gloated over pictures of the sexual organs. A. was with us on one
occasion. J. told me how he liked to roll over and over in bed
with his hand placed under his scrotum. This act, he said, made
him imagine that he was obtaining coitus. He advised me to slide
my penis back and forth in the vagina whenever I should actually
obtain coitus. In my room at school J. once drew an imaginary map
of a bagnio, in which the water-closet was carefully displayed
_en suite_ with the bedrooms. J. and I never masturbated
together. Indeed, I cannot remember seeing his organ. A hulking
boy of 16, who lived opposite the school-grounds, became intimate
with J., and we three went on a walk up the railroad track. The
big boy, W., tried to inflame my passions by telling me how he
and J. had had coitus with a handsome black-haired widow in town,
but I remained cold.

During this year I fell in love with C., a popular, talkative,
witty boy of my own age, or perhaps a year younger. He fancied me
and we slept together one night under the most innocent
circumstances. I never dreamed of having sexual relations with
him, and yet I fairly burned with love for him. My stay at his
beautiful home over Sunday while his parents were away was one
long delight. We slept in each other's arms, but there was no
sexuality. En route to C.'s home he pointed with a glove to a
little working-girl, saying he would like to have intercourse
with her, but this was the only remark of the kind that ever
passed his lips in my presence. When undressed save for his
undershirt, he laughingly held his unerect organ in his hand and
made the motions of obtaining conjunction with an imaginary
partner. Once we spoke of masturbation (I could recite the
information of my good physician with a marvelous show of
virtue), and C. remarked: "Yes, doing that makes boys crazy." C.
finally grew tired of my deceptive, babyish nature and
ultra-interest in books and puzzles, but I cherished an
undiminished affection for him, and when he was detained at home
for a fortnight with a broken arm, I wrote him a passionate
letter, which I sobbed over and actually wetted with my tears.
But the fervor of my passion died at the close of the year. I
consider this unsullied friendship to be the only redeeming
feature of my sensual days at school.

Ver