An Enema For Sarge

Boot camp was really tough. I mean tough as hell; I joined a regiment whose sargent was a young (25-year old) hunky, super-muscular son-of-you-know-what.

The first thing I noticed was that only men served under him. I´m not sure how he arranged that -- I mean, it shouldn't have been allowed, but it was. One of the kids (were were all around 18) serving with me once whispered that the regiment was set up as an experiment. If it was, I guess it was an experiment in youthful male toughness.

Every morning, he'd wake us up and see to it we got a cold shower. (He never showered with us, the bastard). Then he'd have us run for three hours with nothing but jockstraps on. "I'll make men out of you yet," he would grunt. In the afternoon, it was long marches (he would join in), endless push ups and, if we "behaved", maybe a rugby game.

So one day I thought he was due for a taste of his own medicine. Or something like it, anyway. I was the male nurse working at the infirmary in the evening, since I had been trained as a nurse. As luck would have it, Sarge came in to complain about "digestive" trouble. The doctor was gone so there were only the two of us in the infirmary.

"Are you constipated by any chance?" I asked him.

"I guess I am," he said sheepishly.

"Let me take your temperature first." He was about to raise his arm when I added: "Rectally."

His face dropped. But, of course, he was too macho to make a fuss. So he took of all his clothes except his white slip.

"Sorry, sarge," I said, "That comes down too."

I pulled it down as he bent over the bed. It was all sweaty and a bit brown in the back; normal for a a young male who is constantly moving about in the heat and into heavy physical activity.

"This may hurt a bit," I said, relishing his obvious discomfort.

I stuck in a special extra-thick contraption up his ***. After he'd suffered through that a good fifteen minutes, he moaned: "Isn't about ready now?"

"Nope, it take a good half hour with this new thermometer to get an accurate reading."

Finally I "read" his temperature. The thermometer was all smelly and sweaty.

"You do have a bit of a temperature," I said, "Now tell me sarge, are you SEVERELY constipated?"

"I...I...am. Haven't taken a crap in four days."

"I see. Well, I have the solution. I'll give you a soap enema."

I could have sworn his eyes watered. But he was a real-macho-man, so none of that sissy whining for him.

"Fine," he said, "Let's do that."

I gave him an enema with plenty of soap (actually, I used detergent). He tried to act naturally when I stuck the nozzle up his ***. When the soapy solution started flowing in, he winced, then controlled himself.

I finally took pity on him. Didn't let him go to the bathroom for a good fifteen minutes, though. That was fifteen minutes he spent almost dancing as the soap made him feel his ******* was on fire.

Finally, he relieved himself.

"Thanks," he said. He got dressed. I couldn't help admiring him for still having a proud "I'm-a-macho-marine" look on his face, enema and all.

"Now your condition is likely to be chronic," I said matter-of-factly, "So I'll have to administer you an enema once a week for another four weeks."

He gulped.

"Fine," he said, as if I'd said he'd be going to the movies once a week, "I'll be here next week at the same time."

And would you believe it, he was! He got four more enemas. I just HAD to allow some of the kids who had it in for him to "drop in" by the infirmary, as if by accident, while he was being given his enema. He'd try to act naturally. They'd salute him -- which was a laugh -- while he, with the nozzle up his ***, would smile to acknowledge their salute.

I guess I stopped hating him after he'd gone through four weeks of "basic training" while still being the macho, brave, obedient marine he always was.

Actually, I'd say I almost like him.

cristians cristians
26-30, M
Sep 11, 2012