"Mother's Poopy Drawers"

A word to the faint of heart.
This tale had to be told.
It is based in truth.
However, you may not be able to handle the truth.
The truth of the hurt, forgotten, and stupid.
This tale contains graphic depictions of bodily waste disposal.

"Mother's Poopy Drawers"

P.J. Hautez lived in Brooklyn, near Bensonhurst, in New York. He was 46 and did not work. He lived with his mother. They survived on a small trust fund that she was still living off of since her parents died when she was a child.

His mother, Bettina Hautez was 73. "P.J.! I've pooped in my draws again. Can you help me change them?"

"Oh, Ma! We just changed your panties not two hours ago!"

"Son, you know I can't help it when me draws git poopy." As a matter of fact, PJ did know this. His mother had lost control of a lot of her muscles since she had given birth to P.J. She kept reminding him.

P.J. helped his mother out of her tight capri pants (which she often insisted on wearing) and her white panties were turning a dark brown. Filled with feces.

"Ma, we better get you over to the bathtub, and try to drip out ya poop as little as possible on the way."

"Aww, son, you got that little Mexicali girl come tomorrow to clean up."

"Ma, she's Japanese. And I don't feel it's right to make her mop up your poop."

"Why not? You pay her. Son, you're making me feel bad about myself now for pooping ma draws."

"I'm sorry, Ma. It's not your fault. But won't you please consider diapers?"

"Son, I don't like those things. They're for old people with pee-pee problems. And they make my panties bulge. They make me feel bad about who I am."

"Christ, who ARE you!" PJ thought. PJ lived for his mom. If he ever forgot that, she reminded him.

One day recently, PJ came home from visiting the comic book shop. His mother was sitting, squishing, slipping and sliding in a pile of her own feces in his leather chair in front of the TV. She had managed to take her panties down to her ankles and her dress was up around her neck, covering her head. She was very weak and this was as far as she could manage in an attempt to change herself. She was also wearing a large, stuffed lavender bra from JC Penney.

PJ quietly left and went down to the corner bar. He ordered a double of Jack Daniels and drank it with a Bud. He then ordered another double and another Bud. And then another double and another Bud. All this in about 45 minutes. Then PJ fell on the ground. He quickly got back up, and returned to his barstool. Apparently no one had noticed. He ordered a few more drinks and stumbled home.

He was so out of his head that PJ didn't even stop to look for his mother. He went straight to his room and passed out. Next morning he was up. Roused by a terrible stench of feces in the apartment and vomit in his bedsheets.

Out in the TV room, his mother was sprawled on the floor below his shit-covered leather chair. Her feces was all over the carpet, her body, magazines, the wall. His chair would have to be replaced. His mother was asleep. He dragged her to the bathtub and turned on the water. He cleaned up the mess as well as he could with Windex, paper towels and shampoo. He trashed the magazines (Family Circle, 1986-1991 issues) and dragged his chair out into the hallway. Then into the elevator, down the three floors and out onto the sidewalk. Few people were up, as it was Saturday and just after 5 am.

Finally PJ took all of the clothes his mother had been wearing and stuffed them into a plastic bag. He walked to the window, opened it and tossed the bag into an alley. Near some trashcans. His mother now lay naked in brown water. She was 73 and looked it.

PJ drained the water and refilled the tub. He dumped in some Comet and shampoo. He left her to soak. He opened all the windows. And then he began to plan his mother's murder...

Part Two coming soon!

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What you just read is a fictionalized account to keep the reader interested. Please pay attention to this notice, as it is REAL:

Elvira Loosinghower, aged 92. Lives in a rat infested tenement house. She sits mired, in filthy bloomers all day long. She complains of her 'poopy draws' as she calls them. Only no one is there to hear her pleas.

This year, Catholic Charities is promising to fill her poopy diapers with warm food fresh from ovens. We need your dollars to help Elvira and the many poor, filthy, insane women like her.

Give. Give till it hurts, so that one day, your drawers won't be filled with your own filth too.