By Marymartin Okoabu:
If you rub your palms together, quickly and repeatedly so, you will feel the exact heat I feel in-between my legs right now. I clamp them tightly shut. I am sitting on the floor with my back resting on my bed and I hug my legs, my eyes closed. I try so hard to contain the triggers of lust that are shooting towards me and I fail. My mind, body, senses and my whole being is failing me. I can’t omit those images from my head. Images of naked men and women doing things I am not even bold enough to write down.
Yes, I know I said it won’t happen again. But yesterday I failed to keep that promise to God and to myself. I spent the whole afternoon watching porn. And now the feeling to satisfy myself is becoming overwhelming. My hand is working on its own as it makes it’s way to my legs, ravishing my core, searching and slowly caressing my lavender-pink pants.
I breathe heavily – oxygen, broken breath flow mixed with guilt. Resentment at what I am becoming takes over, and I feel hot tears pool out my eyes. Sometimes, realizing what one does turns out to be ones hugest rival.
“This is not me, not at all.” I sob very hard with my palms over my eyes. “Oh God I’m sorry, I’m very sorry.” I plead with sincerity and look up to the sky and assume he hears me.
My head begins to twirl as I remain on the floor. I remember the innocent girl I used to be, who detested any form of immorality. Those times when my vagina was only meant for urinating. Those days I stand in front of youth gatherings with boldness clearly painted on my face and condemn vehemently any acts against chastity. The youths are always afraid to look straight into my eyes for they carry fire. My mother who smiles at me every morning for she believes that I have never opened my legs for any man and will never, until marriage. But since this lockdown, I see myself enjoying porn videos, I can’t resist touching myself. Masturbation is therapy in closed doors, for lockdown.
I open my eyes and it rests on the KJV Bible lying on my reading table. I can see all the words of Jesus through my tears and it feels like shooting arrows to my eyes. I look away quickly and close my eyes again. This time, very tight and silently praying for strength to overcome. I stand up and go straight into the bathroom for my bath. I spend over ten minutes scrubbing my body, trying to wash away the filth in me. I realize that sins are liquid stains that paint the heart black and only red blood can wash it away. Red blood on a black heart to make it white. Christianity is gradually becoming a magic tale with time.
I stand under the shower and rinse my body, and not wanting to dwell too long in my predicament, I step out of the bathroom and wipe my body almost clean, and put on new clothes. I sit on the bed not knowing what to do. My eyes reach for the wall clock dangling one meter above the door – 11:00 am. I groan out loud, it is still a long way before the day will be over. My eyes find my phone and I quickly avert it. I don’t want to touch my phone, it has become a great tool to my weakness.
When did I become like this? I feel like crying again.
I realize that I need to confess to the priest, for my sins are weighing me down, but seeing a priest is impossible. Everyone has been asked indoors. This lockdown is only a sunlight tale that revolves around me, my phone, and the index finger. The Bible only comes in while mother watches. And my conscience, the villain.
Feeling exhausted, I finally lie on my bed, my hand reaches for my phone, and searches for a better porn video. Maybe this time, I would reach orgasm.