A Mother's Helping Handbytrevorm©
When Jason Jackson broke both his arms in a motor-cycle accident he hadn't quite envisioned just how supportive a mother can be. With both arms firmly set in plaster he was discharged from hospital after only a few days and sent home for rest and recovery. The breaks to both his forearms were unusually complicated and necessitated a rigid setting with plaster casts which would allow virtually no movement at all, and which were to remain in an outstretched position for a minimum of six weeks. The upshot of this was an inconveniencing to his daily routine and ablutions of such magnitude that he was no longer able to wash, dress, or use the toilet without his dear mother's total assistance and patience.
Now, it takes something quite beyond the normal calls of duty to attend to a person's daily, and indeed hourly needs, even if it is one's own flesh and blood. Dignity goes out of the window and a special kind of relationship is forged. Quite how special, Jason and his mother could never have imagined.
Life is full of surprises, and it's a surprise indeed to discover your dear old mum is prepared to go further than just wiping your backside to help you live a semi-functional life, if not a perfect one.
After about three weeks of incapacitation, frustrations and arguments, not only boredom and resentment, had set in. Jason had begun to complain of some discomfort in the lower abdomen. With natural motherly concern Mrs Jackson had called for the doctor fearing that this perhaps was the onset of appendicitis or something equally nasty. Upon examination and some delicate coaxing and probing of the patient the doctor assured her that this was most definitely not appendicitis and the problem was being caused by a less serious, though equally uncomfortable and more delicate reason. Jason's difficulty was indeed being caused by frustration, but not of the psychological variety, though there was plenty of that. It was more the physical lack of 'self-abuse' variety.
The doctor explained to Jason's mum, in his best bedside manner, that at Jason's age, hormones are rampant and that a lot of young men around Jason's age produced an excess of seminal fluid, particularly if they had already developed a fondness for masturbation, which, if not addressed at fairly regular intervals could quickly build up and cause a painful, bloated feeling in the lower abdomen.
"How fascinating," said Mrs Jackson. "I knew it wasn't constipation - that boy could crap for England, believe me! I'm the one who suffers with constipation."
"Yes, quite so," said the doctor. "Could I have a quick word with you in private, Mrs Jackson?"
They went out onto the landing and in discreetly hushed tones, the doctor explained that all Jason needed was some physical stimulation. This revelation produced a look of realisation in Mrs Jackson's countenance that would have matched a tropical sunrise.
"Oh, I see...You mean...Jason needs to er...erm..." She giggled nervously and blushed.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. To put it bluntly, Mrs Jackson, the poor chap's in desperate need of a good wank. It's as simple as that."
"I wondered why his, well, his er...Why he's always on parade, if you know what I mean. Standing to attention."
"That explains it. Whenever I help him in the bathroom, he always gets, you know – stiff. It's so damned awkward - and embarrassing. I don't like to embarrass him more than necessary, but I can't avoid touching his thing at such times. I have to get him to stand a good two metres - that's about six tiles - from the toilet and let him pee up into the air while I in the meantime, make the necessary adjustments for angle and flow and attempt to guide it in the right place. If I get it wrong there can be a fair amount of mopping up I can tell you."
"So what should I do?"
"Does Jason have a girlfriend who might be able to help him once in a while? You know, purely in the interest of medicine?"
"Well, not at the moment, no!"
Doctor Phillips raised his eyebrows.
She said, "So what can we do? He's got at least another three weeks in plaster, and the pains are getting worse."
"I'd best leave it to you, Mrs Jackson." The doctor tapped the side of his nose. "A mother's natural ingenuity, my dear. It always comes to the fore in times of adversity. May I discreetly suggest, Mrs Jackson," and here, the doctor gave Mrs Jackson a conspiratorial little nudge, "that if you've already had your hand on it, so to speak, you're virtually halfway there." The doctor turned and walked towards the stairs. "Needs must, Mrs Jackson...Needs must. I'll see myself out."
And with those words of wisdom, the doctor left.
Mrs Jackson considered what the doctor had said. Did he seriously mean that she herself was going to have to take her own son in hand and relieve him? The doctor hadn't actually spelled it out, but almost. After all, what else could he mean?
She considered the possibility of getting someone else in to do it, but who? Jason didn't have a regular girlfriend at the moment, and anyway she shouldn't be encouraging that sort of thing in the home, and how would she explain what needed to be done to whoever it was she chose to help out without causing offence and embarrassment?
What about Elsie next door? She's probably have a go. She was pretty broad minded (and broad-beamed) when it came to things of a delicate nature, but a 60 year old woman tossing off your 18 year old son was rather difficult to accept, let alone imagine. She supposed she could hire someone, a professional lady, or even arrange for a nurse to call round and oblige purely on medical grounds. But nothing or no one she could think of seemed to be a suitable alternative. Alternative to what, though? Letting her poor son suffer agonising stomach cramps until he was capable of attending to himself. Or doing what she knew in her heart of hearts was the only humane course of action?
She stood outside the bedroom door and wondered just how she was going to break the news to Jason. Was it best to concoct some cock-and-bull (apt) story, which made an indirect suggestion of what needed to be done? That would perhaps soften the blow, that is if Jason caught on to what she was hinting at. He wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box and didn't always catch on too quickly.
Or maybe it might be possible to take him by surprise? Do it covertly by incorporating it in the normal course of events. After all, as the doctor said, she'd already had her hand on it, so that particular obstacle had been surmounted. So what about if she, you know, began doing what was necessary as a natural extension of his morning or evening ablutions? Probably morning, because it would seem more PC and medically acceptable to do it in the cold light of day, and he always woke up with a stiffie anyway, so he'd be up for it (no pun intended). Whereas, doing it in the evening would seem kind of tawdry somehow, and send out the wrong message.
On the other hand, to come straight out with what needed to be done, while being an initial shock, was probably the best policy. He would respect her for her honesty... wouldn't he?
She went back into the bedroom with the intention of telling Jason what was wrong and what needed to be done to rectify it.
"What did he say, Mum? You look worried about something. Nothing bad, is it?"
"No, just awkward. Look, darling... I don't know there's any best way to say this so I'll just come out with it..."
Jason's mouth came open. He looked wide-eyed and frightened. "Christ, Mum... What is it?"
"Those pains you're getting..."
"They're caused by a build-up of..."
"Spunk. That's what the doctor said, anyway."
Jason coloured brightly. "What?"
"Sorry, Jase. I didn't want to embarrass you. He said it's probably a build-up of seminal fluid because you..."
"Oh dear... Because you haven't been able to see to yourself for a while, since... well, since you lost the use of your arms, anyway."
"Jesus! Are you saying what I think you're saying, Mother?"
"I think I might be. Doctor Phillips says you're in need of a good wank! Ha! There, I've said it! I didn't think I would be able to, but I have. So there we are."
Jason face was like a traffic light. "Fucking hell! So who's going to do that for me..? Michelle Pfeifer?"
Jason looked at his mother with a feeling of impending doom. She surely wasn't suggesting that...
"I'll go and make us both a cup of tea, darling. I think we're both going need it. We need to have a little talk."
(...to be continued in Chapter Two...)