display | more...

It was wrong. There was nothing he could do to shake that feeling, or the shudder that overtook his body every time he walked into the boys' bathroom and caught a glimpse of the open showers. He was careful never to enter after physical education, having made a mental timetable of every class' schedule. Even with his own class, he always darted into the bathroom stall to change, despite the ridicule he endured from other boys. He simply couldn't bear to look at himself (much less anyone else), you know, down there. He knew that it was sinful to look upon anything so unclean. He hated having to touch himself in order to stay clean. He was careful to neither look nor linger. He had only used a urinal when left with no other option, once. He normally sat down to pee, careful to cover his hand with toilet paper if any contact was necessary, and never to look down. His life was a mass of seemingly unnecessary details in order to never have to, well, look at himself.

He had never thought it odd, but some teachers had been concerned over what seemed to be an unusual degree of shyness. When he'd refused to change his habits, they had taken him to a psychologist. Being intelligent and aware, he'd come to the conclusion that citing religious reasons would force them to leave him alone. This he did, and they reluctantly backed off lest they be accused of intolerance and prejudice.

That whole episode had made him wonder from whence came his revulsion. He was old enough to understand procreation, though the entire concept disgusted him. The thought that he, as (almost) all other children, had entered the world through his mother's... He couldn't even say the word. It disturbed him, as did the idea that he had been naked for all to see. His uncleanliness exposed to all. Certainly, his parents had made sure to teach him that touching himself was wrong, that God would know even if no one else did. They had stressed that looking at himself was wrong. That taking any pleasure in... it was wrong. Sexual intercourse was a necessary evil (as they also did not believe in those evil modern medical "advances" that would allow children without it). However, this unspeakable act only took place in order to have children, and at no other time. God had forbidden it, for it was wrong to waste anything that could have become a child. Birth control was an unacceptable evil in a world that should have, instead, known temperance and restraint. He had heard someone say it once, and thought it appropriate (though he didn't quite understand why it sparked so many giggles) that his parents must have "done it" with a sheet separating them in order to limit the impurity of their act.

All these things, he not only believed, but knew, with a certainty that was beyond the shadow of doubt. His two siblings did not take such advice as seriously as he did, but they could still clearly differentiate between right and wrong. While they did not go to the same extreme measures, they did take the commandments by the spirit if not quite the letter. He had fashioned a mechanism allowing him to shower, dress and so on without ever catching a glimpse of his accursed organ. He carried a small mask with him at all times in case of emergency. His rubber mask hung near the shower. If necessary, he would ease it off in order to locate the shampoo or soap, but he never looked down. He went through life with the practiced ease of one long since gone blind.

His body, however, seemed determined to thwart his attempts at purity. He had awoken on several occasions to a small tent in his sheets. He would immediately avert his eyes and think of ways to punish himself. The worst had been the day he had woken to a sticky wetness and realized that he had committed one of the worst sins. The devil must be trying to break him, he had decided, and strengthened his resolve. He now used a glove in the shower to protect himself. Still, his growing body had (now more than once, though he would never have dared to tell anyone) elevated at the sight of one of the girls. Sometimes thoughts would come unbidden, of touching her, of kissing her, of doing things that made him feel wretchedly unclean just to think of them. The devil was planting these images in his mind, and he knew that he needed only to resist them. Only yesterday, though, he had awoken, tent arisen and his hand dangerously close. He had wanted to feel himself, had desired the relief of his unknown desires. As he came fully awake he realized what he had nearly done and cried himself back to sleep through a frantic prayer asking the Lord for deliverance. Thus continued his life, fighting an inner war that barely even managed a battle. He grew more agitated as time went on, but soon was able to master himself once again. Nothing betrayed him, except perhaps the occasional tremor when he was alone. He carefully read warnings on movies and avoided all those with nudity or suggestive scenes. Nothing could beat the knowledge that looking at himself (or anyone else) was wrong. He was a boy who simply couldn't look at himself.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.