Some Observations on Dr. Mears' Method (from the Notebook of J. Watson M.D.)
by Taz (aka Quisp)
May 27, 18…
Case concluded. (Ld. Bromleigh not satisfied with outcome, but putting a good face on it – would not be shocked to read shortly that Lady B is taking a rest cure in Switzerland.) Nonetheless, S exhausted - fell asleep in corner of compartment during journey home. Put my coat under his head – drooling only adorable when babies do it. Thought made me smile. Dropped M a line in anticipation before of seeing her before we left.
May 29, 18…
(a.m.) It is good to be back in Baker Street and Mrs. H's cooking. Weather still cool. S sleeping in. Case has taken more out of him than I realized. I, personally, plan to spend the morning catching up on mail and professional journals – new issue of The Lancet (article on symptomology of masturbation) and Journal of Medical Jurisprudence. Lunch with M.
(p.m.) S complaining of lower back pain and neuralgia. Told him his own fault for falling asleep on the train. Said I was going to bill him for stain on jacket sleeve. Have misplaced Lancet. Hope it isn't gone for good. Rosie says she hasn't seen it, but she'll use whatever's to hand to start the fire.
May 31, 18…
(a.m.) S yawned through breakfast. Says he is tired – bored – asked what I had done with my medical bag this time. (Cocaine). I suggested a course of exercise and Everly's pills and received an unprintable reply. He relented later, asking if I wanted to hear Lucia di Lammermoor at the opera on Saturday. Said it was awfully kind of him but admitted I had a previous engagement. S gave me such a funny look. (Seeing M, I shall have to keep my wits about me – S can be so juvenile about these things.)
(p.m.) A cozy evening at home. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for dinner. Can M cook? Doesn't matter, we'll hire…oh, that is seriously putting the cart before the horse. Discovered Lancet under sofa cushion and put it aside; S is a little down but Lestrade stopped by after dinner to share a pipe and talk over a report in Police Gazette.
June 4, 18…
(a.m.) New G&S production at the Savoy. Asked S if he wanted me to get tickets, said if not I shall take M. S snapped at me, saying I could do as I like but then apologized, said he felt fatigued and complained of ringing in the ears, palpitations of the heart and pain in joints and could I prescribe anything? Did not ask about my bag. That was a trifle worrisome, but I checked while he was napping and found it undisturbed.
(p.m.) S insisted on having a bath tonight – drove Mrs. H and Rosie to distraction, calling incessantly for hot water, and then lingering in the tub so long that I was finally compelled to knock on his door and ask if he had drowned. No answer. I opened the door. S reacted by grabbing violently for the sponge and soaking the floor. Said I was worse than his mother. Said he didn't hear me. Oddly flushed about the face. Faint astringent odor. Soap? Familiar – can't quite place it.
June 7, 18…
(a.m.) S asked for a digestive powder after breakfast. Said stomach was bad. I asked if he'd been eating fish and chips from that filthy stall in the Haymarket again. He said what business of mine was it what he ate and disappeared into bedroom, again. Came out an hour later, looking pale, and lounged about smoking. Air foul from tobacco – would not let me open a window. Mrs. H says he hasn't been out of the house all week.
(p.m.) Concert at R, Botanical Grdns with M. Recalled that smell – a flowering pear they have in Herat. M said it was very masculine – cannot repeat to her what the enlisted men used to say smell was like. Arrived home to Mrs. H complaining S barely touched his supper. Sulking. Fear may be anemia. Or worms.
June 11, 18…
(a.m.) A note in morning post – M's parents have extended an invitation to attend a luncheon party they are hosting next week in honor of her brother's birthday. A sign! A definite sign! Is it possible that I can look forward to an August wedding?
(p.m.) S gave a violent start and grabbed for a pillow as I entered the sitting room this afternoon. I thought he must have heard me whistling. When I said so, he refused to meet my eyes. When I asked how he was feeling, he snarled it was none of my business, and went and slammed his bedroom door. He has been unusually agitated (I mean for him) since we returned from Bromleigh. Knew this wasn't going to be easy, but I am so grateful to have M in my life. The thought of marriage and the pleasures of domesticity…an end to temptation and nocturnal pollution (again last night, to my shame).
June 12, 18…
(a.m.) S very listless, complains of being tired, but unable to relax. Jumps at every little noise in the street. Skin looks jaundiced. Probably anemia. Asked Mrs. H to prepare liver and onions for supper – and to lay in some beefsteaks – eggs – malt – anything to build up his blood.
(p.m.) Theatre with M who asked me where my head was all evening when I dropped her home. Possibly more concerned about S than I realize.
June 16, 18…
(a.m.) Am becoming seriously worried. S still listless. No appetite. Complained of heartburn again, snapped at Mrs. H and Rosie and then asked if I believed in Hell. He wanted to know my opinion on whether Christ would return in this century or the next. Religion of all things! I mean S! What next? Entreated him to come for a walk with me but said he felt too nervous to out and was going to lie down and get a grip on himself. It may be that his back is still hurting – I can hear him groaning. Shall stay in tonight and keep my eye on him – encourage him to eat. Finish that article in Lancet – if I can discover where that wretched girl has put it this time.
(p.m.) S insists on having another bath. Twice in one week! With all this commotion how am I supposed to concentrate on my reading? Taking The Journal to bed
June 17, 18…
(a.m.) Horrible. Too horrible to wri… No! I am a doctor – a man of science! Nothing in Nature can be alien to me, and – despite any feeling of personal disgust – I am in honor bound to myself, as much as for S's sake, to lay out the hideous truth that has been before my nose for weeks. I should have seen it – the languid eye, the nervous guilt, the irritability, the mental and physical depression, the heart palpitations, the ringing in the ears, the loss of energy and appetite, the indigestion, the sudden dislike of female society – S is a compulsive masturbator! He has all the signs. How shall I get through this day?
(p.m.) Expect I made a poor impression on M's parents – so upset by the shock that when her father asked if I had any interesting cases at hand, could feel my face turning scarlet.
Add: Have perused all the books and journals my library affords on the subject – to no avail. It is almost dawn.
June 18, 18…
(a.m.) How all occasions do inform against him – now that my eyes have been opened to the truth! Thought breakfast would never end. Told Mrs. H that she must never serve sausages again. Recalled that the author of the article in The Lancet – Dr. Mears – lives in Harley Street. I am going to consult him.(p.m.) S abed when I arrived home. Thank Heaven! I am still shaking. It is worse than I feared. Sat down on sofa and turned over a cushion to plump it and…there was a damp stain! To my horror – as if I must have incontrovertible evidence – I found myself sniffing it. Must get a firm grip on my… Must accept…as his friend…as his doctor! Dr. Mears says that with respect to prognosis everything depends on early intervention – before the mind becomes too impaired to exert self-control when reasoned with. Fortunately, Dr. Mears has sold me a pamphlet in which he outlines a program by which he has successful broken hundreds of men and boys of the fatal habit. And even some women! (So he says, but the thought of my M… Impossible!)Add: Have read Mears' pamphlet. Is my courage up to this?
June 19, 18…
(a.m.) S did not appear at breakfast. No sausages.
(p.m.) S did not appear for Dinner, or for Tea or for Supper. His door is locked (I tried the knob). If he refuses food and drink, and persists in this insanity, there is no doubt of it becoming so all-consuming as to swallow up his entire being. It is impossible to contemplate the ruin of a fine mind and stand by and do nothing. Went and listened at door – could hear soft ragged moans issuing from the other side. Dr. Mears's pamphlet advises me – says it imperative – to observe and record as much evidence about the patient as possible before confronting him.
Observations: Got on my knees and peered through the keyhole. S sitting up in bed with nightshirt bunched around his waist– his knees were spread open, allowing me a full view of the erect penis and scrotum –which appeared of a fine deep ruddy color and surrounded by a thatch of rich dark hair – both appeared in a state of extreme tension. S had the base of the shaft encompassed in his hand which he was passing up and down in such a manner, and with such vigor, that soon resulted in a small discharge of semen. (It was obvious from the pitiful quantity of the emission that he has been persisting in this for some time.) After spending himself, S groaned and fell back crying. Tears poured down his cheeks, and yet he did not release the shaft, but continued the whole time that I watched to apply his hand to the softened member – you might have thought despite the futility of such action so soon after… But, shortly, as he muttered bitter imprecations to it, the organ became re-engorged and stood upright again. As I watched, he repeated the performance three times! Each time the emission of semen was less! How long has he been at it? This barren practice has to be the cause of his exhausted vitality. Oh, my poor friend, to see that great mind trapped by such a perversion of that powerful will.
June 20, 18…
(a.m.) It is imperative that I break S of this vice. A doctor should be proof against contamination but as I was jotting these notes, I experienced a violent demand upon my own will and barely managed to suppress the temptation to waste what should be conserved and only expended in the matrimonial bed. Mrs. H has gone to visit her sister. As we will be batching it for a week, I will attempt to reason with S. But how does one out-reason the master of pure reason?
Add: Reason failed. Have informed that him I will kick the door in if he does not come out in ten minutes.
Add: Words cannot describe the relief I felt when my poor friend emerged from that room. I had dropped into the arm chair and he came, pale and weak, to kneel in front of me, place his head in my lap and weep as he admitted that since our return from Brampton he had surrendered himself to the grip of the solitary vice – his sudden interest in bathing was an attempt to cure himself of the 'itch,' so to speak but instead, had inflamed him to such a degree that increasingly he found himself unable conduct his daily affairs without 'having it off' hourly. Sometimes twice-hourly! It was as if his prick had declared independence of mind and would no longer submit to the even harshest discipline. This is what comes of believing there is no harm in moderate self-indulgence. There is no such thing as 'moderate self-indulgence' when it comes to moral pollution. I judge him, but I cannot in conscience withhold my hand. The stoniest saint would have been moved to tears, seeing how humbly he begged for help.
I explained that modern medical science has proved conclusively that the pernicious effects of masturbation – to give the frightful practice its proper name – are indisputable. The frequent discharge of semen in addition to wasting vitality causes increase of blood to the brain, the quality of which distends the nerves and weakens them, and they are less able to resist impressions, whereby the mind is enfeebled, which leads to gradually but inevitably to dementia. Dr. Mears' pamphlet prescribes daily bathing of the racial organ in cold water only. Hot water is to be eschewed and all foods which enflame the blood (must tell Mrs. H to remove all cloves, cinnamon, vinegar, pickles, chocolate, eggs and pork from the larder and lay in a good supply of porridge oats and Farley's Rusks).
Add: Persuaded S to eat a little cold beef and to lie down on the sofa. Have written M to put off dinner this evening and made up list of supplies to obtain from the Chemist. Do I dare leave him alone for an hour?
Add: As I feared – impossible to leave him, even sound asleep – he keeps fondling himself through the material of his trousers. I have found it necessary to restrain his hands – but he is calling out to me in his sleep for help. Dr. Mears' pamphlet says it is imperative the patient obtain plenty of healthful rest so, following his directions, I applied my hand and gave S relief in that manner without waking him. That, if nothing else, would seem to prove the efficacy of Dr. Mears' Method. I am going to put it into effect, but I plan to keep detailed notes (There could be a paper in this).
(p.m.) S awoke in the afternoon. He looked refreshed, but was taken aback to find his hands bound. I apologized for the inconvenience, but said that as he had placed himself in my hands it was my professional opinion the expedient was necessary so as to begin the process of breaking him of the habit of self-pollution as quickly as possible. He said that he understood and would consider submitting to my authority, if I would explain how he was supposed to eat, dress himself, and perform the necessary bodily functions if he were tied up. I said that, until some mechanical device could be devised that would conceal his genitals so thoroughly that they might as well be in another country from his hands, I would assist him. He said that was fortunate as he required immediate assistance.
Urination was accomplished by holding the vessel while standing. After that, I brought S into his bedroom, laid him down, and stripped him by the process of tying his hands, one at a time, and then his feet, to the bed posts. The intractable nature of his condition was demonstrated by the state of his penis which, when his trousers were removed, proved to be painfully swollen. It remained so until I had manually relieved it. S expressed gratitude, but I explained that the first step in breaking the habit is to forcibly disengage any inclination on the victim's part from the impression that there is any relief to be obtained by his own hand. Only then did I feel secure in leaving him to run my errand.
When I returned it was necessary to relieve the penis again before applying Dr. Mears' Method.
Note: Everything needed for Dr. Mears' Method may be purchased at the Chemist from ready stock (except for masturbation drawers which must be ordered especially).
The Method is as follows: an oil-silk sheath which projects an inch beyond the length of the penis is constructed. Then a layer of cotton wadding is applied around the oil-silk extending around the hips to the waist. This covers the scrotum, except for a triangular opening to expose the buttocks for defecation. A plaster bandage covers all which when hardened makes a casing that will defy the hands to communicate through. The patient wears this appliance for two weeks, or until he has given up the habit. After that, normal masturbation drawers must be worn at night to guard against nocturnal temptation.
This is the procedure that I followed with S and the whole time that I worked S looked baffled, asking if I was serious. I said I was as serious as death – it was his life that was at stake; the general public is not fully aware of the dangers of masturbation, which include insanity, epilepsy, imbecility, venereal disease and prostitution. He said that he hadn't quite realized how much attention medicine had been giving the subject of self-pollution. Only when the plaster was thoroughly cured did I release his hands and permit him to dress.
Add: We have been to dinner and S is now sitting quietly, like a cat contemplating the fire. I can't imagine that the plaster casing is comfortable, but it must be a relief to have that hideous burden lifted from his shoulders – all things considered; I'd best lock my bag away and tie his hands to the bedposts tonight.
Add: Reflecting in bed, it occurred to me S dependent on my help for so many little things – must let M know that I may not be able to see her for a bit.
June 21, 18…
Observations: S was cranky and sullen this morning. He wandered restlessly, rapping on the stiff plaster beneath the fabric of his trousers. Asked what the matter was, he complained of 'swelling.' I retrieved the bottle of mineral oil from my bag. With just a few drops of that I was able to relieve him by manual massage of the prostate.
June 22, 18…
Observations: S still surly but came to me twice voluntarily. Complained of chaffing, but made joke about how long this was going to go on when I tied him up tonight.
June 23, 18…
Observations: S in better mood when he presented himself today. Afterwards – as a reward – I have been dusting his buttocks with talcum powder. Dr. Mears pamphlet recommends rubbing it in well and it seems to relax him. He looks rested. The Method is working!
June 24, 18…
Observations: I hesitate to set down what happened today, but my dedication to scientific truth compels me.
It had been such a pleasure seeing S so peaceful and docile – as one becomes when submitting to necessity – I was not prepared for the irritation and restlessness of this evening. When he appeared with his trousers open for the third time, demanding that I interrupt what I was doing to relieve him, and to know how long he was going to have to endure this frustration – I told him that he would have to wait – patience is the heart of Dr. Mears' Method.
He became furious and said if he'd known this was how I behaved when I got a little power over a man, he would never have teased me, or let the game go this far. I said that if he thought this was a game he was mistaken – his sanity that was at stake! At which point, he said that he had enough sanity and all he wanted 'this blasted cock-jacket' off. He intended to to find my bag and get the saw. Dr. Mears speaks of the critical moment in treatment, when the patient's will rebels a last time before being broken to discipline.
I caught him, and flung him over the dining table, and proceed to wallop the daylights out of him.
When I was done his buttocks were as bright and red as a rare roast beef. They looked as if they were enflamed – and he was panting so hard I couldn't help petting them tenderly – to sooth him and to let him know that I was not truly angry – it was my fear for him that had, perhaps, lent too much strength to my arm – the heat was astonishing – they burned – he cried out, squirming under my hand – I thought I was causing him pain. But when I took my hand away, to my further astonishment, he sobbed and begged for me to continue, saying he had never needed my help so badly.
It was my responsibility that he was in this state. The bottle of mineral oil was nearby, but my hand was shaking so badly when I picked it up that some of it spattered over that burning flesh. I began rubbing it in, thinking I'd get rid of it that way, and discovered that if I'd thought that his buttocks were glowing before, they positively gleamed under that sheen of spreading oil. The sensation was intoxicating – my hand gliding over firm, lubricated flesh – and the oil dripped between his cheeks, greasing the way for my finger to follow. It slid inside him and I worked it back and forth but it was not enough to relieve him.
S howled and cursed and swore. He asked me if I was wet-nurse or a doctor! If I was a wet-nurse, let him suck my prick, but if I was a doctor then use it as it was meant to be used! He needed it! He was hysterical and I was desperate, fearing for his sanity. I recalled Dr. Mears saying that the most unnatural act between two men is less detrimental to the brain than moral pollution.
I had no choice. I opened my trousers and my rampant prick leapt to its duty. I sheathed it and fucked him, until the sweat was dripping off my nose and my bollocks were pulsing with the effort to contain their treasure. But the feeling of slamming into pliant flesh is indescribable (I swell writing about it). He called my name…begging…bucking…urging me on…it was perfection of motion and moment…until he suddenly let a deep throaty cry and I felt his arse throbbing around me. In that instant – there was no help for it – I shot my account into his bum and collapsed.
As I lay there panting over his back, I realized with a start that the lamp was about to go off the side of the table and caught just it before it fell. But everything else – the glass and china – was scattered in shards on the floor. Beneath me, S groaned and proposed that, in the interests of preserving the establishment, if I would only occasionally fuck him like that he might be able, with effort, to give up the solitary vice.
The force my climax had bankrupted me, nonetheless, I stood up on trembling legs – my prick slipped wet from his bum – and said wished it was so, but it is impossible to trust the word of a masturbator – it is a weakness that promotes deceit – I had not compromised myself this far to see him descend into insanity! S said that he appreciated the sentiment – but if I looked under his mattress I would find proof that he had been counterfeiting the whole time. I tottered to his bedroom and under the mattress found my missing copy of The Lancet – folded open to Dr. Mears' article, with the list of symptoms precisely underlined.
I went back to the sitting room where S was struggling to get off the table. I put my hand on his blushing peach to hold him there and asked him how he could have done such a thing…
Will continue these observations tomorrow – S has woken up and says he requires immediate relief.
June 28, 18…
Observations: It was all too true – meant to pick up these notes sooner, but my attention has been diverted for the last several days – I held S down, demanding to know what he had been thinking to take such a risk until he admitted that he had begun the charade out of boredom, and out of pique at me for hiding the cocaine from him. He had then, in part, become curious – thinking it might be useful in some criminal investigations – to discover how many times a determined man could realistically spend himself in the course of an hour, or a day. I told him that he had been playing with fire.
S conceded that he hadn't fully appreciated that fact, or the degree of attention medical science had been giving the subject. My forceful intervention – the application of Dr. Mears' Method – had taken him by surprise – a curiously enjoyable surprise in that finding himself so completely in my hands had relieved him of any desire for cocaine! – until it occurred to him that if I married M, and removed myself from Baker Street, he would be at the mercy of the siren call of the drug once more.
With the case presented in this fashion, my responsibility was clear – I freed S from the plaster and for the last few days I have been at some pains to assure him that as long as he needs me, it will be my duty – nay, my pleasure, to serve him.
June 31, 18…
Observations: To conserve our resources, we are working an out equitable exchange of attentions.
July 1, 18…
Observations: My God! The things that S can do with his mouth!
July 22, 18…
Observations: S presented his stiffened tool this morning and I caught myself feeling if he were giving me a most princely toy to play with.
August 3, 18…
Observations: A doctor should never count the risk of ministering to a patient but when I committed myself to this experiment, I expected there would be a price to pay – at least in terms of my own health. That has not been the case – when I open my eyes in the morning, I find myself looking forward to the day – I am in complete charity with my fellow man. I continue to see M and can detect no diminution of my feelings for her, but I feel no urgency to enter into an engagement at this time.
Finish
June 30, 2012