Jim Bustillos, Tuesday, September 6, 1955
I got off the train at Union Station and pulled my scholarship letter out of my suitcase. It had Dr. Walter's address on it and I was supposed to see him as soon as I got in. Clutching the letter in my hand, I strode off in what I hoped was the general direction of Yale University.
By the time I got to Dr. Walter's office my feet were killing me. I had purchased new shoes and they were clearly not wide enough. I was confronted by Dr. Walter's rather busty secretary.
"Service entrance is in the back, kid."
"I'm here to see Dr. Walter. He told me to meet him in his office." I showed her the letter and she pressed a button on her intercom, glaring at me the whole time.
"Dr. Walter, there's some wetback in here that says he's supposed to meet you. Do you know anything about it?"
The door opened and a rather nervous-looking man in his middle 50's emerged.
"You're Jim?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." I showed him the letter.
"Step into my office," he ushered me inside and closed the door.
"So sorry about Gladys," he glanced towards the intercom and lowered his voice, "I've been trying to get rid of her for some time, but they won't let me. I think she might be working for the F.B.I."
"Why would the F.B.I. be interested in you?"
"Katherine told you about my research?"
"You mean Ms. Curran?"
"She said it was something to do with sex education."
"Yes, I mean in general. You see, I'm a doctor by training, specializing in adolescent psychiatry. My research in the '30s discovered a link between repression of the sexual impulse in adolescence and adult neuroses, and I'm afraid that it was rather scandalously misused in a Russian psychiatric journal to diagnose President Nixon as a paranoiac, which is complete rubbish of course, but it got me in a bit of trouble with the Senate Internal Security Committee. Now I'm developing a version of Dr. Wagner's Naked in School Program for colleges. You'll actually be the first class to go through it this semester."
"Wait, isn't that that program Senator McCarthy got all fired up about last year?"
"Exactly, and you may have noticed that Mr. McCarthy's star isn't quite as high as he once was."
"So if that secretary could prove you were a Communist..."
"It would put Mr. McCarthy back in the good graces of the public, and potentially the running for Vice-President."
"Are you a Communist?"
"Of course not, but McCarthyists have a way of misconstruing things, so it pays to be careful."
"Anyway, before I give you the tour I'd like you to meet Professor Drake. I told him about you and he's interested in hiring you on as a research assistant."
"What does a research assistant do?"
"Dr. Drake will explain," he led me into the next office and past Professor Drake's secretary. Professor Drake was a rather portly man with a ruddy face who clapped me on the shoulder.
"You must be Jim, sit down and I'll get you a drink." He poured three glasses of brandy and gave one to me. I drank it very slowly as he expounded on his research agenda.
"I studied anatomy under Dr. Freidlich at Heidelberg, this was before the war, obviously, and it was there that I made my first major breakthrough. The Freudians had sex all wrong, they thought it was all to do with neuroses and repressed memory, when actually, it is a function of the natural libido. You see Mr., is it BUH-still-os?"
"Ah, Bustillo, at the age of puberty we each develop an innate sex drive, it is the repression of this sex drive, not repressed traumas, that drive psychological illness. My current research aims to uncover the chemical origin of this sex drive in females, which is where you come in. Our experiment consists of sampling the blood of our co-ed students immediately after intercourse. Up until now I've been partnering with the young ladies myself, but they haven't been as responsive as we might have hoped. My secretary suggested it might help if we partnered the girls with someone younger and with a more, exotic mien, a sort of latter-day Valentino."
I didn't know who Valentino was, but I was afraid to ask. I just made a mental note to bone up on my art history.
"Your job would be to come in three times a day for an appointment with a young lady. Do you think you have the requisite stamina?"
"Yes, but are you sure I have the right background for this sort of thing?"
"Oh, it doesn't require any scientific training."
"I meant socially. These are Yale girls after all."
"That's the beauty of it. As soon as I heard Ray mention your scholarship, I knew you'd be perfect for the role. You'll be exotic, unique. The girls won't be able to get enough of you."
"I was more concerned about their fathers, actually."
"Oh, we didn't feel we needed to inform the parents. You see, the University acts in loco parentis, so we can approve this sort of thing on the parents' behalf."
"Oh, well in that case it should be fine."
"Excellent. Your salary is 30 dollars a week and you can start tomorrow. Meet me here at 9:00 am."
Professor Walter looked at his pocket watch and cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we've overshot our schedule, the tour will have to wait until tomorrow. You need to report to the gymnasium for your physical by five." He told me where to find the gymnasium, an oddly castle like building up the street from a cemetery. When I got there I was ushered into a cloakroom where I was bidden to strip down, along with several hundred of my new classmates. We were then led onto the gymnasium floor, given a card to fill out with our names, addresses, and a series of rather detailed questions about our family backgrounds and told to line up.
I got through the line and was examined by a series of doctors, each of whom made some sort of notation on my card. The last doctor returned the card and instructed me to proceed into a smaller room, where I sat down across a table from a younger-looking man who took my card and stapled it to a larger sheet of paper.
"Let's see, James BUH-still-loess, is that Italian?"
He marked something down on the paper. "When was your first sexual experience?"
"I was 13."
"And the girl?"
"How many sexual partners since then."
I thought for a moment, "seven."
"Impressive, all the same general age as you?"
"Ever involved in homosexual activities?"
"What about perversions?"
After a few more questions in the same general vein I was dismissed to return to the coat room. I dressed and found my dorm room. My roommate had one bare foot propped up on a stool, and was attempting to clean it with a washcloth. He stood up to greet me.
"Charlie Dana, nice to meet you."
I returned the greeting and Charlie returned to his ablutions as I unpacked my suitcase. With a loud crash the stool gave way, leaving Charlie sprawled out on the floor. "There's got to be a better way to do that," he muttered as he recollected his dignity.
"There's not a fountain anywhere nearby?" I asked.
"Not that I've seen."
"Shame, my feet are killing me. I went barefooted too much as a child."
"So did I, used to drive mother crazy when we'd have company. I guess I still do, come to think of it."
"Charlie's a perfect child," a female voice coming from behind me explained, "always barefoot and stark naked any time you turn your back for half a minute."
"Jim this is my twin sister, Alice."
I could immediately see the resemblance. They were both tall, with chestnut brown hair, and a family chin. Actually, Alice was quite attractive, with a curvaceous figure accented by the tight sweater she was wearing. Alice explained that she was living in the girls' suite across the hall from ours, and then suggested that we get dinner.
"I have to be up early," she explained, "I've been drafted into one of the psychology department's mad experiments."
"What's the experiment?" Charlie asked.
"I was talking about it with a girl who was two years ahead of me at Miss Porter's. She said they take you in some basement and one of the professors takes you to bed. Nasty, fat, old man, apparently."
I blushed suddenly, "I think he's been replaced."
Alice Dana, Wednesday, September 7, 1955
I awoke early, ate breakfast, and reported to the psychology department. I was met by a nurse, who instructed me to remove my clothing and provided me with a locker to hang it up in. Then, without warning, she jabbed a needle in my arm.
"Sorry dear, but that's for the experiment. They need to test your blood." She swabbed the injection site with something that stung mightily. She led me into another room. The professor was seated in front of a table, taking notes. The only other furniture was a bed, next to which Jim was standing. He was every bit as naked as I was, and evidently quite happy to see me. My heart started beating faster. He was indeed quite good looking.
"Do we just go ahead and start?" I asked.
"Yes, please do."
I got in the bed and pulled the covers up over me. I'm not normally modest but for some reason I didn't want the professor to see me naked.
Jim climbed in next to me, pressing his taut, bronze skin against mine. I was breathing heavily.
"You've got me quite worked up," I admitted.
.... There is more of this story ...