When I was growing up in Homewood in Pittsburgh in the forties every home with young boys had a medicine chest over the sink in the bathroom. Every mother saw to it that there was next to the large jar of Vaseline and glass of thermometers on the bottom shelf an old fashioned red rubber oval bulb type enema syringe standing on its smooth disc butt end with the shiny black hard rubber nozzle pointing straight upward. It was a treasured inheritance from her own mother and its only absence from this honored position was when the boy's' father would hint to mama that little Junior or Georgie was looking rather pale lately and didn't she think that he needed another "little squirt or two?" Mama was never fooled by the sarcastic understatement and knew that he meant a good hour and a half's worth during which she would go about her detailed examination of Junior's naked posterior, ply her well greased thermometer for a reading, and apply numerous doses of hot water strongly laced with Fels Naphtha to a very intimate part of his anatomy precisely situated at the nether end of the deep cleavage between his sleek plump white buttocks. By "a little squirt or two" papa was laying the whole responsibility for the operation on mama but in fact he would have felt grossly cheated and betrayed if mama took him at his word. And his invariable excuse was how was a mere man to come between what a woman so dearly loves to do and the young boy who finds himself in the unhappy place of the object of her ruling passion? There was no object in the house in fact that so involved her dedication except one of almost equal fascination: the deluxe 1910 model of Mr. Fuller's oval faced hardwood hairbrush which lay in permanent readiness in the drawer of her bedside table and which she regularly plied with expert skill and brilliant effect on the rudely bared and nicely arched naked buttocks of her sons on the least provocation.
Mount Vernon Street in the year 1939 saw a vast number of individual mothers' opening of the medicine chest and removing the syringe, thermometers, and Vaseline preparatory to their attending to their young sons' regular lavations but those that remain indelibly etched in my memory are the ones relating personally to me and my twin brother Gino. The precise occasion which initiated the regular applications of mama's syringe to Gino's and my plump round fundaments happened on the lovely Saturday morning of May 27. That day marks our first meeting with Nurse Manning or even more memorably for us with the contents of her black leather nurse's bag which she held dangling from her right arm by the straps as she walked up the stairs of the front porch.
We were three and in our innocence were all agog with curiosity as Eugenia Manning ascended the three steps to the screen door in front of the open inner door of the porch. Every visit she made after that, which was weekly, found us stumbling in terror up the stairs to our bedroom and cowering under the bed the minute we saw her black Packard pull up in front of the house. Nurse Manning was the new visiting nurse at Van Cleve school where our older brothers and sisters were enrolled and papa had phoned her the night before. She excited him with the rich contralto beauty of her voice almost as much as her obvious enthusiasm that he had been sensitive enough to make certain suggestive inquiries about the health and personal hygiene of his twin boys. Yes, he was convinced that she was just "what the doctor ordered," that is to say she was of one mind with papa and mama as to a nurse's or a mother's role in the rearing of young boys where their health and hygiene, physical and moral, was concerned.
You could see from the broad grin on papa's face as he watched her close the door of the automobile and approach up the sidewalk towards the house that his most sanguine expectations about her were more than amply satisfied. She was an extremely handsome woman of majestic bearing over 6' in height with jet black hair tightly made up in a bun under her white blue bordered nurse's cap, but the feature that glued papa's eyes to her was her enormous high set buxom derriere which undulated as if with a life of its own under her tight stretched white nurse's uniform. Papa waited until she walked up the steps and knocked at the screen door before he left his post behind the lace curtains and went to the door. Turning to the parlor he shouted to mama, "Angelina, ecco l'infermiera. Venga. Ecco l'infermiera," and to the door, "Signora Manning? Welcome, Signora. Welcome." He beamed in his usual manner when face to face with an attractive and statuesque woman endowed with more than usual amplitude in those parts so highly prized by European men and Italians in particular.
Mama appears from the hallway beyond the parlor and greets Nurse Manning warmly. Gino and I look up at her with a fascination which when we see the grim smile on her face turns suddenly to a sense of foreboding and apprehension. Mother asks the nurse to take a seat. Nurse Manning sets her nurse's bag on the table beside the sofa and as they sit down enters into a half whispered conversation with her which lasts several minutes. Papa is caressing Gino and me as we fondly compete for his attention and at the same time seems intensely interested in the conversation being carried on between mama and Nurse Manning. He puts his finger to his lips and says "Shhh! Shhh!" and smiles broadly as he crooks his head in their direction as if trying to hear every word and nods in agreement to everything the nurse suggests. Then the nurse rises and she and mother begin to rearrange the furniture. A wing backed armchair is placed in front of the sofa and a straight backed chair with a cushion on the seat is set to a right angle with it next to the side table against the wall. The table has been cleared of everything but the low hanging linen table cloth and the nurse's bag. Mama and Nurse Manning leave the room and we can hear the click clack of the nurse's hard heeled thick soled white shoes as she follows mama up the stairs to the bathroom.
The next thing we hear fills us with terror. Gino starts to kick and to pummel papa with his clenched fists and papa giggles as he tries to cover himself and deflect the furious blows of his little hands. I set up a pitiful howl and start shrieking and bawling uncontrollably. The sound that provoked these dire reactions assails our ears from the third floor bathroom next to our bedroom at the back of the house: the gushing sound of rushing water. Gino gives papa a final kick and roars with fury at his terrible betrayal as he runs up the stairs to hide under the bed with papa behind him in hot pursuit. This is wonderful, because it never works. All we ever had to see was mama opening the medicine chest and picking up the red rubber black nozzled pump and we would head helter skelter for the bed though we knew from long experience that mama would be there in no time on her knees grabbing me by the leg and papa Gino by the arm and setting us down on the bed for our "two or three little squirts." I stand there petrified with fear and let out a frightful howl before trying to beat papa up the stairs headed like Gino for the all too temporary security to be found under the bed.
Hugging the wall under the bed Gino and I see papa peering underneath it and trying to grab one of us. Behind him in the doorway we see two pairs of shoes, mama's black ones and Nurse Manning's white and we listen with faint hearts as the nurse pronounces in a strong clear but rich, confident low voice, "Let them be for now, Mr. Bernini. Let them be for now. Mrs. Bernini and I will set things up downstairs. We'll be back for the twins in time. They needn't imagine that they can escape. We'll be back for them in time. And I assure you I do not brook resistance from boys. We'll see. We'll just see"
We hear footsteps retire to the bathroom and after some minutes descend the stairs. Soon afterwards we hear Nurse Manning's approach followed by mama and papa. Mama's face appears below the bed on the right and papa's on the left. They reach under and mama grabs me by the arm and papa Gino. I just shriek and Gino starts pummeling papa again. Papa seems to delight in his fierce resistance. He's clearly a papa's kind of boy. In less than a minute we are descending the stairs with Nurse Manning bringing up the rear to cut off any attempt at retreat.
Our first sight of the rearrangements in the parlor elicit fresh shrieks from me and furious kicking and screaming from Gino. On the table beside the chair that has been placed for Nurse Manning her black leather nurse's bag lies open, the broad overflap turned up against the wall. Beside it on a large chipped white enamel tray is a 2-quart size glass chemist's flask filled to the brim with yellowish steaming water. A cake of Fels Naphtha lies melting at the bottom. Next to it is a large jar of Vaseline, the lid unscrewed and lying beside it. Beside this is a blue glass with etched gradations filled with alcohol and holding five or six thermometers. Next to it standing upright on its smooth disc butt end is mother's red rubber bulb type enema syringe which has been inserted into both Gino's and my anus numerous times in the last several months. Nurse Manning picks it up and examines it minutely, turning it slowly cupped in the palm of her lovely hand with her thumb softly pressing the smooth disc at the opposite end from its shiny black hard rubber nozzle. She puts it to her ear and presses the butt end. A soft hissing sound seems to please her. She winks at papa. She asks mama to sit down and seats herself and looks over to where papa is holding me and Gino tightly in his arms. She says, "Excellent, Mrs. Bernini. Excellent. Quite good for boys of their age. You've been putting it to good use I am sure? I am quite sure you have." She fixes Gino and me with a cruel smirk and says, very softly, "Mama puts it to good use does she not, twins? Mama knows what a little boy needs, does she not? And that in very good measure?" I shriek with rage and Gino tries frantically to escape from papa's tight hold on him.
Nurse Manning sets the syringe softly down on its butt end and turns to her opened bag. She pulls out a shiny brand new one of the exact same model. Winking coyly at papa she says, "But I've brought a little present for the twins. I'll leave it in Mrs. Bernini's safekeeping as I am very sure she knows how to use it well. A classic, Mr. Bernini. A veritable classic. Her own is very good indeed but I would recommend that she give it a little rest and use this one instead for a time." She relaxes her lovely mouth into a broad toothy smile and says, "A virginal pump, Mr. Bernini. I am too well aware that it will be directed to a less than virginal cavity, Mr. Bernini, but a virginal pump in any case. What do you call it in your lovely language, "'nu piccolo lavadin'"? A little enema? I adored hearing you ask me on the telephone last evening if I thought your pretty boys needed "'nu piccolo lavadin'." Alas, I think they do, Mr. Bernini. They do indeed." She laughs softly and papa squints his eyes and laughs heartily.
Nurse Manning grabs me by the arm and drags me roughly to her side. She picks up a thermometer and wipes it with a pinch of gauze. She reaches into her shirt pocket and pulls out a pair of pince-nez and extends the black velvet ribbon to which they are attached and places them securely on the bridge of her nose. She shakes the thermometer down and holds it up to the light and examines it. Satisfied, she says harshly but softly, "Open your mouth!" Terrified, I obey. She pops it in and sets me down on her lap. The surprising warmth of her broad round thighs excites me strangely. After ten or twelve minutes she takes it out and looks at it in the light. She shakes her head and says, "No good. No good. It lies." She winks at papa and says, "There was, is, and will always be but one way to take a boy's temperature, Mr. Bernini. I am sure you know what way I am thinking of." Papa's excitement is rapidly mounting. He's holding onto Gino with a broad grin on his face and, leaning forward in his chair, cranes his neck toward Nurse Manning. She rises and turns her back on him and picks up a thick white cotton towel which she places over mama's lap taking care to sway her huge majestic derriere seductively as she bends over. Papa is staring and I now know what he must have been thinking: "O, Madonn' che culo! Che culaccio bellissimo!"
Nurse Manning arranges the towel carefully over the broad expanse of mama's lap. Gino and I are in our springtime garb of a long white cotton nightgown, as our winter equivalent is a red flannel night suit with the indispensable drop seat in the back. She picks me up like a sack of potatoes and deposits me face downward over mama's lap. I let out a pitiful shriek. Mama consoles me with whispered words and kisses and tousles my hair comfortingly. Nurse Manning beams at papa, glowers at Gino and says, "As I was saying, Mr. Bernini, there is but one way to take a boy's temperature. She seats herself in the chair that faces mama's at a 30-degree angle and reaches for another thermometer. She wipes it. She shakes it down. She holds it up to the light and reads it. She dips it in the Vaseline and pulls it out with a gob of grease at the tip. She lifts my nightshirt to my waist and bunches it up into mama's hands. I shriek with rage and shame. I look behind me. Papa is sitting on the utmost edge of his chair holding Gino between his legs and kissing him on the cheek. He cranes his neck forward, his eyes wide with wonder with a broad grin from ear to ear. Nurse Manning says softly to mama, "That's right, Mrs. Bernini, but just a bit higher. Present his lovely buttocks a bit higher. Mama raises her right foot up on the toes and arches my naked rump delicately by degrees until it satisfies the demanding nurse. Once it arrives at the perfect position Nurse Manning turns momentarily to papa and says with studied, slow and precise enunciation "There is I assure you but one way to take a boy's temperature, Mr. Bernini."
She lowers her head to within ten inches of my rudely bared and nicely arched buttocks and delicately places her left thumb on the inner curvature of my left rump cheek while spreading the cheeks apart with her index finger on the opposite cheek. She delicately daubs the tender pink flesh of my tight squeezed immaculate anus with the tip of the thermometer. She looks behind her once more, winks at papa and sends the greasy thermometer home to half its length up my bum hole "W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!," I roar. ... "N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" Mama kisses me tenderly and brushes away my torrential tears with the towel. Papa is laughing raucously while holding fast to the struggling Gino. He puts his two index fingers in his mouth and whistles shrilly. He shouts, "O, brava, Signora! Brava! Brava, Signora! Brava!" Nurse Manning smiles cheerfully at mama and papa and waits.
After some minutes she slowly pulls out the thermometer and examines it. She puts her left hand on my buttocks and caresses them tenderly with the thumb and forefinger, running her index finger delicately up and down between the deep cleft of my alabaster smooth, ivory white plump naked buttocks. She winks again at papa and says, "Who can blame us, Mr. Bernini? Who can blame women for their obsession with pretty boys' lovely round buttocks? Oh, Mr. Bernini, it was a great and good God who made woman to punish the impudence of these lovely plump hindquarters! Don't you agree? And who rewards man for all the indignities he suffered in his boyhood at the hands of woman by graciously allowing him to witness the retribution he brings upon boys for the wicked loveliness of their hinder parts. Woman is the instrument of that divine retribution." Papa applauds his heartfelt agreement with the nurse's sincerely held philosophy. He interjects, "I got plenty from mama! Plenty! Papa insisted on it!"
Gino's mouth is now holding the thermometer which was lately in my own. After several more insertions and extractions and readings of the "lower" thermometer in the course of some fifteen minutes Nurse Manning slowly extracts it from my anus, wipes it off and puts it into the glass of alcohol. She smiles inwardly as if in a trance and reaches for the syringe.
She picks it up and slowly revolves it in the palm of her lovely long fingered hand, the shiny black nozzle sticking up between her thumb and forefinger where it protrudes from the upper end of the oval bulb. She places her thumb on the smooth disc at the butt end and gently presses it. A soft hissing sound is heard in the silent room. Gino is gaping wide at the scene knowing he will before long change places with me. Mama is stroking my cheek consolingly. Papa is also entranced, staring as if his eyes were going to pop out of his head and grinning weirdly.
Nurse Manning puts her right finger into the Vaseline and pinches up a gob. The sweet greasy scent mingles with the pungent smell of Fels Naphtha.
She gently parts my buttocks at their lower curvatures and exposes my tight pink anus. She daubs it tenderly with her greased finger. She wipes her finger and smirks wickedly, slowly dips the tip of the syringe into the hot soapy water and squeezes it. A loud gurgling sound attends the rushing of the hot water into the bulb. She holds it high above the flask and presses the butt end sending a thin arc of yellowish grey water swishing into the steaming lake beneath. She repeats this several times.
She finally fills the bulb to its fullest and retracts the syringe. She lets several drops of excess fall on the towel over mama's lap. She winks at papa and, slowly inserting the syringe into my anus, lets it rest there for several seconds. Then she slowly presses the disc butt end with her thumb and sends the full contents of the hot scummy water up my rectum. "W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!," I roar. ... "N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" "W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!," I roar. ... "N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! ... N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo! ... W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" Still screaming, I look behind me. Papa is giggling uncontrollably and looks like he died and went to heaven. Nurse Manning slowly extracts the syringe and immediately reaches for a second dose. Mama is holding the white enamel bed pan with one hand in readiness for the nurse's instructions. After several minutes she gives the word and mama, inclining me on my right side, positions my buttocks over the pan and I violently expel the first dose of what papa calls "fire water."
Nurse Manning administers a dozen or so more doses to my frantic pleas and wailings, Gino's intense fascination mingled with dire anticipation of the imminent future when he will take my place over mama's lap, and papa's raucous applause. The scene was reenacted over many subsequent Saturdays between mama's own intimate ministrations during the week over the next several years.
