THE HOSE GOES IN WHERE?

In the photo one part was right: Mom gave me enemas as kid. I HATED IT!

As a seven year old kid it got to the point that I became constipated as hell. We're talking being backed up big time.

Like other kids my age, it was hell using the toilet at school. Other kids would climb up and over the stall walls, peer in and make faces and noise. And everything would stop right then and there. Regularity had to be put off until I got home late afternoon. But by then it was a "no go", bad timing with lots of time sitting on the John with no result.


I made the mistake of telling mom about my problems. First it was prunes and lots of them. They didn't work.

Lots of water, mom said, might help. I nearly drown with what mom forced me to drink. That didn't work.

Then mom pulls out a red bag with a white hose.

Me: What's that?

Mom: This is something that is going to help you not be blocked up. Come into the bathroom.

Like a lamb to slaughter I followed mom into the bathroom. I was seven. What did I know about bags with hoses on them.

Mom: Okay, pants down and bend over the bathtub.

Me: Huh? I don't think so, mom. First tell me what you're going to do?

Mom: Never mind the "I don't think so" and just do what I tell you to do. I'm going to help you by putting one end of the hose in you, the water will seep into you and then you'll go poo-poo. There's really nothing to it.

Me: Hmmm. I'll really go poo-poo and feel better?

Mom: Yup.

Me: Okay but tell me where the end of the hose goes.

Mom: That would be in the butt, Bob.

I remember one time mom filled me up with water and nothing happened. I sloshed around the house for nearly an hour before I expelled all that dam water.

Mom became fanatic about giving me enemas. I'm not sure if it really was for my good or if mom enjoyed sticking that damn hose up my butt. Maybe it was both.

It finally got to the point where I lied about being regular. To get out of being "hosed" I'd brag to mom about the huge dumps I took at school when in fact I was just as plugged up as I ever was. At least it got mom off of my back and and this type of water torture stopped. Bending over a bathtub while your mom runs a hose up you ass isn't the type of relationship any guy wants to have with his mom.

I sometimes see these enema bags on the pharmacy shelves. I wince a little, then grin and think of mom. To this day Wifey will all of sudden touch my butt and I flinch big time. Then I think about why I just flinched.

Ahh, the memories.