I remember a time when I was maybe 13. My father was going to be taking me fishing in a boat the next day. I had not had a bowel movement in at least 3 or 4 days and my Mother had undoubtedly hid my Tyson open-top fountain syringe from me. You see, I had kept the syringe behind a piece of asbestos sheeting in her bathroom. I didn't think that she'd ever find the thing there. Well, when I went to get it, it was not there. I needed help really bad. Why? Well, I didn't want to feel miserable in Dad's boat the next day. So, after much deliberation, I decided to go see Mom. She was the only one who could have moved the thing. So, swallowing my pride, I went into the living room where Mother was watching tv. I sat down on the couch opposite her and kind of hem hawed a bit, but finally I came on out and asked her "Mom, have you seen my enema syringe that I had hidden behind that sheet of asbestos in your bathroom? Mom looked at me and said "Mike, I don't think you should be taking so many enemas!" I replied "Mom, I don't! But, Mom I haven't had a crap in 3 or 4 days!" Mom looked down and spoke, again, saying "Mike, yes, I moved it! Do you want me to give you a laxative instead of you taking an enema?" I said "Mama, Daddy is taking me fishing in the morning, or have you forgotten? I don't want to be in the boat and, then, have the laxative take effect. An enema will relieve the problem tonight or in the morning." Mom sat there just looking at me for a minute or so. Then, she got up and told me to come with her. She went straight back to the bathroom that was beside my room. Once she was in there, she opened a large cabinet that was above our washing machine. She pointed up to a large silver pitcher on the cabinet's top shelf and said "Mike, I put your thing in there. I really wish that you wouldn't use it tonight!" I kissed her cheek and jumped right on up onto the washing machine. I opened the silver pitcher's lid and reached inside where I found my enema bag. I looked down and saw that Mama was reaching for it. I handed it to her as I got down off the washing machine. When I was back on the floor, Mom had moved over to the sink and had already turned on the water. I moved over beside her and watched her as she undid the tubing that I had wrapped around the bag. When the tubing was completely off the bag, she snapped the tube's shut-off and stuck the open bottle into the water's flow. As the red bag filled with water, she asked me "Mike, how much water do you want tonight, son?" I told her to fill it all the way up which she did. After it was full, she turned off the water and moved over to the wall above the toilet and hung the bloated bag up. Immediately, I could hear the unmistakable sound of water replacing air in the syringe's tube.... bloop, bloop, bloop. Mom, then, opened the room's medicine cabinet and took out the jar of Vaseline. She removed the cap, stuck her finger into the goo and opened a glob. Then, she smeared the stuff onto the douche nozzle that was at the end of the tubing. Meanwhile, while she was doing that, I had removed my cloths and under ware. Mother sat down on the toilet lid and helped me kneel on the floor in the familiar knee chest position. Mom, after I was in position, began pulling on my right hip which gave her direct assess to my little rose bud. The next thing I know, I felt the nozzle sliding into my rectum. When it was secure, Mom asked me "Mike, are you ready for this enema?" I, of course, said "Mama, I love you!" With that said Mama gave me a very preemptive enema that allowed me to have a great fishing trip with my Dad the next day.