Shannon Crocus (My Succubus 2 & 3)

II.

Cursed be the household
whose inhabitants worship
Jehovah yet fail to protect
against the demons near;
all manner of sex and sin
hell-fiends patiently wait
    for human instinct.

Should the father falter
for fidelity, in his Christ-like
paternal role, a beacon
to offspring as the true
God-fearing male archetype;
then surely daemons will
    press their advantage.

Likewise, should wife and
mother become lacking in
her dutiful response to
both Husband and God,
or to God-given progeny,
then surely daemons will
    press their advantage.

Herein, I was borne,
a son, a middle child,
brother to two sisters,
whose father often slept
after returning from work,
and whose mother truly did
    the best she could.

Come adolescence,
heavily fell puberty 'pon me;
God's house of worship
fell short of stemming a
young boy's wellspring of
physical curiosity and
    moral confusion.

My older sister, bless her
blameless naivete, were
first to blossom, and like
the youth of our time,
had not the guidance for
natural confusions; this,
    both Hell and brother saw.

A younger sister, minding
my own inclinations, followed
closely less church nor mother
but the unobserved play and
expression of her older brother;
this, a succubus paid very,
    very close attention to.

Thus, by hindsight and
through knowing a demon's
long-standing grip o'er each:
my soul, my dreams and loins,
by offending the deepest rules
of our culture's religious morals,
    I sound your warning.

III.

One succubus kept watch,
lurking where we'd missed,
exerting influence 'pon youth
if our guardians turned gaze;
an endeavor made easy by the
frequency of parental neglect;
    'twas always Shannon...

Ages before she'd attach an
evil control over my youth,
there being no prayer to invite;
Shannon Crocus would pinch
our fated threads and laugh
at our innocent approach
    toward damnable sin.

Cruel to manipulate our souls;
we, incapable of knowing true
right from wrong for mere
curiosity and questions of
our diff'rent young bodies;
blameless, them, my sisters,
    a point I'll die insisting.

Being a boy, fault is mine;
they hadn't the solitude to
think on topics ne'er broached;
their rooms were upstairs
and I slept alone down here,
downstairs by the bathroom
    and the fam'ly computer.

Loneliness for exploratory sin
left my young, wandering mind
open to Shannon's soft whispers;
whereupon she taught me the
joy of a rascal-roused manhood;
not long 'fore teen magazines
    became midnight porn sites.

Nor before midnight evolved
into occasional false sickness;
eight hours to learn about sex
and obsess o'er the diversity
of an infinite offering online,
each new body like a new drug
    an' for each I'd get high.

Shannon would smirk 'n whisper,
"imagine a girl nude for you now,
so close... you could feel her,
she could touch your cock,"
my eager manhood listened,
"want to taste between her thighs?"
    ideas to beckon my soul.

An addiction borne unfettered,
where porn's a sinner's classroom,
and by my daemon's urging,
my sisters the secret study;
'twas here that Shannon knew
my soul had flown Heaven's nest
    and knew not where to fly.