To this day I will never forget the first of many gynecology exams I have witnessed with either a girlfriend or my former or new wife. So I will start off with my new wife. We had been High School sweethearts and broke up and went our separate ways for over thirteen years. Both of us married and I divorced ten of those thirteen. I had gotten Melana’s virginity at the age of seventeen so I when we did break up I was very heart broken. It was one of those deals where parents did not approve of, deals you know and through out the years we would bump into one another now and then and the flame always seemed to still be between us.

Then one early summer morning I was awaken by someone at the door. Much to my surprise it was Melana, of all people saying that she desperately needed to talk to someone. Inviting her in we exchanged pleasantries and so forth. She then went on to tell me why she came. She wanted to escape from her abusive husband and did not know how. As we talked I could see that the old spark was still between us. Needless to say that after her coming to my house every morning as soon as her husband left for work we devised a plan to get her out of her mess. I moved her in with me. She was a totally new woman being relieved of the pressure of her ex.

About the third day she was there we ended up in bed. It was inevitable and was the best sex I had had in a while. She went on to tell me that she and her ex had not fucked in over a two year period and the only thing that kept her there was her fear of him. Finally she had enough and left. Needless to say we fucked three to five times a day for over a month. This woman could not get enough. Then came the time for her monthly and it did not come around. Finally she said, I, need a pregnancy test. After buying one from the store it proved positive. (more…)

following is from the book, ‘Without a Stitch’, by a Norwegian, Jens Bjoerneboe. The young girl is being “treated” by a physician, Dr. Peterson, an orgasm specialist (sic!). He has already given her two “treatments.

“Anything I do with you must have a purpose. Basically you’re still embarrassed, and that embarrassment must be eliminated before you can relax and not tie yourself up in knots.”

I suspected that he had something in mind that might not be so much fun as what I’d been hoping for. He thought for a moment, then raised his head and pointed to a door.

“In there,” he said, “is a sort of washroom. There’s an enema kit hanging on the wall. Go in there, fill it up with soapy lukewarm water, and bring it back here full. Then lie down on the table again.”

My face turned red. “No,” I said. “No.”

“If you don’t do as I say, I’ll end the treatment immediately. In that case there’ll be no appointment tomorrow.”

I knew that he meant what he said, but I thought it would be terribly embarrassing to be given an enema. Especially by him.

“Do I have to?”

“Have to what?” he said. He was putting his white coat back on. There I stood, naked and embarrassed, with my cheeks flaming red and my hair hanging down over my forehead.

“Do I have to take an enema?” I asked weakly. I felt such a mess.

“Yes, you do,” he said, “and you’re going out and get it ready yourself.” (more…)

Paul had a raging hard on as he drove home, reliving what had transpired during Thanksgiving dinner. Paul was new in town and had only met a few people. He had no family nearby and was grateful that his friend Mike had graciously invited him to his home to share dinner with him and Linda. He was glad he wasn’t all alone this year.

He had arrived on time, bringing a bottle of champagne for his hosts. The meal had been delicious, but there seemed to be some kind of tension between his two hosts.  They barely looked at each other, and there were several periods of awkward silence. It was after Mike had made a petty little comment about the mashed potatoes being “a bit lumpy”, that Linda had slammed down her fork, stood and excused herself then disappeared into the kitchen.  Mike had smiled sheepishly at him and then also excused himself.

Paul had sat there for a few moments sipping his champagne wondering if maybe he should leave, not wanting to interfere with whatever was going on between these two. His attention was snapped back into focus when he began to hear what seemed to him like flesh being slapped. Paul was a gentleman and just couldn’t stand by while a woman was being abused. He stood and went to the kitchen door. It was open just far enough for him to see exactly what was transpiring inside but not enough for his
presence to be noticed.  His groin stirred as he took in the scene before him. (more…)

On my trail of enema devotees I unexpectedly came across a small advert in the personal column of a weekly magazine to the effect that the advertiser was willing to ‘give enemas to ladies in their own homes’. As I was keen to get in touch with devotees of the enema I thought an approach to the advertiser might be fruitful.

I was uncertain whether to pretend that I was a woman or whether to write to the advertiser frankly and tell him I would value his co-operation. In the end I decided on the latter course. I told the advertiser (it was not clear from the advert whether it was a man or a woman) of my interest in the enema and anything he could tell me about the replies (if any!) he had had from his/her announcement would be most welcome and would be treated with confidence.

I wrote to the box number given in the magazine and when I had heard nothing for about a fortnight I began to assume that the advertiser was unwilling to help me.

Then, unexpectedly, I got a telephone call from the advertiser. It was a man’s voice and he said he wanted to thank me for my letter and that he would like to meet me. It was arranged that we should meet for dinner at a West End restaurant the following day. (more…)