Sexual Annihilation

A family gathering with friends, altogether about a hundred people, an amateur band playing, people getting up to dance, my wife with her ancient uncle, me with my daughter, groups of women, men standing on the sidelines watching, some couples looking expert.

Looking around, seeing an unknown woman of stunning beauty dancing with a much older man, looks like her grandfather. Wrenching my eyes away, then keeping a lookout for her. Later, bumping into her, inviting her to dance, she agreeing, but strangely, neither reluctant or enthusiastic, as if complying mutely. The dance ending, both of us drifting off our separate ways.

Later, my wife telling me the tale. The unknown woman, daughter of a family friend, never previously been seen because of never being allowed out of a rehabilitation centre. Or hardly ever. At the end of each long rehabilitation, apparent recovery, release, but her old heroin dealers then finding her again, waiting their moment, plying her, ensnaring and enslaving her again.

Before all that, my wife telling me, she was a shining star, a gifted student, a blooming beauty, giving up all other interests to become a ballerina. Maybe some unknown thing went wrong, maybe she found the wrong friends, maybe she just wasn’t quite good enough as a dancer. Anyway, one day, a phonecall to the parents, you’d better come and be with your daughter. Arriving, finding her confined to bed, she’d disappeared for a week, eventually found in nearby woods, naked, confused, needle-punctured, bruises and welts over her whole body.

And apparently used for sex so often as to eradicate the whole idea of sex other than as a means of getting her next fix. The damage apparently permanent and irreversible. Once vibrant, now just a meek, compliant rag doll.

Each episode of rehabilitation, the daughter emerging with stunning looks and ballerina body restored. Soon to be the plaything of dealer gangs. My wife telling me, better enjoy seeing her now, you won’t see her again like this, she’ll either be spaced-out and broken-backed, or she’ll be in rehab again. The process incidentally bankrupting her parents.

Driving home, thinking, hurting. The terrible loss of such a lovely person. Somehow made worse by the sexual annihilation. That precious sexual germ, such a wonderful thing no matter how difficult, no matter how protean, how terrible to have it hollowed out entirely.