Those memories, how they sting, scald, burn!

At nineteen I was a bank clerk, allowed to take in savings, register cheques. I was supposed to be reading for banking exams in my spare time, ha et cetera, so that I might—who knows?—become a cashier and end up as a bank manager. I was just out of school—school for farmers’ sons mostly, lads who couldn’t pass the common entrance. Mum’s shoestring riding stables sort of edged me in. She must have had some kind of pull, God knows what. So I could stand behind the counter with my old school tie well to the fore, smile brightly, as they used to say, while giving service without servility. The manager began by liking me because I could think of nothing better to do with my Wednesday and Saturday afternoons than play rugger. I was in a daze, I remember at the speed with which mum’s death—she’d thought I might go into the Church because I liked reading so much—had projected me into this world of figures. Even the rugger club consisted of old men by my standards. After the game on Saturday there’d be mild high jinks in a pub somewhere. Christ, I was naive!

Almost the first game, or after it, there was a corner snigger—

“Where’s young Wilf? He ought to try one!”

“One” was a pill. No, it wasn’t a drug, as it might be today. It was a commonly advertised aphrodisiac. Well, at least I am able to offer some personal evidence in a sphere where the claims are contradictory and few men appear willing to put their own evidence on paper. The pill worked. Perhaps it contained a mite of Spanish fly. Perhaps it was a placebo. But it worked.

Yes, of course, they assured me, we’d all be going on to the girls, where else? So, watched carefully and roundly applauded, I took it—nineteen, just nineteen! Well. I told my ex-chum, did I not, that Padre Pio’s stigmata must be nothing but suggestion? Experientia docet stultos, as Zonkers used to tell us when he gave us lines. I looked forward fearfully and libidinously. Of course, beyond the, shall we say, physiological plane nothing happened at all. The evening dwindled to half-pints drunk slowly, rugger songs, dirty talk and the odd remark tossed my way.

“Feeling all right, young Wilf? Sure? Ha ha.”

As the hypnotist told me, God rot him, You are very receptive to hypnotic suggestion, sir.

Well, you wouldn’t get such a thick-headed young fool today, they all know everything by the time they’re ten. But I was left with the kind of erection so gorged it was a steady pain and on which masturbation had no effect whatever. All night I wrestled and moaned but there was nothing for it. Next day I had to take my erection to the bank. All morning I stood behind the counter and my tie, smiling brightly at farmers, teachers, parsons, old ladies, young ladies bringing in the firm’s takings for the week and taking out the pay for the employees. All day the knob of my cock wore itself raw against the waistband of my underpants.