My Demon and I
It started when she was seven. She remembers the day it happened. Her mother had since gone to work, yet again abandoning her two daughters at home with their distant father. Her father had eventually left too, his eyes gaunt and brooding. With her elder sister away downstairs, she had sat in front of their desktop computer aimlessly and scrolled through old files. She was bored. There was no internet connection in their house, her mother called it a useless distraction. Cecilia always wondered how her mother knew what distracted her when she was never around. She had clicked on the internet explorer icon and watched as the home page which was the Daily News came alive on the screen. She scrolled down its badly highlighted pages until she came to a group of females huddled around in a circle and equipped with their bats. It was a female hockey team. Not only that. It was a very scarcely dressed female hockey team with their thighs and shoulders and butts well exposed. She felt it there for the first time. Arousal. She was scared. She was only seven. She felt it again as she intertwined her two legs together leaving no space and began causing a pressure in between her thighs. It was scary but it was a new kind of feeling. A new kind of high, to fill the space of her elusive mother. She kept up the pressure which caused her to moan. It was a weird sound but she liked it and then suddenly she reached it. The height where her body split into a million moans in a second, her breathing increased, sweat beaded on her forehead. Legs still intertwined. She looked at the half-naked female team and felt disgust. Or was it fear. Or both. She couldn’t tell anyone.
It happened again some weeks later. She was alone on the recliner upstairs when a programme came on the television. She vaguely remembers what it was now, after aggressively repressing it for years. Her mind had done its part and wiped it away from the threads of her memory. All she remembers is reclining as far back as she could and entering this erotic high world. She was so engulfed in the raw pleasure she felt in between her legs that she failed to hear her mother’s footsteps. It was not until a piercing slap had landed on her cheek that she soared back into reality.
‘What do you think you’re doing? Pressing your leg and touching yourself?’ her mother had screamed, eyes flared. Cecilia watched her malicious hands in horror that she would be gifted with another slap but it never came.
‘Answer me, what do you think you are doing?’ her mother had asked again. Cecilia found herself for the first time lost for words.
The torment from her mother continued but in private. It was their little dirty secret. Her mother would not want her father to know her daughter was aware of pornography and its infinite arousal so she kept it a secret and tormented Cecilia when they were in private.
‘Stop it! It is a bad habit! It is the devil’
That was her mother’s response to almost everything, the work of this invisible and sinister devil who controlled the mind to commit sexual sins amongst other sins.
Cecilia cannot recall when it started but one day it did. She remembers the bed, the hot fiery passion, the sweat from no electricity as she and her elder sister Lola rolled around on the bed hands in between the other legs. They touched it. The sacred place that mummy made them wash with a lot of soap. It was wet. Wet but welcoming and familiar. They kissed. Both scared with the prospect of what this meant and when they were done they would wash their hands. As if washing away their sins, their devil controlled actions. It didn’t last for long, her sister quickly grew older and began focusing on the boys that sent her perfumes.
Cecilia stopped for a while. She felt she was sinning, she grew more and more involved with the house of God and now that she had gone to boarding school, there was a risk of getting caught by nosy seniors who were also up to no good in the middle of the night. She restricted touching herself till the holidays, face sweaty, breathing increased as she simultaneously touched herself and stared into the screen of her phone as she watched the people on the screen take new sex positions and role plays she had never seen before. It became a habit. Regular habit. She continued this for years in secret.
Once she remembers using the YouTube app on her father’s phone to watch some arousing videos. It got better each time, these self-inflicted arousals. She couldn’t stop. It was now that she began questioning the authenticity of her mother theory. Was this really the devils work? Was she now an addict? Determined for change, she prayed to God.
She knelt down in the middle of the room and cried to her God. Cried to him to help her, to give her the strength to overcome this devil. She challenged God that if she stopped, she will become the most committed member to the church He had ever had. It worked, at least she assumed it did. She was eighteen at this time, final year of high school where she went back on everything. She couldn’t help it. She had found that when she engaged in foreplay with numerous boys, she was distracted from the self-arousal demon but when they broke it off with her, she crawled back to her only solace.
It was the term of 50 shades of Grey. Everywhere she went, someone happened to have their head in one of the three books. At first, she wasn’t into the trend because she knew of the well explained sex scenes but one night she lay on her bed. She wasn’t tired. She was bored. She found herself creeping out of her bed and into the next dormitory that inhabited the owner of one of the only copies of the trilogy in her school. She took the book and flipped till she got to the sex scenes where she immediately felt aroused by the words coming into play in her head. This was a new type of sexual arousal. Through words on a page which described the play by play action of sex.
She found that she had a new routine. One minute she was praying and begging not to engage in it again and the next minute she was performing the act as she thought one last time couldn’t hurt. But how many last times could a person go through till their eventual last time? She grew annoyed with herself but that anger wasn’t enough to make her stop.
Now she’s twenty-five, living in a block of flats with her Caucasian boyfriend from Indianapolis. He has taught her many things, how to make her body pliant and responsive. How to make him feel things that would have him cussing, this was better than any self-arousal. She told him about her addiction, he had kissed her and opened her life to a much more demonic act. She was in too deep to withdraw, with each touch she was drawn in. She was engulfed. She loved how he made her feel, they even watch pornography together. Her mother calls her occasionally, usually when she’s smoking a blunt on the balcony, she responds standoffishly. Remembering the woman who did not love her because of her addiction, remembering the woman who didn’t seek real help for her but asked her to pray. Now it was too late. She was in the bottomless pit of sexual gratification and she loved every goddamn moment of it baby.