In our church, demons are made a priority, that’s because they exist. The leaders of the church painted different pictures and scenarios that meant being possessed by demons that we, the children, dreaded and prayed it never was our portion but…
It happened to me. One of those scenarios. When this happened, I was just a lad who had no understanding of many things. I had no understanding of how my body worked. My biology teacher did a good job of explaining things to me but it didn’t deter the fright I had the first time it happened. My mom is an evangelist who preached and prayed against everything. She encouraged us to talk to her about anything although prayers were mainly her solution.
The first time this thing happened, I rushed into her room that morning. My dad wasn’t around and I had come home for the holidays. I woke her with three taps. She tossed and turned towards me. Her eyes were heavy but I said what I wanted to say.
“Mum, I think I’m possessed”
“ Possessed?” her eyes pooped, “why would you think that?”
I narrated everything that happened, and she rubbed my head and prayed. After her prayers, the following morning, she led me to our pastor for deliverance. How ignorant can one be? The deliverance was thorough, a mysterious spirit was cast out of me, it lasted for two hours, and when the ministers finished. The head minister said to me with a smile amidst the boils of sweat on his face, “ You’re delivered! My son.”
I believed in that deliverance session.
The holidays came to an end and I left for grandma’s place. Grandma’s place was Ozubulu in Anambra state. And it had nostalgic memories in a bunch. Things went on normally until three months later when it happened again. I was furious with the deliverance minister. He lied to me. I didn’t do anything to invite the spirit into my life again.
I had read my Bible daily, prayed, sang to God daily, and never for once indulged voluntarily in a sinful act. When it happened the second time I found myself panting and couldn’t tell my Grandma so I let the supposed demon haunt me till I knew what it was.
What happened? You ask.
Well, that night when the sky had the moon for company. When the curtains of my grandma’s house welcomed cold air and the pavement housed two teenagers; myself and Chidimma, a girl younger by a year. She was becoming a lady as the oranges and hips protruded forward and backward respectively. We are used to sitting there and gazing at the moon. That night though, she wanted to listen to a story. A fairytale. The type my people call ‘Akuko ifo’. And I was a storyteller. This gift of mine is in-built, I must confess. Having a grandma meant many tales to go around too.
As we sat on the pavement, I indulged her in a story about a tortoise and crabs. We were buried in this story when out of the blues, I didn’t know when we left the comfort of telling stories to taste things. Her lips brushed against mine. I was shocked for a moment that I couldn’t reply. I tried to adjust my posture since she was already leaning on me, but she held me firmly, pressing the back of my neck with one hand and pushing me into herself. Her breath was fresh, her lips tasteless. She reached for my struggling hand and rested them on her cleavages. I was confused, to say the least, yet I cupped her breasts in my palms and squeezed the nipples. And then her hand wandered lazily, as though she wasn’t aware of what she was doing, towards my thighs and ripped off the rope I used in tying my Okrika short.
Hell, what guts! Where did she get them?
I looked down to see my phallus, proud, strong, hard, and threatening to burst my Tommy Hilfiger pants. Oh, lord! Why does this thing want to disgrace me? She giggled and in somewhat shame, I raised my head to see her in her bathing suit. I didn’t even know when she undressed.
Seeing my eyes consume her body, she chuckled, “I’m all yours.”
My senses were overstimulated as she said those words, mesmerized even as I looked downwards to see a forest of black curly hairs beckoning on me. I tried to resist the devil as my pastor would say but the devil in Chidimma grabbed and wrestled me to the ground.
She grabbed my third leg, and I jerked as it left my pants, she caressed it and made to guide it through her pink gate. It was with that attempt that my eyes flew open to gloomy darkness. I flapped my hand to the right and figured I was still on my bed.
What a nightmare!
I sat up but felt cold liquid on my thighs. At first, I thought I had bed-wetted but as my hand touched it, the sticky substance was what it felt.
“ I can’t have a spirit wife! Azigbakwa!” I circled my hand over my head.
Fast forward down the years. I met a doctor, a female. She became my friend and we talked about a lot of things. We shared conversations and when I told her about the experiences of wet dreams I kept having, she laughed.
I became puzzled. “Why are you laughing? You said we could share our problems…”
Her laughter rang out more, cutting me short.
“What?” I became furious.
“You are funny. This thing happens to every teenager out there. It happened to me too.”
she nodded and added, “ Though the experiences vary, the results are always the same.”
“Wow! Tell me more.”
“Well, my veil of ignorance was removed by my professor. And I’d be glad to repay the favor here.”—she took a deep breath—“Have you ever stopped to wonder why masturbation is a sin to God, and mankind and harmful to your health? Why does over-stored sperm wreak havoc in your system?”
“Wonder no more, my friend. The act of wet dreams or nocturnal emission as we (doctors) call it, is one of God’s mechanisms to release the over-stored, unwanted semen in our body.”
I stared at her in shock. But she rapped my shoulder,
“Don’t beat yourself up over spirit wife especially when you’re not masturbating or having premarital sex…”
So, you mean nocturnal emissions are meant to be my savior?”
She gave me two fingers signaling a Peace sign, “Yes!”
© Stephen Toochi