book’s going to press, I have totally abstained from all drinks
containing even a trifling percentage of alcohol, as well as from grapes
and unfermented grape products. During these months I have experienced
no outbreak beyond the abrasion in the groin if not kept lubricated with
vaseline. More than ever I am convinced of the truth of the maxim: No
alcohol, no syphilis.
[Illustration: The Author at Thirty-four.]
* * * * *
As already indicated, three years after castration, my open (i.e.,
quasi-public) career as a fairie came to an end through my removal to a
distant small city where such a career incognito would be impossible. I
also now considered myself past the age for such a career, being in my
thirty-second year. My suffering from practically total abstinence was
now slight compared with earlier periods of isolation, and only such as
multitudes of normal individuals endure whom the rules of society compel
to celibacy. I no longer lost my self-control, nor was driven into the
poor quarters to make a quest under the most unfavorable and hazardous
conditions.
[Sidenote: _Year 1907—Alone in Rockies’ Wilds_.]
In 1907 I had occasion to make a trip in an uninhabited region. My
adolescent companions, who had spent a large part of their lives in the
wilds of the Rocky Mountains, had prostitutes as the main subject of
their conversation. The first hour of our travels, they recognized my
inversion, began to refer to me in my hearing as “that ——,” and
otherwise made it so disagreeable that I would have abandoned the
travelling camp if it had been possible.... I tasted such depths of
sorrow as not a human being out of a million ever tastes. One evening in
particular I wandered off alone in the woods until out of hearing of the
camp, though I actually saw that night several bears roaming within a
hundred feet. I had a violent desire to die, and did not fear being torn
to pieces. Continuously for about an hour, I wailed at the top of my
voice over my terrible lot in life, that of a despised, hated, and
outlawed degenerate, and over the possibly impending unfathomable
disgrace among a party of men from whom I could not at present get away.
Not until after my thirty-third birthday did I attempt coitus cum
puella. Up to this time the very thought was too repulsive. This
aversion had now in large part passed away, although I had not the
slightest inclination. I looked upon it merely as a scientific
experiment. Though castration has always been without effect on orgasm
when in juxtaposition cum viris, it was now impossible, notwithstanding
my companion’s manustupration and my own concentration of thoughts on
fellatio with my idols. Penetration was of course impossible.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _Coitus cum Puella Impossible._]
In 1907 I removed to a city of several hundred thousand inhabitants. As
I frequently felt a sense of utter loneliness and melancholia during my
two years of practical sexual isolation—for I never indulged in even
flirtation with adolescents of my every-day circle—I decided to seek a
mate at a military post a few miles from the city. I still longed for a
mate to the same degree as the average normal individual.
I had several hundred to choose from, and selected the most attractive,
a six-foot, curly-haired, large-boned, blonde athlete of twenty years. I
easily scraped acquaintance, and thereafter visited him at the fort
three evenings a month, but fellatio occurred at hardly more than
one-half of our meetings, chiefly because I did not wish to be
intellectually dull the next day or two. The most beautiful sight that I
ever saw was this adolescent when accoutered to stand guard. I found
that he was by far the most tattooed person that I had ever associated
with—for me a great attraction. I also found that he possessed the most
charming personality, always treating me most affably notwithstanding
that I represented myself—as a safeguard against possible blackmail—as
occupying a far lower station in life than the actual. At almost our
first meeting I determined to adopt him as my “kiddo-son” (combination
of son and consort). For the first time, I now, at the age of
thirty-three, regarded my particular friend in the son-relation rather
than in the husband-relation. But I secretly looked upon him as my
husband. Relations were, however, not entirely monandrous, as he brought
several of his comrades on our walks.
[Sidenote: _First “Adopted Son.”_]
Not until after sixteen months of occasional association at the fort did
I reveal my true name and status, having found that he was entirely
trustworthy. He now regularly visited my home, and continued to manifest
a most beautiful and accommodating disposition. He was my jewel—the
chief thing to me in life. When his second enlistment expired, he was to
come and live with me as my “son.”
In 1914 business took me back to New York. My “son’s” enlistment was
soon to expire, and he was to join me there. I had no thought of
renewing my visits to Forts X and Y, because practically all the
soldiers serve only three years and my friends had doubtless all left.
Besides I had become too old (40, though looking to be below 30) for
romantic adventures, and my desire for female-impersonation had become
comparatively weak.
In due time, my “son” came to make his home with me. We shared a
pleasant and refined apartment. I had at last obtained an almost
life-long desire—to live with an adored young man as his mate. I told
him that whenever he was ready, I expected him to bring a wife to our
home, and I was to continue to live with them as a parent. I hoped that
occasional fellatio would continue unbeknown to the wife. I also told
him that his offspring would be to me the same as if they were my own.
[Sidenote: _Year 1914—At Age of Forty_.]
But within a few days after we were settled, he, much to my surprise,
forbade me to touch him, and insisted that we sleep in separate rooms.
My grief was intense. As many as a hundred times a day as I sat in my
office or in my home, I had to wipe the tears out of my eyes. Finally he
yielded to my tears, and promised that one hour each week I could get
close to him, and that all love-making must be confined to that one
hour. But I kept an accurate account, and the period averaged only
thirty-six minutes a week. I had continually to beg and weep for that
morsel of time. I was presenting gift after gift, mostly cash. For every
gift, I received a kick—figuratively. He told me that he stayed with me
for the six months just for what he could get out of me. He said he
could never think of admitting to the bonds of friendship a person
abnormal sexually. He would stay in the same room with me an aggregate
of only about three hours a week, although I was pining for his mere
presence.
He permitted fellatio three times a month, but much preferred the normal
with a fille de joie, with whom he spent one night each week, and on
whom he spent practically all his money. He stated that he was averse to
fellatio because he wished to save all his vita sexualis for the filles.
With the exception of the half-year following my expulsion from the
university, this half-year was the most unhappy of my life. The three
hours a week that we saw each other were mostly spent in his scolding me
and my weeping almost continuously. He would say that he hated the sight
of me. Tears were generally running down my cheeks even during fellatio.
He had broken my heart by proving to be a traitor to our friendship. But
my devotion was not at all lessened. After six months he deserted my
home—as stunning a blow as the death of a brother.
[Sidenote: _“Son” Breaks My Heart._]
But I pursued him and through cash induced him to call on me twice a
month for the following two years, when he removed from New York.
Several months after he deserted my home, he showed repentance for the
way he had treated me while living there. He became as winsome and
accommodating as ever, but did not care to live with me again. He said
that he could not stand my continual petting. He gave as the reason for
his change from winsomeness to an extremely cruel attitude the influence
of a boon companion in the army, who, after expiration of enlistment,
also took up his residence in New York and continued to be a chum and a
frequent visitor at our home. This companion was one of the few
adolescents who feel an intense and incurable antipathy for an
effeminate male, and continually sought to poison my “son’s” mind
against me, and persuade him to have nothing to do with me.
During the summer of 1916, when my “son” left New York, I became anxious
to be possessed of a second. Four evenings were spent hunting in small
parks where poor adolescents were accustomed to sit. As I searched I
prayed the Heavenly Father to send a suitable adolescent to become my
“son.” I still shrank from betraying my androgynism to any adolescent of
my every-day circle. I desired to reveal it to some brand-new
acquaintance among manual laborers, associate with him a few months
incognito, and then, if he proved worthy of trust, reveal my identity.
Not until the fourth evening did I run across a cleanly good-looking
adolescent seated alone—a khaki-clad soldier, my ideal both in respect
to type of manhood and in respect to apparel. I immediately entered into
conversation. He confided that he was penniless and was spending the
evening in the park with the hope that a passive invert would come along
and provide him with money. I found him an ideal companion for an
androgyne. He had also served an enlistment in the navy, thus uniting
the two characters, soldier and blue-jacket, which I have always gone
wild over.
[Sidenote: _Second “Adopted Son.”_]
After an acquaintance of _only one hour_, because I found him uniquely
acceptable, and because he had to leave the following morning for the
Mexican border, the agreement was made that he was to be my “adopted
son” and come to live with me when his enlistment expired. At the same
time I gave him my true name and address.
In the late fall his enlistment expired, and he returned to New York to
live with me. The indications that he would prove to be an ideal
adolescent to share the apartment of an androgyne more than came true.
He was always good-natured and respectful. But he had had no moral
training and was an extreme dipsomaniac. He was the illegitimate son of
a mistress of a house of ill fame. I did my best to reform him. He would
carry away my personal belongings to exchange for whiskey. He refused to
work, depending entirely on me for his support.
[Sidenote: _My Home is Burglarized._]
One evening after we had lived together a month, I returned from work to
find my apartment in the condition in which burglars would have left it,
locked closets and drawers broken open, and their contents scattered
around. All small objects of some value which could readily be pawned
were missing. Particularly the carbon duplicate of this autobiography,
the ink original having been sent to Berlin three years before and not
heard from since on account of the war. I found the following note:
“Dear friend Ralph,
My friend over in Jersey City told me to do this what I have done. He
may come over to see you tonight or soon, for he says I am doing wrong.
He tells me you will get ten years for what you have done. I was drunk
when I told him.”
I hardly slept that night. It was primarily a wife’s sorrow over
desertion by an idolized husband, and secondarily the overwhelming fear
of blackmail or else of disclosure with consequent loss of economic and
social position. Moreover, I momentarily expected that the Jersey City
friend—a former soldier—would call, possibly in order to put me under
arrest. I kept my apartment in darkness the entire evening as I lay on
my bed immersed in the deepest grief. My only utterance was, over and
over again: “The Lord hath given, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed
be the name of the Lord.”
The following evening I was amazed at learning that the manuscript of
this autobiography had been returned by _parcels post_. The package had
been inadvertently opened by my landlord, and I therefore decided to
confess my androgynism. Moreover, on account of the expected call from
criminally-minded blackmailers, it was desirable to appeal to him for
protection. His marvellous and hardly expected sympathy greatly relieved
my distress. I proposed vacating his house, but he would not hear of it.
[Sidenote: _Year 1917._]
The next evening I was amazed at receiving by messenger a letter from my
boy to come at once to his succor. I found him in a terrible plight,
recovering from a spree. His “pal” had kicked him out of his home as
soon as the money was gone received for my belongings. Blackmail and a
ransom for my manuscript had been planned, but relinquished when they
had skimmed the story of my life. My “son” had only discovered its
existence after he broke the lock where it was in storage. I would have
immediately taken him back into my home, but my landlord refused to let
a thief and a drunkard into the house again. I supported him for another
month, but as he rendered me almost continuously unhappy, I then put him
on a train bound for his Illinois home.
To those who have not arrived at a correct estimate of androgynism, I
state that if he had continued to live with me as my son, his life would
have been enriched along all lines, in particular morally and
religiously. In practically every act of my life, I have been guided by
the highest moral and religious ideals. Outside of sexual delinquencies,
my life has been entirely offenceless. An androgyne, even when living
out his nature, can attain the same ethical and religious heights as any
other individual.
[Illustration: The Author at Forty-four.]
* * * * *
Arrived in my 45th year and at practically the close of my vita
sexualis, my advice to the youthful invert just embarking on the journey
of life is not to be disheartened over his fate. Nature, as in my own
case, will bestow compensating boons for her harshness in this one
respect. If instinct is strong, it is advisable to follow it in
moderation. But it should hold only a secondary place in life. It should
be remembered that Nature exacts a penalty in the shape of impaired
vigor of mind and body for practically every sexual indulgence—and
perhaps as much of the normally sexed as of her stepchildren, the
congenitally abnormal. Consider whether indulgence is worth the cost in
health.
[Sidenote: _In My 45th Year._]
Comparing in 1918 my sexual lot with that of the normal male, I feel
that in the matter of the vita sexualis, Nature has been kind to me. She
has compensated me for the unusual amount of suffering bound up with the
life of the outcast androgyne.
Comparing my sexual lot with that of the normal woman who bears
children, I feel of course that she stands on a much higher plane. Her
functioning has an exalted end, the perpetuation of the race, and is
attended with infinitely more self-sacrifice than is the androgyne’s.
Why does Nature make approximately one out of every 300 physical males
an androgyne or passive invert? The practice of the ancient Romans, as
well as my own experience and that of other androgynes whom I have
known, suggests the answer. All patrician fathers of ancient Rome
provided androgyne slaves as concubines of their adolescent sons.
Marriage with a woman put an absolute end to these relations. In the
case of myself and my androgyne acquaintances, practically no man beyond
the age of 26 ever sought or permitted relations. The function appears
to be to fill in the period between the arrival at puberty and the
arrival at the age when it is possible to beget unblemished offspring.
With the ultra-virile adolescent, it is often a choice between solitary
onanism and androgynous relations.
[Sidenote: _Year 1918._]
As this autobiography goes to press in my 45th year, my health is
unchanged from what it has been since castration at the age of 28. I am
rather feeble, almost a semi-invalid, averaging two days a week when I
am in a state of mental and physical collapse. I am, however, an
unusually hard worker in my profession during my comparatively well
intervals. I have achieved the average business success that comes to
university graduates notwithstanding my semi-invalidism and effeminacy.
Particularly business has caused me to mingle intimately to a large
extent with the very highest class of society, just as my lot has been
to mingle intimately and to a large extent with those at the very bottom
of the social scale.
As to my personal appearance in my middle forties, my youthfulness is
still often commented upon. Recently a new acquaintance, twelve years
younger than myself, remarked that he would have taken me, “as for the
oldest possible, for twelve years younger than” I really am. I am
inclined to think that preservation of a youthful appearance down to
middle life is a common characteristic of androgynes. As they are
affected more or less with psychical infantilism, this mental trait is
likely thus to betray itself somewhat in the physical form. An adult
androgyne of my acquaintance has conspicuously the form of skull and
face of an infant. Another androgyne acquaintance appears at fifty-five
to be under thirty when viewed from a distance of forty feet, but close
by his face is seen to be covered with very fine wrinkles such as appear
in the face of an ordinary individual only when past the age of eighty.
[Sidenote: _Conclusion._]
Having now (1918) arrived near the close of a half-century of life as an
androgyne, I find my vita sexualis practically at an end, and feel
thereby liberated from an incubus which has hitherto prevented my making
the most of my god-given faculties. As I look back on life, I am of the
opinion that I have had a “hard row to hoe.” In occasional spells of
anguish, I have been tempted, like the patriarch Job, to “curse God and
die,” because He created me a _degenerate_, a person almost universally
despised and hated for proclivities and acts for which he is not really
responsible. On such occasions, I have also, in the deep gloom which the
realization of my perverted nature brings upon me, importuned the
Creator to show mercy on me, who have been appointed to such a terrible
fate. In my more spiritual moods I shrink from the memory of the
experiences through which my abnormality caused me to pass, and am
overwhelmed with despair at the thought of the depths of perdition to
which cultured humanity consigns the androgyne who yields to his
instincts.
I trust that the publication of my life story will contribute to a
correct estimate of androgynism on the part of scientists, the molders
of public opinion, and the lawmakers, and to a more kindly treatment by
society of those born with this curse. It is only expressing half the
truth to say that they are more to be pitied than scorned. They are
wholly to be pitied.
October, 1918.
APPENDIX I
IMPRESSIONS OF THE AUTHOR
_By a Business Associate_
[The editor, although aware of the identity of the writer of this
sketch, omits his name upon his request.—A. W. H.]
[Sidenote: Impressions of an Associate.]
My acquaintance with the author dates back over eleven years to the day
when I commenced work in the same large office where he was employed. We
continued to work in the same room and in close association for five
years, and have kept up a close friendship for the six subsequent years.
On entering my new place of work, he was one of the first persons to
attract my attention because of his rather peculiar cast of features. My
second distinct memory of him is of entering the office to find him
weeping bitterly as he sat at his desk. Since masculine tears are a
rather unusual sight, I instituted inquiries and learned that his chief
had just called his attention to an error discovered in his work. A
third very early memory was of the author’s coming up to me, and saying
after we had exchanged a few words: “Did you know I am a woman?” After
beholding for a moment my mystification, he said: “I was only joking.”
He went on his way, leaving me trying to unravel the question as to
wherein the joke lay.
Other incidents like the two described tended to confirm my original
impression that he was a rather eccentric individual, as he was indeed
generally regarded by the office staff, who, however, at the same time
recognized his good qualities.
About a year elapsed before our acquaintance assumed any degree of
intimacy, and it was only after a second year had elapsed that he
confided to me his history as outlined in the autobiography. His thus
making me his confidant I attribute in large measure to the circumstance
that he had learned at a relatively early date that I had read
Krafft-Ebing’s “Psychopathia Sexualis,” and was therefore presumably in
a position to give a sympathetic and intelligent hearing. Whether this
was the underlying reason or not, it was an important factor in
determining my attitude towards him, since the practices consequent on
his abnormality inspire me with intense disgust. Only the conviction
that he was no more responsible than was Dr. Holmes’ Elsie Venner for
her obliquity could have induced me to associate on terms of intimacy
with one who resorted to such practices. In fact I had been for some
years previously acquainted with a man notorious throughout his
community for these same practices, but always avoided him whenever
possible.
As a matter of fact, it would be difficult for any but the most bigoted,
knowing the author of this autobiography, to impute wilful perversion to
him. In his general habit of thought, he has always shown an austere
morality that caused him at times to be referred to playfully in the
office as “Cato the censor.” At the same time he displayed in many ways
so much guilelessness and lack of worldly wisdom as to make it
impossible to believe that this moral austerity could be merely a mask
of deep-dyed hypocrisy. It is, in fact, difficult to associate with him
without being convinced of his deep religious feeling. Going to church
appears to be indeed one of the chief joys of his life. Because it would
keep him from the church service, I have even known him to decline an
invitation to dinner from an old friend whom he had not seen for several
years and to whom he was under great obligations. In fact I have myself
come to regard attendance at church services on Sunday as inevitable a
feature of my visits to the author’s home as it is of my visits to my
parents, these being in fact the only occasions on which I attend
church.
My characterization of the author’s personal appearance would be as mild
and ovine (that is, sheeplike). A young lady co-laborer of his in the
office said on one occasion when some of us men had been teasing him
that he looked “like a frightened bunny.” Most persons would probably
set him down as somewhat lacking in the more forceful, virile quality.
He conveys the impression, as it were, of always being on the point of
apologizing for the fact that he exists.
He proved to be an admirable subject for teasing, and some of us at the
office got as much fun out of teasing him as we would from teasing and
playing tricks on our girl friends, and his reaction to it was
essentially feminine—a sort of pleased childlike pride at being the
object of attention.
He also at times displayed typically feminine reactions of disgust at
repulsive or seemingly repulsive objects. On one occasion, for example,
he tore off and threw away the cover of a publication on his desk in the
office which had been stained with red ink, because it looked like
blood.