ice of this sort. You requested frank and honest answers to your questions. Unless you feel terribly guilty regarding the subject matter of your letter there is no need to seek psychiatric help.

You seem more like a fetishist than a homosexual. Fetishists find various kinds of love objects, such as handkerchieves, shoes, belts, photographs, etc., which stimulate them sexually, and generally they masturbate as a release.

Nudity is a healthful, natural release of pressure and may be considered quite normal although some people condemn it. However, the growth of social nudism indicates that more and more people are becoming openminded and less prudish towards nudity: bathing beach attire -what there is of it-for instance. Sincerely, Blanche M. Baker

Dear Doctor Baker:

I am addressing this to your column, but you may not wish to use it. However, if you in any way think it may help someone, or may open a closed door, then by all means you have my full permission.

First a word of explanation. Honestly, I have undertaken to write a book. It is no secret. The things I say and reveal, are true. No, not all of it happened to me, but three parts did. The rest has happened to others. That has nothing to do with what I wish to impart to you and the readers of ONE. I shall write to you the things that happened to me, without polish. If they are too frank, you have my full permission to alter them to suit the needs. However, as I write them to you, they shall appear in book form

From the dedication, which which I firmly believe . . .

"There are those who have lived all of this book and there are those

one

who have lived parts of this book. In either case, there are those who have lived, and those who shall yet live in the pages of this book, either as a principal, or as one of the contributing forces . . .

At the tender age of five, I went off with two older boys who were about fourteen. Rather, they went and I tagged along. They were very close family friends, so of course, there was no consternation about my going with them. They went down in the woods to look for a mule that had strayed. Then they stopped to relieve themselves. I remember that I was very interested. One of them put his penis in my little hand. They both laughed and warned me not to tell, or I'd die with snakes in my bed. I wanted to do it some more, but they said no. Then they warned me again not to tell, or I'd die with snakes in my bed. I don't think it was fear that prevented me from telling, because I didn't know enough about snakes to be afraid of them. I think I remained silent these twenty-five years for two reasons. At first, in my own little mind I wanted it to happen again. Then after the years began to roll by, there just was no sense to my telling and no reason for it. Voila! Silence. That experience seared my mind and left a scar on me that has never and can never be erased. (Now, Dr. Baker, here is grist for your mill, the stones of which are grinding out the theory that perhaps homosexuality is inherent. even though the consensus is against it. I had not been molested, or lured, or contributed to, nor any of the other ridiculous descriptions bandied about in the modern jargon of legal terminology.)

"We played ball, and all the other things that normal second graders do . . . until spring. The boys were not allowed to have any contact with the girls. The girls had to stay on one