The Semen Demon

Everyone was talking about it and some of the girls were making fun of the boys that didn’t know.

“Do you have an Eric?” The sly girl probed and Charlie blushed. He didn’t like this one, she smoked and she bit her nails. Even her school tie had been burned by a cigarette and the teachers never told her off for it. She was too much hassle for them to discipline; the unruly girl from the estate.

The trap was set.

“An Eric..?” Uncertainty flowered from single stem to bouquet. He hated the way his voice sounded. The others were excited, waiting for him to take the bait, to fall into the snare like a good little rabbit.

“Yes, an Eric. I bet you don’t know what it is do you? Do you have an Eric, Charlie?” Venom in her words... She moved closer to him, looked him up and down with disgust. His head span with confusion.

“No.” He committed himself and the laughter came when he gave the wrong answer.

“Ha! He hasn’t got one!” Smirks on the faces of those in the know... Relief on the faces of those that didn’t... It wasn’t them being strung up for the slaughter, it was Charlie.

“I mean yes. I have. I’ve got one. I’ve got an Eric.” Charlie backtracked, looked at each of his classmates, forced a smile and searched for a comrade, finding none.

“He’s got an Eric! He’s got an Erection!” Charlie had no clue still; he had no idea how to react. He didn’t like it and didn’t trust it. The unruly girl pointed at his trousers and he looked down at them. Nothing was wrong that he could tell, but she was making fun of him somehow and the others were all in on it.  He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t get out of it because he didn’t know what the joke was.

Then she slapped him hard around the face, which sounded like an explosion in his ear as the blood rushed to the surface and sent the temperature soaring inside his skull. He’d caught the inside of his mouth on his braces and he tasted metal as the blood met saliva.

“Dirty little pervert, looking at me and getting an erection!” He looked at his shoes.  He could feel the hand print forming across his cheek. He couldn’t hit her back, he couldn’t hit a girl. He wanted to, he hated her, but he couldn’t do it.

“That’s it, cry. Scared of a girl? You wimp!” He pushed past his classmates and ran to the toilets, entirely defeated and clueless as to what had happened at his expense.

-

The rest of the day had been humiliating. Everyone knew. Even the younger kids were saying things to him and pointing at his trousers, then, one of the older boys pulled him to one side, out of pity and told him what an erection was.

That night he said nothing to his parents.  His dad would be annoyed that a girl had made him cry and his mum would go up the school, which would just make things worse.

Charlie tried to watch his favourite shows on TV, but he kept replaying the day’s events. He told his parents that he wasn’t well and he went to bed.

He kept thinking about the girl that had hit him. He couldn’t erase the image of her pointing at his trousers and laughing.  What was wrong with him? He turned on the lamp next to his bed and pulled down his pyjama bottoms. He looked at it. He touched it.

He closed his eyes and explored it with his hands and it changed. It felt strange and it made his heart race like it had when the girl in his class had slapped him, but this was a different feeling.

He used both of his hands on it. Still the images came of the –HATE- girl with the burn marks on her school tie hitting him. Her –HATE- blouse was not buttoned all the way to the –HATE- top. Like earlier that day, he didn’t – HATE -know what was happening to him as he continued to – HATE - touch it, but something was –HATE - building up, something was –HATE- going to happen and he had to –HATE- see it through, because although it was –HATE- strange, it also felt good.  Then something did happen and he grabbed –HATE- it as it sent bolts of lightning within him to boiling point, electric shocks and comets, spilling –HATE- hot sticky liquid upon his bed sheets and his legs.