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| Tom Driberg, journalist and British M.P. |
Disgusting Place |
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Derek G., a boy with dark hair and a sunburned oval face, a scar on one cheek, with whom I had, for the first time, what can be called a serious love affair (no emission of semen, however, occurring as yet). He and I would repair to the lavatory, lock ourselves in one of the W.C.s, and engage in such oral and manual caresses as occurred to us to be worthy of experiment. There was a row of half-a-dozen of these W.C.s. Each boy in the school was allocated to one of them, and a list was posted showing the order in which boys had to "go," as soon as possible after breakfast, the headmaster's wife prowling and sniffing ("Have you done your business yet, Tom?"). This procedure was apt to cause psychological or even rebelliously deliberate constipation: the seat was always warm, the smell of strong disinfectant competed with the smell of shit; yet this disgusting place would also be, later in the day, the scene of embraces with Derek as intensely passionate (even if in a junior league) as those of Hèloise and Abélard. (London, 1918)
© 2000 Nerve.com, Inc.
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