Rebel Without a Cause

by Robert M. Lindner

  I also remember now one time we were in the clubhouse. I was about eleven and Riggs told Tony how we were masturbating on the second floor, and Tony looked at me and said, “That’s what’s wrong with your eyes. You jerk off too much!” So then after that I’d get the feeling that everybody looked at me and knew I masturbated. Another time I broke some lights and padlocks on the railroad with some other fellows and we had to go to court. One fellow in that gang said that the matter with my eyes was that I was masturbating too much. I didn’t go with him after that.

  L: ‘Did you think there was any truth in what they said?’

  I guess there was.

  L: ‘And do you still think so?’

  I still do whenever somebody says something about that.

  L: ‘When somebody says something about your eyes?’

  That’s right.

  L: ‘You feel that your masturbation is betrayed by your eyes?’

  That’s right. When I was in County Jail that time waiting for my trial there was a doctor there who was taking morphine, and he said that if he saw me on the outside he would think I’d be taking morphine. There was another guy there, an Italian fellow, Beanie we’d call him; he hinted around, he didn’t specify, he didn’t say anything right out, he kind of squinted and said, “What kind of needle do you mean, Doc?” Another fellow made the same remark that time when I was in the County Jail. I used to have the feeling that people knew I was masturbating when they looked at my eyes; they would squint their eyes and it seemed to me they had a sneer on their faces. I despised and hated them. Maybe that was just natural but that they were making fun of me would be always in my mind.

  Sometimes I used to masturbate more than necessary, but I don’t know what’s necessary. I figure I never cared whether I did it too much or not enough. When I got older, about sixteen, I didn’t masturbate much, but after I got in trouble I masturbated a lot, and between the ages of sixteen and eighteen also a lot. Perhaps I still think that’s the reason I committed all these crimes—sex, masturbation. I don’t know. I didn’t give a damn. I didn’t care whether the world would stop or keep on going. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t afraid to die. What did I have to lose if I died? One reason

  Note the psychological proximity of masturbation and death; also of eye and penis.

  I committed all these crimes was because I didn’t care about anything. When I was going to High School I bummed around with a fellow named Jimmy and after I got in trouble he said that one reason I held people up and things like that was that I was masturbating too much. I didn’t talk to him again after that either.

  When I lived on S—— Street there used to be a girl, Carol, who hung around with my sister a lot. She was about thirteen and I was fifteen. Sometimes she’d come around to our house to see my sister and I’d wait on the front porch for her. I’d lay her right inside the house or on the porch when it was dark. I had her a lot. After I quit school I went up to stay at my uncle’s place for about three months. I masturbated there a lot and when I came back I didn’t see Carol. I didn’t hang around with her anymore because I began going with some of the older guys, fellows that were in the gang with me when I was about twelve years old. That was a big gang. There were about thirty or forty of us. I hung around in poolrooms then and got in bad company. We’d go to the railroad yards and pitch horseshoes most of the day and play pinochle. Then I started drinking because there was a kid that used to belong to the same gang and his father drank a lot. He would be going up and down all the time getting beer. That’s the way it went on. He’d always give me a couple of bottles and when we had a bit of money he’d buy wine and whiskey for us.

  I didn’t masturbate very much before I was sixteen, at least not as much as I did after sixteen. When I quit school I tried to get a job. After leaving my uncle’s place I didn’t know what to do. I started to read a lot of junk, Spicy Detective Stories, and soon, when I was stimulated by a word or two, I would go into the bathroom and masturbate. I’d read True Detective Stories and look at the pictures of nude women and masturbate. My cousin Riggs had some book—I don’t know what it was, it said, “Printed in Habana”—about two French girls. It was really dirty. It was a kind of thin book, only about thirty pages, and it had a lot of dirty pictures in it. I remember I read it on the street near the railroad tracks. After about fifteen minutes I went home and I masturbated in the toilet. I couldn’t get control of myself, couldn’t hold myself back. It was a dirty book.

  The real reason I would try to avoid talking to my father and mother is that I felt they knew I was masturbating. I’d make believe I was reading a newspaper when they wanted to talk. I guess I was ashamed of myself. Sometimes I wouldn’t speak to them for a couple of days and my mother would ask me what was wrong. I’d say, “Nothing.”

  When I was about seventeen, one time we started up to see somebody in the country. They had a girl around fourteen. She was nice. I tried to make her but she ran away from me. So I went into the toilet and started masturbating. My father caught me. He didn’t say anything.

  One time my probation officer asked me how many times I masturbated. I told him, “O, once every three or four weeks.” Later I managed to see a report he made out to that effect where it definitely said, ‘habitual masturbator.’ I guess he figured that my criminal career was due to that. I never did like that man: I guess I never will.

  When I was small sometimes I would lay in bed and it used to give me a small tickling sensation. It’s hard to explain it. I know the first time I had intercourse with a girl it gave me such a thrill, such a tickling sensation. I always wanted to do it then. I used to get Carol as much as possible. She was always afraid she’d have a baby though. She had a sister about four or five years older than I was and when I was seventeen I used to hang around with their brother once in a while. One time we went out to clean an old gun I had and this girl, Carol’s sister, was sitting there wearing a thin dress with nothing on underneath. I could tell. Carol’s brother went to the back of the car to look for some tools and I was talking in front with her. She pulled her legs apart so I could see the genitals. Why did she do that? I tried to make her but I couldn’t. I always tried to get next to her but she was older than me and would only go out with older fellows. I used to think about her a lot when I was masturbating …

  THE TWENTY-SIXTH HOUR

  I can only think of one place and one time when there was mutual masturbation. It was between myself and my cousin Tony. I was about twelve then and it was in the park. The toilets were in diferent sections with doors that latched down. We got in one of the toilets and pulled the latch down. I don’t know how it came about but that’s the only time I can remember. When I was still living on B—— Street there were some fellows in the cellar one time and we were all playing. I ran in a part of the cellar and they called me over. They wanted me to play with their peters. I ran away. Riggs was with me and we both ran into a bin. I don’t know what they were doing but when they asked me to turn around I ran out, my cousin Riggs right after me.

  Me and Jimmy had a girl together once. I made her first and he went after me. That’s the only time I ever shared a girl with anybody else. I can’t seem to remember if there was any more. When we had the clubhouse that was rigged up behind the billboard we had a lot of pictures of naked women there. Sometimes five or six of us in the gang would masturbate there, but I don’t think there was any mutual masturbation.

  L: ‘Was there ever any mutual masturbation with a girl?

  Only with Lila. I guess I was around seventeen then. She was always hot. I would touch her and right away she would jump around and tremble. Just touch her breasts and she would start masturbating you right off. She always wanted to do that. I spent a lot of time with her, most of the afternoons. I’d get up and sit in the park with her and start playing with her and she’d have her hands inside my pants. I remember stroking her genitals several times but the odor of my hands was not very pleasant. I dislike that odor. Someti
mes when I said goodnight to her, when I took her home, in the alleyway, I would stand with my arms around her and rub her genitals through her dress. She had real soft breasts, not hard at all, real soft, and whenever I’d touch her she’d tremble all over. She used to tell me she loved me and wanted to get married, but I didn’t like her very much. Sometimes when I was broke she’d buy me cigarettes and things I needed. She wasn’t very pretty but she was passable. I must have had dozens and dozens of intercourses with her. She just liked for me to touch her. As soon as I touched her she was all ready, ready to pick up her dress. A lot of guys knew I went with her. They always thought I was getting my share and they wanted part of her too. I got in several fights over that. Sometimes I would take her home and she’d cry when I’d leave her because I’d see some fellows watching her and I’d be afraid to do anything to her when all the other fellows were around. She’d cry when I’d leave her without having intercourse with her. I’d stand up in the alley way and I would stroke her stomach and her genitals, not for long, just for three or four minutes. But I don’t know; I didn’t like very much to stroke her genitals. Once or twice was sufficient and she was ready for intercourse and I’d go ahead. Sometimes she’d try to hold me back for a while, but I just couldn’t.

  When I was about ten though I used to play a lot with Wazeki’s sister. I don’t know if there was any mutual masturbation there but sometimes when we used to play hide-and-go-seek I used to hide with her and I’d reach under her dress and play with her. I guess I did that to every girl I had intercourse with because that would come right before the intercourse. When I held Carol in my arms on the porch she’d take my hand and rub it against her genitals. There was no mutuality there.

  I always liked to play with girls’ breasts before anything else. I did that most with Lila. Sometimes I’d walk with her and put my arms around her and touch her in the breasts, and right away she’d start jumping. I never had intercourse with my cousin from L—— but I played with her breasts. I never stroked her genitals. I used to sit outside with her and just look at the stars and the sky.

  L: ‘Harold, do you recall any mutual masturbation with your sister?’

  No; I don’t think so. I don’t think my sister ever touched me but I don’t remember. I doubt if she ever did touch me on the penis, not even when we had intercourse.

  When I did that six months in the County Jail there were four fairies in that place. There was one young kid who always used to come around. I didn’t like him; he seemed displeasing to me and I didn’t want him around. I never wondered about things I had done but about the things I was going to do, might do. Something like that wasn’t in my plan for the future then. I never had affairs like that with anybody; that was the first time in my life I had come into contact with anyone who was bi-sexual. They were nice kids. I didn’t hold it against them that they were constructed as they were but I just couldn’t seem to go for it.

  L: ‘Can you think of any other sexual acts committed on you, or that you committed?”

  You mean such as—sodomy?

  L: ‘Any acts, with women, with girls or boys.’

  Never with anybody. It’s distasteful to me. The only place I touch anybody is their arm or something like that, not their body. I don’t like anyone to touch me. I dislike most of the fellows around here that call themselves wolves, because I think they are not men, they’re animals. I don’t think I ever had anybody do anything like that to me, and I never did anything to anybody else in all my life. When I was young I used to think that even intercourse with women or girls was something bad, something wrong. I never committed sodomy on women yet, nor on any man. I had opportunities alright. It seems to me just as bad or even worse than—having intercourse with colored women.

  I don’t like to get in positions where I might lose control of myself. I wouldn’t like to have any affair with Perry. I don’t like such positions, not because I dislike Perry but because I don’t want to bring myself to do things like that. When I was doing time in the County Jail I used to see these fellows dancing around, singing something. I just can’t see being different from myself.

  L: ‘Has fellatio ever been committed on you?’

  Not by a woman, by a man, when I was about nine years old. That’s the only time I can remember. It just doesn’t seem right.

  L: ‘Harold; whom do you imagine you see, whom do you think of when you are masturbating?’

  O, I don’t know. Sometimes a blonde, sometimes a brunette, sometimes Lila, sometimes my cousin from L——. Usually it’s some girl I know.

  L: ‘Ever anyone else but a girl?’

  Some girl I imagine; a girl with real blond hair. I don’t think I ever even knew a girl with really blond hair.

  L: ‘A girl like your sister, or one of your aunts?’

  One resembles my aunt or my sister. Certainly I don’t think about it when I am conscious like I am now. I have one aunt who is beautiful, but she’s married and has three children. I respect my aunts and my sister of course. They all have brown hair, and Lila had brown hair too.

  L: ‘Well, let us take a slightly different line. When was the last time you masturbated?’

  I—about two weeks ago.

  L: ‘Whom did you think of then?’

  I don’t know. Sometimes I sleep in my underwear and when I am moving around it’s like tight around me. I blame the underwear; sometimes it irritates me and I have a lot of dreams about different women, and when I wake up the bed is all wet. About two weeks ago when I masturbated it was a dark-haired girl, like Carol. I think it’s just a girl and I just want to get it over with because I think to myself that it’s better to get it done with than to be irritated like that. Other times I start thinking when I am lying in bed, thinking about some girl and some of my experiences come back to my memory and I—I just try to change it. I don’t remember who it was I was thinking of last time but she looked like Carol. It’s pretty hard to remember all of them. Usually they have real light hair or real dark hair, but I can’t tell the colors.

  Sometimes I tell myself I shouldn’t masturbate. I masturbated a lot when I first came in here, now it has quieted down to about once every five weeks. I tried to tell myself at first not to; to wait for about six weeks and then go to some person and have them—and—have them do it to me; but I didn’t for about four weeks, but I never went to anyone to have it done. I used to tell myself that if I see one of these people I won’t have to worry about masturbation, but I don’t see them. I palled around with Dobriski; he is still my best friend. He used to tell me that he had to control himself every time he saw me, but he never made any improper advances towards me because he knew I disliked that stuff. I can’t swear that Perry did anything like that with anyone. That afternoon he called me in his cell and started coaxing me.… He still tells me every once in a while that he loves me. I don’t know what he has in mind, whether he thinks I might loosen up, might weaken. A lot of fellows are asking me how he is, how I like it. I don’t care if nobody knows the truth about me in here as long as I know it in my own mind. I don’t care what they think. As far as he is concerned I know he is bi-sexual. He is nicely built and good-looking, but I have no desires for him. Anybody has a penis: if he had no penis it might be different; he wouldn’t be in here if he didn’t have it. There are other people like that in this place, some of them are my good friends, fine fellows. Not that I don’t dislike it: I don’t want to do it in the first place because I might like it. You know, if I did anything like that I—I couldn’t look at the person. That’s what I tell myself. Maybe I might do it if I don’t have to see the person. I wouldn’t ever do it so long as I would have to see the person.

  I’m having a lot of fun with Perry. He’s very fine company for me. He’s starting to curse: I really kid him about picking that up from me. I guess a lot of fellows do think there is something between us but I know in my own mind that nothing has happened. Now there is no longer any opportunity for him to put me in the position he di
d that time, so I don’t think he’ll try it again. But he is not the only one like that here. I don’t talk to a lot of them, not because I dislike them but I just can’t see anybody hanging on to the end of my penis like that; even imagining it is distasteful to me. If I ever do it once I might do it again and keep doing it. That’s why I can’t even do it once to find out what it’s like.…

  When I was in the Catholic school in the seventh grade we’d hang our coats up in the hall and when school was up we’d walk around and get our things, and I remember the two lines, boys’ line and girls’, would mingle for a few moments, and most all the kids including myself would try to touch one of the girls. She was a nice girl, nicely put together, but very open with herself. She didn’t care if some of the boys felt her up when she was walking in the hall. There was nothing to it for her. One time in the auditorium she was sitting a couple rows behind me and when I turned around for some reason or other I saw her with her legs wide apart and not a damned thing on. It was in the balcony and the seats are on a slope so I had a good view. I told all the other boys and they all wanted to change seats with me.