THE DEVIL’S ADVOCATE
1 January 2020
Dear Devil
First and foremost I would like ‘to thank you so much’ for messing up with my mind for a decade. Most important, I will forever thank you for introducing me to Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, who is now my Lord and Saviour. Without you messing up with my mind and my life, I wouldn’t have known that two thousand years ago he died for me and gave me the power to trample upon your head (I promise you, one of these good days I am going to pee on top of it). I remember quite well when you were in control of my mind, how confused and heartbroken I was. You deceived me into thinking you were the only person who understood me. I offered you a place in my heart and once you took over, every day of my life became filled with drama, pain, confusion, and doubt. You didn’t end there. You made me feel hopeless and worthless. Life became meaningless. I became rebellious and eventually became helplessly and childishly yours. I will never forget how you tormented my spirit and nearly shattered all my dreams. Nineteen years ago you sent one of your agents to sexually abuse me, not once and not even twice. Although I was young, I knew that she was evil. However, age got the better of me and I kept my big lipped mouth sealed. I didn’t know what to do or who to tell until you came to my ‘rescue’ and made me believe what was happening was part of growing up. You ‘comforted’ me and told me I shouldn’t stress about it. “Most cute boys like you, at one stage or another, go through such an experience Christian,” you whispered in my left ear and I believed you.
You knew how angry I was at myself and at that agent of yours for using me as her sexual object daily, for three good months. I was angry at myself for being too weak and vulnerable; I was angry at her, for being too strong and inconsiderate. Did you tell me to forgive myself? Did you advise me to forgive her or talk to somebody? There were so many men out there who were willing to have sex with her any time she needed to. My brother Gilroy was one of them. Why then did she decide to force herself on me? For Christ’s sakes why? Is it because I was too weak? Is it because she didn’t believe she was good enough or beautiful enough to get laid by men of her age or older? Only God knows. Or maybe you know too. I am tempted to believe that maybe you had a ‘father- son talk’ about me, like the one you had about Job once upon a time. Did He gave you the permission to deploy your shameless agent to strip away my innocence? For what purpose? Was it a test? Did I pass? Was it a lesson? Gosh, my head hurts. Can you offer an explanation please!
I know you were watching the first day it all started, that sunny Friday afternoon. A bloody Mary and a bowl of popcorn you were having, sitting on a skull decorated cathedra with a Cuban cigar in your left hand. With a huge grin on your face you saw how she came into the bathroom where I was bathing. You saw how she took off her clothes, and forced me to participate in her ‘ashu ashu’ ritual as she called it. I know you enjoyed watching her caressing my ‘insignificant,’ uncircumcised rod; how she knelt in front of it and put it in her reeking mouth. She sucked it like a filthy hungry puppy sucking the breasts of a startled, wretched dog, whilst pressing my skinny body against the door. For Christ’s sake I was too young for all those antics. She didn’t end there. “Chris, now it’s your turn to kneel.” She commanded and stood with her back against the wall opposite the shower. The stern look on her face that was accentuated by her piercing, demonic, megalomaniac eyes gave me no option but to oblige. Now that I am mature and discerning, I believe on that fateful day, Tsitsi was either under the influence of some drug or she was possessed or both. I knelt in front of her, confused and traumatised. I felt the coldness of the wetted floor touching my knees as she clutched my head and pressed it in between her thighs. I closed my eyes. She rubbed her vagina all over my face with sheer intensity. Within a few seconds, she started concentrating more on rubbing it on my lips. She moaned… took deep breathes… and moaned again. Five minutes later, she gasped and squirted on my face. The whole of my face was covered in… It hurts. This is how I lived for the ninety plus days that followed. Her cum became my daily bread. Call me cum face.
Do you still remember how she threatened me after that? How she made it so clear that if I mutter a word to anybody, she would not only cut my balls and ‘feed them to the dogs’ but she would divulge to everybody that I had the habit of sneaking into her room whenever she was dressing up? Jesus Christ, Mary and Joseph, I did it once! There is no way I could have told my parents what she was doing to me. They wouldn’t believe me either. To them she was this fragile, heartbroken woman, whose abusive husband had left her for a delectable young mademoiselle. On the contrary, to them I was this stubborn young lad, who was trialling far too much for his age. Once, my father was called by my primary school Principal because I, and my best friend Pardon, were caught in the girls’ restrooms during break time. Twice, he was called by my class teacher because I was caught necking and fondling Monica, my primary school crush, under the table.
Was I a bad kid? Not really. About me getting into the girls’ restrooms, I was just curious to know what they looked like. Pardon, on the other hand, innocently wanted to see how they urinated. What about me necking and fondling Monica under the table? As embarrassing as it is to admit, on both occasions it was her who initiated the ‘game.’ I am one unlucky Negro. With this in mind I ran out of options. I knew no one would believe my story even if I had to say it standing on top of the tallest mountain- The mighty Mount Everest. Your ruthless agent capitalised on this bad record, and made me her sex toy. You professed that you understood what I was going through. But, you never told me to forgive myself or to forgive her so I could be healed and live a happy life. You never helped me to say it out to my parents or any trusted member of the society so I could get help. Rather, you told me to conceal my anger, keep what was happening as a secret and learn to live with it. Little did I know you were planting in me the seed of lust and sexual immorality that kept me in bondage for a decade.
You surrounded me with ‘demons’ which made it so difficult to resist you. My brother Gilroy (like John the Baptist who paved the way for Jesus) prepared the way for Agiel, the biggest ‘demon’ of them all. Gilroy used to bring different girls, of different ages and sizes at home and had sex with them in our small, but neatly kept, bedroom. I remember vividly how you’d encourage me to go and peek through the window or to sneak into the room and hide under the bed just to get a glimpse of what was happening- hear the dirty talk, the squeaky sounds of the bed and definitely the soft or loud moans of whoever was being ‘serviced.” “Chris, this a perfect chance for you to watch and learn how you perform when you are in bed with a woman,” you said.