The treatment of fetishists, not long aao.
Psychology journals as late as the 1960-70s were still full of articles describing how rubber mackintosh fetishists had been "cured" of their deviant behaviour. The former military veterinary surgeon Theodore Faithfull, who switched careers to become a sex psychologist, wrote many papers on sexual "deviation" and reported the procedures in lascivious detail. And before you ask whether Theodore was any relation to Marianne, the answer is yes, he was her grandfather.
Marianne's own parents separated when she was about 6. Her mother, Eva, an Austrian baroness, had met Major Glynn Faithfull of British intelligence during World War II. Glynn's father was the renowned Theodore Faithfull, who gave up his career as a military vetinarary surgeon to became a sexologist . He subsequently left his wife (Marianne's grandmother) for a circus dancer. Legend has it that Theodore also invented a device called the Frigidity Machine: "It would unblock the primal libidinal energy, and a new golden age would be set free", although I have not yet located any papers which describe or show pictures of the device. It reminds me of the orgasmatron and I have never understand why one should need such a machine if one has a suitable woman and an suitable supply of rubberised macks.
Apparently, nothing could unblock the maternal Faithfull Baroness's primal libidinal energy. She disliked sex, while her husband's progressive crowd subscribed to the notion that sex is all you need. When Marianne's mother decided to send her to a convent school, her father objected, arguing that the nuns would "give her a problem with sex for the rest of her life."
In the 1960s, the pill liberated women and their sexuality, whilst bringing with it, the associated dangers of promiscuous sex. Many was the sexually satisfied girl, who was destined to spend hours in waiting rooms of STD clinics, as they sat and watch the smears go by.
But I digress. What about Theodore Faithfull, and his much quoted disciple and muse Professor Ian Oswald. I have managed to reconstruct, from published literature in "reputable" journals, how they dealt with "sad" folk like me who loved the feel of a rubber lined raincoat. I know I am not alone in having my childhood passion ignited when I saw Glynis Johns play the part of the mermaid Miranda and pull on a yellow taffeta rubberised raincoat, buttoned and belted. Being a mermaid, she wore it over bare skin and her flipper. The thought of the yellow rubber surface sliding over her nipples was intended by the movie makes to titillate us and it did. I was 12, but already long since hooked and indoctinated since I have reconstructed, I was about 4 when Daphne wearing a blue rubberised mack, kissed me like she meant it. Daphne was legendary. She did not have tits like melons; they were like pumpkins and she rustled her blue rubberised tits against me, when I was kissed for the very first time (I think you have made this up. ed). Alas, Major Faithfull and Professor Oswald were lurking in the wings and their syringes were filled with apomorphine. All we need to know about apomorphine is that it causes the person into which it has been injected to vomit continuously. Let Faithfull and Oswald take up the story:
"The patient would be shown a rubber mackintosh together with coloured illustrations of mackintoshes (budget constraint? ed.) and was made to wear one immediately after receiving an injection of apomorphine and just before nausea was produced. Repetitive tape-recording techniques were also included in the so-called therapy. This treatment was given 2-hourly, day and night. No food was allowed, and at night amphetamine was used to keep him awake. After a week of this, the poor sod was sent home for 8 days, presumably without his rubber mackintosh, before the course of treatment was repeated.
Some of the treatment comes across as nothing short of physical and mental abuse of the person being treated. Thus one patient was required to perform his usual fetishistic acts right up to the onset of nausea and vomiting, whereupon he was returned to bed, still wearing his fetish clothing, and was then subjected to intensive moral suggestion; i.e. like a priest demanding that the sinner recant. During the following day he was not allowed to discard the clothing, but was forced to look at his reflection in the mirror and in the presence of witnesses, re-enact every detail of his "disgusting perversion". An element of religious zeal comes across and the gloating by the therapist introduces an element of nausea to the reader, even without apomorphine:
"At one session, by a particular happy chance, one of his favourite pictures fell into the vomit in the basin so that the patient had to see it every time he puked".
This particular patient broke down after 7 days of the regime and had to be treated for ventricular stress. His treatment was regarded as successful since he stopped being a fetishist and had "normal" intercourse with his wife. Or so he told the therapists, perhaps to avoid further treatment.
Professor Ian Oswald described his particular procedure with pride in his article printed in J. ment. Sci. 1962 108. pp196-212, where one of the many strident claims he made was:
"I reported that he still appeared to be cured twenty-one months after treatment." Cured! Do we want curing dear readers?
There is more. In the letters column of the British Journal of Psychology, Oswald later boasted in 1964:
"Contact with this patient was lost, but recently I encountered him again and it may be of interest to report that fifty-four months after treatment he still regards rubberized mackintoshes with indifference tinged with amusement at his youthful worship of them. His sex life is happy and normal, he and his wife now have two children. His career has prospered so well that he is now a nationally-known figure in a field which cannot here be mentioned on account of possible identification.
This particular article is 16 pages long, dear readers, on how this 1960-70s sadist sought to eradicate a strand of joy in another human. The "patient" in my opinion, did make one mistake. Despite being driven by what many of us have come to recognise as a primordial force of nature, he decided to get married before he had sorted out in his own mind how he would reconcile his new wife with his old fetish. His rubber desires were so strong that eventually he felt compelled to ask his new bride to dress up in a mack before he fucked her. Yes, we understand this, but he should have sorted it before getting married and gone hunting via the personal columns of contact magazines for a new woman -- if his fiancee was not into it.
In his many papers, Theo Faithfull would gave his affiliation as
(Member of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons,
Late (crossed out) Major R.A.V.C. (S.R.) Ret (added in handwriting.)
His famous collection of
"Eight Lectures on
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF SEX - HETEROSEXUAL AND HOMOSEXUAL"
included his largesse on rubber mackintosh fetishism and could be obtained from three distinct addresses, (no longer in service), for the price of 4/- plus postage 6d.
All this was carried in relatively recent times, well into the 1970s, if not later, in the name of health care. Men were declared to be "cured" of homosexuality after being violently and continually electrocuted every time they looked at a male image for more than 8 seconds, the electrocution being suspended when they learned not to look upon other men as sexual objects. It was realised that chemical aversion therapy, of the sort used on Alan Turing, had the "disadvantage" that it did not provide an alternative response. Deep down, rubber fetishists did not want an alternative response. They simply wanted to get on with it.
I SHOUT TO THE HEAVENS IN JOY, that I never fell into the hands of sadist psychologists and got "cured". I have enjoyed, loved, and been enthralled with my fetish. Sexually and sensually, it has never let me down. Many woman have. Eventually, not the wife I married and divorced, but a most lovely woman told me "You have a dark side, perhaps not dark, and I shall not rest until I uncover it." She did. Her reaction was to say "Oooooooooh, I thought it might be something like that. Show me everything!". She went off and bought a heap of latex clothes, to please her and me.
All I can say is how lucky I am to live and enjoy it. I have one regret. Recently there was a long yellow satin rubberised raincoat on eBay, UK sourced by slocky, whose grasp on the English language and advertising regulations is beautifully rubbery. It wasn't Miranda's (Danni?)mack. But it was near enough. I was diverted by distractions and didn't buy it, even though it meant I would have to go without wine for 3 months. Whoever bought it, well done.
Stories and fantasies about rainwear.
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