Christine and Richard T.
3 members like this


Views: 9859 Created: 2007.07.20 Updated: 2007.07.20

Last from Mom

Last from Mom

by Christine and Richard T.

Please note that over the last year or so my husband has been a regular collaborator as I have written for my stories. He's taken such an interest that he now shows up as a co-author. We hope everyone enjoys our work.

Being an advocate of the benefits of an occasional enema, one of the questions I get most often is how old I was when I got the last one from my mother. That is usually followed by a question of how well I remember the details. In truth, I remember that last one quite well and I'm about to share that experience with you now.

It was during the early spring of 1974 and I had just turned 18 and was a Friday morning. I'd had a dreadful head cold and hadn't slept all that well. When I woke up at about 6:30 I had a headache and was still congested so I just turned over and stayed in bed. It wasn't long before Mom came in and told me to get ready for school, but I told her that I didn't want to go that day. She knew I'd been not feeling well for the past couple of days even though I had been in school all week. She felt my forehead and said, "OK, but at least you don't feel feverish. Stay in bed and I'll check on you every now and then."

While I was happy about not having to go to school feeling like I was, I also hoped that I was past the worst part of the cold. I got up and went to the bathroom where I lifted my nightgown, slid down my panties, and sat on the toilet to pee. Upon wiping myself I also discovered that my period had just arrived. "Oh, Gee! What else can bother me today?" I said. Upon returning to my room I went to the closet where a large blue Kotex box sat on the floor. I took one out as well as my sanitary belt. After attaching and adjusting the tabs of the napkin into the clips of the belt, I put it on and then put my panties back on and headed back to bed.

I must have fallen asleep. I looked at the clock and it was now mid-morning and Mom had come back to my room. Thinking that I might want something to eat she brought a cup of tea and some toast. After I finished, she also brought me another cold capsule and a glass of water. With such good care I was starting to feel a little better, but that 's when the dreaded question came, "Chris, have you been to the bathroom lately?"

Actually, I hadn't gone since Monday, but was a little reluctant to admit it. So I said to Mom, "I think it's been a couple of days," trying to be as vague as possible.

"You know," she said, "These cold capsules not only dry up your sinuses, but dry up everything else, too."

"I guess so," I said, "But it didn't dry up my period. It just came this morning,"

Mom just smiled and shook her head, but then added, "Look, it might be a good idea if I also fixed you a nice enema and we got you cleaned out." I must have made a face because she then said, "Just enough to get you going again. It won't be much. OK?"

I didn't like getting enemas and she knew it, but I guess I was maturing so I actually heard myself say "OK." I couldn't believe those words had come from my own mouth, but I more or less knew what the next series of events would be.

"I'll go make it and will be back in a few minutes," she said. True to her word I could hear her go to the hall linen closet, rummage around in it and head for the bathroom. Moments later the unmistakable sound of water running told me that she was filling a plastic bowl with warm water. There'd be a bar of Ivory in the bottom of the bowl and she'd allow the water to turn the color of skim milk while she assembled the nozzle on the end of the hose. When she was certain that the water was sufficiently soapy, it would be poured into the combination bag, the hose stopper screwed in, and the clamp opened to bleed the air from the hose.

It wasn't long before Mom was back at my bedside with a stack of towels and a red enema bag that I could see was bulging at about half full. "Why don't you go to the bathroom as I put these down on your bed. I know it's been a while since you've had an enema, but I don't think we can do it over my lap any more now that you are eighteen."

I had never thought about that, but now that I was nearly as tall as she was, guessed that the suggestion was appropriate. I went to the bathroom, slid off my panties, undid the sanitary napkin, and sat on the toilet. I had to pee, but as much as I hoped and tried, no bowel movement would occur. Leaving my panties and sanitary belt in the bathroom, I returned to my bed and laid face down on the towels.

"This won't be so bad," Mom coached. "Now just relax."

Her words were not especially soothing because I knew what was going to happen. She opened a jar of Vaseline and took a glob of it on her finger, raised my nightgown to the level of my shoulder blades and began to lubricate my bum. I tensed immediately.

"It's just a little Vaseline. Now relax! Take a nice deep breath for me." I did so and it must have had some effect because I could feel the muscles in my bottom relax.

"That's not so bad now. Is it?" "No. I'm OK, I guess."

"Now take another nice deep breath for me," she said encouragingly. I did so, but I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. At about that time, Mom slipped the rectal nozzle into me. While I knew that the enema was going to end my constipation, it was this whole process that I found distasteful. It was just so embarrassing because there I lay face down with a red hose leading out of my bottom to a red bag filled with warm, soapy water.

As I said, I'd had enemas before and I knew what was happening. Moments later there was a faint "click" and Mom held the bag a couple of feet above me. Seconds after that came the sensation of warmth entering my bottom and a few seconds after that there was a sense of pressure building. It didn't hurt, but it was noticeable.

"Chris, take some more nice deep breaths for me," she consoled. I did, but couldn't resist the urge to ask, "How much more, Mom?"

"Just a bit. I've never given you a full bag and this one is not even half full. Now make some more of those nice deep breaths."

I did and the enema continued to flow. It didn't hurt at all, but it was embarrassing. I kept saying to myself over and over, "Please finish soon. Please finish soon."

Eventually, my wish came true. Mom said, "That's all. You've taken the whole bag." She then took the nozzle out of me and helped me off the bed. I walked straight to the bathroom because I didn't know how soon everything was going to want to come out. When I finally pulled up my nightgown and sat on the toilet, Mom said, "Hold it as long as you can. The longer you hold it the better it will work."

I guess I succeeded in holding it for two minutes more, but eventually I decided I wasn't going to be able to hold it in any longer. When I finally let it go, there was an immediate sense of warm water rushing out of me. I was afraid that I was just expelling the enema and that it hadn't worked. If that was the case, I just knew that Mom would insist on giving me another one. But I was wrong because after the first amount of warm water, I sensed that there was all sorts of solid material that I was passing some large and some small. After a few minutes my tummy cramped and I started passing something that seemed to be neither solid nor liquid, but there was a lot of it. Certainly, the enema had worked.

"Oh, Mom!" I exclaimed with a combined sense of embarrassment and relief.

See, you did need a good cleaning out after all," she said standing in the doorway of the bathroom smiling. "You'll feel much better now. I know you didn't like it that much, but you were really mature about the whole thing. An enema doesn't have to be a big deal."

"I know, but it is just so embarrassing. That's all."

"I'll tell you what. The next time you need one, I'm going to let you give one to yourself and I'll just be nearby to coach. OK? That way you'll know what to do and then just be able to give them to yourself when you need to. Also some day you'll be married with kids of your own and you should know how to do this. Although, hopefully, that won't be too soon."

"OK. That sounds fine," I said hoping that such an event wouldn't happen in my lifetime.

I cleaned myself up and picked up my panties and sanitary belt. Back in my room I got a new Kotex from the box, attached it to the belt and put both it and my panties back on. I got back into bed and fell fast to sleep.

At mid afternoon I woke up at the sound of the telephone. Mom answered it from the extension in the hallway. It was my girlfriend Barb's mom, who was calling to find out how I was because Barb told her that I hadn't been on the school bus that day. I could only hear half of the conversation, but I could start and guess what the other part was.

"She was just under the weather from this awful head cold that she's had all week."

"I know that there's a lot of it going around. The bus didn't look that full this morning when it went by."

"The head cold seems better, but the medication had her really constipated. I gave her a good enema this morning and is now feeling much improved. She really needed a cleaning out."

"Oh Mom!" I said to myself feeling myself turning crimson even though nobody was nearly to see it. "It's bad enough to get an enema, but then to have the whole world know about it, too!"

"I'm sure that she and Barb will get together over the weekend. They haven't seen each other in over a day and you know how inseparable they are."

Mom was right about that. We were the best of friends. There never were any secrets, but I was certain that Barb would ask me about the enema because I knew her mother would give her all of the details. On those occasions when she'd gotten one from her mom we'd talked about it.

I looked at the clock and realized that I should probably pay a little attention to my period. I got out of bed, got a clean Kotex from the closet and went to the bathroom.

As I sat on the toilet, I could see that Mom had rinsed out the enema bag and hung it and its hose over the faucets of the bathtub to drain. I couldn't help but wonder when it would be that I'd be the one to hang it that way. It was more or less official, this was going to be my last enema from Mom.

continued in : "I Just Can't Believe It"