I have been criticised heavily for not publishing this manuscript earlier, the accusation being that I have deprived a reading public of material that is both morally uplifting and medically informative. I deny the allegation entirely and will endeavour to silence my critics by asking them whether they believe sincerely that I should have concentrated my energies upon this, my newest memoir, but only at the expense of completing the final volume of those memoirs that make up the collection known as The Soiling Series, variously titled The First Time I Soiled My Trousers, The Second Time I Soiled My Trousers, The Third Time I Soiled My Trousers, &c. ? For that is the simple choice that faced me: had I begun work on this account any sooner then the opening chapters of The Fourteenth Time I Soiled My Trousers would have lain neglected, unpublished, and unread upon my study shelves. Whilst I had every moral motive and good intention for wishing to place in print as soon as possible those details of my first nocturnal emission I could not in all conscience leave my last soiling undescribed nor the series incomplete. Any man, I am convinced, faced with a similar dilemma would have made the same choice. I now consider the matter closed and will enter into no more correspondence on the subject.
Although I am somewhat loath to acknowledge my tardiness in
this regard it is an established fact that my first nocturnal emission did not
occur until the night of November twenty-first 1897, when I had already reached
my twenty-ninth year. Whilst I accept this to be laggardly, even unnatural in
a scientific sense (whilst being, of course, in its contemplation morally repellent
absolutely!), I ascribe my lack of precocity in this experience to an enormous
blow to the testicles which I received during a chess match in my thirteenth
year. For some considerable time following this incident my testes were swollen
and painful and it was as much as I was able to achieve merely to walk slowly
with my thighs slightly apart. Certain other pursuits were denied me completely
and it was to be nearly ten years before I was able to cross my legs whilst
wearing trousers. Thus it was, having long considered my testicles to be redundant
and inconvenient, that I should be completely unprepared for the events which
occurred on that late autumnal evening some sixteen years later.
In accordance with household custom I was undressed by my valet, Simpkins, who then rubbed both my legs with a rough sponge in order to promote a healthy circulation of blood. With both legs invigorated I donned my cambric night-shirt and retired to bed betimes for I had endured a taxing day of letter-writing to both of my Great Aunts.
Fairbanks, my butler, at my request fetched a cup of cocoa and
a ship's biscuit, a culinary combination of my own devising calculated to soothe
both stomach and brain into sufficient tranquillity to make easy that pleasant
transition into sleep. I satisfied myself with both comestibles and cannot therefore
connect to dyspepsia any of what happened subsequently.
The clock wanted three minutes of ten when I extinguished my candle. By eight minutes past I was asleep (a fact I can recount with both accuracy and authority because I insist that Fairbanks sit by my bed nightly in order to record the exact moment at which I fall asleep. Parenthetically, I may add that it is my intention to publish a monograph upon the subject, having now accumulated data from over six thousand nights.)
If my night was dream-filled then I have no recollection of it for nothing served to disrupt the tranquillity of my slumbers as far as I am able to recall. Nor was I unduly restless for Simpkins, who is instructed to observe me sleeping and make notes in a journal, recorded:
Master turned no more than six times, and sighed but once, between 22:09 (when Mr. Fairbanks had called me to my observation post) and 08:30 when Master awoke. His breathing was easy with no phlegm sounding in his airways nor mucus upon the pillow. There was no speech beyond a muffled refrain or two and none that could be made sense of. Master's night-cap remained in place
In short, therefore, it was a night similar to those experienced by countless readers, where one has no conscious awareness of anything between closing one's eyes to sleep and then opening them again the following morning.
Frankly, my unruffled sleep came as some surprise because I had spent a goodly portion of the previous day concerned about an unpleasant swelling that had gathered beneath my left eye and which resembled nothing so much as a hen's egg, although not in the colour of it for it was a kind of mottled vermilion run through with veins of other colours and Dr. Twimsatt opined that ...
Part Eight: Chapter Six
... coming to consciousness slowly I was not at first aware
of anything amiss. It was not until I turned my body slightly whilst stretching
that I experienced a slight but strange sensation in my loins. Reaching down
to explore the phenomenon I encountered a small area of resistance within the
soft folds of my night-shirt. My first thought was that it may be a portion
of ship's biscuit - perhaps dropped the night before and lodged in the cloth.
However, one slight touch was enough to dispel this misconception. With a sense
of complete repugnance I realised that the tip of my penis was adhering
to the fabric of my night-shirt! I believe I must have screamed aloud because
Simpkins - who records my sleeping behaviour - was at my side in a trice. I
bade him investigate my nether regions whilst I lay prone; notwithstanding the
fear and disgust I felt at what may be encountered in his explorations the need
for scientific explanation took precedence as always.
Slowly lifting my night-shirt he was able to detach it from my prepuce with a gentle tug (which caused me a shudder of complete revulsion) and then to examine the stiff and discoloured area of cloth with a magnifying glass. Then gently rolling back my prepuce he explored my glans. Throughout this ordeal I lay quiet, not wishing to disturb his careful analysis, although a thousand urgent questions pounded my fevered brain. Many of them centred on the pivotal question: What could have occurred? Of course at that time I made no connection between an involuntary ejaculation and my ruined testicles and so my thoughts ran to darker matters not at all to be associated with the mind of a man of science.
Finally, after more than twenty minutes of exploration - during which he twice measured the diameter of my testicles with callipers - Simpkins announced: 'I believe your gonads have emptied themselves, Master. But,' he added, 'I should like to call upon Mr. Fairbanks for a second opinion.' I was amazed, and nodded my consent in a state of distraction: Could my testicles, in truth, have emptied themselves? And, if so, what might be the effect upon their proportions?
Fairbanks arrived with Mrs. Fairbanks (to assist him in his examination by passing him those various implements he requested) and with their eldest daughter Sarah to fetch and hold a bowl of water. Then Milly was summoned from the scullery to lay a fire to ward off the chill encroaching upon my lower section, which lay exposed to the cold air of the room and was without the benefit of covering.
Part Eight: Chapter Six
Slowly and painstakingly Fairbanks repeated the analysis already
undertaken by Simpkins, but in addition he applied a tourniquet to the top of
my scrotum: an action which he preceded by an apology but which caused me to
gasp in spite of the warning. Finally he looked up and nodded once to confirm
Simpkins' findings: 'There can be no doubt, Sir', he said. 'Your testes have
reduced in volume
by three-eighths of a cubic inch on the left, and four-fifths
on the right. Both Mrs. Fairbanks and myself are astounded of course, although
heartily pleased on your behalf.'
I confirm that this is a true account of the events of Twenty-first and Twenty-second of November 1887, and for those who express doubt I can provide proof in the form of the night-shirt itself (which I have preserved under glass at the Royal Society) and several affidavits attesting to events having occurred just as I have recounted them and variously signed by Simpkins (valet), Fairbanks and Mrs. Fairbanks (butler and housekeeper respectively), their daughter Sarah (housemaid), Milly Lampeter (scullery maid), Jode Grafton (groom) and my distinguished neighbour Sir Walter Cornelius MP, DSO, KBE., all of whom were eventual witnesses to the removal of the night-shirt.