation, 
or as a description of safe or harmless practices; and the author is not  responsible 
for damages or injury to anyone attempting to emulate the fictional behavior 
of the  fictional characters in this story. Introducing alcohol or any foreign 
substance into the  colon can be dangerous or lethal. Please, do not try this 
at  home.   

The Canadian Medical Association Journal article referenced above is freely 
available from the National Institute of Health. You'll find it at the other 
end of  this link. I  wouldn't recommend attempting this procedure, ether ... 
err ... either. --D.    


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


Copyright (C) 2007 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 