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- Rectal Thermometer
- December 2012
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- March 2009
I was getting pretty bored sitting on the bench in the corridor outside the nurse’s office, watching the red light that told me that she was busy. Normally, when I got here this early, there was nobody about and I got my enema straightaway.
I considered skipping the whole thing, but I really needed to ace today’s SATs and I wanted to get rid of the build-up of tension and frustration and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed before tackling them – the maelstrom of college application started straight after summer vacation and I really did want a major league college place if only to prove to my father that I could do it.
It might seem strange that a eighteen year old guy was voluntarily taking an enema. It all started when I was fourteen and had been talked into going to boarding school by my dad. This place was his old school, and he attributed a lot of his success to the education he had received here. I was pretty doubtful at first, but he described the place in such glowing terms that I eventually agreed to try it. Much to my surprise, his description had been 100% accurate – it was a good school, the teachers were first class and my fellow students were good guys. The only problem, of course, was an enforced celibacy – at the age where my peer group at home were screwing themselves silly, I was still very much a virgin. That hadn’t seemed so important when I started, but now it was steadily driving me up the wall with frustration.
Anyway, after I had been at the school for about a month, the change in diet and the hard, chalky water conspired to produce a bad case of constipation. I was a more trusting sort of guy in those days, so I just went along to the nurse’s office like we had been told. I knocked at the door, then went in when I was told, and promptly fell in love with the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. She was absolutely gorgeous, a brown, tanned creature in a crisp white dress. She spoke in a voice that made me shiver.
“Hi there! What’s your name?”
“Well then, Wayne, what’s the problem?”
I just couldn’t find the words to say that I hadn’t taken a shit for a week. In fact, I was temporarily mute, reduced to pointing wordlessly at my stomach.
“Well then, let’s have a look, shall we? Hop up on the couch and loosen your trousers please.”
Her hands were smooth and cool as they glided over my stomach, slipping under the elastic of my shorts and stopping just an inch short of my small crop of hair. She turned away and I heard a sort of rustling sound.
“Just turn on your side for me, darling.”
She actually called me ‘darling’. I was so overcome by the word that I just rolled over without a thought.
“Lift your hips up, Wayne.”
Then, before I had time to react, she had pulled my pants down and exposed my butt. My romantic mood was rudely shattered – how could I imagine dating someone who had just casually stripped me of all my dignity.
“Curl up please, hug your knees real hard.”
She didn’t give me time to think, let alone ask my permission. Before I knew what was happening, I felt a cold sensation on my asshole, then a pressure that forced it wide open and finally the gut-wrenching sensation of something pushing right up inside me. It took a moment before I realized that she was using her finger to feel around my rectum. Her timing was immaculate. Just as I mustered enough strength to protest, the finger was gone and she was already stripping off the thin glove and dumping it in a garbage sack.
I jumped from the couch and jerked my pants back into position – I can remember looking around for the door as I considered making a run for it. The nurse was unfazed.
“Well, Wayne, there’s no doubt about you being constipated. Never mind, we’ll soon have that fixed.”
She was just so casual. This smiling lady gave no sign that she had just performed an act of the utmost degradation on another human being. She bent down and opened a cupboard, then extracted something red and rubbery.
“Have you ever had an enema, Wayne?”
I didn’t like to admit that I hadn’t even heard the word before.
“Well, there’s nothing to it. Just some nice warm water to soften everything up so you can pass it all.”
I was somewhat slow on the uptake but, as I watched her preparations, the full horror of what she was going to do began to dawn on me. Trouble was, I was only fourteen, a new kid at the school, and not yet capable of standing up to authority.
“Right – back on the couch, same way as before.”
She was really going to do it! I tried to resist, but somehow I suddenly found myself back on the couch, my pants somewhere round my knees, my butt completely exposed.
“Good boy. Just relax now.”
I suppose it must have had something to do with the prior dilation, but my asshole seemed wide open. I felt the blunt end of the tube prodding into flesh – flesh inside of me – as she slowly fed it into my rectum. Each touch was producing incredible feelings that were turning me on like never before, making my prick stand rigid, trapped between my thighs and my stomach.
I couldn’t believe what it was doing to me. Like most small kids I had played doctor and taken my turn to have my intimate parts prodded and probed by my excited peer group – that had felt kinda exciting and nice, but it was nothing compared to this. I could feel the water now, tingling inside of me as it stimulated sensitive tissue, producing weirdly exciting effects as my rectum slowly distended under the gentle but insistent pressure.
I could not resist the rising tide of pleasure that engulfed me as discomfort turned to something else and concentrated all of my attention on the wonderful electric thrills that were coursing through my erection. It still came as a surprise, though, when I felt muscular contractions inside of me, pumping a flood of milky stickiness on to me and then running on to the couch.
The nurse didn’t give any sign that she had noticed. She just flicked the tube out and slapped my butt.
“All done. The toilets are down the corridor.”
Somehow I made it, my sphincter screaming with the effort of holding the liquid, and collapsed into a gushing heap on the commode. It was still a difficult shit – my anus protested as huge lumps forced themselves out and splashed my butt with spray as they landed. But the feeling – the heavenly feeling of relief. That made it all worthwhile.
It seems stupid when I say that the experience changed my life. Lives are meant to be changed by dramatic things, lives, loves and deaths, not by a couple of feet of rubber tubing and a quart of soapsuds, but nevertheless things have never been the same since that dramatic occurrence in the nurse’s office. I spent the rest of that semester reliving every delicious moment while I grunted and gasped and pumped until my prick was so sensitive that even the touch of the cotton of my shorts became almost unbearable.
I heard the rattle of the door handle and then jumped to my feet in shock as Krista Summers emerged. She was one of five girls who attended the school – daughters of teachers availing themselves of free tuition – and she was in my class.
I watched as she did the duck waddle down the corridor – I knew that walk so well, anus clamped tight against the pressure. She was wearing a pleated skirt and carrying something white in her hand.
Then I realized what it was – a pair of panties. The white cotton panties that so excited us boys when we caught a glimpse of them. She was obviously nearing disaster point, though, because she suddenly abandoned her attempt at a slow dignified walk and clasped her butt while she broke into a run and slammed open the door to the small toilet and then crashed it closed behind her.
“Oh. Hello, Wayne. Come in.”
Had I needed confirmation of the fact that Krista had just been given an enema, it lay before me. The enema bag on its stand, the tube draped into the sink, the extension tube lying on the bench. The nurse looked real serious.
“Wayne – what happens in this room is confidential. I don’t want any careless talk amongst the boys.”
“Good. Now what brings you here so early? SATs?”
I nodded. The nurse and I understood each other by now. She started to refill the bag.
“Top drawer, Wayne. I need a fresh tube.”
That was the first time I ever actually touched a rectal tube. There were several in the drawer, two larger than the others. I selected one of them and carried it over to the nurse – she raised her eyebrows but made no other comment.
We had developed a sort of ritual over the years. After my vacation, I had summoned up all of my courage and pretended to be constipated and in need of an enema. She had obliged, using the same position as before, with the same resulting mess on the couch. Next time she changed the position, and produced a stool of convenient height, covered with a towel, for me to drape myself across with my pants round my ankles – complete removal of the garments produced too many problems in getting them back on again before the agonizing process of making it to the toilet. I never quite decided whether the function of the towel was simply to absorb liquid or if she really knew what was going on and thought that its extra friction would be useful.
As I lay across the stool, I tried to recall just how many enemas I had taken over the previous three years – at least twenty, maybe more. Some from the nurse, others from Aunt Jennifer, each with a different technique, all satisfying and stimulating.
I didn’t bother to pretend any more. I grunted with appreciation as the tube wormed its way into me, savoring the strange electric shocks that radiated from it. A thought struck me – this time next year I would be getting ready to go to college. Somehow I doubted whether the services available to freshmen would include regular enemas from an obliging nurse – it was a sobering prospect.
The nurse ran the water in slowly. It felt different – the thicker tube was distending me more than usual, making the sensations more intense. I felt my body take over, moving me in the rhythm that rubbed my penis against the rough towel, grunting again as it pulsed and spewed out its accumulated semen.
That was always the end of the process. I felt the slither as the tube was extracted and waited for the ritual slap on my butt that signified release, then did my own duck waddle to the toilet – fortunately Krista had vanished by then, although the seat was still warm and a faint smell of perfume lingered in the small room, producing yet another erection and a few drops of an apology for semen.
The tests were no problem. I left the room knowing that I had answered almost every question correctly, avoiding meeting the eyes of Krista who had taken a desk at the very back. She would ace it, of course – she always did.
I needed to let off steam after the tension of poring over exam papers, so I changed into my shorts and made for the tennis courts, arriving there just too late – every one was taken.
One of the courts was unofficially reserved for the girls. I suppose they lived a pretty claustrophobic life really – they appeared for classes and meals, they played sports on their own and generally had nothing to do with the boys – they didn’t live in the dorm, of course.
The four younger ones were engaged in a squealing doubles match, and I sat down on a bench and waited until I could find a game. Krista appeared, in a crisp white tennis outfit, and I pretended not to see her but, to my surprise she walked over and sat down on the other end of the bench. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, not quite sure what she might do.
What actually happened stunned me. She lifted up the side of her white pleated skirt, right up to her waist, revealing her panties and then pushed her hand inside them. It took a few moments before I realized that they weren’t really panties – they were sports briefs that were meant to be seen, and they had a small pocket tucked away inside the top. Her hand came back out clutching several crumpled bills that she laid on the bench between us.
“Fifty three bucks. That’s all I’ve got.”
I could not even begin to imagine what she meant.
“Huh? What’s this for?”
“It’s yours if you promise not to tell anybody what you saw this morning.”
I was insulted both by the offer and the fact that she obviously thought that I was going to tell the whole world about her getting an enema.
“Keep your money, Krista. I wasn’t going to squeal on you anyway.”
Then I had an inspiration.
“…but I wouldn’t refuse a game of tennis.”
“And be whupped by a girl?”
“That will be the day!”
Krista jumped up and cleared the court of the younger girls, and then proceeded to demonstrate that she had not been boasting. It was close – I was stronger and faster, but she was more skilful and much more crafty – but she won in the end. We collapsed back on to the bench, panting and sweating.
Strangely, the jeers of the younger boys at my defeat did not worry me. I had always respected Krista’s academic ability – she and I had jockeyed for top place in science for years, and her sporting prowess was simply another facet of competition.
“OK – I’ll beat you next time.”
“In your dreams!”
It was a comfortable, companionable feeling.
“I beat you in the last physics test!”
“I beat you at math.”
We grinned at each other. Then Krista get serious.
“Wayne – did you see the notice about the science fair?”
“Yeah. So what? Nobody ever enters.”
“I want to. I’ve got a brilliant idea. Want to team up?”
It was an intriguing prospect. I was getting to like her more and more.
“What’s this brilliant idea?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
She raced off with me in pursuit. I thought we were going to the library, or maybe the lab, but she made a sharp turn into the garden of her house. I stopped dead – this was officer country.
“Oh come on, Wayne. Mom and dad won’t eat you.”
Strange houses and strange adults, particularly teachers, still scared me, but Krista just grabbed my sleeve and dragged me inside to encounter a slightly puzzled smile from her mother.
“Oh – hello there. Wayne, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am…Mrs. Summers…”
Krista was jumping around with excitement.
“Mom – Wayne and I are going to enter the science fair. Isn’t that great?”
“Yes dear. Now why don’t you go and clean up?”
Krista vanished with a grin, and her mother produced a towel and showed me to a small washroom on the ground floor.
“Come into the dining room when you’re ready.”
At least I managed to wash most of the sweat off, but I was conscious of the fact that my shirt and shorts were still damp and starting to smell. Krista had obviously showered – she was fresh and sweet smelling in a loose cotton frock, making me feel even more conscious of my dishevelment.
Her mother had obviously made quite an effort – a pile of sandwiches, a pitcher of iced orange and an enormous tub of ice cream. Her father appeared, pipe in mouth, and greeted me with one of his typical grunts, but one disarmed by a smile as he displayed an enormous appetite for ice cream. Tea over, Krista grabbed hold of me again.
“Come on – I want to show you what I found.”
She dragged me into her room, a space as untidy as any bot could have managed. My eyes were immediately drawn to the heap of clothes on the bed – her tennis top and skirt, then white briefs and what I later discovered was called a sports bra. Krista blushed and swept the things into a heap in the corner of the room and the produced a dog-eared copy of Scientific American.
“Look at this – in Martin Gardner’s column – an ultraviolet laser that you can make yourself. What a project!”
My interest was aroused – I had never heard of such a device.
“See – you use a high voltage spark to get the energy. It makes some plasma and that lases!”
It looked simple, but I had a suspicion that maybe it wasn’t going to be that easy. Still – winning a science fair would look good on my college application. I felt quite enthusiastic.
“Hey – maybe this would work. It’s worth a try.”
To my astonishment, she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.
“Thanks, Wayne. And thanks for not saying anything.”
Something seemed to snap inside of me, and I felt compelled to tell the truth.
“Actually, Krista, I was there for the same thing.”
“You had to take an enema? Who sent you?”
“Nobody. I just went. I wanted to be on top form for the SATs paper.”
She looked at me in astonishment.
“That’s why I was there! Mom got real concerned because I was so worried, so she called the nurse and sent me to take an enema.”
I felt nonplussed.
“Why did she send you to the nurse? Couldn’t she just do it herself?”
Krista shook her head.
“She used to – when I was a little kid – but she said it would be better to have someone neutral now. Actually, I’m quite glad she did. Mom and me are just like sisters really, and it would have made me feel awkward if she had done it. It sure worked though – mind you, I didn’t realize that there was no toilet in that office until it was nearly too late!”
We both burst into laughter as she mimed her walk, a look of pretended agony on her face, her hand clutching desperately at her butt.
The project went badly at first – we produced smoke and smells of ozone, but that was about all. I spent hours in the metal shop, machining stainless steel to tolerances that I had not though possible, aided by the teacher’s stash of precision diamond grinding wheels. Finally, it worked. In some ways it was a total anti-climax – all that happened was that a neat circle of thin paper vanished. Not burned, not vaporized by heat, just falling into a cloud of invisible atoms as the UV quanta shattered the atomic bonds in the material.
We won the state competition by miles. Nobody had seen anything like it and our display attracted large audiences and a lot of admiration. The real surprise was the fact that winning meant an automatic entry in the national finals in New York.
Time was short, but the reflected glory of our success produced as much help as we could use to refine our entry to a more professional standard. Finally, we were ensconced in a New York hotel and spent an exhausting day setting everything up, testing and rehearsing for the big day.
Our parents were with us, of course, and the two sets seemed to be getting on fine together. After dinner, Krista and I decided to take a walk – we were both stressed out and we needed some time to go over the material one last time.
It was all going horribly wrong. We seemed to have forgotten everything. We paused and looked in shop windows without really seeing anything. Krista sighed.
“I wish we were back at school. I could really use one of nurse’s enemas now to clear my mind and help me relax.”
Fate took a hand. We were right next to a shop whose window was displaying, amongst other weird things, a large enema bag. Krista grasped my hand tightly.
“We could always buy one of those.”
“Yes – but who could we get to use it on us? My mom doesn’t believe in enemas, and if you think I’m taking my pants down for yours…”
She squeezed even tighter.
“We don’t need our mothers. For heaven’s sake – we’ve just designed and built an ultraviolet laser – surely we can handle an enema!”
The guy in the shop was quite young – that helped to keep the embarrassment level down. He wrapped up out purchase, complete with a tube just like the nurse used, and whispered in my ear.
“Way to go, man! Turns the chicks on like crazy! Give her one for me.”
We hid the bag away until everyone was going to bed, then Krista came to my room and we unwrapped the purchases. We were both flushed and excited, and my hands trembled as I filled the bag and hung it up in the bathroom.
I had tacitly assumed that each of us would use the equipment on our own. I did the gentlemanly thing and deferred to Krista.
“OK. You can go first. I’ll wait in the bedroom.”
There was a long pause, and I could detect her inner struggle. Finally she came to a decision – the second turning point in my life.
“No. It will be better if we do it to each other. It’ll be just fine if we’re adult about it – after all, it’s just a normal thing, and we’re good buddies. No need to think that we’ve got to have sex just because we take our clothes off, is there? As long as only one of us gets undressed at a time.”
With that she pulled her shirt over her head and then wriggled out of her jeans then stood, apparently totally unconcerned, in her underwear.
“Do my strap.”
She backed up to me and I somehow managed to unhook her bra strap and watched it join her other garments on the floor, followed immediately by a pair of plain cotton panties.
Krista knelt on the floor, then looked round at me.
“Get on with it – this is really undignified, you know.”
It was the greatest effort of my life to pretend that this was just business. She smelled female – musky and exciting. She was hairy back there – that surprised me, because somehow I had never realized that girls could suffer from the same problems in that area as I did. Right there was the little crinkled circle of her anus, the dot on the exclamation point of the slit between her legs.
Somehow I managed to get the tube in without either coming on the spot or giving in to the urge to make mad, passionate love to her right there and then. My own sprit resonated to the deep sigh that she emitted as I gingerly pushed an inch or two of the rubber tube into position.
At least I could concentrate on the injection. I watched as she wriggled and squirmed whenever the flow was too fast and responded to her urgent calls to slow things down. Funny though – at the same time as I lusted after her body, I felt sort of tender, honored to be trusted this much by a fellow human being.
At long last Krista indicated that she had taken enough and staggered to the toilet while I fled into the bedroom as she started to squirt into the bowl. I created a personal record – two orgasms in succession as I jerked off into a towel.
Then it was my turn. Krista was fully dressed when she opened the bathroom door and beckoned for me to enter.
I suppose it was because I was still an innocent boy that my only feeling as I undressed was one of extreme embarrassment at having a girl see me naked. At least my frantic jerking has just about paralyzed my sexual functions, because the best that my tortured organ could manage was a sort of droopy half-erection, sparing me the final humiliation of displaying my penis in a state of excitement.
That changed as soon as I felt the touch of the rectal tube. Partly it was just the normal effect, partly the realization that we had not thought to wash the thing, so it was still wet and glistening from its trip into Krista. She was rough – much more so that Aunt Jennifer or the nurse – and that added to my excitement as the end of the rectal tube pressed hard into my rectum, jabbing into unknown and unknowable but extremely sensitive areas on its journey.
I also realized that it is one thing to get an enema from an obliging aunt or a dispassionate nurse but something entirely different when the wielder of the tube is your own age and extremely eligible in sexual terms. The enema transformed me into a mass of quivering flesh, twitching uncontrollably as one set of sensations after another leapt through my flesh.
I could hardly stand when Krista pulled the tube out and left the room. I was so exhausted that I could not even summon up the energy to jerk off as my bowels emptied spontaneously.
Then the anti-climax. A brief hug, a kiss on the cheek, and Krista was gone to her own room, leaving me shattered from the awesome experience.
Both of us were on top form at breakfast. Krista’s dad surprised me by actually winking at me.
“That walk obviously did the trick, Wayne.”
Then he grinned as Krista spluttered her coffee back into its cup. For the first time I began to appreciate that the adult world had once been young and in love, and also that they realized that we too were starting on the process of courtship with maybe a vague idea of grandchildren lurking in the backs of their minds.
It was a nerve-racking day. The judges did not announce what they were doing, but it was obvious that projects were being cut at various stages with increased concentration on the remainder. At least it was down to four of us, and we were subjected to intensive grilling in turn.
The announcement of the results was a calculated cruelty. We weren’t third or second. That left either winners or the nowhere of fourth position. The chief judge built up the tension before dramatically indicating Krista and me as overall winners.
Everything went crazy. Our parents were there, pounding our backs, Krista was screaming at the top of her voice, then suddenly she leapt on me and fastened her arms around me before kissing me right on the mouth. There was laughter and cheering before things settled down and we accepted our trophy and the envelope containing the prize that I had not dared even to imagine winning. Two whole weeks at the International Youth Science conference. In London, England.
We celebrated that evening, although it was a close thing when Krista’s mother suggested that it would be a wonderful idea to come along with us. We held our breaths and prayed until her dad vetoed the suggestion.
“No, honey. It’s a thing for young people, and they won’t want us hanging around. What say we go over there at the end of the conference and take a month on vacation?”
My parents greeted the idea with enthusiasm, and we relaxed. Two whole weeks with a bunch of kids from all round the world and no parents sounded great. So did the conference. The lectures ranged from a Nobel prize-winner talking on theoretical physics to one on witchcraft – given by a real witch! Plenty of free time, visits to the sights – absolutely fantastic!
We were feted on our return to school, particularly when somebody posted a newspaper picture of Krista and me engaged in a kiss under some corny headline about young scientists who both work and play. She and I maintained a stony silence in the face of knowing grins and leading questions, producing the inevitable strong belief that we had slept together in New York.
It was a relief to finally board the plane – my dad had upgraded our tickets to coach and we relaxed in the comfortable seats as the coast of the US faded behind us. To out surprise, we were provided with individual one-glass bottles of wine with out meal and offered brandy afterwards. We grinned at each other and accepted, then slept for just about the rest of the flight.
London Airport proved to be a grim place, populated by police in flak jackets who carried machine guns and didn’t talk to anyone. It was strange to be in a country that looked like it was at war – we had read about the IRA and Muslim terrorists, but the security precautions brought it home in no uncertain fashion. Actually it was quite easy to get to the conference – the subway ran right from the airport and deposited us in South Kensington, a leafy suburb that housed the imposing Imperial College which was host to the assembly of young scientists.
The next surprise was that we seemed to have totally misjudged the English. Like most Americans we had always thought of them as pretty staid, conservatively dressed and old-fashioned. The dorm, or Hall of Residence, dented that impression.
The rooms were all singles and the place was co-ed with a vengeance. Right down to the bathrooms. Krista asked the way to one, then emerged squealing when she found a couple of boys taking a piss. The porter explained slowly that the hall was integrated, not co-ed, that the bathrooms were unisex, not mixed, and left us with the impression that we were slightly retarded colonials. The English kids were obviously used to the extreme informality, but two Indian girls were reduced to tears before someone from their embassy called and took them to more suitable quarters.
The place had two bars as well, run by the students and doing good business after supper – the liquor laws here seemed to be interpreted extremely liberally. Even I felt shocked as I watched partnerships for in a short space of time and boys and girls wander off in pairs. Krista and I felt almost puritanical as we exchanged a chaste kiss and went to our own rooms.
Morning was a maelstrom of bras, panties and shorts as a hundred or more kids overslept and then crammed the bathrooms – we all got very well acquainted in a short time. Breakfast was awful – solid grease with a few pink bits that was apparently bacon and the most disgusting brown liquid which was described as coffee.
The introduction to the course was another revelation. A sober-looking professor welcomed us, then was replaced by a young lady, a postgraduate student at the college, who cheerfully lectured us on safe sex, told us that free condoms were available in the bathrooms and that other methods of contraception were available free from the student health service. Krista giggled when it was all over.
“I never reckoned it would be like this. I can’t imagine an American college being so free and easy. Do you reckon that things are free for Americans or just for English?”
That fazed me. I couldn’t keep up with the changes that were taking place in her – the shrinking violet of home had suddenly burst into huge, scarlet blossoms.
“Er…why don’t you ask the porter? They seem to know everything.”
The rest of the day was free time and we took the subway – the underground as the natives called it – to central London. The whole place seemed to be a street market, and an ordinary policeman in one of those strange pointed hats explained that after a couple of huge IRA bombs in vans, access to the center was now strictly controlled and it had become one huge pedestrian area. Apart from buses and taxis, there was virtually no traffic and we could happily walk down the center of wide streets and chat to the natives.
I don’t know when Krista did it, but that evening she produced a blister pack of little blue tablets with one missing and explained that the student health service was indeed free to Americans.
“You mean you want us to…”
“Oh no – I’m not ready for that. I just thought that I had better be prepared. Just in case.”
That was the third great revelation. Women do not work to the same logical system as men. In fact, they do not work to any logic at all. To use the words ‘woman’ and ‘logic’ in the same sentence without a negative participle between the words is to perpetrate an oxymoron. Krista saw no contradiction between consuming contraceptive pills and spending the nights alone in her room.
The final defining moment came at the start of the second week of the conference. The grim English food had done its worst with our digestive systems and the even grimmer English weather added a dark layer of cold and drizzle. We were both feeling homesick in a strange land where you ran the risk of being mowed down every time you crossed the road. The porter, a mine of useless information, explained that the reason that sensible people drove on the left was to keep their sword arms free in the event of other travelers being hostile – presumably there was no threat from pedestrians at all.
I had to make the running. Krista was limp and miserable, pining for meat that was not thin, gray and tasteless and for coffee that tasted of coffee and not burned wood. I felt bad, but not nearly as bad as her.
I had made sure that I kept the bag we had bought in New York – it had been quite difficult to keep it hidden, but I had managed somehow. There was no point in asking Krista – in her present mood she would just say no – so I prepared things quietly, then invited her to my room and sprung it on her.
At first she looked shocked, but I kept telling her that it would fix her up good while I eased her out of her clothes. The room was small, so I got her to lie on the bed while I greased the tube and tried to insert it. It just wouldn’t go – at least not without hurting her. That was when I remembered what the nurse had done.
She just about hit the roof when I rubbed grease into her asshole – I could feel it easing open. Then it opened right up and let my finger slide in to a strange, warm, velvet lined tube while she yelled – but a yell of desire, not of pain. She just about sucked the bag dry, panting and moaning as it filled her up.
That was when we both saw the problem. It was time for a duck walk. Krista grabbed a towel and wound it round herself then minced down the corridor to the bathroom.
She returned full of energy but with a glint in her eye.
“OK. Now it’s my turn.”
I wasn’t complaining. It was a couple of months since I had taken an enema and I was ready for one. I wasn’t so ready for her finger as she exacted her revenge…or maybe it wasn’t revenge after all.
We never got round to the enema until just before breakfast the following morning. After what felt like an eternity of sweet probing, her binary logic circuit flipped to ‘yes’. We lost our virginity in a narrow, hard bed in a foreign country.
Afterwards, I mused about the possibility of going to college in England. Krista favored MIT. We compromised on CALTECH. We had just experienced enough rain to last a lifetime.
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