Chapter 6

I signed the receipt and handed it to the driver. The delivery van pulled away. I regarded the stack of cartons in my driveway. Picking one up I carried it into the house and down into the basement.

Lize’s blue Ford pulled into the driveway. “Ethan,” she called. “Let me change. I’ll carry those for you.”

“I’m perfectly capable,” I replied, picking up another box.

“I don’t want you to strain yourself -- after your procedure.”

“It was only a vasectomy, for chrissake,” I retorted. “It’s not a hernia.”

She dashed into her unit and returned wearing shorts and a tank. Lize picked up a carton and carried it into my basement. “I still can’t believe you went out and got a vasectomy,” she said.

“Well ... After that scare with the burst condom -- we were both sweating bullets ‘til you got your period...”

“I did take Plan B pills,” she replied, “and they only made me moderately sick.”

“That’s not a viable approach on a regular basis,” I replied. “I figured we had to do something. Since you can’t go on the pill and you can’t tolerate an IUD, this seemed like the logical solution. Besides -- the procedure was nothing -- a poke and a snip and it’s done. I should be fully back in action in a few days.”

Lize followed me up the stairs and outside. We picked up the last two cartons and carried them inside. “New merchandise?” she asked.

“Indeed. Are you up for a photo shoot?”

She smiled broadly. “Sure. After dinner? I put some short ribs in the slow cooker before work this morning. They should be done -- a few minutes under the broiler and dinner will be ready.”

I adjusted my tripod. I laid out the items to be photographed.

Lize stepped in wearing a black, sleeveless dress. Her dark blonde hair fell as soft curls around her face. I scanned her up and down. “Wow,” I remarked. “You look great, Lize.”

“In my LBD?”

“LBD?”

“Little black dress.”

“I like how it looks against your fair skin.”

“I’ve had it for a while but never have an opportunity to wear it.”

“Maybe we should go out some night -- dinner and a show.”

“I wasn’t fishing for a night out, Ethan.”

“I know ... but it might be fun.” I chortled. “Do you know that with each of these shoots you show off a bit more? Last time it was that sleeveless floral print. This time you’re showing some cleavage. I think you’re a bit of an exhibitionist.”

She smiled coyly. “Maybe I am. So, what’s the first item?”

I handed it to her. “It’s a new retention nozzle.”

“Retention?”

“Yes...” I pointed to it. “This section inflates...” I attached a syringe to a thin tube, pressed the plunger and the nozzle blew up like a small balloon. “Once it’s in place you inflate the balloon. It seals the rectum and it can’t pop out.” I deflated the nozzle. “Most of these retail for nearly two hundred bucks.”

“Two hundred?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yep. This one we can sell for a tenth of that.” Lize held it for photographs, one with it deflated and one with the cuff inflated. For the second photo Lize managed to register mock surprise. “You are a born actress,” I remarked.

“Maybe I’d like to try this, sometime,” she said.

“If you’d like. For some procedures the patient needs to hold an enema for an extended period of time. Those are particularly useful for retaining barium contrast for an X-ray.” I returned the device to its box. “They’re also popular with the BDSM crowd.”

“BDSM?”

“Yeah ... Some use enemas for punishment -- one gives the other an enema solution that induces strong cramping and makes the other beg to have the nozzle removed.”

“What solution would do that?”

“Soapsuds ... Epsom salts ... there are any number of recipes.”

“I never thought of it that way,” she replied.

“Personally, I’d never do anything like that. I’m pretty tolerant of kinks ... I have some myself. But I never understood how anyone could derive pleasure from causing someone else pain.”

“Gee,” she remarked, “with your career in law enforcement I’ll be you saw your share of that behavior.”

“I certainly did see my share ... even though I wasn’t a shoe-leather type of cop. I mainly stayed in the lab, doing analysis. It doesn’t help me understand it any better. Here’s some other stuff to photograph. Check this out.” I held up a nozzle shaped like a bog standard douche tip but thicker and with a large discharge hole in its end. Lize took it from me and examined it.

“I call it our magnum nozzle,” I remarked. “It’s our exclusive. I had them custom made. The length and bulb end makes it easy to keep in place. The bore is twice the size of a standard tip.”

“So?”

“Twice the size means four times the cross-sectional area. That tip will induce almost no flow resistance.” I took a photo of Lize holding it the palm of her hand and another of her squinting down the bore. We took pictures of a variety of other nozzles and some new syringes. I packed the items back into cartons and set them by the basement door. “I think that’s a wrap,” I said.

“There’s one more picture I want you to take.”

“Okay ... Of what?” Lize stood by the drapes and held up the blue marble she had expelled. “Why do you want a picture of that?”

“I have my reasons.”

I snapped the photograph. “I’ll transfer these to my laptop and you can have at it. I really appreciate the work you’ve done on the website, Lize. Before it looked like it was right out of 1998. Now it looks up-to-date ... and the photos we take of you really move the merchandise.”

“Maybe you should open a Facebook page, too,” she remarked.

“Facebook?” I shook my head. “I barely understand websites. Maybe you can figure out how to make it work.”

I was sitting at my desk when I heard the doorbell ring. Turning around, I glanced through the screen door and saw Lize. “It’s open,” I called.

She stepped into my unit wearing shorts and a tank. “I am so glad it’s Friday,” she remarked.

“Shall we call Ling’s for carryout.”

“I was in the mood for pizza,” she replied.

“Pizza it is.” I leaned back and locked my hands behind my head. “I had twenty orders to fill today.”

“Twenty?”

“Yes -- and, we’re sold out of that retention nozzle. I ordered two dozen from the manufacturer figuring that would hold us for a while. Next time I’ll order a hundred of ‘em.” I brought up my website. “You’re getting so much fan mail, Lize, I think I’ll create your own email address.”

She handed me a flash drive. “Here’s something else for the site,” she said. “I thought you should see it before uploading it.”

I pushed the drive into the slot on my laptop. “Let’s see...” my screen showed a page featuring the image of Lize holding the marble.

“It’s a little autobiography,” she said. “I’ve been waffling about whether or not to show it to you. I decided I should.”

I read through the text in which Lize described her experience and feelings when she received her first enema, how expelling the marble had convinced her and now how they were part of her routine.

I let out a low whistle. “This is good, Lize ... very good. It’s a story of discovery. If we post it -- it’s going to open the floodgates.”

“Do you think I should add it to the website?”

“That’s up to you. If you want to, I won’t refuse. You do know what’s apt to happen...”

“I think I have an idea what will happen.”

“You definitely need a pseudonym,” I said. “What’s your middle name?”

“Joan,” she replied. “I hate it. That’s what kids called me to taunt me and get my goat.”

“Hmm ... What names do you like?”

Lize rolled her eyes in thought. “I like Katrina...”

“You don’t look like Katrina to me.”

“What about Janice?”

I rolled the name over my tongue a couple of times. “I think that works. You could pass as Janice. Let me create your own email address. That way all the mail you get won’t clutter up my inbox. And -- you WILL get mail.

I printed mailing labels. Lize and I affixed them to cartons and stacked them by the front door. “United Parcel will be by on Monday for these,” I said. “Fifteen orders today in addition to the twenty on Friday. Care to go to The Reef for dinner?”

“I’ll have their antipasto,” she remarked. “Something light before our Saturday night enemas. I don’t want to make the mistake I made last Saturday.”

“Do you mean when you gorged yourself on lasagna? It’s not a good idea to have a big enema on a full stomach.”

“As I learned the hard way,” she remarked. She sat at my laptop and reviewed her email account.

“How many today?” I asked.

“Fifteen,” she replied. “That bio hasn’t been up a full day and I’ve received fifteen emails.” She scanned one. “Listen to this ... Janice -- I’d love to see you using the products you sell.”

“I’m not posting photos of you taking an enema, Lize. I’m not turning my site into a porno one. Come on -- let’s go get some dinner.”

She sat beside me as I drove the Oldsmobile toward the country inn. “Ethan...”

“What?”

“About those photos...”

“What photos?”

“Of me having an enema.”

“It’s a dead topic, Lize.”

“It wouldn’t have to be pornographic -- would it?”

I regarded her. “Would you really want to do something like that?”

She shrugged. “You know -- I was really shy in high school and in college. I never wanted to draw attention to myself. I think you’re right, Ethan. Down deep maybe I AM an exhibitionist. I like the attention I’m getting from your customers. If we could take tasteful photos...”

“How tasteful could they be?”

“How can we know if we don’t try? Taking photos is one thing. Posting them is something else altogether. We can always delete them if we don’t like them.”

I parked my car outside the restaurant. “All right, if you’re set on doing that.”

I set up lights in Lize’s bedroom. On her bed she had spread a large bath towel and beside it stood the collapsible stand. I set my camera on a chair and then headed into her kitchen. There I began running water to warm it.

Lize approached me in a robe. She picked up a pink latex pouch. “We’re using this?” she asked.

“Yes -- it’s one of our new products. It’s a travel kit. The bag folds up small but it holds a full two quarts.”

She examined it. “Open top...”

“The hose is soft latex and rolls up to fit inside the bag, and it’s equipped with a nozzle that’s suitable for enemas or douching.”

“Who douches anymore these days?” she asked.

“I thought maybe you could take one of these next time you travel on business.”

She picked up a green nozzle with a bulbous end. “And this? It’s new, too -- isn’t it?”

“That’s called a barium tip.”

“Barium?”

“For taking X-rays. The barium slurry is pretty thick so the tip has extra-large discharge holes. The end is pear-shaped so it’s less likely to pop out.”

“Like a douche nozzle but smaller.”

“Yep, but with bigger outlet holes. And, it’s flexible.” Lize bent it into a half-circle and nodded with approval.

Lize watched as I measured some table salt into my quart measure and then filled it with tap water. I poured the warm saline into the pouch and began filling the pitcher this time half-full.

Only three pints?” she asked.

“That’s our usual for the first one,” I replied.

Make it two full quarts,” she said. “I want my tummy looking big for the pictures.”

“It’s your enema,” I remarked and filled the pitcher to the top, dumped its contents into the pouch, attached the nozzle and flushed air from the tube. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Together we walked to her bedroom. Lize slipped out of her robe. Underneath she wore her blue and green tartan miniskirt and a floral bikini top. “You look good,” I remarked. She turned her back to me and lifted her hem to show me she was bare-assed underneath.

“Tasteful?” she asked as she straightened her hem and faced me.

“We’ll see how tasteful the photos turn out.”

“I’m not showing anything I couldn’t on the street.”

“True enough. And, it shows off your tummy ... and your legs. They’re among your best assets.”

She took the pouch from me. “Take a picture of me holding it,” she said.

I picked up my camera. “Stand by the ... uh, stand,” I instructed. She complied and held up the pouch. Its supple material was stretched by the two quarts it held and it looked like a pink pumpkin. I snapped the photograph. “Let’s see that nozzle.” She held it up by her face and I snapped photos as she bent it to demonstrate its flexibility.

Lize hung the pouch on the stand. She reclined on her bed on her left side and drew up her knees.

I slipped an exam glove onto my right hand and lifted the hem of her skirt to expose her bottom. With my left hand I spread her and with my right I thoroughly lubricated her anal canal with surgical gel. “This barium tip might feel a bit different going in,” I remarked. After smearing lube on it I gently parted her pucker with the nozzle’s rounded tip. Her orifice closed tightly around the thing’s slender shaft once it had cleared her anal canal and was lodged in her rectum. I eased it in up to its hilt. “Feel okay?” I asked.

“Feels fine,” she replied. “I like how it feels. This might be my new favorite.”

I lowered her hem. “Okay,” I said, “now Sims position.”

Lize straightened her left leg a bit, slipped her left arm behind her and rolled halfway onto her stomach. Drawing up her right knee she touched her right heel against her left knee. I handed her the hose and she fingered the clasp, then I adjusted the hem of her skirt to cover her buttocks. She was decent enough but showing a lot of her upper right thigh. “You might feel a faster flow with that barium tip,” I advised as I picked up my camera and snapped a photograph from one angle and then from another.

She opened the clamp and began taking deep breaths through her mouth. I took more photos as Lize fingered the clamp to modulate the flow. The first third was the most difficult part of her enemas. Concentration showed on her face as she feathered the clamp and took deep deliberate breaths. Lize worked the muscles in her belly to coax the enema past the kinks and twists of her lower colon.

“Cramping?” I asked.

“No, just pressure. It’s stubborn ... doesn’t want to move up.” She closed the clamp and continued her deep breathing. Then, she let out a sigh of relief. “It’s flowing in deeper now...” she said, snapped open the clamp and resumed taking long, deep breaths.

I watched the bag deflate as the water level in it dropped. By the time it was down about a third Lize’s face relaxed. “Time to roll onto my back?”

It’s time,” I replied.

Lize closed the clamp. I guided the hose as she stretched onto her back and then I straightened the hem of her skirt. She pointed to her left side near her ribcage. “I felt bubbles inside here and figured it was time to be on my back.”

She reached for the clamp and opened it, glancing up at the pouch. Then, she began probing her abdomen with her fingertips, tracing the outline of her colon. Her breathing still was deep and slow, but the relaxed look on her face told me she was enjoying feeling the enema fill her. “It is flowing in faster,” she remarked. “I’m starting to feel the fullness.” She pressed her palms against her sides below her ribcage. “I feel it here, first.”

I snapped more photographs, making sure to capture an image of the hose leading up and underneath the hem of her skirt. A glance at the bag showed it about half done. I made sure to include it in some of the photos.