Chapter Fourteen
Whenever I felt fingers working about my neck collar while my scrotum was encircled with a strap, I knew the control rods were being hooked to the sturdy ringlets and with a third between my thighs, I was to be walked. With a guard to my right and left and one to the rear, most ignominiously pulling at my gonads, I would follow the tugs as best I could to the washroom where the British nurse assumed control.
But unless my sense of time was completely awry, the control rods were being attached very shortly after a recent visit to the nurse. A week could not have gone that quickly, I told myself.
In remaining deafened and blinded by the hood, moving about involved stumbling and reacting to strong directional tugs on my neck collar and scrotum more than walking. And I imag
