Evolution of the Transference in a Case of Homosexuality Declined

… If I were to pursue my mother when she went up to bed and she saw that I had stayed up to say goodnight to her in the corridor, I would not be allowed to stay at home any longer, I would be packed off to boarding school on the very next day, there was no doubt about it. Well, even if I had to throw myself from the window five minutes later, I would rather have it so. What I wanted now was Mother, was to say goodnight to her; I had gone too far along the path towards the fulfilment of that wish for there to be any turning back.

… I advanced noiselessly along the corridor, my heart pounding so intensely that I found it hard to move—but at least it was pounding not now with anxiety but with terror and joy … I darted forward … Then her face became clouded with anger, and she said not a word to me … Now she could hear my father coming up from the dressing room where he had gone to take off his clothes and, to forestall the wrath he would unleash upon me, she snarled: 'Be off with you, quickly, before your father sees you waiting there like a lunatic!' I merely repeated: 'Come and say goodnight to me', filled with terror as I saw the gleam of my father's candle already rising up the wall, while also taking advantage of his approach so as to blackmail Mother, hoping that she would not persist in her refusal but, to get rid of me before my father came, would say: 'Go back to your room, I will come'. It was too late: my father was standing before us. No one heard as I involuntarily murmured: 'It is all up with me!'

Marcel Proust, A la recherche du temps perdu ([translated from] Ed. Gallimard, 1954, Vol. I. pp.
33–36)

My first memory of Pierre goes back more than eight years. I can see him now, sitting in front of me, leaning slightly forward, calm, cold and controlled. When I tritely asked him: 'What brings you to me?' he responded off the cuff, without looking at me: 'I am a homosexual. And I will tell you right