I had almost done when the telephone rang, startling me. My daydreams evaporated at once. The phone was upstairs so I decided not to answer the call. ...ventually, the ringing stopped. I turned my attention back to the crutches. Why am I cleaning them? There is no use of them. Despite this reasoning, I did the job diligently. Then, I placed the crutches under my armpits, and leaned on them. I did it as if to the manner born. It was exciting to feel their support. I lifted my left foot up and held. And who knows, you might even like it. Now get on all fours.” “Please,” I begged, “I don’t want an enema!” I had, in my forays into the forbidden corners of the internet, picked up that some people seemed to find that kind of treatment erotic. I couldn’t wrap my head around that, the idea of having a hose shoved up my bum and my bowels filled with water sounded dirty rather than appealing. My back was to the wall right now, and Deborah was right in front of me, the rubber hose dangling down in. More

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