|Subject: Ever get a Christmas Enema?
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Date Posted: Tuesday, December 11, 2012, 07:06: am
I've been in Southern Cal for a while now. Thought I would check in on my pals and bestow upon them another story from my childhood that sadly occurred on Christmas day.
The year was 1964. Christmas day. Now Christmas with our family wasn't Leave it to Beaver. More of a twisted perverted odd ball collection of anecdotes that you would rather not share.
It started Christmas morning. My two sisters and I invaded my parents bedroom at 7 am in the morning to encourage them to join us in our annual carnage of shoddily wrapped presents under a poorly decorated tree. I'm sure it looked good to my parents while they were decorating it. But I'm pretty sure that was the booze talking. Before decorating the tree. Both my mom and dad finished off a fifth of Jack Daniels before starting the ritual tree decorating While dad was stringing the lights. Mom in her inebriated state said he was hanging them crooked and of course he threw a fit calling her drunken a bitch and tossing the lights to the floor in a alcohol fueled tantrum. Needless to say. The lights laid in a tangled pile under the tree with one strand attached to the tree with a paper clip.
Dad was the first to stand up in a semi conscience state. He had drank a six pack the night before while he was laying out the Christmas booty.
There he stood, my dad. My parental mentor dressed in his Joe Louis pajamas and scratching his balls. Mom was next to roll out of bed and fall onto the floor. My two sisters, helped her back up on the bed. She stared around the room with blood shot eyes. A vodka bottle fell out of the bed when she tried to stand up again. He body was having a difficulty time finding it's balance.
"What the hell are kids doing up this early?" My old man blurted out as he swayed back and forth trying to find his balance.
"It's Christmas. I want to see what Santa brought me," I could barely contain my excitement.
"Steve.." Dad shook his head back and forth in disappointment. "I told you Santa's not real."
"He's dead!" Mom just revived. "Your father shot him dead in our house."
The next annual debate was about to start. Who shot Santa Claus.
"Oh..You're drunk Edna." Dad grabbed his robe off the deer antler in their bedroom.
"I'm as sober as you...Sober er..." Mom with the grace of elephant tried to walk to the bathroom. "You shot and killed Santa Claus."
"I never killed him. Just wounded him." Dad said as he was trying to tie the robe around his body as he was lighting up a camel cigarette. My older sister went to assist him.
"Well the police came and took his dead body out of this house. It's lucky they didn't put you in jail. Mom fired back from the bathroom.
"He was burglar dressed like Santa and he broke into our house to steal from us not leave us presents." My older sister's tying dad's robe jostled him causing hot ashes from his cigarette to fall burning holes in his robe. adding to the countless other times it happened. "I was defending our home."
"Well how come we haven't ever seen him since? I'll tell you why." Mom walked from the bathroom and picked up the vodka bottle. She raised in up into the air. But it was bone dry. "I'll tell you why we never see him. Because you shot him out of a jealous rage." Mom turned to us. "You father thought I was having an affair with Santa. So he waited in the dark with is rifle and the minute the jolly old elf came down the chimney. BANG! Right between his twinkling eyes."
"Come on kids. Lets go open presents while your mother sobers up."
Dad and the rest of us walked down the stairs to our ultimate goal. Gifts.
There were presents stacked under the tree. An aluminum lexicon to our holidays. The colorful illumination supplied by a color wheel and one strand of lights.
"Okay you little mistakes. Go at it." Dad said as he sat down in his Lazy Boy recliner and cracked open a beer.
I grabbed a long box and tore the wrappings off in veracious show of greed. My brain painting pictures of the contents in the box. A tonka truck, erector set. The box was finally revealed. But it wasn't a tonka truck or an erector set. "A carton of Benson and Hedges?"
Dad quickly grabbed the package from me. "That's not yours. It's for your mom. Try and wrap it back up." Dad crawled under the tree with me sorting through the presents. "This is yours." He handed me a long flat box. To flat to be a toy it had to be..."A sweater?" I said with some disappointment as I unwrapped it.
Dad smiled. "I picked it out myself for you son."
"What this thing on the front?" I pointed to what appeared to be a blobbish shape stitched to the front of the sweater.
"A dead deer." Dad reseated himself into his Lazy boy and lit up a camel.
"You didn't buy that for the boy did you?" Mom staggered down the stairs among several empty vodka bottles that followed her down the stairs. "I told you not to buy that. It's hideous."
"It's okay mom. I like it," I said trying to defend my dad's obvious poor and tasteless choice in christmas presents.
"Well you're not wearing it in this house." Mom sat in her lazy boy next to dad and lit up a Benson and Hedges. "No son of mine is going to parade around in sweater with a dead deer on it."
I continued to sort through the packages. I looked up an saw my sisters with great stuff. A toy piano, dolls, stuffed animals etc. So far I got a sweater that would probably get banned by pita. A pile of crushed plastic soldiers that my Uncle Ed got at half price, and a poster of Nikita Khrushchev from my younger sister, because it only cost 25 cents.
But the highlight of the day was a chemistry set. Something I always wanted since I saw Bride of Frankenstein.
Now it was time to rape the stockings. Mine was filled with loads of candy. Mom bought dad a clay pigeon launcher. He was so excited to use it and ignoring the fact that you are not allowed to discharge guns in the city. They all went out into the backyard to watch dad try and shoot down the clay pigeons with his rifle.
Leaving me to indulge in all of this sugary sweet bliss.
About an hour later they came back into the house. Mom and dad were arguing. Something about shooting a cat. I on the other hand was stuffed full of every piece of candy in my stocking and my sisters.
Why is it that as young kids we will eat candy until we were sick.
Because I was. MY stomach was making sounds that I never heard it make before. Rumbling, growling sounds. Sounded like steam escaping.
Dad, smelled the air as he noticed me curled in a fetal position on the floor. "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm sick," I croaked out in agony.
"Well it's no wonder you're sick. Did you eat all that candy?" Mom said as she helped me sit up.
"I don't know." Of course I knew. But I didn't want mom to think I was an idiot.
"Did some one else eat all the candy son?" dad questioned as he finished drinking his third beer.
"I think I need to go to bed for the next three or four months. I'll be fine after that." I tried to move from a sitting position to a standing position. Not going to happen. "Maybe I'll stay here."
"Nonsense. Let's go take care of that." Mom helped me stand on my feet. We slowly marched to the bathroom and walked inside it.
"You sit on the toilet and try to go to the bathroom. I'll fix up an enema for you." Mom helped pull my pajama pants down and plopped me down of the toilet.
"Are you really going to give me an enema today. An enema on Christmas?" I strained and nothing was working.
"Keep trying honey," Mom said softly and continued to make an enema for me. First the hot water bottle, hose, nozzle. Everything assembled and filled. She hung the bag up on the shower head.
Nothing was coming out. I really did it to myself this time. The only way to get anything to move was to use explosives.
"Nothing?" Mom tilted me back to check on my progress. "Okay wipe yourself and come over my lap." Mom sat down on the edge of the bathtub.
I slowly stood up with my pajamas pooled at my feet. I walked over to mom and crawled over her legs laying face down across them.
"Okay honey. I'm going to lubricate your bottom now."
I felt a finger full of vaseline being shoved up my butt. In and out. In and out. My mom was stickler for lubrication. When she withdrew her finger, it was replaced with the enema nozzle. She pushed it up deep into my bottom.
A small pat on my upturned bare bottom tethered to an enema bag. Signaled that the water was to quickly follow. It did and the flow of warm water into my bottom caused me to jump.
Now the part I hate.
"Mom. I think I'm full. I really need to go to the bathroom. Which is the point of this exercise." I was cramping up quickly.
"Just a little more to go." Was mom's reply. Which means that I have a lot to go.
But surprisingly. She pulled the enema nozzle out and helped me back onto the toilet. I noticed that bag still was full of water. This is quite unusual since most of the enema I had gotten. The bag is sucked flat.
"Do I have to take the rest mom?" The water poured out my bottom along with the remnants of a Christmas eve dinner, m&ms, Babe ruths, hershey bars and other delicious confections.
"Do you think everything is out of your system?" Mom asked as she lit up a cigarette.
"Yes," I answered loudly.
Mom took a drag off her cigarette. "Then you don't need anymore enema." Mom took the enema bag down and dropped it into the bathtub. She started to walk out of the bathroom but turned toward me and smiled. "Merry Christmas Steve." She walked out closing the door behind her.
And that was my Christmas enema.
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