He seemed to embody all I longed for in the way of knowledge of nature, of strength, of practical ability, and the desire to imitate him in these things widened and strengthened my character.  The first time I slept with him I could only summon courage to put my arm over his chest, but I could not sleep for unsatisfied desire, and the unrelieved erection caused a dull pain on the morrow.  I had always disliked conversation that might be regarded as bordering on the obscene, and consequently was very ignorant on most matters; it pained me even to hear him laugh at such remarks.  I think if he had been intimate with me I should have not conversed much on such topics, but now I felt pleasure in such things with him as they expressed intimacy.  I dreamed about him and was never really happy in his absence; the greatest joy would have been to have slept in his arms; the hairiness of his legs and arms were also most fascinating.  Perhaps a year later, we were again at night together, and this time I by degrees felt his private organs, but he was cold and I felt a little unsatisfied.  I wanted to be hugged.  This happened once more, and then on a later occasion,—­not that it afforded me much gratification, but because I wanted to stimulate him to ardor,—­I attempted masturbation.  This aroused his disgust and I was consequently dismayed.  He told me I ought to marry and, although I knew his love was all I wanted, I did not feel but what I could make a woman happy.  The constant unrelieved erections which took place when I saw my friend adopt a graceful attitude caused pain at the bottom of my back, and I consulted two specialists, who also advised marriage.  I did not tell them I was an ‘invert,’ for I hardly knew it was a recognized thing, but I did tell them something of what had taken place, and they made next to no comment, but implied it was frequent.  My friend now felt repulsion toward me, but did not express himself, and as other circumstances then caused a barrier between us to a certain extent, I did not realize the true reason of his coldness.  But I felt utterly miserable.  When I met a noble woman whom I had long known I asked her to be my wife and she consented.  Although I told her very soon, and long before our marriage, of my limitations as a husband and of my continued longing for my friend, I feel now I did a great wrong, and I cannot understand why I was not more conscious of this at the time; that I was to a certain extent deceiving her relations was inevitable.  I had expected to devote my life in making her happy, but I soon found that the true reason of my friend’s apparent unfaithfulness was my own action, combined with a feeling on his part that it was as well that our affection should cease even at the cost of misunderstanding.  Since then, three years ago, I have not had a happy day or night, and am therefore quite unable to promote happiness in others.  Without my friend, I can find no satisfaction with wife, child, or home.  Life has become almost unbearable.