my appendix out.
“They get you up real early at a hospital, and I was still feeling very sleepy when I saw the door to my room slowly open. In came a nurse, the one I liked most, in fact, carrying what looked like a hat rack with this bulging enema bag and long red tube.
“My eyes popped open and I sat bolt upright in bed, just horrified.
“'It's all right, honey,' the nurse said in this soothing voice. 'It's just an enema. It's a little embarrassing, but it'll do you a world of good.'
“'Do I have to?' I asked.
“'I'm afraid so, dear-doctor's orders. But I'll be very gentle, and if your tummy starts to ache tell me right away and I'll clamp it shut until it stops aching.'
“'Well, if I absolutely have to…'
“'That's my girl; now roll over.'
“I reluctantly rolled over, with my back to the nurse. I closed my eyes. I felt tense and frightened, but also felt the same tingling sense of anticipation from the times with Dorothy and Billy. I thought I'd outgrown all that silly stuff, but now it all came back, and I just wanted the enema in the worst way.
“The nurse turned down the sheet and blanket, had me rise up while she slid a rubber pad under my thighs and hips, slid my nightie up, and then told me to straighten my left leg and draw up my right. I was blushing furiously. Then I felt the nurse's fingers separating my buttocks, and the tube sliding in. It didn't hurt at all. It wasn't a particularly thick tube, and the nurse was very gentle. I felt the warm water spurt in. It felt sort of nice. Then the nurse, very slowly, and very gently, ran the tube up my rectum. I really liked that. It felt so good.
“'Are you all right, dear?' the nurse asked.
“'Yes, I'm fine.'
“'Can you hold it all right, or do you want me to shut it off?'
“'I can hold it… I think.'
“'Good girl, we're almost finished.'
“'I don't think I can hold any more.'
“'And you don't have to, because we're all finished.'
“The nurse quickly pulled out the tube and helped me get to the John.
“That darned enema started me off with that silly rear-end stuff again. After I came home from the hospital I kept reliving the enema, how it felt, and everything, and really drove myself nuts. I started the drawings again, too, this time of girls being given enemas, sometimes by nurses and sometimes by boys. And I started thinking about corncobbing and I wished that I knew another boy like Billy.
“After I drew the pictures, I just had to have something up my rear, so now I'd strip naked, get the enema syringe and give myself an enema right in front of the mirror. While it was going in I'd diddle my clit until I came. Then, afterwards, I'd always feel so dirty and silly and resolve I was never going to do that again. But, sooner or later, I always did. It was a real ritual.
“It bothered me a lot. I didn't believe any of that religious crap anymore, but I still felt that what I was doing was wrong and that somehow or other I was going to get it. What bothered me most was that I knew it wasn't normal. I looked up about deviations in some books on sex, but I couldn't find anything about my kind. That made it all the worse because I felt like I was a really queer person, did things that nobody else did.
“Guilt, though, wasn't the only bad thing about what I did. The worst was that I always had to do it alone. It's awful to always be alone, to have such a big thing in your life and not be able to share it with anybody, not even a little. When I was younger, when Dorothy and I fooled around, it was sort of naughty, but it was more like a game, not a perversion. What I really felt most of all was the isolation, though. I'd always keep wishing that there was somebody else, male or female, who would do things to me.
“One afternoon when I had been drawing pictures of girls being given enemas, and was feeling extremely sexy, I got a new idea. I remembered that there are visiting nurses and that they come to your house if you need treatment. I was sort of scared to ask, but I wanted someone to give me an enema so bad that I just couldn't stand it any longer. I looked up the number in the yellow pages and dialed.
“A woman answered, and, trying to keep my voice from shaking, I asked, 'Would it be possible to have a nurse give me an enema?'
“'We'd have to have a doctor's order,' she answered.
“I was stymied by that, and mumbled about how it didn't matter. I was beginning to wish I'd never started this nonsense.
“'What is the problem?' she asked.
“'Oh, constipation,' I said, snatching something out of the air. 'I'm suffering from constipation.'
“'Have you tried a laxative?'
“'Y-yes,' I lied.
“'I see. Well, how long has it been since you had a movement?'
“'About three days,' I lied.
“She hesitated a moment, and then asked who my doctor was. I told her.
“'Well,' she said, 'we must have a doctor's order, but, if you like, I'll call your doctor and then call you back.'
“I was in an absolute panic after I hung up. In one way I hoped she'd call back and say that I couldn't have it, and in another I wanted to be given one so bad that I couldn't stand it. Anyway, about fifteen minutes later, the phone rang and it was the nurse again.
“'Well, I talked with your doctor,' she said, 'and he said that it will be all right for you to have the enema, but that you should go to see him if you have any more trouble.'
“'That's fine,' I said, my voice trembling. I was trembling all over.
“I gave her my address, and she told me that the nurse would call me. Boy this was really getting involved, I thought. But that made it all the more exciting.
“I sat next to the phone for a while, waiting for it to ring, and, when it didn't, I decided to try to pretend that nothing was going to happen at all, and that it was going to be a big surprise. I sat and waited, tried to read, gave it up, turned on the TV and then turned it off again, and waited. Played the piano and waited. I was just about to go to the kitchen and get a coke when the phone rang. It scared me so, I jumped. I almost decided not to answer it. But I did.
“'Are you Peggy?' She sounded pretty young on the phone, which was good, and pretty businesslike which was okay.
“'Yes.' My voice sounded little.
“'And you want an enema?'
“'Yes, ma'am,' I answered formally, as if she was my homeroom teacher.
“'Very well. I have the address. I will be there in about twenty minutes.'
“I hung up the receiver and gulped. There was a huge lump in my throat and I felt scared; my stomach was turning flip-flops. It was a delicious sensation, really. I was so tense and tight, though, I couldn't sit still or anything like that but kept sort of pacing around. I went in the bedroom where there was a big mirror, stood in front of it, in profile, and slowly raised my navy-blue skirt, admiring my thighs, then goosed myself and said, 'You're going to get it, right back there. A lady is going to stick an enema tube up your bare bottom… way up, and how do you think you're going to like that?'
“I smoothed my skirt down, glanced at my watch. Suppose Mom and Pop should suddenly come home in the middle of the operation and catch us! But that was impossible, though, because they were way over on the “big island.” Crazy, pupule loa, I told myself.
“I wished that I could settle down and just have her sort of discover me sitting demurely, knees crossed, magazine on my lap-that the whole episode could happen sort of casually. But I was practically beside myself with excitement and kept staring out the window.
“A small blue car, a Datsun, I think, paused and parked in front, and, as I watched breathlessly, a young cosmopolitan woman with dark hair and golden complexion got out. She was wearing a gray uniform and carried a small black bag.
“'Oh my gosh,' I gasped, suddenly and profoundly regretting what I'd gotten myself into, and wishing I could just run away. But I continued kneeling on the couch, staring out through the Venetian blinds, paralyzed with
