Once I felt the body was realistic enough, I arranged for Tate to be brought to me in restraints. Wayne escorted him downstairs to the boiler room. Tate tried to turn around to grab Wayne’s rear when he walked away, but I caught him and directed him forward.
I explained that I understood him, his urges.
This is important because I want him to feel he can trust me. I need him to feel comfortable.
I lifted the sheet covering the corpse’s bare rear; my hand brushed the skin and I was pleased to feel that it was indeed warm. It would pass for Tate’s pleasure.
Tate stared at the rear end, his erection showing through the thin fabric of his standard issue pants. He didn’t even notice that the body wasn’t moving, or anything off. I explained I was going to undo the chain that joined his handcuffs to his foot cuffs so that he could entertain himself. Tate could barely contain himself.
Once I had the chain undone, Tate shoved his pants down and rushed towards the body. He spat into his hand and stroked his penis before he leaned forward, forcing himself into the corpse. There was a wild look of desperation on his face as he pumped his hips back and forth, in and out of the dead body. He didn’t notice anything wrong, and simply continued to move.
I sat on a chair in the corner to watch him. The most extraordinary part to observe was that Tate did not stop at all for three hours. He was incensed. He didn’t tire, he didn’t stop; he just kept going. He didn’t even notice that the body wasn’t technically warm, at least not in a living sense.
After three hours I had to remove him forcibly and tie his chains back to each other. He strained against me, yelling and cursing, trying to get back to the body. I gripped his face in mine and stared into his eyes. I promised if he behaved I will allow him back in a few days. He stared at me, shaking with anger. I pushed him back gently and instructed him to clean himself up, and dress again.
Tate stared at me, questioning, before reaching to pull his pants up. Once he was ready I called for Wayne to take him back to his room while I cremated the body. Tate had listened to me without trying to grope me or make lewd marks.
I feel this is the first step towards a great success.
30 June 1950
I observe Tate for the next few days to see if there are differences in his behaviour. I am happy to note that following his first treatment he appears much calmer and uses less vulgar language. The orderlies comment that his medication must be working at last, but I know the truth; I know my treatment has a positive effect on him.
The second day following the treatment he seems a bit more agitated, but still in some sort of control of his actions. To me it appears as though he is torn in two. I put this down to the after effects of electroshock therapy. He will need time to adjust to being ‘normal’ again. If his mind was still whole I can probably speed up this process, but right now his mind is fighting because so much of it is missing.
One part of his mind is satisfied while the other is too ingrained in his routine of lewd comments and inappropriate groping. I note that he reaches out to do something and then stops himself.
By day four he is losing all control, humping the air and shouting at the orderlies to perform oral sex on him. He also tries to hump other male patients, trying to force them over tables and other surfaces. The orderlies restrain him eventually, first in a straitjacket and then to his bed.
I have scheduled the second treatment for tomorrow, and will do a follow up treatment two days thereafter. I will then observe him again to see how long the treatments assist. I feel this is ground-breaking. If I can ensure he gets his sexual fulfilment, he may be able to lead a normal life.
1 July 1950
I used another male body today. I worried that Wellbottom might not send Tate due to his misbehaviour this week, but Cecil brought him down and left promptly, without a backward glance. Tate stared at me hungrily. I lifted the sheet to show him the exposed flesh. Tate’s erection was instantaneous and he held his hands up for me to undo the chain. I undid the chains and took a seat in the corner.
At today’s treatment Tate didn’t even bother lubricating his penis before inserting it into the rectum. He pumped his hips instantly and I saw a calm look settle on his face. It was as though this was his medication; this was the ‘tablet’ he needed to settle his otherwise chaotic mind.
I waited patiently for him to climax six times before I informed him that it was enough and he was to stop. When he didn’t respond, I instructed him to finish and stop or I will not allow him to come down for treatment anymore. He stopped, staring at me with an insane hatred, but he was calm as he pulled out of the body and finished himself off before pulling his pants up.
He allowed me to reattach his chains before Cecil escorted him out of the boiler room and back to his quarters while I cremated the body.
I am in my room now, recording this. It is just after eleven in the evening and although I should be exhausted I cannot help but feel pride for what I am achieving here. This may be the answer to all gender conversion therapy questions.
When I publish this paper they will call me an absolute genius, and justly so.
4 July 1950
I decided to administer Tate Wilson’s next treatment today to see if increasing the frequency will assist in keeping his mind stable for longer.
He seems able to behave for two days; by the third his irritation begins to set in and he starts falling back into his previous frame of mind.
His relapse started at approximately eleven this morning. Luckily I had already prepared a body earlier and it was waiting, thawed out and warm, for when I required that Wayne bring him down at twelve. The excitement was visible on Tate’s face and he didn’t even hesitate to raise his hands so I could unshackle him. He then proceeded to feel over the buttocks in front of him, squishing the fleshy meat in his hands.
I sat quietly in the corner, observing him carefully.
He never goes further than the buttocks and rectum. He has his way with the anal cavity of the body and that is all he wants. He never seeks out the penis or testicles for additional pleasure. I can only assume, once again, perhaps he is not homosexual at all, but rather just finds sexual satisfaction in the anus.
The results today are the same as previous and I feel we are now ready to take it to the next step. I have already chosen a body and will commence with it two days hence. If the next three treatments do work and I can truly get through to Tate Wilson, there is an exceptionally strong chance that this man can be released back into the world to live an ordinary life.
7 July 1950
I observed Tate almost constantly for the last twenty-four hours and I am extremely pleased to report that the second phase of treatment has gone off extremely well. Tate does not realise that the rectum he used for sexual gratification belonged to a deceased woman. I am most proud of this fact because this proves that the man has strange sexual tastes, but is not homosexual!
With this information on hand I can finally show the world that I have something substantial to contribute to science. I can cure people. My life’s calling is going to be completed.
I will allow Tate to use more female corpses over the next two weeks while I observe him and, once I am satisfied that he is calmed and ready for the truth, I will reveal to him who he truly is and from there we can arrange to have him released back into society. He will be my success story. The thought invokes such excitement within me.
For now though, I must rest. There is still a lot to be done and I need to make sure I have enough female cadavers to sustain Tate over the next two weeks.
16 July 1950
Last night was monumental for me. Over the last two weeks I observed Tate satiate his sexual desires with corpse after corpse after corpse, never suspecting that it was in fact a dead body he was using as a means to please himself, let alone a female one. I cannot even begin to capture the excitement I felt as my self-set deadline approached.
Last night marked my crowning achievement,
and what a night it was. I wanted to jot it all down afterwards, but there was so much going on, and I was exhausted and required the rest. Nonetheless I can still envision the events in my mind’s eye as though I am reliving them this very minute.
Observing Tate over the last few times, he has been slowly making progress. He has grasped how to satisfy himself, grasped how to tell when he has been satisfied and therefore grasped when to stop.
Last night started off as before. I prepped the body in the boiler room. Tate came in and, without a second glance, yanked his pants down and allowed his erection to bob forward. He did not wait for instruction or permission and simply inserted his erection into the cadaver’s orifice and continued to pleasure himself four times over before finally moving away and pulling his pants up.
I asked him to wait as I had some information I wanted to share with him. He looked scared, hesitant even, and I assured him it was all in the name of curing him of his affliction. He laughed at that. It was a strange, hollowed laugh of a man that had long since given up any sense or reason to live. This further drove my determination to assist him. He would lead a full and wonderful life.
Tate was curious about what I had to say and I was happy to pull off the sheet that hid the rest of the body under the table. He didn’t even flinch. He stared at the body, curiously, and came to touch her. He asked me if she was dead, why she was warm, what this meant for him.
I explained that, although he certainly had a strange taste in sexual desires, this clearly proved he was not homosexual. In fact, if anything, it just provided us with an insight into homosexuality that could change the world. That he had redefined it as someone who had a preference for anal sex rather than vaginal, but that didn’t mean one had to be homosexual to enjoy it.
I was proud of my work and I could see the cogs in his mind ticking away as he listened to my findings and how he was going to be a free man to do as he pleased. He was clearly curious about it, but didn’t ask further questions. Instead he reached out his hand and inserted two fingers into the body’s rectum and felt around. Withdrawing them he nodded, turned and left me to make my notes.
Oh, but what a discovery! I cannot believe how amazing this experiment has turned out and the results it yielded. I am going to spend the next few weeks compiling my notes and doing more experiments, not only with Tate. I will request that males with homosexual tendencies from around the county be brought to me for testing. By the end of this year I will be ready to publish my paper and the world will know my name!
There seems to be a commotion going on upstairs. I will need to go and see what is going on before I can continue thinking; the racket is completely distracting my thought process.
17 July 1950
Oh lord! Oh lord, not again! Not again, I say! What a poor day for mankind, for civilisation as a whole. Perhaps I didn’t treat him long enough, or should have prepared him better for what he was about to see. I cannot help but feel a sense of disappointment that Tate turned for the worse yesterday.
No, that is not an adequate way to term what happened.
The events were described to me afterwards by several orderlies in great detail. I commented on what a pity it was, due to the fact that Tate had been making serious progress. They didn’t seem to believe me at all.
From what I understand, having pieced together the various versions of the events that happened yesterday, Tate was in the day room as usual waiting for his medication to be handed to him by the nurse. He reached out to grab her behind and was both scolded and praised. Scolded for not respecting her, and praised for feeling a woman rather than a man.
These words seemed to trigger Tate, who then followed the woman back to the nurses’ observation booth. She did not see him following her, or felt he was no threat, until he wrapped his arms around her, threw her into the room and shut the door behind him.
The orderlies were alerted to this by the other patients’ reactions. Some were shrieking, sobbing, and calling out for help, while others stood at the window and watched, their hands making quick work of their erections.
As the orderlies tried to pry open the door, Tate picked up a pen and stabbed it into the day nurse’s throat. While she lay, face forward and bleeding to death, Tate took out his erection, inserted it into her rectum and started to pleasure himself.
All the orderlies agreed that the worst part was when Tate inserted his erection. The day nurse attempted to scream, and the blood just spewed forth from her throat and mouth, making the strangest gurgling sound as she drowned in her own blood.
Tate managed to obtain a scalpel from a pack kept in the room and, once he finished, he kept his penis inside her rectum, reached down, and cut it off - according to the orderlies - rather slowly. He then sat back in his own blood, letting it pool around him, as he used two blood soaked fingers to move the now detached penis in and out of the nurse’s rectum, watching with morbid fascination until he passed out from blood loss.
At first I worried that this may cause Wellbottom to question my experiments, my ‘therapy’ with Tate, but the man doesn’t seem to care. He sighed because he would have to contact the nurses’ family to let them know what had transpired, and this seemed more aggravating to him than anything else. He got the orderlies to prep Tate for a burial in the cemetery behind the asylum.
I stand by my findings and I refuse to lose hope. I saw a vast improvement in Tate and know this sort of conversion therapy can change the world. The orderlies don’t feel that he changed, but that is because they are closed-minded fools. To me he did. To me he improved. To me, he is a success. I have decided to still put in a request with Wellbottom for other homosexuals from other institutions to be sent here for potential treatment.
While I am busy with this, I have my eye on the next patient I wish to assist. A strange girl, she looks young, but I am told that her appearance means nothing. Although she is only thirteen, it is recorded that she has killed more people than most known adult serial killers. It wasn’t publicised because she came from a well-off family, who paid to keep it under wraps.
Clara will be my next patient. One I will begin to treat while helping the homosexuals come to the same enlightenment as Tate.
I still consider Tate my first successful case of conversion therapy.
Chapter Three
HANS
01 September 1950
I forgot that I am recording my personal feelings and ideas in this journal for some time; I have been focused on my work. Wellbottom approved my request for homosexual males to be reassigned to our institution for conversion therapy, but vehemently denies me access to Clara. His weak-chinned excuse is that her family pays the institution exceptionally well to take care of their daughter, or keep her chained here, and that she is not to be treated other than daily sedatives to prevent her from hurting herself.
Damn the fool! Damn him to hell. I am tempted to fight him using logic and science, but he has been lenient with me since I took up my position here and I don’t want to jeopardise that. I need continued access to the homosexuals to treat them. I need my private orderlies and to be left alone to complete my scientific work.
I want Clara though. I want to examine her, to see what makes her tick, to figure out why, at such a young age, she has turned out completely evil. Some claim she is possessed by the devil himself, but I know better than that; I am a man of science. There is a logical, reasonable explanation for her affliction and, if I can treat it, her family can have their child back.
It is a difficult position I find myself in. Although I am enjoying the success of my other experiments, I cannot help but wonder about her. At least I have access to her file; Wellbottom gave it to me to satisfy my curiosity.
From her file I am able to at least make some form of preliminary report. I will have her, whether Wellbottom likes it or not, but I want solid information before I attempt to treat her.
It was discovered that Clara Tatiana Marx, the youngest child of Claude and Winifred Ma
rx, had been murdering people since the moment she was able to. It began when she was seven years old and pushed her brother, all of four years old, over the railing at their large mansion just outside of the city. The boy’s neck snapped and he died instantly.
One may theorize that the event triggered her morbid fascination, despite it being categorized as an accident. I do not think this is true. I feel Clara was born with this bloodthirsty streak and that it is in her very genes. In order to test this I will need blood samples from her, as well as an opportunity to monitor her behaviour as she is presented with various stimuli.
I need her parents to confirm they want me to treat her; Wellbottom will have no choice but to grant me proper access. I am considering taking a drive out to their mansion to discuss it with them, but if Wellbottom feels I am undermining him I can rest assured that he will find a way to make the rest of my stay at this Asylum an absolute nightmare.
I think I will approach Wellbottom about it first, see if he is open to me speaking to her parents. If not, then that is a problem I will need to address.
5 September 1950
I really am awful at journaling. I want this to be a daily exercise, but between my observations of patients, experiments with gender modification therapy, as well as prepping for my meeting with the Marx family yesterday, I have been lax.
I did go and see the famous Marx family, despite the fact that Wellbottom won’t be happy about it. I didn’t discuss it with him after all, because I know the peasant will simply say no.
Asylum Box Set Page 3
