elt it, and I think tasted
it. Then came fear of my godfather, and of being found out; for all
that, after wiping up my sperm from the floor, I went up to my bed-room,
and locking the door, frigged myself until I could do it no more from
exhaustion.

I wanted a confident and told two schoolfellows who were brothers, I
could not keep it to myself, and was indeed proud though ashamed to
speak of the pleasure. They both had bigger pricks than mine, and never
had jeered at me because I could not retract my prepuce easily. Soon
after they came to see me, we all went into the garden, each pulled
my prepuce back, I theirs, and then we all frigged ourselves in an
out-house.

Then I wrote to Fred, who was at a large public school, about my
frigging. He replied that some fellows at his school had been caught at
it, and flogged; that a big boy just going to Oxford had had a woman and
got the pox badly. He begged me to burn his letter, or throw it down the
shit-house directly I had read it, adding that he was in such a funk for
he had lost mine; and that I was never to write to him such things at
the school, because the master opened every day indiscriminately one or
two letters of the boys. He knew my mother was away and so did not mind
writing to me. When I heard that he had lost my letter, I also was in a
funk; the letter never was found. Whether the master got it, or sent it
to my godfather, or not, I can't say, but it is certain that just after
I had one night exhausted myself by masturbation, my godfather came to
see me.

He stared hard at me. "You look ill." "No, I'm not." "Yes, you are, look
me full in the face, you've been frigging yourself," said he just in so
many words. He had never used an improper word to me before. I denied
it. He raved out, "No denial, sir, no lies, you have sir; don't add
lying to your bestiality, you've been at that filthy trick, I can see
it in your face, you'll die in a mad-house, or of consumption, you shall
never have a farthing more pocket-money from me, and I won't buy your
commission, nor leave you any money at my death." I kept denying it,
brazening it out. "Hold your tongue, you young beast, or I'll write to
your mother." That reduced me to a sullen state, only at times perking
out: "I haven't!" He put on his hat angrily, and left me in a very
uncomfortable state of mind.

I knew that my father was not so well off as he had been, my mother
always impressed upon me not to offend my go