Awww! Thank you so much!

Welcome!

I realize that enemas are not everyones bag. <-- Pun intended. Also, diapers are not everyones bag. <-- Again, pun intended. However, please do not knock my fetish and I will not knock your fetish. As for my liking to get enemas, I happen to like them as much as some of you like wearing diapers. In the event any of you would like to first give me an enema and then put a diaper on me while I still have the enema inside of me, that would be fine with me. You can even make me let the enema out while the diaper is on me. If you do not want to remove the diaper and clean me up, that is fine with me. That is as long as after the enema is out of me, you let me get into your shower, remove the diaper and then clean myself up. Or, if you do prefer to do it, you can remove the diaper and clean me up. I will allow it either way. As for the enema, it can be as large as you want it to be up to 8 quarts. Or, if you measure it in litres, that comes to 8.48 quarts since a litre is 1.06 quarts. I promise to take it all and not complain or beg for it to stop. I do like them large and punishing. Write directly to me if you would like to give them to me. You mustr be able to host me days for about 2 to 2½ hours between 10:45 A.M. and 1:45 P.M. Albert-1701 me-1701@proton.me

Benny quacks and kicks his feet on the changing table

Hello, This is the first chapter of the first story I've ever published. Critical feedback and corrections are more than welcome, but please bear in mind that this story is completely fictional and I the medical aspects aren't intended to be accurate to real life. Chapter 1 – A Natural Approach Oliver sat, staring at his shoes with his chin in his hand, occasionally looking around the brightly decorated doctor’s waiting room and catching a reassuring glance from his mother, Abigail. He let his legs swing idly to pass the time but quickly stopped so as avoid any unnecessary attention.   “Oliver? Oliver Wilson?” he heard a voice enquire. He looked up again to see the doctor poking her head out of the office.   He trailed behind his mother with his head hung low as the doctor welcomed them into her office. This was a new doctor. She introduced herself as Dr. Richardson and explained that she would be taking over for Oliver’s old doctor, a kindly, easy-going old man who, despite his general apprehensiveness about doctor’s appointments, Oliver had been fond of. By contrast, she was much younger – late thirties, with her hair tied back in a ponytail and an energetic attitude. She seemed eager to make a good impression on her new patients and Oliver found himself warming up to her. Over the course of the appoint, any lingering doubts in Abigail’s mind that this woman might be anything but a competent expert with her son’s best interest at heart were also quashed. After a review of his file and the usual battery of tests and questions, Dr. Richardson broached a sore subject.   “Well” she intoned in a way that Oliver could tell she was choosing her next words carefully. “I’m a little concerned about young Oliver’s growth.” she began. That was the understatement of the century as far as he was concerned. At just under 4”6’ and 64 lbs, he was the smallest kid in his sixth grade class by a mile. “Some other doctors might be inclined to recommend hormone injections, but I’d prefer to exhaust our natural options before we go down that path. From what you’ve told me about Oli’s sleeping habits and his picky eating, the good news is I think there’s a lot of room for improvement. I’m going to prescribe a course of two nutritional supplement. One for the day to help bridge any deficiencies in his diet and a night time one that will also help with sleep. You can get them at a speciality shop at the edge of town.” she explained as she typed up the prescription. “We’ll see how this goes and then regroup in a few months. Don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions about the treatment.” Dr. Richardson said as she stood, bringing the appointment to a close, Abigail thanked her and led Oliver outside to pay, where he was too caught off guard by the receptionist’s offer of a lollipop to decline it before his mother accepted it on his behalf and prompted a stuttered “Thank you.” out of him.   They made their way back to the car where the journey home was mostly in silence as Oliver contemplated his ambivalence the outcome of the appointment. He was eager to hit his long anticipated growth spurt, and he was more than relieved to avoid any needles, but he didn’t even like most of the foods he was told to eat. He didn’t like the sound of whatever a nutritional supplement was, but he felt he had escaped lightly over all.   They weren’t long home before he was lying on his stomach in front of the TV listening to the fan on his game console churning as he nonchalantly kicked his feet in the air. “Hey kiddo.” interrupted his mom. He braced himself to be told to get some fresh air or find something constructive to do, but it didn’t come. “I’ve gotta run a few errands, wanna tag along for the ride?” she offered. “Can’t I just hang out here?” Visits to the doctor scored sympathy points that they both knew he he was angling to cash in. She paused just long enough to make him doubt his strategy. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own?” she teased. “Mooom” he groaned but couldn’t help but smile. “Well, okay, but don’t let any axe murderers in.” “Not unless they have a puppy.” he countered as he turned his attention back to his game.   Abigail punched the address Dr. Richardson had given her into her car’s GPS and pulled out of the driveway. The place was about 25 minutes drive. Technically within the town limits, but not a part of town she had ever been too or would have necessarily considered in town. She drove without the radio on, deep in thought. This was the start of the Summer vacation and she hoped this could be an opportunity to turn a new leaf with him. He had been increasingly down in himself the entire school year and had become more defiant and withdrawn, rejecting her every bid at the care and affection she felt he needed. It didn’t seem like these thoughts were rolling around in her head for long before a robotic voice was instructing her to take a left turn. The turn was inconspicuous, obscured by shrubbery and she would have easily missed it if not for the direction.   She slowed as her car wound over the gravel parking lot which hosted a modestly sized brick building. She pulled into a spot and, approaching the building with the slight trepidation would-be trespassers reserve for when they’re not entirely sure they’re in the right place, she gazed up at the sign above the door with the words Tender Care printed with in pastel letters, angled so as to appear to be on toy wooden blocks. She pushed her way through the front door, causing a bell to ring as she passed the threshold. If the building had been modest from the outside, it was comparatively cathedralesque internally, with seemingly every cubic inch of space planned and accounted for. She had expected a pharmacy, but before her ranged all manner of equipment and clothing. She was so focused on taking it all in, she almost didn’t catch the smiling woman in her peripheral vision.   “Hello there. You’re a new face here if I’m not mistaken.”   She was a kindly faced woman in her mid fifties with a name tag bearing the name Elizabeth, but she introduced herself as Liz, the shop’s sole proprietor.   “Oh, hi! My son’s paediatrician gave me a prescription she said I should fill here.” she explained, digging through her purse for the document in question.   “Dr. Richardson?”   “How did you know?”   “She sends a lot of customers our way, so you’re in good company.”   As Abigail was led through the store, she had more time to appraise their other offerings. At first she had taken it for a generic medical supplies store, but on closer inspection a distinct theme was starting to emerge. There were cribs, high chairs, and strollers arranged for display on the floor. Most of the clothing on display had cartoonish appliqués and unusual fasteners. She would have taken it for a baby equipment store sooner, but was thrown off by how much bigger much of the equipment was here.   “Excuse me, but what kind of store is this exactly?” enquired Abigail as they reached the till.   “We cater to the families of children with a wide range of developmental and maturation delays, just like your little guy. So, this is a two week supply” Elizabeth began to explain, gesturing at two large plastic containers she had taken from a nearby shelf and placed on the counter. A green container bearing the word Nutriform in large text and picture of a smiling tot far younger than Oliver stood along side a second, nearly identical container, except that it was blue, and the label depicted a soundly sleeping child and it had the subtitle Sleeptite in smaller text below the main Nutriform brand.   “It will all be explained on the insert, but you’re going to want to give him a scoop of the green one mixed into his bottles at meal times and the blue at bed time. You can mix half a scoop of each together for nap times, but that’s just a tip from me. He might be a little groggy afterwards.”   “Oh, I think there’s been some misunderstanding.” chuckled Abigail. “My son is 13.”   “Right, how silly of me.” conceded the shop attendant with a glint on her eye. “Still, I know Dr. Richardson well and the prescription is par for the course so no mistake there.” She bagged the two containers for Abigail as she began to ring up her purchase. “Now some good news today: These are fully covered on your insurance, and that will go for most everything here.” she explained, handing the brown paper bag to Abigail. “So no excuse to be a stranger if you find there’s anything else little Oliver needs.” she grinned leading her towards the door. They said their farewells and Abigail walked back out to the car, already trying to figure out how on Earth she was going to sell Oliver on this without a having a meltdown.   By the time she had arrived home, she had resolved to transfer the contents of the containers to two inconspicuous containers. No sooner had she placed the bag on the kitchen worktop after making sure the coast was clear, than by the time she had completed the momentary returning home ritual of neatly storing her shoes, bag and keys in the foyer, a curious Oliver had ascended a step stool next to the worktop to interrogate the bags’ contents, hoping his mother’s presumed foray to the store might have yieled some chips or cookies.   “Mom...” he asked uneasily. “What are these?” he said holding up the blue Nutriform container like a cross between something from show and tell and a discarded murder weapon. Abigail took a sharp intake of breath and bit her tongue, her plan instantly dashed.   “No...” Oliver’s voice started to croak as the pieces fell into place in his head.   “Sweetheart... The doctor said.”   “No, no, no, NO, NO!”   “Honey, please just listen.” but it was too late.   “I’M NOT A FUCKING BABY!’ he screamed as he stormed past her.   Abigail listened to the as-of-late all too familiar sound of heavy foot fall stamping up stairs, a brief pause, and the bang of a bedroom door being slammed to complete the sequence. She exhaled sharply and let her shoulders fall before following in pursuit, with softer foot steps. She gingerly opened the bedroom door and peaked in to see Oliver turned towards the wall, curled up in a fetal position, with his head in his hands, quietly weeping. The curtains were already drawn, darkening the room somewhat but the evening Summer sun streamed through the gaps.   She took a seat on his bedside and placed a hand on his back.   “It’s not fair, mom.” he said through muffled sobs.   “I know sweetie. I know it’s not exactly what you were expecting. You know I only want to do what’s best for you right?” she ventured, and took his silence as a queue to continue. “I know it’s not easy, but, you know, part of growing up means making the decisions that are best for you in the long term, even if they’re not easy right now. This Summer could be a bit of a fresh start. A lot can change in a few months.”   He turned around and edged towards her. “I’m sorry I shouted.” he said in a hoarse whisper. Tears were streaming down his face and his eyes were red from crying.   “I know, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m not mad. Hey, we have some coupons for that new pizza place you wanted to try. How about we order in tonight?”   “Really?” he asked, perking up slightly.   “My treat.’ she smiled at him.   Approximately 45 minutes later Oliver descended the stairs, far more quietly than he had ascended them earlier. His mother sat on the couch with a welcoming smile. In addition to a steaming hot pizza and two large soft drinks, a glass sat of a pale white liquid, like milk with a slightly yellow tinge.   “You can have it now or you can have the pizza first if you prefer.” explained Abigal.   He settle into the couch beside her and picked up a slice of Pizza. Abigail had put one of his favourite Pixar movies from when he was younger on the TV, hoping in the back of her mind that the familiarity might help ease him into the change of routine. Oliver ate slowly, putting off the inevitable.   “I think you should try some of your drink now.” Abigail coaxed gently when they were about halfway through the movie. With some hesitation picked up the glass and raised it to his lips. It tasted more or less like milk, which Oliver usually liked, except sweet, creamier, and just – to his surprise – better over all. Though he wasn’t about to let on so he made sure to drink slowly. About 15 minutes after he finished the glass, he was already flagging. His eyes felt heavy and he laid his head on his mother’s shoulder without even thinking about it. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them, the end credits of the movie were rolling. He turned to see his mother smiling warmly at him.   “I think you’re about ready for the land of nod, little man.” she said softly. He was too tired to argue. She led him by the hand up to his room. He felt like he was in a losing battle for his consciousness as he changed into his pyjamas and slumped into bed. The last thing he remembered was the silhouette of his mother tucking him in before he passed out just before 8:30 p.m. with the sun still firmly in the sky, hours before his usual bedtime, if he even had one.   Abigail stared at her son sleeping soundly. She hadn’t expected the sleep aid to be so effective. She hoped that, now that they were over the initial hump, the journey might be smoother from here on out. She kissed him on the cheek and closed the door gently behind her.   “Rise and shine sleepyhead, it’s almost 10:00 a.m.” Abigail half-sang as she entered Oliver’s room. He rolled out of bed as he came to. His initial feeling of being extremely well rested gave way to a far less pleasant feeling of cold clamminess all over. He pulled his sheets away to see that, along with most of his bedding. his pyjamas were soaked from below his knees almost up to his chest.