Cindy and Me
Copyright© 2015 by Unca D
Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This story is for hard-core enema enthusiasts only. Nick injured his knee and his prescribed pain medication has made him severely constipated. After exhausting the usual remedies, his nurse girlfriend Cindy suggests an enema. Reluctant but desperate, Nick agrees. The experience opens doors to new sexual discoveries; and he and Cindy find themselves bonded more strongly than ever, both physically and emotionally.
I pulled into a stall in the visitors' lot, put it in park and reached for my cane. Gingerly I eased myself from the driver's seat and hobbled toward the building. Upon reaching the vestibule I pressed the button.
"Yes?" came a voice through the intercom.
"Be right down."
Leaning on my cane I waited for her. Soon I saw Cindy appear. "Is this okay?" she asked and modeled her outfit -- a little, black sleeveless dress.
"Lovely," I replied as I regarded her. Cindy was petite and slightly built. She had unruly red hair that extended down her back, green eyes and freckles on either side of her nose. Her complexion was peaches-and-cream, with a slight ruddy mottle; and broader freckles covered her shoulders and upper arms. Although not most folk's idea of beautiful, she was by no means unattractive. Her forehead was high and broad, and her nose and chin were strong. Her lips naturally formed a sort of permanent pout; however, she had apple cheeks and a pretty smile. We had been dating for about three months.
Together we headed back to my car. I pressed the button on the key fob to release the door locks. She slipped into the passenger seat and I eased myself behind the wheel.
"I'll take that," she said and held my cane.
"Thanks." After backing out of the parking space I headed for a boulevard that, once out of town, became a county trunk highway.
I turned onto a town road. We were headed for The Reef. It was a historic building -- originally a stagecoach inn, once on a busy canal but now out in the middle of the country. Nonetheless it had a well-deserved reputation for excellence.
"Have you been here before?" Cindy asked me.
"Often ... as a kid," I replied. "They have some game items on the menu. I was fascinated with the idea of eating frogs' legs or grouse."
"I hope they have some good old domestic chicken." I hate the idea of frogs sitting in little wheelchairs."
"Right ... Here we are."
I parked in front of the establishment. Cindy handed me my cane and helped me out of the car. "Your knee still bothering you?" she asked.
"Yes and especially today."
"What does your doctor say?"
"He said give it another week or so and if there's no improvement he'll send me to a specialist ... for a laproscopic look-see."
Cindy grimaced. "Let's hope you get some improvement. I hate seeing you..."
"Disabled? Maybe there's a silver lining. Maybe I qualify for a cripple tag so I can park in the handicap spots."
We were shown our table and handed menus. "I see the frogs' legs and grouse," she remarked. "Also eel ... rabbit stew ... I think I'll go with the lake perch almandine."
"Maybe I'll just go with a salad."
She reached across the table and took my hand. "Nick -- what's the matter? You've been down all evening. Is it your knee?"
"My knee is the least of it. Let's leave it at that." I squeezed her hand. "Sorry, babe. I'm not feeling myself and I don't have an appetite."
"I understand. You can't predict when you'll get sick..."
"Or blow out your knee?"
"That either. You were so patient with me when I was sick ... I guess I need to be patient, too."****
We headed back into town. Cindy held my hand. "Nick -- what is it? What's wrong? I'm a nurse..."
"I know you're a nurse."
"Maybe I can suggest something to help."
"It's this pain medication I'm taking."
"He has me on oxy."
"That's the stuff."
"Is it not working?"
"Oh, it helps ... helps with the pain. But -- there's this side effect ... I'd rather not talk about it."
"Don't be shy."
"It has me ... bound up. Okay?"
"As in ... constipated?"
"That's the technical term for it," I replied with some sarcasm.
"Opioid induced constipation ... OIC. We see it all the time. Have you discussed this with your doctor?"
"Of course I have. He's suggested laxatives and softeners. It's just been getting worse as time goes on. He had me try something specially formulated for this..."
"Methylnaltrexone?" she suggested.
I shrugged. "Coulda been."
"Did it help?"
"I dunno. I was on it for only two days -- the stuff neutralized the oxy and the pain was back."
"That can happen. When was the last time you were able to..."
"Four days ago. I seriously felt like I was shitting a brick ... sideways."
"Did your doctor mention taking an enema?"
I drew in a breath. "He did suggest it as an option. It's not an option I relish."
"I know nothing about them and I'm not about to go to a clinic and have some stranger poking around back there."
"Let me help you take one," she replied. "Speaking as a nurse, it's something I know a fair bit about; and, speaking as your girlfriend and frequent bed mate -- I'm no stranger."
"Geez ... no thanks."
"I guarantee that not only will you get relief, but afterward you will feel better than you've felt in a long time."
"You can guarantee that?"
"Double your money back."
"It's an easy guarantee to make."
"You really will feel better, Nick. Tell you what ... If we do this and you don't feel great afterward -- you can ask me to do anything and I won't turn you down."
"Anything?" I glanced toward her in the passenger seat.
"Hmmm ... All right. Seems there's nothing to lose."
We reached her apartment building. She opened the main lobby door with her passkey and we rode the elevator to her floor. I followed her into her apartment.
Cindy was a neat freak, so her place was spotless. From a closet she withdrew a bath towel. "Give me a few minutes to get ready. In the meantime, spread this on the bed."
"Okay..." I spread the towel and sat on her bed. She disappeared into her walk-in closet and by now I was seriously regretting that I had agreed to this. Then, Cindy reappeared dressed in maroon scrubs instead of the little black dress. "Do you really need to dress for the part?" I asked.
"I'm more comfortable doing this in these." From her closet she produced a folding, portable I.V. stand that she set up near the bed. "Have you ever had an enema before?" she asked.
"When I was a kid ... My mom gave them to me whenever I had a stomach flu or the like. I think the last one I had was when I was nine or ten. I don't remember much ... except I dreaded them."
"Don't fret -- I am an expert at this," She said. "You are in good hands."
Cindy stepped out of the bedroom and returned with a tray containing a box of facial tissue, a tube of surgical lube and a box of exam gloves. She left and returned carrying a fountain syringe, its red reservoir full and bulging. From it was a plastic hose terminated with a hard plastic nozzle. This she hung on the I.V. stand and adjusted the height.
"We need access to your bottom," she said.
"Right..." I slipped out of my pants and briefs and sat on her bed, eyeing the bulging red bag. "How much is in that?"
"Two quarts," she replied.
"Looks like a lot."
"Two quarts is your standard, adult dose. It's tap water with a small amount of castile soap added."
"Soap? Why soap?"
"It gives the enema a bit of a kick ... and if you're as bound up as you say you are, you're going to need all the help you can get. Now -- lie on your left side. I'm going to put some lube on you."
Cindy pulled an exam glove onto her right hand and picked up the tube of lube with her left. After snapping open the cap she squeezed some onto her finger. "Now, just relax. Relaxation is critical to success."
Her fingers spread my buttocks and I felt the cold lube on my skin. Then, she pushed her finger inside me. "Wasn't expecting that," I remarked.
"Just checking for anything that would counter-indicate what we're doing. You look perfectly normal back here. Now, I'm going to insert the nozzle." I felt the hard tip easing into my anal canal. "Everything feel okay?" she asked.
"I'll describe what you should expect," she said and I could tell she was in full Nurse mode. "When I start the flow, first your rectum will fill and expand. This may give you a sense of needing to go. You'll need to resist that urge and hold it back. In a little while the enema will begin to flow higher into your colon. It might be an unfamiliar sensation but it should not be unpleasant. I have the bag hanging kinda low so we'll be going slowly at first. You might feel pressure or cramping. If you do, let me know and I'll stop the flow until your colon relaxes and the pressure eases. Understand?"
"You shouldn't feel any real pain."
"That's a relief," I interjected.
"Any cramping we'll deal with by slowing down the flow. As the enema progresses you may begin to feel fullness in your belly or a sense of bloat. That's normal. Understand?"
"Our goal is to fill your entire colon from end-to-end. Now, I want you to bend your right knee..."
"That's the one I can't bend."
"Oh, right ... Oh, well ... roll halfway onto your stomach and slip your left arm behind your back. I'm going to start the flow..."
I heard the snap of the clamp and the next sensation brought back a flood of memories. It was a sudden cool spray deep in my pelvic bowl and it was a sensation I remember vividly from the enemas my mother administered. "Wow ... That brings back memories," I remarked.
"Cool flow inside ... it's warming up, now."
"The water in the hose lost its heat," she said.
"I feel pressure build and release," I remarked, "low on the left side of my abdomen."
"Take long, deep breaths," Cindy coached. "Use your diaphragm. The movement will flex your colon and help distribute the enema."
I did as instructed, flexing the muscles in my abdomen. I could feel the water penetrating deep inside my belly. "Bubbles inside," I remarked. I felt something else -- despite myself the sensations were giving me a hard-on. I hoped Cindy wouldn't notice.
She pinched the red reservoir and closed the clamp. "I want you to roll onto your back," she said. "It'll make it easier to fill your transverse colon." She drew a line across her belly with her finger from left to right.
I complied and tugged on the hem of my shirt to cover as best I could my stiffening manhood. "I'm going to re-start the flow." Cindy reached for the clamp and snapped it open. "I'm also going to raise the bag a bit..." She turned a knurled fitting on the stand and raised the bag about twelve inches.
I could feel more bubbles and gurgles inside, now high in my belly between my ribcage and navel. Cindy saw me glance at the red bag. "About half done," she said. "How are you feeling?"
"Actually, okay," I replied. "There hasn't been any discomfort."
"Good. You're doing really well, Nick. You're a good patient."
"I am beginning to feel fullness."
"Let me feel..." She pressed her palms on my belly. "Yes, I can feel your colon getting firm." She began unbuttoning my shirt from my sternum down, and before I could object she had spread it wide open. "Oh, my," she remarked on spotting my firm erection.
I let out an exasperated sigh. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
"Don't be embarrassed. The nerves down there are in close proximity and it's not unusual for this sort of stimulation to result in arousal."
"Reminds me," I said with a little laugh, "of a joke. God must be a civil engineer because only a civil engineer would run a toxic waste pipeline through a recreational area."
Cindy laughed at my joke. "I'm going to give your belly a gentle massage -- to work the enema into the nooks and crannies." I felt her fingers against my abdomen. She would press on one side and I'd bulge out the other.
She glanced at the bag. "Roll onto your right side now so gravity will help the enema flow high into your colon."
"Starting to feel really full, now," I remarked.
"Take shallow breaths," she suggested. "Pant like a dog using your ribcage. Relax your belly and let it fill. Just a little more..." The bag emptied with a soft glug. "You're done. I'll take the nozzle." I felt her pluck it from my bottom.
"Now, roll onto your back and hold it for as long as you can. Holding it helps the enema work." She sat on the bed and ran her hand along my thigh.
"How long do I hold it?"
"Ideally, for fifteen minutes or so," she replied. "I know when holding an enema, especially one with soapsuds, each minute feels like ten. Hold it until you have a strong urge to go."
"I'm beginning to feel a ... an indistinct ache..." I put my hands on my abdomen. " ... here."
"You're feeling the soapsuds," she said.
"Pressure inside," I said.
"The enema is stimulating peristalsis in your colon," she said.
"Indeed it is."
"It should be coming in waves, starting high in your colon and moving down. Hold it back."
Grunting I tightened the muscles in my bottom. The peristaltic wave crested against the inside of my anus and dissipated. Then I felt another one beginning, stronger than the first. "Another," I said.
"After one more passes you can get up and go sit on the toilet," she said.
"I don't think I can hold back another one," I gasped. "I almost lost it on that one."
"I'll help you." She picked up a washcloth, folded it over and pressed it hard against my anus. With her other hand she squeezed my buttocks together.
A third, powerful wave was building. One good thing -- the cramping had neutralized my erection and I was flaccid again. Biting my lip and closing my eyes I concentrated on tightening the muscles in my bottom to hold back the enema that my colon desperately wanted to be rid of. A gurgling groan came from somewhere in my belly. I let out a gasp as the wave dissipated.
"Get up and go," Cindy said.
I eased myself from her bed. Bent over and with my arms folded across my belly I headed toward the bathroom as fast as my gimp knee permitted. Another peristaltic wave was building in my gut and it was essential I reached the loo before it hit because I knew there would be no holding this one back.
I made it to the bathroom and closed the door. Then it was lid up, seat down and as I sat the enema exploded from my bottom. Groaning, I bore down with each wave after crampy wave, pushing out enema water and solids -- hard ones at first, followed by softer stuff. I was getting sweaty from the exertion. Cindy, you lost your bet, I thought.
Then, as I expelled the last of the enema the cramping began to subside. I realized I had found relief -- the bound-up sensation I had suffered for two weeks was gone. Reaching for the tissue roll I cleaned myself off and glanced into the bowl before hitting the flush lever. It was full of what had ailed me.
I washed my hands and returned to the bedroom. "Well," Cindy said with a slight smirk, "everything come out okay?"
I put my hand against my abdomen. "It was a gut-wrenching experience," I replied, "but I do feel better. Not better than ever ... but, better than before."
"It's not over 'til it's over," she replied. "Lie down and relax for a while and let your colon rest ... before your second enema."
"Soapsuds are irritating to the colon. You need a clear water rinse to get rid of any remaining. Otherwise you could experience some discomfort."
"All right ... you're the expert."
I stretched out on her bed and she sat on the mattress, running her hand along my leg. "Poor knee," she said. "I hope you feel better. I hate seeing you suffer." Cindy leaned over and kissed my knee. Then, she smoothed her palm along my thigh. "I'm glad you're not too hairy. I don't like hairy guys. And, I've always been partial to blonds."
"I always thought my hair was more sandy than blond," I replied.
"A difference without a distinction," she remarked.
"Tell me -- do you give enemas like this in the hospital?"
She shook her head. "Almost never. If a patient needs an enema more likely than not it's a squeeze-bottle phospho-saline one. Time is money. Setting up something like this takes half an hour when a squeeze bottle is thirty seconds. Closest is when I give a patient barium for an X-ray series." She spread open my shirt and gently palpitated my abdomen. "How are things feeling in there?"
"Much better, thanks. To be honest, the experience wasn't nearly as bad as I was anticipating. It was a bit grueling in the bathroom..."
"Blame that on the oxy," she retorted. "The enema was merely the catalyst."
"I feel better than when I started the oxy."
"I know what you mean. I always feel good after an enema," she said.
"You use enemas?" I asked.
"Why do you think I have all this equipment?" she replied.
"Never thought about it ... professional accoutrement, maybe."
"I've used them on a regular basis all my life," she continued. "My grandmother raised me and she was old school. Enemas once a week and more often if I was sick, sluggish or had a fever. She thought regular, large-volume enemas were good for you -- they have a tonic effect on the colon. The distention and expulsion strengthens its muscles, she thought. I can't disagree. Enemas were commonplace in homes up until mid-century. Then they fell out of favor."
"I wonder why," I remarked.
"Yeah, I wonder why, too. I wonder why something that's cheap and easy to self-administer got replaced with expensive prescription drugs and procedures."
"You sound cynical."
"Maybe I am. It think the longer I work in that hospital the more cynical I become."
"Healthy cynicism is ... healthy," I remarked.
"Oh, well ... Time for enema number two." Cindy picked the red bag up from its perch and carried it into her kitchen and I could hear the water running.