How Helen Learns to Love AnalChapter 8
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I was in the front yard of the condo watering the flower bed that Helen had planted. Her silver Leaf pulled up to the garage door. She gave me a little wave and pressed the button on the opener.
After emptying the watering can I headed inside. “Another long day?” I asked.
“Yeah, but we’re getting our arms around it. Speaking of which...” Helen embraced and kissed me. I hugged her and we kissed again.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“Nothing. Now, do something to deserve it.”
“Maybe I already have. You seem chipper tonight,” I remarked.
“Oh, I am. Eric -- the enemas last night made me feel lighter and more energetic, and the sex gave my attitude a seriously-needed adjustment. My co-workers noticed and remarked I must have a new boyfriend.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, same boyfriend I’ve been living with for the past two months. They had no idea -- I guess I’m pretty private about my personal life.”
“Good policy, actually.”
“They wanted details. All I said was that you were very nurturing last night.”
“And, what did they say to that?”
“Gina said she wished she had a nurturing boyfriend and Carla said she wished she had a boyfriend, period. So I guess they thought I’m pretty lucky. I think I’m pretty lucky.”
“I know I’m pretty lucky ... Helen -- I know it’s your turn to make dinner. You’ve been working long days and I have some burgers in the freezer I could put on the grill...”
“I have dinner planned. Let me change and I’ll tell you all about it.”
I watched her bound up the stairs. She bounded down shortly in running shorts, tank and sandals. “I saw a box on the bathroom vanity,” she said. “Combo syringe and hot water bottle set.”
“That’s your new fountain syringe.”
“Can we try it tonight after dinner?”
“What is dinner?”
“I thought we could go out, my treat,” she said. “Then...” She bit her lip. “Try it out?”
“After last night? You hardly need more enemas.”
“When I get a new toy I want to play with it. Would tonight be too soon?”
“Not necessarily,” I replied. “Lots of folks are daily users. Mae West and Marilyn Monroe reportedly were. Where can we go where this is the dress code?”
“My surprise.”
I followed her into the garage and sat in the passenger seat of her Leaf. She backed out of the garage and headed toward town. “I think I know where we’re headed,” I remarked. “The Palace.”
“Right. Fifties atmosphere, surly wait staff, do-wop on the jukebox ... I was in the mood for one of their burgers and fries.”
“Not exactly up to your usual healthy standards,” I said.
“Maybe not, but what’s the harm once in a while?”
Helen parked diner’s side lot. “Man, this place takes me back,” I said, “to when my folks were kids. It’s hard to believe this place has been here for sixty-plus years ... and the only thing that’s changed on the menu are the prices. My folks have photos of when they came here as teenagers -- my dad driving my granddad’s red Camaro convertible.”
“You’re a local so you have those connections,” she replied. “I like the ambiance.”
We sat in a booth and looked over the menu. “I think I’ll stuff the jukebox,” I said. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything romantic.”
I looked over the jukebox selections. The device had been upgraded from vinyl to digital but the selection list was the same and songs cost a buck a pop.
“I punched up ‘I Only Have Eyes for You’ by the Flamingoes,” I said. “Romantic enough?”
“I like that song.”
“It should be next up after ‘Ain’t That a Shame’ wraps up.”
Our server took our orders -- bacon double cheeseburger, onion rings and large chocolate malt for me and a cheeseburger, fries and vanilla shake for Helen. “I remember coming here as a teenager, too; especially after I got my license and my first car.” My selection started playing on the jukebox. “This song makes me feel like we should be necking in the back seat of a Studebaker on Lovers’ Lane.”
“It is romantic...” Helen reached across the table and took my hand. “One thing I didn’t tell my co-workers was lifting my spirits today...”
“What’s that?”
“What we talked about in bed ... you know ... kids and marriage. I kept hoping I hadn’t dreamt it.”
“You certainly didn’t,” I replied. “I’m dead serious.”
“What sort of ceremony should we plan? It’s traditional for the bride’s family to foot the bill. My folks aren’t very wealthy...”
“I think we can break with tradition. I don’t have a big circle of friends.”
“I don’t have any circle of friends, here,” she remarked. “All my friends are back home. I’ve kinda lost touch with most of them.”
“Hmm ... An intimate event for immediate family sounds good to me.”
“Sounds good to me, too.”
“We should go looking for a ring,” I suggested. “Maybe this weekend.”
“Oh, I don’t need a fancy ring,” she replied. “I really don’t need one at all.”
“Just think what your co-workers will think if you show up with one.”
She smiled. “I think their heads will explode.”
Our meals arrived. “This burger tastes just like it did when I was a senior in high school,” I said. “And the malt is just as thick.”
“We threw a going-away luncheon here for one of my co-workers who changed jobs,” she replied. “That’s how I knew the place. For a fifties-style greasy spoon, you can’t get much better than this.”
The server set the check in front of me and Helen snatched it. From her bag she retrieved some bills and set them on the table. “That should cover it plus a tip,” she said.
We headed to the parking lot and Helen backed the Leaf out of the parking stall. We headed back to the condo. “This was a good idea,” I said. “I enjoyed myself.”
“So did I,” Helen replied. “It’s a nice change of pace.”
She pulled into the garage. I hopped out and hooked up the charging cable. “Your car is like a smartphone,” I remarked. “When you’re not using it you keep it on the charger. Let’s take a stroll to settle our dinners a little.”
We headed for a walk around the condo complex. “You’re keeping me in suspense,” she remarked.
“I know you want to play with your new toy,” I replied, “but it’s not a good idea to take a big enema right after a big meal.”
“Why is that?”
“Your stomach and your colon lie against each other. If both become distended, you can feel some real discomfort.”
“That makes sense. The burger and shake were pretty filling.” She pressed her palm against her abdomen. “I think my tummy is pooching out a bit.”
Holding hands we headed along the woods behind our unit. “What do I need to know about using a fountain syringe?” she asked.
“Well ... Obvious main difference is you get filled up from a single insertion of the nozzle. We need to decide which position to try. Like with the bulb we don’t want to be fighting gravity, but we can exploit gravity, too. One way is left side, knees drawn up.”
“Like we use for an anal douche,” she remarked.
“Yeah -- it’s a good way to get an enema started. The problem is, once your descending colon is full, we’re fighting gravity to get the enema up into your transverse colon. Once you’ve taken a third of the fluid, you roll onto your back or belly to take the rest. If you want to make sure your cecum is filled then you can roll onto your right side for the last third and the water will flow downhill into it.”
“That makes sense,” she remarked.
“You can also take an enema on your back or on your belly. That keeps your colon mostly horizontal so you’re not fighting gravity. Lying on your belly puts pressure on it and might not be the best position.”
“I can see that,” she said.
“Kneeling on all fours is a good way to keep your belly horizontal without putting pressure on it.”
“Like last night with the bulb,” she remarked.
“You are getting into this,” I remarked. “Then there’s the Sims positions -- you’re lying half on your left side and half on your stomach. Your colon is mostly horizontal but slightly uphill. That’s another good way to get an enema started.”
“What would you recommend?” she asked.
“I think if we start you on the left-side, knees-up position that would work well for you.”
“What else do I need to know?”
“How high to hold the bag,” I said. “The recommendation is eighteen to twenty-four inches above your rectum. I think that’s too low. The flow is too slow and if you stimulate motility in your colon before you’ve taken the entire enema you risk dealing with backpressure. I think thirty-six inches or even more is better. If the fluid flows in too fast, you risk cramping,. but you can always address that by stopping and starting the flow. I think best policy is to take an enema as fast as is comfortable to get it all in before your colon knows what’s hit it.”
“How do you know so much about this? Let me guess ... Linda.”
“Right. She taught me all I know about sex and enemas.”
“She must’ve given you a lot of enemas,” Helen remarked.
“No -- only a few, so I do know what they feel like. I gave her too many to count.”
“What, was she constipated, too?” she asked.
“I gave Linda enemas because she enjoyed them and she enjoyed having me give them.”
“If your bedside manners with her was anything like what I experienced last night, then it’s no wonder she liked you giving them.”
“It took me a while to understand what makes for a properly administered one,” I replied. “So, you’re benefiting from her tutelage.”
We had circled around the complex and arrived back at the unit. I unlocked the front door and we stepped inside.
Helen bounded up the stairs and I followed her. “I’m going to change,” she said.
“Oh, please don’t. I love you just how you are.”
“My clothes, silly.” She headed into the closet.
I opened the box and began assembling the apparatus by attaching one end of the hose to the adapter cap and sliding the shutoff clamp into place. Then I affixed the white plastic douche tip to the other end of the hose.
Helen emerged from the closet wearing a floral printed, mid-thigh length satin robe and with her long hair in a ponytail. I carried the enema bag into the en suite and began running water to warm it up. “I also bought a one-quart measuring cup and an instant-read thermometer. We want the water about a hundred three degrees ... Fahrenheit. I know you scientists use centigrade.
“Celsius,” she replied. “We call it Celsius.”
“I guess we’re old-fashioned at the hospital.” I put the measure under the tap and adjusted the faucet until the thermometer read 103. I measured two quarts into the bag and screwed on the cap. “This is important,” I said. “Once the bag is full, you flush air out of the hose...” I held up the bag, pointed the nozzle into the sink and cracked open the clamp until water sprayed out of the jets in the tip.
“Ready?”
“Ready, willing and eager,” she replied.
“Grab a towel and spread it on the bed.”
Helen lay on the towel and drew up her knees. I lifted the hem of her robe to expose her tight, round buttocks. “I’m going to put some lube on you,” I said. “This shouldn’t feel any different...” I squirted the surgical gel onto my finger, spread it onto her anus and worked some into her orifice. Then I applied more to the douche tip. “This nozzle is about the same as on the bulb, so it shouldn’t feel strange to you, either.” I touched the bulbous tip to her orifice. “Take some deep breaths and relax.”
With a rocking motion I eased the tip’s bulbous nose into her anal canal. Tilting it back I slid it into her rectum. “Feel okay?” I asked.
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