“To begin with, it was Mom's problem. I understand that now. Something twisted in her childhood, and although she was pretty and popular when she was young she was frigid. She met this man, my father, at the university. He was one of those hard and conventional guys, on the make, and she fell for his line, let him get her into trouble, and found herself pregnant, with me. She let him do the so-called 'right thing' and marry her, which was the Wrong thing. Anyhow, Harry- that's his name and I can never think of him as Dad or Father-made a good thing out of his building business, but the marriage didn't take. Things, went from bad to worse, and it all ended up in the divorce court. Neither the judge nor Harry thought that Millicent, that's my mother, was much good for me, but since the courts always give the kids to the mother unless she's a prostitute or something, I went off to live with my mother. It happened when I was about seven.
“Harry was pretty well off, and Mom didn't have to work or anything. She was pretty attractive too, at thirty, and although she dated from time to time she was so soured on marriage that she just couldn't get over the way she hated men. She just hated them. She was very intelligent and had a lot of hobbies, used to take courses and stuff and Harry had been very contemptuous of all that, just as he hated what he called her 'egghead friends.' All that stuff made their divorce inevitable. Afterwards, Mom and I lived on the coast.
“Mom used to fuss over me a lot. She really adored me. And by the time I was around twelve, I guess I was pretty spoiled. I was just the center of her whole world. I was pretty quiet, never ran around with kids much, used to read a lot, and had pretty high marks. I liked school pretty well and got on with the kids, but mostly I just liked staying home with Mom.
“Then, when I was fifteen, Mom did something to me. She gave me this absolutely fantastic enema. It wasn't the first time, though, and I guess I better mention the first time before I tell about the time that really was so wild. It happened when I was thirteen.
“Mom used to come for me at school and drive me home even though we lived only three blocks away. She was always that way. Mom was always fussing over me, helping me dress and all that in the morning, go with me to kid movies, and buy me stuff. She used to get cross at me and nag a lot, too.
“This particular time she scolded me for getting a spot on my new yellow dress, which made me mad so I sat there in the car and pouted. Then she wanted to know if I'd been to the toilet that morning, which also made me kind of mad because she was always fussing over me about that stuff. Usually I told her I had even when I hadn't because I hate laxatives.
“Then she started in on me.
“'Well dear, that doesn't sound good at all; you must tell me when you don't go because you don't want that poison in your system.'
“'I feel fine,' I said.
“'Well,' she said, 'I think I'd better give you a good cleaning out.'
“I thought she meant a laxative and told her I didn't want to take any of that old stuff, but what she had in mind was much worse.
“'No,' she said, 'as soon as we get home I'm going to give you a good enema.'
“'Oh, no, Mother,' I cried. I just about died. 'Please don't give me an enema. I hate enemas.'
“'How do you know if you've never had one?'
“'I just know it,' I said, so mad I was starting to cry. 'I don't want anybody sticking anything up my rear end.'
“I just felt sick I was so mad and scared. And I think the worst part of it was the idea of having to get undressed in front of Mom because even though she used to help me get dressed and stuff this seemed different. It was awfully indecent.
“But I couldn't talk her out of it, so we just drove along and she started asking me what I'd done in school and all that crap. I was sitting there with my legs crossed, like I usually do, and my dress rode up on my thighs.
“Mom said, 'Pull your dress down, dear,' which I thought was really dumb, and I wondered why it was unladylike to expose a little of my legs when in a few minutes she was going to be staring at my bare bottom and shoving a rubber hose up me. The whole thing was really stupid.
“When we got out of the car, I slid out of my seat very carefully with my legs pressed close together and holding my dress down, and I walked up the driveway with Mom with my shoulders very straight. But I felt awful. Mrs. H- was across the street fooling around in her yard and waved at Mom. It wouldn't have surprised me if she had called out, 'I see you're going to give Patty an enema.' I felt like everybody knew.
“Mom made me go right into the bathroom when we got home. She was right behind me. She had the darned thing all fixed. I just stared at it in horror. It looked awful. There was this rubber bag just bursting with water hanging on the hook on the bathroom door, and this long tube dangled and coiled down and then back up into the top. It gave me goose pimples. I was shivering all over. Suddenly I got this real funny tingling feeling. I only remembered having it once before, and that was when I was real little and a boy and me were fooling around and took our clothes off. That's all we did, but I remembered how exciting it was just taking our clothes off and how funny it felt to be bare.
“Mom took the tube in her fingers. I stared at it. It looked like it was as thick as a firehose. I think it was one of those tubes they use for colonic irrigations. I really felt scared. Also, she had a funny look in her face and her voice was sort of strained and choked like.
“'Bend over,' she told me. 'Turn around and bend over.' Her voice sounded funny. My stomach was churning and I felt like I did when I was at the dentist's, sort of curious and scared at once. Then she pulled up my dress. That really felt funny. It just sent goose pimples all over me, and after that she pulled down my panties. My bottom felt so bare and I felt exposed and real weak. Then this thing jabbed in me. It hurt like mad.
“'Ow, Mommy, it hurts. Ow-ow-ow-ow!' I pleaded. But she kept shoving it up me. I felt like my rear end was just spitting apart. She told me to spread my legs and bend way down. She was sort of cross, too. 'Keep still and bend down! Bend way down,' she kept telling me.
“I was crying. 'Mummy! Mummy! Please stop, it hurts! It hurts! It hurts!'
“But Mom said, 'Just stop carrying on. Spread your legs apart and bend down-way down.'
“'Ooooh, Mummy! Please don't push it in any more,' I cried. 'It hurts so much.'
“The water was spurting up me and giving me cramps and I was sobbing. I felt so humiliated. It was awful. But she kept pushing it in me and pushing it in me, and I could feel it pushing and shoving way up my insides, like it was going up through me. By the time she'd finished shoving that big long tube up my backside the enema bag was drained dry, and I really had to go.
“Mom acted very funny after that. She had this glazed look in her eyes all the time she was giving me the enema, and when it was over she started to cry. She pulled the tube out and let me go, and then, after I'd gotten rid of most of it, she made me put on my pajamas and put me to bed even though it was only about three in the afternoon. She smothered me with kisses and told me she was sorry she'd hurt me and that she'd never do it again. I didn't understand then. But I do now. That enema was so awful that I just made myself forget it until she gave me that other one when I was fifteen.
“How that happened was like this. Halfway through algebra, which was my last class, one day, I started to feel warm and queasy, and just before the bell rang I got this dull ache and started to feel sick to my stomach.
“I can't be getting the curse, I told myself, because that was last week. I closed my eyes and shook my head, then sat up straight and tried to look bright and alert. Miss T-, the math teacher, was explaining sets, but I just couldn't concentrate. I kept looking down at my watch, hoping for the bell to ring and, finally, it did.
“'Are you all right?' Miss T… asked me, because I was looking sort of pale, I guess.
“'Oh sure,' I said, and headed for the door. I felt faint and sick to my stomach, and this woozy kind of heat. I wasn't used to being sick. I hardly ever get sick. It was just awful getting out through the hall with kids milling around and everything, but I got downstairs, finally, and out, and finally found our powder-blue Dodge.
“'Whatever is the matter?' Mom asked. 'Your face is so flushed.' And she put her hand on my forehead and clucked like mothers do and said, 'You're just burning up,' and then asked me if I was sick to my stomach and I said I was, sort of, and that I didn't know what was the matter with me.
“As soon as we got home I fled into the house and just got to the bathroom in time. I vomited like anything. Mom held my head and said, “There, there, there,' and all that.
“'I don't know what's wrong with me.' I said. 'It just came over me all at once. I got hot, sick to my stomach. Ohhhh, can I please sit down?'
“Mom helped me to the sofa, sat beside me, and felt my forehead. 'Oh dear, you're just burning up,' she said.
“Then she went into the bathroom and came back with the thermometer and stabbed it into my mouth. I just lay back with my eyes closed. I was so miserable. Mom looked at the thermometer and shook her head. 'You're running a fever of one hundred and two, young lady,' she said. 'Now, what's all this about?'
“'I just want to lie down,' I said.
“'Of course, but I'm going to call the doctor.'
“She did, although I was scared he'd make me go to the hospital or something and begged her not to. I couldn't hear much of what Mom said to him except, 'Yes, well, I can do that,' and the doctor said a little more and hung up.
“Mom had this funny look in her face, a funny little smile, when she came back. She put her arm around me, then said, 'Patty,' looking at me right in the face, 'the doctor says there's a lot of Asian flu going around that a lot of young people are getting, and that that's what you have.'
“'Do I have to go to the hospital?'
“'No, dear, but he told me to give you an enema…'
“'Oh no, please!'
“'Now, darling,' Mom said, 'It's for your own good. It'll bring that fever down, and after that you're to drink plenty of liquids, and I'm going to keep you in bed until the fever is gone.'
“'Couldn't I just drink lots of liquids?' I asked.
“'I think we'd better do what the doctor says,' Mom said.
“'But I don't want to take an enema. It makes me sick.'
“'Well, I know it's embarrassing, dear…'
“'It isn't just embarrassing. It hurts.'
“'It will. It hurt the last time.' I started to cry.
“'It won't,' she promised. 'I'm very sorry about that other time, but it won't happen again.'
“'Couldn't I give it to myself?' I begged.
“'No, you'd better let me.'
“I didn't like the idea of getting undressed in front of Mom apart from everything else. But Mom was stubborn.
“'No, I think you'd better let me.' Then she took me by the hand and led me to the bathroom. She took the syringe and the tube out of the closet, and, scared and sick as I was, I got this funny titillating sensation up and down my spine. Without realizing I was doing it, I sort of gathered my skirt up above my knees as I watched Mom get it ready.
“'Pull up your dress,' Mom said.
“Without looking at her-and, anyway, her back was to me while she was getting the gadget ready-I started pulling up my dress real show. Mom's always telling me stuff like pull your dress down, don't cross your knees, and all that. And now she was telling me to get undressed and let her see my bare bottom. It was dreadfully immodest and I just couldn't see why Mom got so perturbed over my showing a little of my upper leg and was so matter-of-fact about my showing my whole rear end and doing something so indecent.
“'Couldn't I just take it myself,” I said again, in this small quavering voice.
“'No, get undressed, dear,' Mom said. Then she turned to me, holding the enema bag in one hand and the tube in the other.
“'I don't have to strip or anything, do I?' I pleaded, trying to delay the whole darned thing.
“'No no,' said Mom, getting a little impatient.
“Just pull your dress up and take your panties down.' Then she laid the bag down in the basin and picked up the tube and started smearing vaseline on it.
“I was trembling all over. I raised my skirt up in back, but left it so that it would still fall in front of me. Then I dropped my panties and let them slide down my legs to my ankles. There was the long mirror on the bathroom door. I saw myself in it, my tanned knees and upper legs, the sweep of my skirt over my thighs, my pink blouse, and my face. I looked so tense.
“'All right, Patty, I guess we're ready,' Mom said. I stiffened and felt very disconcerted about being undressed before Mom, and I didn't want to have to turn around and show her my bare bottom.
“"Turn around and bend over,' Mom ordered.
“My throat was really dry and my stomach was churning. Also I was blushing like fury. But I turned my back to Mom and bent down and leaned my right arm against the porcelain top of the toilet for support, stepped out of my panties, and straddled the bowl. I could feel myself blushing all over. Then I glanced at the mirror and saw my own naked round bottom and how creamy white it was and I was just fascinated. I felt a little anxious, too, as I stared at the tube Mom held between her thumb and forefinger. I started studying my own backside; how dark the crack was between my cheeks and how round my cheeks were. I guess that's what you have to bend over for when you get an enema. I felt really exposed and awfully embarrassed.
“Then Mom was there, peering at the crack between my buttocks and I saw and felt her left thumb and forefinger pry my rump open and insert the tube into me. I saw it go in in the mirror and I felt it plug in like I was a bottle being corked. I really liked it.
“"That doesn't hurt, does it, dear?' Mom asked.
“'No, Mom.'
“Then Mom rested the coiled tube in her hand on the small of my back and slid it straight in me until her fingers vanished between my cheeks. The sensation was terrific and I just about fainted. I could feel the tube slither right in, smooth and slippery, like a very long finger, and it didn't hurt one bit. It was good. It was the most delicious sensation I ever remembered. I just loved it. Suddenly I felt real affectionate toward Mom because she was doing something to me that was so nice. Then Mom reached back again, to the point where the colon tube joined the regular hose, and slid it in all the way again until her thumb and forefinger disappeared between my cheeks. The sensation was wild. I felt the tube just glide free. It was tremendous. I could see my face in the mirror and how funny the expression was and that my lips were parted. I couldn't keep from moaning, it felt so good. My vagina was pulsating and felt damp, and my bottom quivered and I felt faint. I just felt wonderful. I caught my breath and held it, while Mom ran some more of the tube up me, and I exhaled in a sigh. Mom was so good to do it to me. I just loved her for it.
“'I guess you can kneel down now,' Mom said. 'That doesn't hurt, does it?'
“'No, it feels awfully good.'
“'Oh, wonderful,' Mom whispered.
“I dropped to my knees and quickly leaned forward with my head on the floor. I cradled my head in my arms. I was just about beside myself because the tube felt so good and because of the nakedness of my rump. I could hear the water gurgle in the tube, but a moment or two passed before I felt it spurt in. The tube was up so far that I could feel the water only as a dull ache.
“'I'm giving you a high enema,' Mom whispered.
“I didn't answer, but I was enjoying it immensely. The tube felt good and I wished it could just stay in there. The water was giving me cramps, but I didn't care.
“'Can you take any more?' she asked.
“'Yes, I'm all right,' I answered.
“'You're being very sweet. I know this is awful for you.'
“'It's all right,' I said. 'I like it.'
“"That's good.' she answered.
“The bag emptied and Mom clamped the tube shut. “There now,' she said in a soothing voice. 'That's all done.'
“I had to sit on the toilet quite a while after that, and make quite a few trips. But I really liked it. It wasn't like the other time.
“Later, Mom gave me a dose of milk of magnesia and the next morning asked me if it had worked.
“It had, actually, but I lied and said it hadn't. Then I murmured in this shy voice, 'Maybe I need another enema.'
“'All right. Swell,' Mom said, and patted me on the bottom.
“I slipped out of bed and padded down the hall. I found Mom waiting for me with the bulging bag in one hand and the tip of the tube in the other. She didn't have to tell me to undress this time. In fact, I asked her if I could strip naked. She laughed and said that would be fine, so I took off my pajamas and then spread my legs apart real wide and bent way down.
“'Hurry, Mom,' I begged, 'push it in.'
“When I looked back I saw that it wasn't the regular colon tube, but a very thick, long one; one of those tubes they use for colonic irrigations, I think. I don't know where Mom had gotten it. I was just wild. It was as thick as a boy's prick, but three feet long, I swear.
“She began working it into me. It hurt. I felt like I was just splitting apart, but it was also wonderful. I just loved it. The pressure of it was terrific. She turned the water on so it started spurting in, and then, while I was being flooded, she started shoving the tube in.
“'Ooooh, Mom. It feels good, ooooooh!'
“I just couldn't help moaning, I loved it so much. She just kept pushing it in and in and in. I could hardly stand it it felt so good. I could feel it going up in my insides, way up, just like it was going to go up through my stomach. I know it went right through my rectum and up into my bowels. I could feel it all the way; the sensation was terrific. That's when I came for the first time in my life. Mom had me lie down on the rug on the floor with my legs apart and, with that thick tube all the way up my rear end, she ran a douche nozzle into me, into my vagina, and squeezed, and when she did that, an enema and a douche both at the same time, I just exploded. 'Ohhhhhhhhh! Ooooooooh! Ooooooooooh!' I just moaned over and over again. It was the most wonderful sensation. I can't describe it.
“I was really worn out after that episode, and Mom made me lie down. Then she came in and sat by my bed and we talked. She told me that she loved me a lot and that she was glad I'd liked what she'd done to me, and that if I wanted her to do it again, I was just to tell her. She said it was better for me to let her do that to me than to do things with boys because men are such beasts and they make nothing but trouble.”
Patricia's case is an unusual one, but, by no means, rare. More than one mother has deliberately seduced her own child, male or female, and caused the latter to become a deviate. Patricia's case illustrates the situation in which anal eroticism is combined with incest, and in which that frequently abused remedy, the enema, is used as an erotic device. Millicent's unfortunate marriage, her own frigidity, and her consequent hatred of men were the basic cause. Patricia herself did not necessarily have anal erotic tendencies to begin with. The first experience, when she was thirteen, was traumatic. It left a lasting impression on her, as would be inevitable. The second, a highly erotic experience, one which she finally entered into herself, was a sort of seduction, made possible for the mother by the girl's illness.
More research is needed on the influence which enemas have on children and how they frequently stimulate anal erotic tendencies later. Indeed, nursing training programs take cognizance of this fact, and student nurses are cautioned concerning the consequences of enemas, especially in view of the fact that such a large portion of the population, as Kinsey notes, is sensitive in the anal region.
But in Patricia's case the mother fixation is a more important factor than the enema.- The girl was assaulted by the enemas, but she could have been assaulted in other ways, and the effect would have been somewhat the same. Caprio's study, Female Homosexuality, notes several cases in which women submitted to being given enemas by another woman for erotic reasons. Even Havelock Ellis records the case of a woman who recalled pleasure while being given an enema as her earliest sexual experience. She feigned constipation in order to have it repeated. Part of the enjoyment was unquestionably the enema itself, but another, equally important aspect, was probably the fact that it was given to her by her mother, and was, therefore, an assault.
The person most disturbed in Patricia's case was her mother. Her unhappy marriage, sexual frustration, and the unwholesome focusing on her child as a love object contributed. It is doubtful that the mother was consciously aware of her own motivations, at least at first. When she gave Patricia the first enema, when the girl was thirteen, she was probably being oversolicitous about the child's health and convinced herself that this was her real reason for doing it. As the little girl herself noticed at the time, however, her mother got something more from the operation and was unquestionably enjoying introducing the tube into her. It was a substitute penis. She herself realized that she had attacked the girl sexually afterwards and was sufficiently horrified with herself to be deterred from repeating the act until the second occasion two years later. At this time, with Patricia well into puberty, the enema was a pleasurable experience, obviously and entirely sexual, which both mother and daughter enjoyed. The fact that her mother, who seems to have been somewhat reserved with her affection, lavished considerable solicitude on Patricia while giving her the enema made it an act of love. Patricia responded by feeling great affection for her mother, gratitude for the pleasure which the enema gave her, and, in particular, relief that the experience was not painful like the first one but entirely acceptable. Because of her mother's accepting attitude the girl did not feel humiliated and quickly overcame her embarrassment. After experiencing orgasm during the administering of the enema the girl regarded it as an entirely erotic adventure and one which she wanted to repeat.
Her mother now became her lover, and an unwholesome lesbian incestuous relationship sprang up between them in which the mother became the “butch” partner. Such tendencies were unquestionably latent and were a probable contributing factor to her early frigidity and to the failure of her marriage. The homosexual aspect of the relationship must also have been latent and was no doubt triggered by the first enema which she gave Patricia.
Cases of children enjoying enemas are common, although not many have actually been recorded, and there are at least a few in the literature in which mothers have confessed to erotic enjoyment when giving enemas. One such is mentioned in a study entitled Set the Children Free, a work written during the thirties. A mother showed solicitude and affection to her young daughter only on the rare occasions when she took her to the bathroom, stripped her naked, bathed her in the bathtub, and then gave her an enema. In this instance, the mother was probably only vaguely aware of the sexual implications of her behavior, if, indeed, she was aware of them at all. Unquestionably, however, the child associated affection with enemas and willingly submitted to the latter in order to have the former.
Patricia's case is unusual in the frankness of the sexuality and the fact that during and after the second enema both mother and daughter openly accepted it as a sexual experience, a bizarre form of sexual intercourse. This is indicated very clearly in Patricia's further remarks concerning the incestuous anal erotic relationship which now developed between her and her mother.
“That talk Mom and I had was really pretty important, I guess. Ever since then we've been able to talk to each other about anything, and we've been very close. I love Mom very much, and I don't think there's anything wrong in what she does to me, especially since I want her to.
“'We don't get a chance to talk very often,' she said, 'and, well, you're a growing girl, and there are things we ought to talk about.'
“I nestled down in the pillow, gazed up at her, and listened. She was being so nice, and I really felt warm toward her.
“'I guess what I'm trying to get at is-well- sex.'
“'We have hygiene at school,' I said, 'and they show us films and stuff about sex. I think I know pretty much about it.'
“'I guess you know how babies are born and all that then?'
“'Oh gosh, yes-everybody knows that stuff.'
“'Well, I'm glad, but there are other things, too. You're a growing girl, and sometimes young people have problems when they're growing up. I mean we get mixed up about some things.'
“'I don't think I'm mixed up.'
“She was thoughtful for a moment, thinking to herself, and then she said, 'Maybe I'm the one that's mixed up. When I was your age, I was in a convent school. I guess I thought I wanted to be a nun, but I soon discovered that I didn't have any vocation, and that that wasn't for me. I tried nursing when I got out of high school, and then I went to college and met your father… and that didn't work out, as you know. It wasn't all his fault. I think I'm pretty mixed up myself-about sex. Anyway, when we had relations I just found the whole thing revolting.'
“'Mom, I asked, 'remember that time when I was thirteen and you gave me that enema?'
“'Yes, I'm very sorry about that, dear.'
“"That's all right… I remember how you looked when you were giving it to me, your face… And then when you gave me an enema yesterday, and just now… Mom, is that part of sex?'
“She turned white and couldn't look at me, and I was afraid she was going to cry. I sat up in bed and put my arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.
“'Mom, I only mention it because it was so good. I mean I just loved it. I've never had anything happen to me that felt so good. I just love enemas.'
“She patted me affectionately, kissed me, and, very gently, eased me back into the bed.
“'Yes, dear,' she whispered, although we were the only two people in the house. 'I'm afraid that was sex and that your mother is pretty queer, because I enjoyed giving your those enemas.'
“'Is there anything wrong with that?' I asked.
“'I don't know,' she said uncertainly.
“'I guess we're perverts or something, aren't we? I mean, it's not really normal, is it?'
“She smiled wryly and nodded. 'I guess so… I guess we're perverts.' And she shook her head.
“'Is it wrong to be a pervert?' I asked.
“'Some people think so.'
“'I don't care about some people. I only care what you think. Before you gave me the enema, I didn't really know if you loved me…'
“'Oh, honey…'”
“'No, I mean, I guess you always have, but you don't always show it.'
“'I'm sorry.'
“'But you showed it when you gave me the enema.'
“'I guess it's a queer way to treat a daughter,” Mom said, 'but… Oh, I don't know what to say.'
“'I don't see how anything like that, that's good, that feels so good, and that makes us love each other, can be wrong.'
“'I want to believe that,' Mom said.
“'Well, I don't care,' I said defiantly. 'It's what I think. I don't think there's anything wrong with it, and I don't want it to stop.'
“'All right, honey. We'll see how your fever is tomorrow morning, and if you still have some, maybe we can use that as an excuse to give you another dose.'
“'I'd like that,' I said.
“The sun was shining through the cracks of the Venetian blinds when I woke the next morning, still groggy and sort of stuffy inside and with a little headache. I saw Mom come in, and rolled over on my back, stretched out, and put my hand on my forehead, palm up.
“'Ah, you're finally awake, dear,' Mom exclaimed. 'It's almost half past ten.'
“She took the thermometer out of the water-glass, shook it, and put it in my mouth. She felt my forehead with her cool hand. 'You're still running quite a fever,' she murmured. Then, taking the thermometer out, 'Yes, as I thought. It's still up, about a hundred and two.'
“'Does that mean that you're going to give me another enema?'
“'If you'd like me to.'
“'Yes, Mom, I would.'
“'Would-you like me to give it to you right here in bed, or in the bathroom like before?'
“'I think in the bathroom. I like taking it bending over.'
“'Okay,' she said softly. 'I like giving it to you that way, too. You have such a pretty bottom.'
“I felt this prickly sensation of pleasant anticipation, a sort of thrill that went down my spine. I decided to be very submissive and docile, and not make a commotion like before.
“Mom pulled back the covers and I swung my legs to the floor and into my slippers, and then I took my wrap from Mom, which I thought was sort of unnecessary since I was going to be showing her my bare rump in a moment, and I let her help me to my feet. I remember all these silly details because everything together is what makes it so important and not any one thing by itself. I felt sort of giddy standing up, because of the fever, I guess. I think Mom was glad of the fever because it made giving me the enema legitimate even though we both knew now that it was sex and pure sex.
“'Well, shall we go to the bathroom?' she said brightly. I nodded and followed her down the hall. Mom closed the door. I stared at the swollen enema bag and the coiled tube with real affection now. That thick long colon tube looked so sexy. It's dark red and it has a blunt end and a slit. Mom took the tube in her fingers and held it up for me to see. It was already glistening with vaseline along its whole length.
“'It's beautiful,' I said. 'I just love it.'
“It suddenly occurred to me that the tube was Mom's penis. That's what this whole thing was about. She was having intercourse with me with it.
“Very slowly I slipped out of my wrap and laid it on the floor.
“'Take down your pajama pants and bend way down, way down,' Mom said. 'Or would you like me to undress you?'
“'Yes, please, please.'
“Carefully getting myself in front of the long mirror on the door, I sort of melted softly on to Mom, cuddling my head on her breast while she slowly, deliberately, and very gently, undressed me. She slipped off my pajama top first, and I had to put my arms up, of course, so she could slide it up over my head, and then she began to fondle me, kiss my breasts, and touch them very lightly, and then massage them.
“'Oh Mom,' I gasped. I was really getting aroused.
“Then she slid down my pajama pants, again very gently and softly, and ran her fingers over my bare bottom, and down the crack. I watched her do it in the mirror, just fascinated at how round and luscious my bottom was, how tender the flesh is back there. It was wild.
“'Ohhhhhh, Mom, give me an enema, please, please!' I begged.
“I watched her hand approach with that beautiful thick tube.
“'Bend down, baby,' she whispered, 'bend way down.'
“I did. My eyes were fixed on the crack between my buttocks and I watched and felt the colon tube slide between my cheeks and press against my anus. I bent way down so that I could see the little rosette, see just where the tube pressed and where it would go in. Then I felt the most pleasurable experience I've ever known as, with very swift and deft movements, Mom literally shoved the tube up my rectum. It just slithered in, big, thick, and full. It must be what a boy's penis feels like if it goes in back there. The tube she used on me was as round and thick as a penis, only much longer, of course.
“Now Mom rested her left hand on the small of my back, with the tube coiled up in several loops, and with her right she slid it slick and straight until her fingers disappeared between my naked cheeks. The sensation was so overwhelming that I almost fainted. I just loved it. I could feel the tube worm up through the tight channel of my rectum, smooth and slippery. It hurt, but I loved the hurting part, all mixed with the most delicious sensations. I was just ecstatic.
“'Oooooh, Mom, it feels so good,' I moaned. 'Ooooooh! Ooooooh! Please keep pushing it in. Oooooooh, this enema feels good!'
“I found that if I clamped my legs very tight, and pressed against the tube, as if I had to go to the bathroom, the pleasure intensified so much that I could hardly stand it. Warm love and adoration for Mom swept over me. 'Oooooh, Mom, I love you, I love you, I love you,' I murmured. 'Ooooooh, you're making me feel so good. Ooooh, I love you.'
“She continued to massage my breasts, and to me she was my lover, penetrating me in a supreme, ecstatic act of love. I watched in the mirror as she reached back to the point where the colon tube joined the regular tube and, once again, she slid it in, all the way, until her thumb and forefinger once more disappeared between my tight buttocks. The sensation of this thrust was more intense than the first. It was terrific. I suddenly felt the tube glide free, as the tip worked its way through my rectum, and it just shot up into my colon. I could see the glassy look in my eyes and my parted lips. I moaned and moaned with ecstasy. I could hardly control myself. My vagina was pulsating and felt damp. My buttocks quivered, and I felt faint. I caught my breath and held it, while Mom continued to run the tube in until all three feet of it had been pushed up my bottom. I could feel the whole length of it, all the way up me. Dear, lovable, adorable Mom-to give me such delirious pleasure.
“'I guess you can kneel down now,' Mom said softly.
“I straightened for a moment, and stared with fascination at the tube disappearing up my backside. There's nothing more beautiful than the sight of an enema tube dangling between buttocks, disappearing up the crack. And if you see it and feel it, you can hardly stand it, it's so wild.
“I dropped to my knees and quickly leaned forward in the knee-chest position again, cradling my head in my arms; I was almost beside myself with passion because of the tube in my insides and the nakedness of my rump. I was stark naked. It was so good to be naked. I could hear the water gurgle in the tube, but a moment or two passed before I felt it spurt in. The tube was up so far that I could feel it gradually intensifying in a dull ache, a bittersweet pain that I loved. It isn't enough to just have the tube pushed in. You have to take an enema. It's part of it.
“'You're such a sweet, beautiful, good girl,' Mom whispered.
“I was enjoying the enema immensely; the tube felt good and I wished it could just stay in there. The water pouring in made it even better. It was wild, just wild.
“'You're so sweet,' Mom whispered.
“I felt her fingers on my clit, massaging gently. It was heavenly.
“'Mom, I want to lie down on my tummy with my legs apart,' I gasped.
“'Oh yes, honey… that'll be good.'
“I slipped down to the bathroom floor and spread my legs wide. I felt Mom's finger slide up my vagina very gently and she began to finger-poke me.
“'Ohhhhhh, Mom! Ohhhhhh!' I moaned. I couldn't possibly imagine anything being so good. I felt myself rising to my climax and I wriggled and trembled. 'Ooooooh, Mom! Ooooooh! Oooooooh! OOOOOOOH!' I just yelled, I was so ecstatic. Then the warm spasms of overpowering pleasure swept over me.
“Afterward, Mom left the tube in me for several minutes. Although I'd taken the whole enema, a quart of water, and had to go desperately, I didn't want the tube pulled out. It felt so nice up there. But, after a while, she slowly began to withdraw it. That was also a strange sensation, not as intense as having it pushed in, but pleasant too. When she'd pulled it out, I had to go to the toilet, of course, several times, and then she had me lie down again in bed and rest, and I was so tired I fell asleep and didn't wake up until after noon. Later, Mom brought me some tea to drink and a little lunch, and then she read to me the rest of the afternoon. I'll never forget that day. It was the happiest day I've ever had.
“Other things happened afterwards. I really got obsessed with the whole silly enema thing. I wanted one all the time. It was really nutty. Mom and I talked about it. It really bothered her a lot. She kept saying that this whole crazy thing was unnatural and all that, and she even thought that both of us should go to a psychiatrist. I kept wishing that she'd do it to me again, but she didn't, at least not for quite a while, because it really bothered her a lot. It was an absolutely insane kind of perversion, and we both knew it. We tried to find out something about it from books, but none of the psych books say much. It's really an unusual kind of perversion, not like homosexuality or masochism. Of course, there's some of both of those in it, too; that's true. It bothered me, too. It was bad enough to get your happies out of being given an enema, but by your own mother! That was really too much. I really felt queer about it. I wanted it; I wanted it desperately sometimes, but it really bothered me.
“Anyhow, I finished high school and started at the U, and, of course, as you can imagine, decided to major in psych.
I guess I'm a pretty ordinary-looking girl. My figure is pretty good and my features aren't bad, except that I have to wear glasses, but Mom says that I'm particularly pretty in glasses and that it gives my face this pixie look. I guess I'm the pixie kind of girl; that is, the way I look is that way. But there're a lot of girls like me, and especially at the U, which is pretty big. I guess they have a registration of around fourteen thousand so that you're just lost in the crowd. I don't think anybody would ever know I'm a queer. I never mention it to anyone, of course, not even hint in the slightest way. In fact, the kids at the U are always teasing me for being so straight and Victorian. I'm supposed to be one of these real wholesome, healthy, good girls. I go in for sports, swimming, track, basketball, and stuff like that. I go out on dates, to parties, and all that stuff. I get good marks; I'm president of the psych club. Sometimes I really feel like a Miss Jekyll and Miss Hyde, because if any of those kids had the slightest idea what Mom and I did-wow! There's only one thing that might give somebody the idea that something is up. I don't hate my mom like most kids do. We have no generation gap. We go to movies together, and concerts, and we have fun lots of ways. That is one big thing that happened because of this silly enema stuff. It really brought Mom and me together. We really love each other, but it isn't a proper mother-daughter love. It's something else. It's lesbian. We know it is. It's incestuous, lesbian, and it's anal. You can't be much more perverted than that, and sometimes, when I'm at school, it amuses me to think how square I am in the eyes of the kids. I don't even wear minis. I'm always so darned modest about showing my legs or anything, and that isn't an act. It really isn't. I don't like showing any of myself to anybody. Maybe I'm ashamed of my body. That's probably also the reason why I take so many showers and why I'm so darned fussy about how my clothes look and everything. I guess there're a lot of things about it.
“But back to the enemas. Mom didn't give me one for quite a while after that time, even though I wished she would. I was too shy to ask. But then one afternoon when I came home from school, I just couldn't stand it any longer, so Mom and I went into this act.
“Mom was out in the kitchen. I threw my books down on the davenport, got up my nerve, and just asked for it. 'I wonder if you'd give me an enema,' I'd blurted out.
“Mom laid down her paring knife and looked at me sort of funny. We both knew, of course, that what I wanted was sex and pure sex, but we just had to cover it up and make it seem like it was legitimate.
“'Why, whatever is the matter, honey? Are you sick?'
“'Well, sort of,' I lied, 'I'm kind of constipated.' That was particularly a lie because I'm never constipated.
“'Oh,' Mom said, 'well, how about a good dose of milk of magnesia?'
“'I'd rather take an enema,' I said stubbornly. “'Why?'
“Of course, she knew why, but neither of us wanted to admit it.
“'I'd rather get all cleaned out right away and not have to wait for a laxative or something to work.'
“Mom arched her eyebrows. Mom is pretty young, and she's also very pretty, prettier than me, in fact. 'Well, of course, I'll give you an enema if you want one,' she said slowly. 'Suppose you get it ready, slip out of your things, and call me when you want me to come.'
“I was elated, and feeling so sexy I could hardly stand it. I went into the bathroom, filled the fountain syringe, smeared great gobs of cold cream on the colon tube with trembling fingers, and then stripped down my skirt, my half slip and panties, and took off my shoes. I kept rubbing my bare bottom. I could hardly wait. 'I'm ready,' I called.
“'Oh, she's all undressed,' Mom said brightly.
“Like always, I deliberately stood so that I could see my own bottom in the mirror. Then I spread my legs apart, bent down and grabbed my ankles. I just quivered all over when Mom inserted the tube. Oh, it was good.
“'Do you want me to run it way up in, dear?' Mom whispered.
“'Yes, please. Oooooh!' I closed my eyes and surrendered to the tube as it penetrated me. I tried to keep from yelling and moaning, but without much success. The sensation was sweet, real sweet, and as Mom slid the tube up high through my rectum and into my colon, I came. 'Oooooh, Mom, it feels so good! Oooooh! Ooooooh!'
“I took the enema kneeling down as usual. Then, later, when it was all over I came out and sat next to Mom on the sofa. She was reading a magazine.
“'Honey, that certainly turns you on, doesn't it?' she said.
“'Uh-huh; I guess it does.'
“'Well, tell me any time you want me to give you one. I may not always, because it isn't good for you to have them too often, but it's good for you to have a good cleaning out once in a while, and if you enjoy it that much, swell. Just enjoy away.'
“'Thanks, Mom,' I said. 'I'll try not to ask too often.'
“Ever after that Mom's been giving me enemas, always the same way, and I always get a terrific reaction every time she does. If I say I love it, it's an understatement. I guess she gives me one on the average of twice a month. I'd like it more often, but she's pretty reluctant, so if I've had two in any one month I never ask again.
“I don't know what all this is doing to me in other ways, though. Like I say, I go out on dates with boys and stuff, and I think everybody thinks I'm just a regular normal girl, if anything, sort of straight. But I don't know where it's all going to end. Mom and I have this hang-up and I don't ever want to leave her, not ever. I don't know whether or not I could ever really get serious with a boy. I guess it'll have to work out somehow.”
Patricia, then, is a very special kind of deviant. She is highly regressive, something which is apparent in her personality and appearance. She seems much younger than her twenty-two years. She clings stubbornly to her childhood, desperately resisting maturity. For the time being, while she is at the university, she can continue being a child. Sooner or later, however, life will shatter her little world. Her mother will grow old and die, and unless she establishes a new relationship with at least one other person, she will be condemned to bitter loneliness and isolation. She will probably turn to autoerotic fantasies and practices while all the while cultivating an external prudishness. She needs psychotherapy of the directive type and a drastic reordering of her psychosexual patterns.