A childhood memoir of life before polio, and immediately after, and my magical childhood adventures in and out of a wheelchair
Sex
It was too rude. But I felt an excitement that I could not contain. I felt it in my loins, in my willy region. I had to do something really rude. I was only four but I felt this urge to do a `number two` where you shouldn’t do a `number two`, not in the toilet but beside it! This excited me so much that I got an erection. Placing newspaper beside the loo I gently, and with a certain amount of relish, crapped upon the open paper, then screwing the newspaper up in a neat parcel enfolding my `effort` I thrust it down the toilet. After many a pull on the chain I managed to get rid of it.
I even dug holes in wooded areas. I had this urge to crap out in the open. It was exciting. It was daring. It was rude. I liked `rude`. I liked getting erections. I didn’t have orgasms. It was not until I was eleven that I achieved that. And that was in the SEA! Again, I had this urge to be rude, to do what (I thought) nobody else would or could do. Therein lay the rub: nobody else would, or could, do it! That’s what made it so exciting. I would wait until low tide, and when nobody was about I would ease myself down the steps by the Clock Tower and into my beloved sea, take off my swimming trunks, placing them safely around my neck, and be rude all by myself.
I guess it was the `man-in-the-raincoat` syndrome, only I didn’t expose myself to women, only the sea: it was the excitement of being naked and no one knowing. I would get erection after erection after erection. And then. And THEN! What happened next was so extraordinary that I felt that I had done myself harm. My willy became so swollen that it burst! At least I thought that it had. I was convinced that I had done myself an injury...and yet...and yet it was exquisitely wonderful. Never had I experienced anything like it. That sensational sensation was a turning point for me.
Of course I still had romantic yearnings for girls, I always have. But this, this was a new dimension. I entered the sea now with a new purpose, a new prospective: I had to achieve this incredible sensation again. And I did, over and over. But the autumn was upon us. Never have I cursed the autumn more, never. But there it was. And the sea gave-in to its prompting and cooled. But I soon learned another way to satisfy this new need and I never took my swimming trunks off again. I initiated myself into the joys of… well, I could put it another way but the word masturbation will have to do.
In my pre-polio days (I guess I was about 6-years-old) I even enlisted the power of `fire` in my sexual preambles. I would share this experience with another boy of similar age. At low tide, we would both go below the bandstand, taking with us matches and newspaper. There was a ledge on which we would spread out the newspaper, he on one side of the ledge and I on the other.
We made sure that we were as far away from each other as possible, otherwise we could not indulge, not get excited, not get the erection for which we both (?} craved. After crapping, we set fire to the paper! Why we did this, I’m not sure. Perhaps it added to the fuel of excitement: two young boys setting fire to their own faeces. A strange echo back to the magic power of fire! Strangely, we never spoke about it. Never. There were some things that were best left unsaid.
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