For many people, colon hydrotherapy (or colonics) is a frightening concept. The thought of a stranger sticking a tube up your ass to suck the shit out of it is, quite frankly, kind of weird. The practice is meant to remove toxins from your colon that could potentially cause cancer, but I think most people just do it to lose weight. Removing excess crap from your body is basically the equivalent of a two-day starvation. Which do you think is easier to do?
A few years ago, I decided to see what the big fuss was about and went to go get a colonic in (where else?) West Hollywood. I figured that since I was gay, a foreign entity entering my asshole wouldn’t be such a shock, and I would be at an advantage. Sadly, this turned out to be painfully false.
I went with my best friend, a straight girl who was hell bent on achieving a Mary-Kate Olsen physique, and was pleased to discover that my health insurance covered the treatment (I’m on some weird Hollywood plan through my stepmom who’s a television writer so maybe that’s why it was approved). I was then told to fill out this paperwork and wait for my name to be called.
A few moments later, a pushy Russian lady ushered me into a sterile medical office and instructed me to change into a backless hospital gown. After doing so, I laid down on my side and was ordered to insert a tube into my asshole. I was initially surprised because I thought it was their job to stick it up your butt, but I did as I was told. Unfortunately, it didn’t feel as good as a nice cock.
The tube is attached to this weird menacing machine. The lady pressed some buttons and told me to tell her when I felt “full”, which confused me at first. Why would I feel full? The goal here is to feel weightless! After a minute though, my stomach started to bloat and I did, in fact, begin to feel full. When I told her so, she screamed “release!” and I saw all my brown doo doo run out of my ass and through the tube. I started perspiring profusely. Getting your crap removed honestly feels like you’re running a marathon. You feel hot, fatigued and dizzy and don’t even get a passionate kiss on the mouth afterwards.
We did the whole “I’m full” and “Release!” game a few more times. The woman would point out particularly large chunks of my shit excitedly and be like, “Look! Look!” She seriously acted like a personal cheerleader for my feces and it was slightly disturbing. Although I guess in order to have that job, one must derive some pleasure from looking at someone else’s shit.
When it was finished, Russian lady told me to run to the bathroom and flush the rest of the remnants out. I left her room with a frightened expression and my bare ass peeking out. My friend, whose turn it was next, saw my crestfallen expression and quickly became terrified to meet her shit maker. I went to the bathroom for twenty minutes, not knowing if I was ever going to feel pure again. Eventually, things settled down and I hightailed it out of there.
On the drive home, my friend and I were starving and decided to stop at TWO places for lunch. At the first restaurant, we ordered salads and talked about how cleansed we felt. However, after feeling hunger pangs twenty minutes after we left, we decided to scarf down on Hebrew National hot dogs. Oops. At the end of the day, I think our colons were dirtier than they were before the treatment.
In weak moments, I often fantasize about going for another colonic, but I know those days are over. Getting one didn’t feel good and I think I may have actually gained weight from my post-colonic Kirstie Alley meltdown. For some though, the procedure works. It makes them feel thinner, healthier, or at the very least, less full of shit.