A Forties Childhood

Author: Tom

Chapter 1

In the late forties, they hadn't invented teenagers at all. I was fourteen, and that made me a child - it was as simple as that. They were not very big on co-education either - I attended a boys grammar school which, although the girls school was right next to it, was as isolated from females as if it were on another planet.

Nancy was the girl next door. We had grown up together and attended the same school up to the age of eleven, then been separated - we could not even walk to and from our respective schools together. The separation was extended right through our lives, not that there was much to do outside of home, school and church. I belonged to the local scout troop and had gained the rank of second in the curlew patrol, while Nancy wore a long blue dress when she went to Guides.

My mother had a job, Nancy's did not, but the strange thing was that she was trusted with a key to her house and I was not - when I came home from school each day I had to go to Aunt Joan's house (not a real aunt, of course) and sit in her front room to do my homework until mum got back and fed me.

My digestive system had fallen into line with my daily routine. I never had much time in the morning for anything beyond what mum called "a lick and a promise" - a fast wipe over with a damp facecloth, a perfunctory chew on a toothbrush and a rapid departure clutching half of my breakfast in my hand. Nobody in their right senses would take a shit at school, of course, and the result was that my anus was programmed to relax at the same time as I arrived home and made a run for Aunt Joan's bathroom.

This day was different. The door was locked and a note pinned to it apologizing for the fact that she had been called away. My system didn't care about that - it was expecting its normal routine and I felt the desire to take a shit rising towards the point where it was not going to be an optional activity. That's when I saw Nancy at her front door, lifting the hem of her skirt and retrieving the key from the small pocket in the leg of the voluminous blue serge knickers that were compulsory wear for schoolgirls in those days. I rushed along to her, clenching my cheeks against the rising tide that threatened to burst free.

"Nancy - can I use your toilet. I'm desperate."

"Mum doesn't like me letting people in when she's out."

"PLEASE! I'm going to do it in my pants."

She burst out laughing at the pained expression on my face, opened the door and stood back as I pushed past her and ran straight up the stairs, tearing at my pants as I did so. I barely made it in time and the relief was enormous as I felt the mass of excrement squeeze out.

Then the nightmare. There was no toilet paper, just a bare cardboard tube mocking me from the holder. I hitched my pants up to my knees and crabbed my way across the floor, hoping that they kept it in the same place as us. Sure enough, there was a spare roll in the cupboard under the sink and I fumbled with it until I found an end and then wiped myself clean.

I was just about to shut the cupboard - it contained the inevitable packs of scouring powder and soap - when I noticed a large enamel bowl on the lower shelf. Inside the bowl, neatly coiled, was a length of rubber tube. I pulled it out and examined it curiously - the tube had a rubber bulb in the middle, one end had some sort of metal insert and the other terminated in a shaped black object with a hole through its center. A curious shape - from a rounded point, it widened out, then contracted before widening slightly into a ring of the same black material.

I squeezed the bulb experimentally - air was forced through the black end and my nostrils detected a strong rubbery smell, with an overtone of soap. It was a puzzling object - the only use I could imagine was for something like unblocking sinks or drains.

By now, Nancy had her own problem. She hammered on the door.

"Hurry up, Jimmy. I need the bathroom as well."

I carried the rubber thing with me as I walked to the door and opened it.

"Hey, Nancy, what's this for?"

I had never had my face slapped before. It hurt.

"You disgusting, dirty little boy! Get out of here before I tell my mother."

Baffled, smarting and humiliated I rushed out of her house. What had I done? What the hell was the thing for anyway?

I confided my problems to Peter. He was fifteen, my patrol leader in the scouts, and my hero. He could do everything - he could even tie a sheepshank that didn't fall apart into a tangle of rope and he had mastered the art of making Turk's Head woggles - our patrol proudly sported them in our colors. I made a rough sketch of the object on a sheet of my jotter and showed it to him.

"I found this in a girl's bathroom. She slapped my face and called me a dirty little boy."

Peter laughed until he cried.

"You really did that? My god - I would never have dared!"

That shook me. Peter dared just about anything. He even smoked real cigarettes behind the bike sheds and risked the inevitable caning if he was discovered.

"What on earth is it? Why did she get so cross?"

"It's a syringe. An enema syringe."

My face obviously told him that the words meant nothing.

"Don't you know anything? You get this end stuffed up your bum, then you get pumped full of soapy water. It's for when you can't go to the lavatory."

I felt an awful coldness creep up my spine. Once Peter said what it was for, it was all too obvious. It was for unblocking - but not drains. I cringed inside with awful embarrassment. I had actually held it in front of Nancy's nose and asked her what it was for. Oh god - I wanted to die with the humiliation of it all. Peter was still in full flow, however.

"Boy - when your arse gets pumped with one of them, you shit whether you want to or not!"

A suspicion dawned on me.

"Have you had it?"

That got him. He even went red.

"Well - maybe I have. And maybe I haven't. Doesn't your mum have a syringe?"

"You *have* had it - I can tell. And you mother did it? Bloody hell - that must have been embarrassing."

I dodged his kick and ran away. It wasn't often that I could feel superior to Peter!

I didn't see Nancy that evening. It was when I went to bed that the implications of the syringe really dawned on me. Nancy must get it!

That was a tantalizing thought. I tried to imagine the scene - I reckoned that she would have to bend over, then her mum would poke the nozzle into her bum hole, then she would start squeezing the rubber bulb.....

It was all too much for an adolescent boy to handle. My old man was as stiff as a broomstick as I thought about it. Boy - I would sure like to be a fly on their bathroom wall when the syringe came out of the cupboard. Maybe she had to take all of her clothes off first.

That thought did it. My hand changed from a lazy massage to a frantic set of pumping strokes as I tried to hold the picture in my mind until I shot my load.

It became an irresistible fantasy and most of all in the world I wanted it to be real. My bedroom was in the side of our house, adjacent to the bathroom, and Nancy occupied similar quarters. Their bathroom window had that sort of wavy glass that obscured details but still let you see vague colors and shapes - it must have been replaced, because the glass in ours was deeply incised and was much better at concealment. It had never dawned on me until then that I should keep her bathroom window under observation, but from that time onwards I mounted a nightly vigil, peeping through a crack in my curtains once darkness fell, jacking off frantically every time I saw the vaguest of shapes.

It took a month or more before my vigilance was rewarded. This time there were two shapes. One I could recognize as her mother, wearing her usual blue dress. The other was first white, then it sort of convulsed and turned into pink and navy blue. God - Nancy had just taken her dress off!

Then the shape rippled again and disappeared beneath my line of vision. I almost had a heart attack when it reappeared, an even pink color all over. I cursed the guy who had designed the glass - if only I could see things more clearly!

The shapes merged and separated, then I ducked down as one approached the window. Jesus - had I been spotted?

I cautiously raised my head and peeped again. I could see Nancy's face quite clearly - it was close to the glass and her arms were also visible. I suddenly realized what was happening - she was bent forward and leaning on the windowsill.

The blue shape was more distant and therefore less clear. It moved in a series of ripples and finally settled behind Nancy. Then her head lifted, her face pressed against the glass, and I could see her mouth open and an expression of....not pain...more the way you look when somebody runs their finger down your spine. Sort of overload. Her mother had just pushed the thing into her arse!

I was sweating like a pig, my heart was pounding like a steam hammer as I calculated that the pumping had started. I tried to imagine what it must feel like, but gave up - it was beyond imagination. Nancy stayed with her head down for a while, then it gradually came up again. I could see her arms getting straighter, then her face pressed hard against the glass with an expression of sheer agony before it suddenly vanished. I was on my third come before the sound of gushing water in their bathroom drainpipe told me that the toilet had been flushed. I eventually staggered to bed, exhausted and spent.

I had almost forgotten my conversation with Peter - I was totally obsessed with thoughts of Nancy and her bathroom rituals - until he announced a patrol camp the following weekend. There were five of us curlews - we dressed in khaki shirts and shorts and those incredible hats that you only see in army movies now. We collected the tentage from the scout hut and set out, pushing our equipment on a trek cart and headed for the farm that the troop used.

The farmer was some sort of relation of our skipper, and he was well used to gaggles of boys arriving without notice. We parked the cart in the spinney that we favored for our camps and then walked to the farmhouse to tell them that we were there. Peter had a method for this, too. The smallest scout was always pushed to the front when we knocked on the door - the farmer's wife had a soft spot for hungry looking waifs. We always got milk, of course - actually it was usually buttermilk from the bucket that was going for pig feed, but that was irrelevant to hungry kids. If we were really lucky, and she had plenty to spare, we would get butter straight from the churn. But today we could not believe it - milk, butter and a two inch slice of ham hacked from one of several hanging from the beams in her kitchen. In those post-war days, meat and butter were rationed and what she gave us was more than a whole family would get for a week! We stammered our thanks, already salivating at the feast to come.

Peter ran his camps straight out of "Scouting for Boys", with several addenda that General Baden-Powell might not exactly have approved. When the whole troop camped, skipper did morning inspections. He peered into each tent to make sure it was tidy, gave our uniforms a quick up and down look and inspected our finger nails.

That did not suit Peter. We pitched our tents - one for the three juniors and one for Peter and me - and laid out our kit. All of it. Then we lined up, stark naked, while he inspected every inch of us - he, as the senior officer, was fully dressed, of course. It was deliciously naughty, standing in the clearing, wriggling at the funny feelings that were always produced when he inspected our balls and pulled the skin on our willies back to its full extent to make absolutely sure that we were washing that particular part of our anatomy.

Then he and I retired to the senior's tent for his inspection - the commanding officer did not strip except for his deputy and then only where the enlisted ranks could not observe the process. He started to remove his uniform.

"From now on, you can be inspected in here."

I looked at him in surprise, then blushed as he pointed to my pubic hair.

"Now that you're a man, you don't have to strip in front of the kids."

I knew that he was hairy from our previous camps. What surprised me on this occasion was that his thing was standing up straight - and he didn't seem to care.

I was embarrassed. Erections were a very private thing, something to be ashamed of, certainly not to be displayed in public. I gave Peter a perfunctory glance.

"That's fine. You pass inspection."

He glared at me.

"You'll never make patrol leader this way. The Scout law says that a scout must be clean - you have to inspect me properly. Like I do it."

He stood with his legs apart, his hands on his hips, his erection thrust forward. I gingerly reached for it, not wanting to touch it, but compelled by the force of his personality.

It smelled funny. Sort of hot and musky. I steeled myself to the task and got hold of the shaft, then pulled the skin back. The result was catastrophic. As the skin slowly peeled from the purple of his knob, Peter leant forward, then threw himself back as his organ pulsed violently and covered my fingers with the sticky white fruit of his orgasm.

That satisfied him anyway. We both dressed, then set out to supervise the kids in building a fire and cooking our supper.

Peter wasn't finished, though. We eventually got the three young ones into bed and asleep and then retired to our own tent. He was very excited as he dug through his rucksack, then my heart leapt as he pulled out the end of a red rubber tube. I could not believe my eyes - it was the exact twin of the syringe that lived in Nancy's bathroom. I knew the answer, but I still had to ask the question.

"What have you brought that thing for?"

"You know how it says in Scouting for Boys - about the daily rear?"

I knew that chapter. Written in the oblique language of the day, it emphasized cleanliness and tidiness and extolled the practice of daily evacuation of the bowels.

"So?"

"So this will make sure, won't it?"

I was scared, but at the same time I was curious to know just what it felt like to have my bum washed out. Curiosity won, and Peter warmed some water in a billycan, then we crept out of the camp and deeper into the woods. It was pretty dark, but there was enough moonlight for me to see how he put one end of the syringe in the liquid and then squeezed the bulb until solid jets of water shot out of the black nozzle.

"You go first. Get undressed."

I was excited. This time my willy was standing up as I recalled the fact that Nancy got the same thing.

"Bend over that log."

It was just below waist height. I did as he said, reaching out to each side and grabbing tightly as he started to push the black thing into my arsehole. I realized that he must have greased it, because it slid home and seated itself in position quite easily. It felt weird - it made me want to shit, but its shape held it firmly inside me.

Then he started to pump. I could feel the water swirling around inside of me, sort of hurting, sort of strangely exciting.

I discovered that Peter had no idea of the capacity of the human rectum. A sharp pain began inside me as the liquid continued to gush, then it gathered itself into sheer agony. I grabbed the nozzle and pulled it out, and Peter had to jump for his life as a jet of water shot several feet from my backside. I just could not stop - my insides spasmed violently and painfully as they ejected every drop of liquid and every ounce of solid and left me sweating and gasping, grateful that my clothing was out of range.

Peter paid no attention to me as I tried to clean myself up with grass and leaves. He was too busy removing his own uniform.

"Come on - my turn."

My backside was prickling, the feeling getting worse and worse. It was when my hands started to hurt that I realized it was impossible to tell species in moonlight - the grass had obviously contained a generous proportion of stinging nettles.

"Aw hell - I've been stung!"

"Come on - we'll find some dock leaves later. It's my turn now."

My pain was severe, but Peter wasn't giving up. He handed me a small torch and I used it to see what I was doing while I positioned the nozzle and pushed it home. His reaction was extreme - he yelled out.

"More. More water."

I fumbled until I found the rubber bulb and squeezed it gently. Peter yelled again, and then started to rub himself, demanding more and more while his excitement increased. It was frightening - when I rubbed off, I did it slowly and quietly, but he was just about tearing his thing out by the root. As I heard the sucking noise from the billy, Peter stood up straight and I saw the gleam of the jet of liquid that shot from him.

I spent the night in agony. My arsehole felt like it was on fire, or maybe that someone had stuck a knife in it and was twisting it around. I just could not stay there any longer - soon after dawn I dressed, left the camp and made for home.

I must have looked a pathetic sight - I was limping along with tears running down my cheeks - and a sympathetic motorist stopped and offered to take me home. My mother's face took on a look of shock as she opened the door to my knock.

"What's happened?"

"Nettles. I went to the toilet and got stung."

To her eternal credit, she did not laugh. I forgot my shyness at her seeing me in the nude - I was hurting too badly to care much. She ushered me into the bathroom and stripped me like a baby, then examined me closely.

"Dear god - you made a good job of that! Stand in the bath, Jimmy, while I bathe it."

The pain diminished somewhat as she gently washed the area with lukewarm water, and my embarrassment rose correspondingly as I began to realize what was going on.

"Turn round."

Now I was *really* embarrassed. Mum paid no attention to me, just grabbed my john willy and pulled it upwards while she looked at it and then at my balls.

"Jimmy, what on earth were you thinking of? There are stings all over."

I calmed down a little as she handed me a towel and left me to dry myself off. My feelings of relief were short lived, however. She came back carrying the large bottle containing pink calamine lotion and a ball of cotton wool.

It was bad enough as she applied the stuff to my arse. Then calamity struck. She made me face her again and started to rub the liquid over my balls and up and down the length of my penis. The inevitable happened - it stood to attention.

Her embarrassment made it all the worse. She let go of my dick like it was red hot and took a step back, then turned her face away from me.

"Cover yourself up."

I grabbed the towel and wound it round my waist. She turned back and handed me the cotton wool, her face just about as red as mine.

"I'm sorry - I didn't realize you had grown up so much. Finish things off for yourself."

I felt absolutely terrible. Getting a bone on in front of mum was humiliating in the extreme, but the fact that she got embarrassed made it much, much worse.

The way Peter had behaved frightened and rather disgusted me. Boys just didn't touch each other down there, and Lord Baden-Powell would certainly have disapproved of our activities. I was scared about the way things might go in the future, so I stopped going to scouts and kept out of his way at school. He must have been feeling guilty himself, because he made no effort to contact me either.

Medicine in the forties was pretty primitive. Penicillin was around, but used only for major, life-threatening diseases. In contrast to the modern child, who gets shots to ward off just about everything, we were protected only against smallpox and diphtheria. The rest of the childhood diseases were regarded as routine - they even had "measles parties" where small kids were brought into contact with an active case of the disease, just so we could get it over with. It was the day of the patent medicine, ranging from Doctor Collis Brown's chlorodyne (now entirely illegal on account of the quantity of morphine it contained) to the infamous "Fenning's Fever Cure", a dilute solution of nitric acid. Poultices were popular for boils and bad chests, and if you got tonsillitis you wore a band of red flannel round your throat until you could talk again.

When I woke up, hot, itching and spotty, mum took one look and sighed.

"I think it's chicken pox. I'll get Nancy's mum to have a look, but I'm pretty sure what it is."

Sure enough, her diagnosis was confirmed. Mum grimaced.

"Are you old enough for me to leave you? I can't afford to miss work unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Can't Aunt Joan come round?"

"No, dear. She's getting old, you know and you really should be able to manage."

"He can come and sit with me if you like. Nancy's had chicken pox, so there's no danger."

I looked up in surprise while mum gushed her thanks. I was told to get into my dressing gown, then the two ladies had a quiet conversation - the sort that kids hate but are impotent to stop. I dutifully marched after Nancy's mum, clutching an armful of comic books, as she led me in their back door and directly into their kitchen.

"Mum - this is still damp!"

Nancy, clad in vest and knickers, had her back to the door and was holding her school dress close to the fire. The silence must have warned her, because she rapidly turned round, screamed in outrage and fled from the room, holding the dress in front of her and giving me an unscheduled view of blue serge. Nancy had upgraded her underwear - though still very ample, her new pants didn't have legs in them but were the new style briefs that we boys viewed out of the corners of our eyes as we passed the female sections of department stores.

Nancy reappeared a few minutes later, clad now in gym slip and blouse, her dignity slowly restored now that she could laugh at my striped pyjamas and spotty face. Her mother shooed her of to school, then poured me a mug of tea.

"Drink that up, dear. I'm just popping out to the shops for a few minutes."

She returned with a large brown paper bag that clinked slightly as she put it down on the table.

"Calamine lotion. We're going to need an awful lot of it for those spots. Have another cup of tea."

I didn't really want any more, but she insisted, then left me again.

"Come on up, Jimmy"

Her voice floated down the stairs, summoning me to the bathroom. Sure enough, there was a huge bottle of pink stuff and a roll of cotton wool in dark blue paper.

"Get your pyjamas off - this will help stop the itching."

I didn't want to strip in front of her, but I didn't really have much choice - the rash was becoming ferociously itchy. As I stepped out of my pyjamas pants, she looked me up and down.

"You look like you've got a real dose."

I followed her gaze - my chest, arms and legs were one huge mass of red spots. She poured some of the lotion into a dish, dipped the cotton wool in it and proceeded to paint me a shade of pinkish white. My memories of the last time were still fresh and as soon as she reached the base of my stomach my unruly willy reacted by standing to attention.

Her reaction surprised me. She wasn't embarrassed or anything like that. She just burst out laughing.

"I see that I can't call you 'little Jimmy' any more!"

I tried to keep a straight face, but it was no good - her laughter was infectious. Then she set about it with the cotton wool, and reduced me to a squirming mass of giggles as it tickled my sensitive parts.

"Just stand there until it all dries."

I didn't care any more. Even my erection had given up and subsided into a more normal state. I luxuriated in the cool, soothing feeling as the stuff gradually dried off. Then I saw her pull another package out of the bag and extract a length of red rubber tubing. She put it down beside a large enamel jug, then bent down and opened the cupboard under the sink.

I panicked when I saw her get the basin out and pick up the syringe.

"Oh NO! Not that! It KILLS!"

She gave me a look of surprise.

"It's only an enema, darling. It doesn't hurt - if Nancy was here she would tell you that."

If I hadn't been stark naked, I would probably have made a run for it, but I was effectively imprisoned. I realized the purpose of the jug - it was full of water. She dropped the end of the tube into it and started to pump until the whole thing was full of water, then she pushed the new bit of tube over the nozzle.

"We don't want to get everything covered in chicken pox germs, do we? Now be a good boy and bend over - you can rest your arms on the window sill."

"I don't want an enema."

"Don't be a silly boy. It will make you better."

"Please."

"Just bend over - let's have no more nonsense from you."

I was terrified. My leg muscles were quivering and I could feel my heart pounding away in my chest.

"Legs apart."

I miserably obeyed, then felt the touch of cold metal as she pushed the enamel basin between my ankles. So that was what she used it for - to catch the drips!

"Calm down, Jimmy. I promise this won't hurt."

I didn't believe her. My experience at the hands of Peter had been both agonizing and degrading. I felt her fingers poking at my arse, one planted either side, pulling me open. Then a cold pressure, and finally the indescribable sensation of something long and thin sliding inside of me.

"You'll have to hold it in."

She grabbed my hand and guided it to my backside, then closed my fingers round the tube. I suddenly cottoned on - it was covered in grease, and it would slip out again unless I kept hold of it.

"Good boy. Now - here it comes."

I felt a single, steady jet of warm water as she slowly squeezed the bulb. It *didn't* hurt - it just sat there and slowly cooled as it spread around. In fact, it felt rather nice - it was a strange place to feel warm and it radiated funny feelings outwards from its core.

Then a second slow infusion. This time I could feel it expanding my bowels, pushing deeper inside of me and creating a new trembling in my legs. Suddenly I found myself reveling in the strange internal stimulation.

Then another. And another. My fingers were wet now.

"Oh dear - it's leaking. Let's have it a bit further inside."

I yielded the tube to her fingers and then rose up on my toes at the intense sensation as she fed the rubber deeper into me. It was like that awful occasion when I had slid down a rope in the gym and it had been in exactly the right place to rub my dick from root to tip, making me collapse in a heap at the bottom, my hands clasping my groin in sheer horror as the class erupted in braying laughter.

I resumed my hold on the tube as she slowly injected more water. It was an accident at first - the tube moved a little way and I hastened to push it back into position. The feeling was intensely stimulating - my dick was pushing against my stomach and begging for relief. So this was why Peter had rubbed himself off! I moved it gently around, amazed at how good it felt.

I didn't actually spurt, but I came pretty close. By the time I was allowed to remove the tube I was in a sort of adolescent heaven of sexual excitement - even the feeling that I needed to go was extra special. And when I let everything shoot out, the sensation of emptiness was incredible, my misery replaced by relief and comfort.

By mid-afternoon, the relief had worn off. I was half expecting another enema, but instead I was made to lie down in a cool bath with some bicarbonate of soda in it - water has never felt so good! Then another application of calamine - this time without incident. Somehow the matter-of-fact attitude of Nancy's mum defused the erotic side of the process, or maybe I was just too poorly to get worked up.

When Nancy got back from school, she burst out laughing at the state of my face blotched with the dried lotion. Then she scooted up to the bathroom, and returned desperately trying to contain her mirth. She whispered so her mother could not hear.

"She got you then?"

"Got me what?"

"Don't be thick - you know what I mean. She gave you an enema."

I blushed at that and that made her howl with laughter as the white patches became even more prominent against the brick red of my face. Nancy held up a hand mirror, and even I started to laugh - it looked so comical. Her mother looked in on us, then saw what we were doing with the mirror, joined in briefly and went back to the kitchen. Nancy waited until her mother had left.

"Sorry - I didn't mean to mock you. I was wondering all day if she would give you an enema - I get one every time I sneeze!"

I found her attitude completely baffling. She had fled screaming when I saw her knickers, but she didn't seem to care about me knowing that she got enemas when she was ill. In fact, she seemed to attach no more importance to the procedure than taking an aspirin.

Mum arrived back from work after we had eaten our tea - she seemed relieved to see me reasonably comfortable and made the usual polite noises about how kind Nancy's mum had been and how I should be grateful. I muttered my thanks, and everyone was happy.

Mum took me back home and put me to bed, then went back next door to have a talk about me - I didn't like it, but I was pretty well resigned to being excluded from such discussions. She must have found out about my enema, because she was a bit concerned when she got back.

"Did everything go all right today, Jimmy?"

"Yes. She was very kind to me."

"Nothing that upset you?"

"No. Everything was fine."

"So you won't mind going back tomorrow?"

"Of course not."

I spent a restless night, partly from the itching of the rash and partly because I just could not stop thinking about what had happened to me. And about Nancy.

I was pretty tired on the following day. Nancy's mum applied calamine to the spots and threatened to make me wear boxing gloves if I scratched them any more. I sighed - my own mother had already given me a long lecture of the subject - then turned round and bent down with my arms resting on the windowsill in preparation for my enema.

"What are you doing?"

I straightened up and looked at her - she was just asking the obvious.

"Getting ready for my enema."

"You don't need an enema. You had one yesterday."

I was both surprised and disappointed - ever since I had woken up I had been looking forward to the sexy tickle of a rubber tube up my bum. She looked at me.

"Do you feel that another one would do you good?"

"Oh yes."

"Put your pyjama jacket back on - this will take a little while."

I sat on the cold toilet lid while she got the enamel jug out of the cupboard, ran hot and then cold water into it, and finally shook a glob of a jelly from a lemonade bottle. She saw my curiosity.

"Soap solution, Jimmy. I make up a whole bottle of it out of scraps. I'm ready for you now."

I leaned on the windowsill, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The basin was pushed between my feet, then I braced myself for the delicious feeling of penetration. She fiddled about with the equipment for what seemed like forever and my expectations increased steadily.

She had obviously had a lot of practice. I felt her finger and thumb probing between my cheeks and then the slight discomfort as she prized my hole wide open.

By now I was on a hair trigger, near to bursting point. As the end of the tube dug gently into the sensitive tissue, I completely lost control. I felt my anus contract round the intruding object, increasing the effect, then the unstoppable process began and my dick started to pulse right from its root and the small metallic sounds as the milky liquid dripped into the enamel bowl.

She said nothing, even pretended that nothing had happened, and just got on with my enema. Afterwards she made me a mug of tea and a bacon sandwich without comment.

The lack of sleep caught up with me after lunch. I stretched out on the couch and she covered me with a blanket - it didn't take long for me to drift off to sleep. I woke up to the sound of quiet voices.

I recognized the newcomer - Mrs. Smith lived up the road and had three sons. The eldest, Bertie, was thirteen and in the year below me at school and the others were still in the juniors. They were talking in the sort of loud whisper that is more audible than ordinary conversation.

"The poor child - how is he?"

"He's doing fine - a couple more days and he'll be well on the mend."

"He's no trouble?"

"Just the opposite. I had to give him an enema yesterday, and today, guess what? He actually asked me for another one!"

They chuckled together in that salacious way that mothers have when discussing the intimate details of children's anatomy and activities.

"Bertie's like that - he just loves his enemas. The other two aren't bothered, but any time the syringe comes out, he has to have a go."

That was an interesting piece of information! I didn't really know how I had got to be fourteen without knowing about enemas - everybody else seemed to get them.

"And do you know what happened?"

The conversation descended to low whispering that I simply could not catch.

"No! Really? Just like that?"

The tone of Mrs. Smith's voice left me in no doubt that she had just been told of my 'accident' in the bathroom. I cringed, then she went on.

"It has that sort of effect on Bertie - he's too young for anything to happen, of course, but I think we're getting to the stage where he's going to have to learn to syringe himself."

A vicarious thrill ran through me as I began to envy Bertie. Imagine having permanent access to a syringe - with your mum's blessing!

I slept again, and woke only when my own mother arrived and shook me gently and then took me home.

The following day was Saturday. No school for me, but mum still had to work. I was halfway through the first of the never ending mugs of tea when the flushing of the toilet heralded the appearance of a yawning Nancy, still in her night-gown. She was grinning from ear to ear as she sat at the kitchen table and started on her bacon sandwich.

"Come along, Jimmy - time for your lotion."

Then, as we entered the bathroom, I saw the reason for Nancy's smile. The syringe was already protruding from the enamel jug.

Actually, it solved one problem for me. After the previous day, I had wondered if I would ever have the nerve to take another enema - I certainly could not have brought myself to ask for one. The decision was clearly out of my hands.

"I think we'll do the enema first."

I began to shiver as I removed my pyjamas. The mere thought of what was about to happen was almost overwhelming and there was an additional factor - the knowledge that Nancy was downstairs and that she knew what was happening to me gave me strange feelings deep inside. I wondered what she was thinking - did it have the same effect on her as when I had watched through the window?

I jumped as the insertion of the tube interrupted my chain of thought - but only momentarily. I think I went into a kind of trance as the ineffable sensations inside me mingled with what was, I suppose, my first feelings of love for a girl.

I emptied myself, then meekly submitted to the application of the calamine, trying to imagine that Nancy, rather than her mother was sliding the cool, saturated wad of cotton wool over my body.

Nancy was grinning even more when I finally made it back to the kitchen. The smile abruptly vanished when her mother spoke.

"Come with me, young lady. You're long overdue for a dose of the syringe."

Nancy didn't object but simply trooped resignedly after her mother. I heard the bathroom door shut behind them and then it got all too much for me. I slid my pants down to my knees and grabbed a wad of paper to soak up the results, then sat at their kitchen table and wanked myself silly as I pictured what was happening just a few feet away.

Nancy was subdued when she appeared later, now fully dressed. I wondered if I should say something and waited until her mother was out of the way before speaking.

"I'm sorry if you're embarrassed Nancy. I didn't know you were going to get an enema as well."

She tossed her head.

"Oh - I'm not bothered about that, as long as you don't go spreading it around. I'm used to having boys around for enemas."

That shocked me into immobility.

"What? How do you mean?"

"You know the Smiths?"

"Yes - Mrs. Smith called in yesterday."

"When I was little, we all used to have our baths and enemas together."

"Four of you?"

"No, stupid. The two little ones used to get done first. Once they were in bed, Bertie and me got ours."

"At the same time?"

She giggled.

"Yes - Mrs. Smith and mum each had a syringe. Bertie and me used to have to bend over the bath beside each other and get our botties washed out together. It was funny afterwards - we had to take turns on the toilet as well."

I felt incredibly jealous of Bertie. My session with Peter had frightened me, but at the same time it had left me with an intriguing fantasy - of me and the rest of the patrol all bottoms up over a pole while the Guide captain, a doughty woman, handed out syringes to Nancy and her pals for their lesson in 'first aid'. And it was always me that got Nancy and squirmed in ecstasy as she pumped away at the rubber bulb.

"You don't still do that, do you?"

She gave me a scornful look.

"Of course not. It was ages ago."

My dick had risen to the occasion by this stage, concealed by the thick wool fabric of my dressing gown. At least, that is what I had thought until I saw Nancy staring at the bulge it had produced. This was the forties, and neither of us had any real knowledge of the process of human reproduction - there were no books available, pornographic magazines did not exist and we certainly were not taught about it in school. I did not have the slightest idea why my dick got a bone from time to time and it was only by accident that I had discovered that the pleasure which came from rubbing it was not my own personal invention. All I really knew, reinforced by slaps and scolding when I was little, was that you didn't wave your thing around in public - it was a secret, slightly shameful appendage.

"That used to happen to Bertie as well. Does it always go that way when you get an enema?"

I felt myself blushing, but my shyness was severely dented by the fact that two women had not only seen it get into that state, but actually touched it as well. Anyway, I suddenly got the urge to show it to her. I opened my gown and it shot upright through the slit in the front of my old-fashioned pyjamas.

The effect quite pleased me. Nancy's eyes opened wide, and her mouth framed a silent 'Oh'. I felt very manly indeed.

I could not believe what happened next. Nancy lifted the front of her dress and pulled her knickers down with one hand, revealing the astonishing fact that it wasn't just boys who grew hair down there! The whole thing was superficially like the exhibitionism of infants, but the feelings I was getting were anything but infantile!

Her mother spoiled the whole thing, of course. We heard her coming, rapidly readjusted our clothing and were sitting demurely by the time she entered the room.

That occasion saw the end of our intimacy for a long time. By Monday, my spots were fading and I did not get either calamine lotion or an enema. After another couple of days, I was back to school, struggling with the algebra I had missed.

Nancy and I did, however, become friends. We started to do our homework together and to swap stories of the miseries of an English education. And the outcome? Well.....
 
 

Chapter 2

The meteorological record may say otherwise, but the fact remains that summers in those days were longer, hotter and altogether more fun than the ones we get now. Long, lazy days under clear blue skies, climbing trees, kicking cans, going to the swimming hole and generally enjoying ourselves.

I turned fifteen just before the summer holidays, and that made all of the difference. The age at which you could leave school had just gone up from fourteen to fifteen and there were jobs aplenty. The low pay and the menial duties of youngsters in the manual trades did not deter my friends, all of whom joyfully abandoned school for the attraction of what they saw as freedom and riches.

There was no question of my following them. Despite the fact that I pleaded with my mother to be allowed to earn my living, she was adamant. I had to return to school for another year to do my School Certificate and she had a friend who could fix me up with a job in a bank. Not for me the hammering of rivet guns or the dizzy heights of scaffolding, I had to have a job with status no matter how boring it was going to be.

Suddenly, I was on my own. The younger boys ignored me - I was already marked out as one of the bosses, somebody to me mocked and distrusted. Nancy was in much the same situation, destined to become that most hated of professionals, a teacher. Still, she was still a Girl Guide, whereas I was now regretting that I had left the scouts, particularly when they all piled into the back of a furniture van and departed for their summer camp in Scotland.

Nancy was going camping with the Guides as well, so that would leave me all on my own for two weeks, an eternity of boredom. Not that what the guides did was classed in my mind as real camping - they slept in bell tents, on camp beds, and they even had portable chemical toilets - no stinking latrine trench for them! They used the same farm as the scouts, but camped in a field rather than in the woods and were safely fenced off from such dangerous creatures as cows and sheep by cordoning off a corner of the field with hurdles.

I decided that I might as well go camping at the same time. I borrowed a one-man tent, packed my rucksack and made my way to our favorite spot in the woods - maybe I could even catch a few glimpses of Nancy even though she would not be able to talk to me.

The first night in camp is always disturbed. I woke early and made my way to the edge of the wood, from where I could see the assembly of bell tents, tables and chairs that passed in female minds for 'roughing it'. The guide captain was already up and smoke was issuing from a large black metal boiler - girls even got hot water! Then she took out her whistle and blew several long, loud blasts and slapped the canvas side of each tent in succession.

I had never had any particular interest in what girls did in camp - they probably spent all of their time working for their knitting badge. But my eyes opened wide when they spilled out of their tents, wearing only vest, knickers and plimsolls! They lined up under the screams of the captain, then proceeded to do their PT. Old style PT - knee bending, toe touching, waist bending style PT. The effect it had on me, however, was an entirely new experience. I felt dizzy, my limbs turned to jelly and suddenly I wasn't a child any more.

My erection this time was much more purposeful. My hormones had kicked in and, without being too clear on the details, I knew what girls were for. Other chance remarks and dirty jokes clicked into place - they had gone right over my head at the time, but now I knew just what my willy was for. And when they all stood with legs apart and touched their toes in unison, displaying about an acre of blue serge knickers, I almost came in my pants. I fumbled with the buttons instead, pulled out my erection, more sensitive than I had ever known it, and pulled myself off with only two or three strokes.

It wasn't over even then. There was an array of basins on the trestle tables, and they were filled from the boiler so that the guides could wash. A queue formed in front of the hessian screen that concealed the toilets, and I had to suppress a laugh as several of them pushed their hands into position to hold back their pee. It was too much for a few - they ran into some bushes and disappeared from view, then returned looking much relieved - that almost precipitated another wank as I tried to imagine the scene.

The younger girls just took their vests right off when they washed and even though they were as flat chested as any boy, the sight of their undeveloped tits was still almost overwhelming for me. The older ones were more modest, holding their vests away from their bodies while they applied a damp flannel to their skin and not revealing anything - but that didn't stop my fevered brain from imagining.

I was pretty well trapped in the wood. I could have gone home of course, but if I wanted to stay then I had to be careful not to reveal myself. That wasn't so easy - the girls were sent on one of their silly pursuits to gather leaves from at least ten different trees and invaded the woods. My camp was reasonably safe from discovery - Peter had found the place and it was surrounded by dense thickets and could only be entered if you knew where the trail was and were prepared to crawl through prickly bushes. On the other hand, I didn't want to spend the whole week in a small clearing.

I had another problem. In my previous incarnation I had told Nancy that I was going camping at the same time as her. I had not specified exactly where, but she didn't need to be a genius to figure out that I would probably be somewhere near. At the time I had told her, I had not understood why she giggled and gave me strange looks. Now I cringed as I realized that she had maybe understood a lot more than me. I consoled myself with the fact that she would never be able to find me - I did not think that I would ever be able to face her after that point.

I listened to the sounds of girls' voices as they crashed and squealed their way through the woods. Then I heard someone coming my way.

"Hello, Jimmy."

"Nancy! How on earth? How did you find me?"

She gave me one of her superior looks.

"Well - you made a big mystery of the whole thing, so I just asked Peter where he usually camped."

"And he told you? The swine."

"Aren't you pleased to see me?"

That rendered me speechless for a while. I tried not to answer directly - I wasn't ready for saying that I even liked her.

"I saw you this morning!"

Her forehead wrinkled.

"You saw me? Where? When?"

Now I had done it. Me and my big mouth. I saw her working it out.

"You spied on us? When we were doing PT?"

I could only nod and look at the ground. I waited for her scream of outrage that would bring the guide captain running and probably have me arrested. Instead she just laughed.

"Wait until I tell them they were showing their knickers to a boy!"

"But...aren't you angry? You were the same."

"Oh - that doesn't matter. You've seen me in them before. Anyway - I've seen you in your underpants and less, so we're even."

"Please don't tell them."

"What will you give me if I don't?"

I rummaged in my pocket and produced my prized Swiss army knife.

"I'll give you this. Please don't tell on me."

"That's not enough."

"It's all I've got. What else could I give you?"

"You could give me a kiss."

It was the most awkward of kisses. We both kissed out mothers, but that was on the cheek, and it didn't involve the problem of noses. Eventually we worked it out and exchanged a short, chaste kiss. Nancy wiped her lips.

"I don't think much of that! Maybe it takes practice."

I was saved from further embarrassment by the sound of the whistle. Nancy hastily gathered up her leaves and scrambled away to join the rush back to camp.

It sounds silly to say that I was overwhelmed by what had happened that day, but I really was. It was, after all, the chaste forties, and fifteen was a young age to be exchanging kisses, however innocent, or to be looking at girls in their underwear. I felt grown up, manly, invested with the aura of adulthood - and slightly ashamed of myself for being a peeping Tom.

The shame seemed pretty unimportant the following morning. My willy was sore from a night of dissipated solo passion and I just had to top-up my fantasy reservoir. I took up my position early and waited in growing suspense for the exodus.

It all happened again. When it came to washing, however, either the girls had become more used to each other or maybe the dirt was building up, because a couple of the older ones went further than the previous day and pulled their vests far enough up for me to get tantalizing glimpses of curved flesh. I hadn't even seen a picture of a tit up until then!

I watched as one of the girls actually took her vest right off, and realized with a shock that it was Nancy. Her exposure was brief - the other girls squealed at the sight and the captain sternly ordered Nancy to be more modest - but I had actually seen her tits! It was incredibly erotic, and I stroked myself slowly to preserve the moment.

There was a bit of a commotion as a group of girls dragged one of the younger ones to the captain. I was too far away to hear what was being said, but the young girl was obviously upset. The captain looked sternly at her, and opened a large first-aid box which was lying on the table. I watched, puzzled, as the captain removed a glass object, like an icing syringe but clear, and filled it with a colorless liquid from a large bottle.

The girl looked really worried by now. The captain took her by the arm and marched her into one of the tents, then shut the flap behind them while I tried to imagine what was happening. They stayed in there for what seemed like a long time, then the girl shot out, clasping the seat of her knickers as she ran desperately for the toilets. The captain emerged after her.

I looked hard - she still had the object, but now it was empty. She held it up in front of the rest of the guides, and this time I could hear her voice as it boomed over them.

"If any more girls decide that the toilets are too smelly to use, then I have a whole bottle of glycerin left. Understand?"

I watched as several hands went involuntarily to the seats of their knickers and faces screwed up in expressions of distaste. I had no idea what glycerin was, but I could work out where it went and what it did when it got there!

I messed about for the rest of the day, unable to settle down, alternately bored and excited. I was surprised when I heard someone crawling through the leafy tunnel - it had to be Nancy.

"What are you doing here? You'll get us both into trouble."

"No I won't. It's make and mend time - everybody is free."

"Want a cup of tea?"

She looked in the billy and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the stewed mess.

"No thanks! How can you drink that muck?"

"It's all right."

"It's pure tannic acid. It will rot your stomach. Mum says so."

I sat, prepared to sulk, but Nancy was in an excited mood.

"Were you watching this morning?"

She could tell from the look on my face that I had been.

"Did you see what happened to Liz?"

I decided to play innocent.

"Was that the girl who was in trouble? I couldn't tell what was going on."

"She got a glycerin injection!"

I faked incredulity.

"Injection? With a needle?"

"No, stupid. With a tube. Up her bottom."

"What's that for?"

"To make you go to the lavatory. She said it was too smelly, so the captain made her go with glycerin. I hate those injections."

"You got one?"

"No, stupid. Mum has one of those syringes. She uses it if she hasn't got time for a proper enema. I hate it - it stings like mad."

I could see her point, but from where I was it was interesting and exciting. We lay on our stomachs in the warm sunlight as I thought about what had happened. It was beginning to dawn on me that maybe it was me that was different - that a lot o kids got things up their bottoms.

I was wearing what remained of my scout uniform - I had removed the badges and handed them back. The khaki shorts were modeled on the British army pattern with wide legs that permitted ventilation to prevent things like prickly heat in the tropics - and that presented a problem. Underpants were made of thick knitted cotton and held up by means of a length of elastic threaded through the waistband. At best it was unequal to the strain, at worst it parted completely, and in either case your underpants would slide down and protrude from the legs of your shorts, producing ribald yells of 'droopy drawers'. As a consequence, nobody wore underpants with khaki shorts.

That fact was causing me problems. As Nancy continued to talk, she was stroking the back of my thighs and her hand was sliding upwards, tantalizingly close to my bum.

"When I get married, I'm going to have three boys."

There was no answer to that. I just grunted as her fingers caressed my skin.

"And I'm never going to use glycerin when they can't do poo-poo. I'm going to give them nice long warm syringings with only a little bit of soap in the water. They'll like that!"

As she spoke, her fingers insinuated themselves right up my shorts and tickled their way until I felt one of them touch my anus. That made me burst out into a fit of giggles and squirm around while it continued its probing.

What would have happened, I never got to know. Nancy had obviously been missed, and the shrill sound of the captain's whistle fractured the peace of the woods, accompanied by the sounds of shrill voices - a search was under way. Nancy panicked and scrambled away through the undergrowth.

"Here she is!"

"What on earth have you been doing, girl?"

I didn't hear the reply, but the guide captain was obviously not satisfied.

"Fell asleep? Do you expect me to believe that? Get back to camp at once - and for the rest of the time you are going to have someone with you every minute."

Well, that was going to put an end to our assignations! To add to my misery it started to rain - and that was when I discovered that the tent I had borrowed was not waterproof. By dawn, everything was saturated. There was no point in staying anyway, so I packed things up and started on the long trip home.

I must have looked a pathetic figure and a sympathetic lorry driver stopped and heaved me and my belongings into the back of his tipper. Unfortunately it was filthy - by the time I got home I was covered with dirt, mud and grass.

Hot water wasn't the constant flow that modern homes have. It was heated by a coal fire in the big black kitchen range, and in the summer fires were lit only when there was cooking or washing to do - other times you heated water in a kettle. Mum was out at work, of course, and I sighed at the prospect of having to clean myself up in cold water.

"What on earth have you been up to?"

It was Nancy's mum - she had spotted me as I bent to retrieve the back door key from under the brick where it lived.

"Goodness, child, you're absolutely filthy!"

She hustled me into her kitchen, where a bright fire burned in the grate and the smell of steam and soap from the back kitchen indicated that she was engaged in doing her washing. There was also a delicious smell from the oven - she was cooking as well. I gratefully moved beside the fire and started to get some of the chill out of my body.

"Stand on these."

She laid some old newspapers on the floor and I watched as drops of black liquid started to drip on to them.

"Get those wet things off."

She helped me out of garments that seemed to have turned into cardboard until my whole skin glowed in the radiant heat from the fire.

"Bath."

God - it was delicious. She filled it almost to the brim with piping hot water and I lowered myself gingerly into it and soaked some of the cold out of my bones. Nancy's mum produced a bar of soap and proceeded to wash my hair and then scrub my back while the bath water turned to a dark muddy brown color.

"Finish yourself off."

It was a measure of how much things had changed for me that when I heard the rattle of the enamel bowl as she pulled it out of the cupboard it didn't seem at all odd - I just accepted the fact that she was going to give me an enema. I stepped out of the bath and dried myself off on a couple of towels as she mixed up the soapy water, then wrapped a towel around my shoulders and took up position leaning on the windowsill.

"I think we'll do this one in the bedroom."

Puzzled, I followed her into Nancy's room - the bed was bare and she just took my towel and laid it down on the side of the mattress. I didn't understand.

"Just lie down on your side with your bottom towards me."

I figured it out pretty rapidly then. She made me pull my legs up towards my chest, then I felt the customary tickle and the electrifying sensation as the black nozzle slid into position and seated itself firmly in my anus.

She then proceeded to administer the nicest enema that I had ever received. The water was very warm, and she pumped it slowly, allowing time for each installment to spread its comforting warmth through my insides before the next one arrived. It must have taken half an hour of gentle, relaxing pleasure before she finally removed the nozzle and allowed me to go to the lavatory - and the result was that I produced the largest and most satisfying bowel movement of my life.

Then she fed me on steak and kidney pie with mounds of buttery mashed potatoes, clucking in satisfaction as I ate it with relish.

"You've been looking a bit peaky recently - what you need is a real holiday, not sleeping under trees and things."

Chapter 3

It was all arranged in a couple of hours once mum got home from work. While Nancy languished in her guide camp, I was going to the seaside! We actually lived only about twenty miles from the sea (England is a small country and an island!), but in those days that was a long distance.  I got an ear-bashing from mum about behaving myself and being a credit to my family, then the kitchen fire was lit and piled up with coal until the taps spouted steam and sprayed boiling water.  Then I had to take another bath.

I didn't think it politic to tell my mother that I had already been boiled like a lobster - she uttered the ultimate threat that if I did not reappear in a squeaky clean condition, then she would bath me like I was a baby.

The following day I dragged an enormous case to the station, and Nancy's mum and I boarded the wheezing, superannuated steam train that rattled its way over ancient and bumpy rails to the sea.

"I think you should call me Aunt Gloria."

I was relieved.  The naming of adults is always a problem when you're young, and honorary aunts were a familiar species - comfortable and having a definite place in the hierarchy - not quite family, but definitely in charge.

"All right, Aunt Gloria.  Is it far now?"

I don't suppose she had any more idea than me because she just went into the formula of "We'll get there when we get there" and "Oh look - there's a cow".  It took well over an hour - almost an infinite time to an excited boy - before we eventually slithered into the terminus with a sigh of low pressure steam from the engine.

Then it was a ride on a tram!  Extinct now, trams were the ultimate improbability as they swayed and rattled on their gleaming silver rails. Then I acquired yet another aunt - Aunt Betty - and two honorary cousins.  Larry was nine, freckled and full of life.  Michael was twelve, long and skinny, with a mop of bright ginger hair.

Another memory from those times is that single beds were rare, and bunks had not yet been invented as an item of domestic furniture.  Nor was their anything unusual about children sharing a bed.

There was an immediate rebellion when sleeping arrangements were discussed.  Aunt Gloria took the spare room, and it was suggested that Larry moved in with her, leaving Michael and me to share the big bed that the two boys normally slept in.  Larry was having none of that - even a couple of sound slaps on his backside merely reduced him to damp sullenness.  Eventually it was decided that we three boys should all sleep together, and Larry brightened up immediately - I was a big boy, and there was much status in sharing a room with me.

Then the two women got down to some serious gossip, ranging over what seemed like hundreds of people, each of who had either some major illness or scandal attached to them.  Finally they got round to me.

"Poor Jimmy - he had such a terrible case of chicken pox."

"I always think it's better to get it over when you're small."

"You should have seen the stuff I got out of him!  All black and tarry, and the smell!"

"He still looks peaky."

"Well, there's nothing like sea air to buck you up, is there?"

Aunt Betty looked at me.

"Come here, boy, let's have a look at you."

I submitted to the sort of examination that a piece of livestock might receive.  She pulled down the lower lids of my eyes and drew in a hissing breath.

"Just look at that!  As yellow as a chinaman!"

I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue on command.  She didn't like the look of that either.

"Fur!  I think it's turning black as well.  Pull up your shirt."

She looked closely at my stomach.

"Well - no rashes anyway.  But he is certainly skinny!"

Then she turned to Aunt Gloria.

"You're quite right, dear - he's certainly very much under the weather. We'll soon sort that out, though, won't we?  Did you bring his syringe, or do you want to borrow ours?"

That got my attention!  Whatever they intended to do, they were obviously of the same mind - that I needed a good cleaning out.  Aunt Gloria had even brought a syringe with her to do it.  I heard a faint snigger from Michael.

Unfortunately, so did his mother.  She rounded on him.

"And don't think you're getting away either.  You've been getting spotty for the last month.  It's time we did something about that."

That wiped the smile off his face!  From his expression, it looked like Michael was not terribly keen on enemas.

Lunch was a rare treat.  The two aunts had things to do, so we were sent out for the afternoon so that the two brothers could show me around the town, and given money to buy fish and chips.  That's another thing that has changed for the worse - maybe it's because they don't wrap it in newspaper any more.  The town was still recovering from its wartime fortifications - only one beach was open, the others still covered in coils of barbed wire and metal spikes to repel any German invasion.  The seaside attractions were primitive by modern standards, but still new and exciting to my eyes - we wasted several pennies on "What the Butler Saw" machines, filled with ancient and grainy photographs that flicked jerkily and revealed no more than voluminous petticoats and knickers that reached below the knees.  Still - it made me feel quite grown-up when Larry and Michael were chased away by an irate owner, but I was obviously deemed old enough to view "adult" material.

We finally got home in time for a light tea and Children's Hour on the radio.  My internal tension had been rising all afternoon, of course, with the imminent prospect of getting an enema.  I couldn't quite work out my feelings on the subject.  It was a pretty humiliating procedure from one point of view, but at the same time it offered a strange and wonderful set of sensations.  I wondered idly if I would get to see Michael syringed - I had never really seen an enema administered.  My experience with Peter had been both awkward and in near darkness and I could not really remember much about it beyond the pain of the nettle stings.

"Right boys - get ready for bed."

We dutifully trooped up to our shared room and got into pyjamas, then sat around and listened to the ladies doing things in the bathroom. Michael was visibly annoyed - I got the impression that he blamed me for the whole thing.

"Michael and Jimmy - come along please."

We trudged along to the bathroom, where both ladies were waiting.  My eyes were drawn to the marble-topped washstand, on which sat an enormous jug, two milk bottles and two coiled syringes.  "Get ready."

I followed Michael's lead.  He took off his pyjama pants and then, to my amazement, rather than bending over, he knelt down on the floor.  I felt horribly self-conscious as I copied what he had done - I had imagined that it would just be Aunt Gloria and me, not a sort of public ceremony.

I watched as each milk bottle was filled with suds from the jug and realised that they were used as measuring devices.  Then came the ritual of filling the syringes and expelling the air - and then the bottles were topped up again.  We were obviously going to get full measure!

Michael gave the lead by bending forward, folding his arms on the floor and resting his head on them - that was when I realised the purpose of the strange position.  I copied what he had done, then braced myself for the insertion of the nozzle.  Fingers prized my buttocks apart, then there was a little wiggle, then it plopped into position, held firmly in place by my muscles.  I heard Michael grunt and realised that the same thing had happened to him.  We turned our faces towards each other - his was sort of screwed up as I heard the hiss of his mother's syringe discharging into his rectum.

I got an instant erection as the first slug of liquid squirted into my arse - it tickled and tingled as the jet impacted on tender tissue. Then quite a long pause before the next squeeze - Aunt Gloria was certainly taking her time!

I watched Michael's face contort with each injection of soapy water - his mother seemed to believe in going quite fast.  It seemed only moments before he relaxed a bit, just after the gurgle indicated that he had received his pint measure.  He jumped up, and I heard the sound of thundering liquid, followed by the grunts that indicated he was expelling solid matter as well.  As he finished, I felt the nozzle slip out of me and started to straighten up.

"Not yet, Jimmy.  I'm not finished."

I craned my neck from my crouched position, then saw Aunt Gloria get hold of the jug and refill the milk bottle.

"You're a big boy, and I'm going to give you a really good clear out - you need to get rid of all those nasty poisons."

She had done this before, too.  This time she didn't prise me open, but instead pressed her fingers into position to hold my hole closed.  Then I felt the hard circle of the nozzle slide between her fingers and push its way through the lubricated orifice until it plugged the opening.

"Mummy.  I haven't been for two days.  Can I have my bottom eased?"

I looked round to see Larry standing in the doorway, wearing only his pyjama jacket, his little willy poking through the front.  Aunt Betty picked up the jug and shook it.

"All right - there's enough left for you.  Come on in."

She didn't make him kneel down, just bent him over the bath, plugged the syringe into his bottom and gave it a few firm squeezes that set him giggling before allowing him to relieve himself.

Meanwhile, I was starting to feel really full.  The first pint of liquid had not produced any discomfort, but each squeeze of the bulb was now producing an increasing pressure, a mild but increasing pain that told me my rectum was really starting to protest.  I gritted my teeth against the desire to cry out - I couldn't work out why, but in a funny sort of way the unease was simultaneously producing another feeling in my balls - a pleasure of such intensity that it was well worth any amount of pain.

I heard Larry scoot out of the room, then sighed with relief as the tormenting but pleasuring nozzle was finally removed and replaced with a folded piece of cloth to stem any unscheduled flow - I just had to go, and modesty be hanged!  I did manage to fold my pyjama jacket over my erection, but I could see that both ladies were well aware of my condition as they exchanged small smiles and then ushered each other out of the room.

My intention of having a major wank was shattered, however.  As the first violent blast of liquid, solid and gas died down, Larry rushed into the room, jumping from one foot to another and demanding access to the toilet.  I yielded the throne to him, then had to push him out of the way as a second instalment of liquid suddenly appeared in my own rectum and demanded instant relief.

We were told to go to bed then.  Larry insinuated himself between Michael and me, his bony squirming making space appear as if by magic. I lay there, desperately needing relief, then became conscious of the fact that his small body was shaking.

"For god's sake, Larry.  Do you always have to play with yourself after you get an enema?"

Michael's voice expressed disgust.  Larry was unabashed.

"It always makes me want to.  My thing feels all funny after I get the syringe."

"You're disgusting.  Isn't he, Jimmy?"

What could I say or do?  My own willy was like an iron bar, but Larry was just a little kid.  I just grunted and feigned sleep as the small boy's arm moved faster and faster and he made satisfied noises until his body went rigid and then relaxed to the accompaniment of a sigh of happiness.

He obviously went straight to sleep.  I didn't know about Michael, but I certainly was in no state to drop off.  I waited for what seemed to be hours, not moving a muscle, until I was just about certain that he was asleep.  I was just about to start a surreptitious and quiet rubbing, when I heard a faint whisper.

"Are you asleep, Jimmy?"

I said nothing, just held my breath for as long as I could.  Then I heard a faint rustling from the far side of the bed.  I couldn't hold my tongue.

"Michael?"

The rustling ceased and the room went painfully silent.

"I thought you said Larry was disgusting."

Another long silence.  Then a whisper.

"He's only a little kid.  He tells mum everything."

Understanding dawned on me.

"So you wait until he's asleep?"

"Yes."

"Then you have your wank?"

"Wank?"

"Tossing off.  Pulling your pudding.  Lady five fingers."

"Is that what it's called?"

I felt quite superior.  Of course, he was only twelve!

"Yes."

"Why does it make you want to do it when you get syringed?"

That stumped me.

"I dunno.  But it does."

"Is it all right to do it?  One of my friends said it made you go blind."

"Aw, they just say that to frighten you.  Grown-ups don't like kids to enjoy themselves."

"You really think so?"

"Of course.  I've been doing it for years and I don't even need glasses."

I heard a sigh of relief from the other side of the bed.

"Gosh - I'm glad you came to stay.  I've been getting worried about it."

"We can't just do it though - it'll wake Larry up."

He chuckled.

"Just watch me get rid of him!"

I jumped as there was a sudden noise, then realised that it was Michael tapping his fingers on the metal frame of the bed.  He shook Larry gently, then repeated the process.  Suddenly Larry sat bolt upright.

"What's that?  I heard a noise."

"It's a German.  Under the bed."

I actually felt sorry for Larry.  He was terrified.  Then he jumped out of bed and rushed from the room.

"Mummy.  I'm frightened."

Michael chuckled.

"That's got rid of him.  He'll sleep with mum now."

We expanded to fill the bed.  I started to reach around, searching in my pants pocket for a handkerchief - another extinct item in the modern world.

"What are you looking for?"

"I need something to catch the stuff."

"What stuff?"

"You know - the stuff that comes out of your prick."

"Huh?"

Oh shit!  He was only twelve!

"Er...well...when you get older, this white stuff comes out when you wank."

"Why?"

"I dunno.  It just does."

I found the handkerchief, then we folded the blankets down and lay side by side with our adolescent pleasure.

"Gosh - you've got a big one!"

I preened myself.  His was still thin and short.

"Yours will grow as well."

"Oh.  Good."

Then I lost myself in fantasies of Nancy.

I only stayed there for four days, but they were days of unalloyed pleasure.  We spent the daytime on the beach, supervised by the grown- ups, swimming and building sand castles with gritty sandwiches from home and pots of tea from the cafe.  Then, each evening, Michael and I enjoyed the bitter-sweet pleasure of an enema before retiring to bed - Larry had decided to move in with his mother on a permanent basis.

It was on the third evening that Michael turned on to his side and faced me when we started to wank.

"Can I touch it?"

I thought for a while.

"Yes."

"Gosh - it's all hot."

Nobody had ever touched my erection before.  It felt excellent.  Much better than my own fingers.  I reached out for him.....
 

Chapter 4

I had a truly excellent time staying with Aunt Betty.  It was only five days, but I will remember them for the rest of my life.  Each day was spent on the beach, swimming and playing on the sand and the hot August sun soon turned me nut brown.  Then, each night, Michael and I would get our enemas.

Neither 'aunt' found it at all necessary to provide us with any privacy. Those were strange, schizophrenic days where a short skirt or too much lipstick was sufficient to brand a girl as a tart, while in the home eighteen year old boys, back from the mine, would strip off and sit in a tin bath in front of the fire in full view of their brothers and sisters and have their back scrubbed by the nearest female.  Many families lived in tiny terraced houses, three generations crammed into two bedrooms with an outside lavatory in full view of their neighbours.  Since the young Betty and Gloria had attended the ablutions of their father and older brothers, I suppose it never crossed their minds that we might feel shy.

They would just get us into position, insert the nozzles and start pumping away while they chatted about the weather and whatever scandal had caught their attention.  The fact that Michael and I both had erections did not faze those two ladies in the slightest - they never commented on our state, but at the same time they never averted their eyes either.  Then, afterwards, there was bed and the sort of playtime you never got in school.

By the time we returned home, I felt really on top of my form.  We arrived early afternoon, my mother was still out at work, and I assisted Aunt Betty to light the fire and unpack our clothes for washing.  She started to peel some potatoes, then she rummaged in her case and extracted the enema syringe.

"Pour some hot water in the bowl and give that thing a really good cleaning."

I had never handled an enema syringe with adult approval, and I felt quite proud as I scrubbed the outside with a nailbrush, then forced water through at high speed to clean the inside.

"Good boy - now run some fresh water through it and hang it up by the blunt end."

As I was starting to do that, she explained.

"Nancy will be back from guide camp tonight."

By this time I was so immersed in the culture of the enema as an aid to health that I understood immediately - Nancy was due to be cleaned both externally and internally on her return.  Aunt Betty seemed to regard me as some sort of confidante by then, because she just went on.

"Of course, she won't need an enema if that guide captain gets her.  She always takes a glycerine syringe to camp for any girl whose bowels don't go like clockwork."

I played innocent.

"What's one of them?"

"A glycerine syringe?  Don't you know?"

"No.  I didn't even know about ordinary syringes until I got chicken pox."

She burst out laughing.

"Nor did you!  You know, you looked so funny when you found out what I was going to do!  Wait until I get these on to boil, then I'll show you."

She went upstairs, then returned with a barrel syringe which terminated in a long brass tube with a bend halfway along its length.  She demonstrated filling it, using cold water.

"There you are.  The tube goes you-know-where, then a quick squirt of glycerine and you think your back bottom is going to explode.  It's not as good as a real enema, of course, but it certainly does the job. Nancy really hates it!"

I could understand that.  The syringe looked all cold and medical, not at all like the smooth curves of soft rubber that made up a real syringe.  Aunt Betty laughed again as I pulled a face.

"Calm down!  I can see that you agree with Nancy - I'll put it away."

Then, suddenly, Nancy was back.  She looked at the debris of our luggage.

"What's going on?"

"Oh - I thought it would do Jimmy good to have a few days at the seaside.  We went to stay with Aunt Gloria."

"You mean to say that while I've been fighting off centipedes and living on baked beans, you two have had a proper holiday?  That's not fair!"

"On - don't be so silly, girl.  Poor Jimmy was really quite run down. He needed some good salt air to clear his lungs."

Nancy subsided into grumbling and I was saved from the rather strained atmosphere by the return of my mother who whisked me back home to tell the story of my holiday.  The strange thing was that I didn't tell her about the enemas - they had seemed quite normal and pleasant at the time, but I felt really awkward at the prospect of telling her.

Anyway - I had something else exercising my mind.  Nancy.  As soon as I could, I claimed tiredness and went to my room, praying that I would not be too late.  It was a bright August evening and the sun was streaming through the reeded glass of Nancy's bathroom - I could see the shape of the bath and washbasin quite clearly.  And a pink shape that just had to be Nancy.

Sure enough, she took up position with her arms on the windowsill and my heart almost stopped as I saw the rippling shape of her mother behind her and then Nancy's head rise up as the nozzle was inserted.

It seems odd to relate.  I was aware that Nancy was a girl, I felt an increasing affection for her but the idea of sex had not even crossed my mind.  My greatest ambition was to see her without any clothes on - and even so, most of that was curiosity rather than lust.  I craned my head to see if I could resolve the image of her breasts - and that was the point at which the sun went behind a cloud.

I started to panic as Nancy pressed her face close to the glass and I realised that she could see me.  I dropped down below window level immediately, but the damage was done - she knew that I had been spying on her.  I spent a restless night imagining scenes where her mother and mine jointly confronted me - could they lock a boy up for what I had done?

Come morning, I couldn't stand the tension any longer.  Immediately after breakfast I made my fearful way to Aunt Betty's kitchen.

"Well - look who's here!  What can I do for you?"

That sounded promising.  Maybe Nancy hadn't even seen me?

"Er...do you want me to run any errands or something?"

She smiled.

"Well, maybe later.  What you can do right now is to take breakfast to her ladyship - she's recovering from her camp."

The forties definition of breakfast would have any modern dietician running screaming from the room.  A thick slab of bacon, an egg, a slice of bread fried crisp in best lard and a cup of tea.  I gingerly negotiated the stairs without spilling anything, then paused outside Nancy's door.

"Hello - it's me.  I've brought your breakfast."

"Come in."

Nancy was in process of piling her pillows up to make a backrest.  She settled back, then allowed me to place the tray on her knees.  I watched, my own hunger returning, as she sliced through the egg and made soldiers of the fried bread and then proceeded to devour the whole lot. Finally she took a drink of her tea, then looked straight at me.

I held my breath, expecting her to launch into a diatribe about my behaviour, but she just pulled a face and demanded sugar.  She reserved her revenge for the following week when we two were alone for an afternoon.

"It's your turn now!"

"My turn?  What for?"

"For an enema.  I saw you watching while mum gave me one, so it's only fair."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to give you a nice big enema."

My memories of the painful session with Peter came back in a rush.

"No you aren't.  You don't even know how."

"That's what you think!"

"Huh?"

"I've given loads of enemas."

"You're kidding!  Who would let you give them an enema?"

"Bertie.  His mother doesn't do him any more, so he asked me."

Suddenly, I felt very jealous of Bertie.  I nodded when Nancy told me again that I was due an enema.  It was all very exciting, very sexual. Nancy led the way to the bathroom and just filled the jug with warm water, then turned to me.

"All right.  Get you clothes off."

That was a thrill in its own right.  It felt peculiar but good to know that Nancy could see me naked - I was no longer worried about the fact that I was strongly erect, in fact I wanted her to see that too.  It disappointed me that she hardly reacted at all, and that must have showed in my face.

"It's bigger than Bertie's."

I felt a sense of pride.

"Right.  Bend over."

The tension was killing me.  This was all of my previous experiences added together - and then doubled!  To my horror, as soon as the nozzle touched me, I exploded in a shower of sperm.  Nancy looked at the mess with interest.

"Hmm.  It always happens, then?"

"Not always."

"All right.  Let's get on with it."

The sensations were exquisite as my insides slowly expanded under the pressure of the water.  The pain/pleasure became almost unbearable and I gritted my teeth in sweet agony until the syringe slurped its signal that there was no more liquid in the jug.

"You have to hold it in."

I lowered myself gingerly on to the toilet, erect again as I strained to retain the liquid.  Then Nancy reached out a hand towards my erection.

She manipulated it gently, squeezing the foreskin back and forth, her tongue between her lips - either in concentration or appreciation - until I exploded simultaneously from both ends.  Then she sat on the edge of the bath, an expression of satisfaction on her face, while I finished off and dressed.

I should have asked her if she wanted one.  I should at least have cuddled her and maybe even kissed her - I certainly wanted to, but something held me back.

And that was a tragedy.  Before we could consolidate our new-found intimacy, one of Nancy's uncles found a new job for her mother.  They moved away and left a huge hole in my life that was not filled for several years.

And me?  I passed my exams, got a job in a bank and worked my way up to manager.  It took some time before I summoned up the nerve to respond to one of the discreet adverts for colonic irrigation.  I have to go to London every couple of months now...
 
 

The End