I gave myself an enema last night and now I can’t type properly, so bare with me.
I didn’t know what to expect, having never done this before. So after much consideration I thought it would be a gentle, leisurely activity. Hence, when I walked out of the pharmacy with an enema and some sex lube, I also brought a magazine to read during the cleansing. It was a fitness magazine and I’m just realizing now that means it has a mostly naked man on the cover.
(My girlfriend is reading this post over my shoulder as I type. I told her to leave me alone so her sympathetic response was, “Aw, sweetie, you can’t give yourself an enema or type when I’m around?”)
I was still kind of cocky (;))as we were driving home with the equipment, playing it cool and hip (I was 
) then she started reading the instructions for an enema and I was :dubious:.
We got home and I put on a brave face (:D) to show that everything was still okay. Then I locked myself in the bathroom and told my girlfriend to leave me alone.
I opened the kit 
and found that the items were already partially assembled and the instructions hadn’t said whether or not to insert the nozzle into the tube or go with the pre-assembled attachment that looked like a plastic whisk. I was totally :(.
I decided to go with the nozzle and filled the bag with water, concerned that the instructions were woefully inadequate. They consisted of a single paragraph on the back of the box and one of their many inadequacies regarded the inability to distinquish between warm and luke-warm water. :mad: These little things seemed so important right now.
(My girlfriend just plopped down on my floor to read one of the porn magazines we bought because the people in it were so ugly. Magazines like REAL WIVES and OVER 50, the second one possessing cover blurbs like, “Hump the aged!” and “I need jism for my rheumatism!”)
Now came the task of insertion. It became very apparent to me that I do not know how to stick things in my ass. Something to do with angles, I think, since all that came from excessive lube was me slipping and falling down. (My girlfriend was 
and :wally in the next room). I was :mad:, totally determined to defeat my anus.
Finally, I won. I think the key was to remember to breathe. My girlfriend came to see if I was okay and I told her to go away. Now, to begin.
I took a deep breath (:o) and removed the clamp from the hose. Guess what? The water had turned cold by this time. :rolleyes: It was a strange sensation. I could kind of feel my insides filling, but in incidental way. My organs around the area that was filling noticed the expansion, and I was able to feel it this way, but I detected no sensations in my… anal cavity? I just realized I don’t know what my ass tube is called.
Apprehensively, I started reading my magazine. I filled and filled and filled. I didn’t know when to stop the water, but I used my intuition and snapped the clamp onto the hose when I felt that I was going to burst.
I pulled out the tube and sat back down, not sure what to expect. Nothing happened. I waited a bit, but still nothing happened. It wasn’t at all what I anticipated. I expected all my dirtiness to just flow out and be replaced by a sparkling freshness.
It didn’t happen. Nothing did. I kept reading and I could feel water settling and ebbing inside of me, but nothing came out. That’s when I decided to push.
A few years ago my best friend Joseph got a job as a veterinarian’s assitant for the summer. The previous summer I had been paid to test drugs and what resulted were some fabulously hilarious hijinks, but despite how great my summer job was I had to admit that Joseph’s trumped mine when I found out that he got to give a cat an enema.
Nothing happened. The next morning, Joseph came back to work and found that the room with the cat in it was completely soaked. The walls, the roof, the other animals. He described it thusly, “Everything was wet and in the furthest corner of the cage was this wet, shivering cat. It was like it had exploded and reformed itself.”
I laughed like crazy, and every time I imagine the process, I imagine the cat running around in frightened circles as something terrifying came out of its ass. Now I know better. Now I know the cat was suddenly :eek: and then KABOOM! a cartoonish explosion.
Return to me in the bathroom, where I pushed and was suddenly :eek: and KERSPLASH!. The magazine I was reading at that moment got splashed (:eek: ) and so did the toilet paper on the back of the tank (:eek::eek::eek:!)
I panicked, not knowing what was going on and what was supposed to happen. It ceased as abruptly as it started, leaving me to sit there, stunned. After a few minutes of aftershocks I decided it was okay to get off the toilet. A few moments after standing it became clear that there was more to come out of me, it had just pooled somewhere while I was sitting and was now flowing downhill.
So I sat back down on the toilet. I probably sat there for fifteen minutes or so while my girlfriend, who had heard the entire thing, sat :eek: in the living room, mute.
Somewhere at www.historyhouse.com there’s an article about one of America’s presidents being shot. He lingered for a few days while a rabble of doctors subjected him to crafty enemas ranging from eggs to rum to coffee and persisted to do so until the flatus became too offensive, at which point he died.
Now when I read that story, I assumed the cleansing of his ass tube would be kind of like a garden hose and they’d just put a bucket up to his cheeks. Now I imagine them wheeling him outside every day and ducking behind a hedge.
What a traumatic experience.
You made me bust out laughing, 
my boss heard me, :dubious: read it, laughed,