My friends told me what masturbation was all about. They told me it would be fun.
“You will feel like taking off in a rocket, soar higher, higher, and nosedive at a point. That point, my friend, is heaven,” he said with excitement.
I was in grade 8, maybe.
“So what should I do? Where should I start?” I asked. He told: “Think of a girl you find very attractive. Imagine she is there with you. Right there. Right then. What would you do?” he rolled his eyes with an evil grin.
“Ah, I get it…” I replied with an emphatic assurance.
I went home that night. I tried. I felt a tsunami of emotions washing me away.
It was heaven descending upon me. It felt amazing.
The habit stuck to me. Imagination with wings. Objectifying women. Gratification.
It was an addiction setting upon me, gradually, yet steadily.
One night, I was in the middle of the act. No mattress to cover me up.
Mom walked in. She saw me. My breath almost stopped. The ninja in me squealed and leaped into action.
Within maybe five seconds, I put my candle inside, jumped out of the cot, threw myself under the cot, and slapped myself. Thrice.
She hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
I wanted to kill myself, come back alive, and kill myself again. Twice.
My heart refused to beat. I could not sleep that night.
The next evening.
Dad started talking to me. He spoke of the Bible. He spoke of what 1 Corinthians says. He never spoke about mom seeing me, but he was speaking in general.
He spoke of sins. Hell. Heaven. His eyes were concerned, perturbed, and full of love. Helpless love.
Love was oozing out from every word he spoke. It made no sense. It was love, nonetheless. I nodded to everything he said.
That night, at dinner, no one spoke of that. After dinner, it was prayer time. Dad prayed.
The prayer was full of “God, help us be free from sins. Help us be pure. Help us fight the temptations of the living world. Help us identify satan’s evil ways…”
Prayer got over. Dad went to his room.
Her hands over my shoulders, mom walked me to my room, kissed me, and opened the door for me.
I could sense an air of discomfort. She had not said anything yet. I was not ready to listen to what she was to say. “God no no no no no!!”
I jumped onto my bed, exclaiming “Mom, I am tired. Could you turn off the lights?” I pulled the blanket over me quickly.
She said: “Sure. Remember, always lock the door.”
She smiled, shut the door, and walked away.
When I look back, I have received numerous advices: how to objectify women, how to restrain from sins, yada yada yada. The one that showed me the way was however this: always lock the door.
She knew I had the right to do whatever I wanted. She wanted me to live my life the way I wanted.
She knew I had to have my privacy. She wanted me to man up and take charge of my life. She put me on my vehicle and let me drive.
She took her hands off the wheels. How brilliant was that!
This has made me the man I am. Whatever I have chosen in my life were never induced or influenced. I chiseled my life, fearfully and wonderfully. Every day. I carved my days with my very own hands.
Are you building your life?
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