#The_Don_Juan_Syndrome

#Based_On_A_True_Life_Story


⚠WARNING ⚠️

⚠️18+⚠️

🔇THIS POST CONTAINS SOME SEXUALLY EXPLICIT MATERIAL🔇

🔇READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED🔇

The Accident&Emergency Complex
University of Benin Teaching Hospital
Thursday, 27 August, 2015
08.15pm

He was a 33-year-old man with a tertiary level of education who was rushed into the Emergency Unit by his younger cousin with a wide gash over the ridge of his nose said to be sustained at an "unknown" place and in "unknown" circumstances.

It was something which the senior registrar on call, Dr Ms Somto Unachukwu, could not understand. Was that even possible? Every form of trauma had a mechanism, and this was what formed part of the preliminary surveys that the doctor was supposed to take into consideration in managing this patient.

But regardless of how profusely the injury bled, the victim, identified as Mr Moses Efekodo, maintained that he didn't know where or how it happened.

Dr Unachukwu regarded him closely. Mr Efekodo was scantily clad in small boxer shorts and a singlet, and he held a heavy piece of towel over the bleeding face. By and large, this man was alert. He'd only sustained a minor injury from what Dr Unachukwu could make out, but it was also easy to see that the man was also restless. Sweat exuded from every pore on his body and he seemed out of breath.

The man's cousin, identified as Mr Nosa Obazee, stuttered as he tried to give account of anything. "I just see am like that for house," he said, fiddling a bunch of keys.

"Just like that?" Dr Unachukwu said quizzically. "You have no idea what caused it?"

Obazee glanced at his older cousin and then back to the doctor. Then he shook his head twice. "No, I no know."

Even as a student attached to the senior registrar, I could pick out the sudden apprehension which draped over Mr Obazee's face. He seemed totally uncomfortable, always shifting from one foot to the other, like he urgently needed to pee. I was sure Dr Unachukwu picked it out, too.

As for the management of the victim's injuries, he'd be needing a stitch to close the gash, but the mechanism of the injury was what Dr Unachukwu was bent on figuring out. She already knew something was up. Ordinarily, she could have passed it off as an assault or even a trauma following a brawl. But then if it were any of the above, why were the victim and his cousin so coy about it?


Almost immediately, a dreaded thought flashed through her mind. Could this have been a robbery case? If it was then the Police had to be involved immediately. The more time elapsed, the more intrigued - and maybe perplexed - Dr Unachukwu became by the entire unfolding saga.

"I swear I don't know how it happened to me," Mr Efekodo swore. He sounded so refined you would think he had lived all his life in Europe.

Dr Unachukwu was not impressed. She knew something was amiss somewhere. There was something these people were not saying. Almost immediately, word arrived that the patient, Mr Efekodo, was a known patient of the the clinical psychologists who had treated him for depression and a few other psychological issues. It was all well documented in his case note.

I stood right there beside my chief, Dr Ms Unachukwu, as she perused the case note when it arrived shortly afterwards. Mr Efekodo, it was documented, had suffered from inferiority complex, violent childhood and even cruel punishment by guardian while growing up.

Just then Dr Unachukwu clicked her fingers. A thought seemed to have dropped in. She turned to the victim's cousin, Nosa Obazee. "Sir, can I see you outside for a minute?"

Mr Obazee dragged his feet on hearing that. His older cousin had fixed him a quick but searing gaze that made the younger man shiver in his boots, but Dr Unachukwu already caught that.

"See me outside now!" the Doctor bellowed, half frightened by the sound of her own voice. Sometimes these patients needed to be dragged by the scruff of the neck for them to comply.

Immediately, Mr Obazee dragged himself to his feet. I trotted behind my boss as she walked outside to see the victim's cousin.

Once we were all outside, Dr Unachukwu didn't waste any more time. "Now, Mr Obazee, game time is over. I know your cousin is being managed here for a few psychological problems. Now, tell me exactly what happened to your cousin or I will withhold treatment and send for the Police right now!"

On hearing the word 'Police', a certain flame glinted in Mr Obazee's eyes. He fiddled with his keys again. "Ermm, Doctor, I no know as I wan take talk am."

"Say it any way you want it."

Mr Obazee paused a little, then scratched his jaw. He seemed heavily weighed down by whatever he wanted to say. "Doctor, my brother get serious wahala!"

"I'm listening."

Mr Obazee paused a little longer this time. "He too like to dey fuck woman. He no dey ever tire."

"Go on!"

"Ermm, I no know as I wan take put am now, but Brother Moses prick no dey rest. Every day he dey fuck, fuck, fuck. Morning, afternoon and night. Doctor, the thing tire me o!" Mr Obazee made a 'banging motion' with his two hands as he demonstrated. "And no be like say na one geh o! Doctor! Na plenty different gehs. Orobo, lekpa, semi-orobo, semi-lekpa! Tall oo! Short oo!"

I struggled to hold down the giggles, but Dr Unachukwu was not amused. She seemed to be struggling to tie what she'd just heard to the trauma on the man's face. She remembered the man's psychological history. "Was there anything else you noticed about him?"

Mr Obazee hesitated. "Ehem, his behavior been change shaa, but that one don tey wey e start."

"Wetin be that?" I chipped in perfunctorily. Dr Unachukwu shot me a quick look.

"Brother Moses dey quick vex," Mr Obazee said. "Small thing he don vex. And sometimes eeh, he go even vex break bottle for small thing wey no get head."

"He's given to violence," Dr Unachukwu said to herself.

"Yes, Doctor," Mr Obazee said. "Serious violence. And once he fuck geh finish eeh, he go complain say she no sweet. Say he no even release sef. Some times he go talk say her psy dey smell. He fit even vex slap the geh, and before you know am, he don go carry another woman enter house."

"Like how many girls per day?" Dr Unachukwu asked.

Mr Obazee didn't even need to think about it. "Like 4 to 5 different gehs every blessed day, Doctor," he replied.

"So how did he sustain the injury?"

Mr Obazee swallowed hard. "Na the last geh wey he carry come house today na she cause am. Brother Moses fuck this geh since to 5 for evening reach around that kind 6.30. Him room door still lock and the next thing me hear na fight. E be like the geh no do again." He paused.

I was already enjoying the story. 'Go on, man,' I said in my mind. 'Biko kwantinu jare!'

"The geh open door say she wan go, na im Brother Moses come slap am. The geh vex comot her big shoe come use am hit am for face." Mr Obazee drew a deep breath, he seemed to have aged so much in those few minutes of recounting the story.

By the time he finished, Dr Unachukwu already knew what we were dealing with.

"Wetin come do the geh?" I asked, eager for more.

But before Mr Obazee could answer, Dr Unachukwu shot in. "Casey, what do you think is wrong with that patient?" she asked. "He has a history of violence, inferiority complex, cruelty in childhood, and now excessive sexual drive."

I thought for a while. I had not done any Mental Health posting so I had no inkling. I hazarded a guess. "Post-traumatic stress disorder?"

Dr Unachukwu shook her head no. Then she discharged Mr Obazee, thanked him, and started to walk back into the Emergency room. I followed suit. Suddenly she stopped and spun to face me. "Have you heard of the Don Juan Syndrome?"

"Don what?"

Dr Unachukwu smiled. "Don Juan. Pronounced "Don Huan". It's also known as Satyriasis."

I shook my head no, and it was all the signal Dr Unachukwu needed to set the ball rolling.

The Don Juan Syndrome, also known as Don Juanism or Satyriasis, was an exaggerated sexual desire in men and the feeling of constant sexual dissatisfaction. This was almost the same as Nymphomania in women but occured exclusively in men.

The name 'Don Juan' was got from the Don Juan of opera and fiction; while the term 'Satyriasis' derived from the name of an ancient pagan god 'Satyr' who was notorious for his love adventures and a huge sexual power.

In ancient times, this word was used as an offense and was equal to Nymphomania. In the 20 century, it was a subjective pathology and specialists did not regard it as a disease. Only modern medicine defined Satyriasis as a psychological disorder.

Unlike Nymphomania, a man with Don Juan Syndrome could have sex an unlimited number of times without reaching an orgasm. It meant that his arousal and sex drive were exclusively psychological. It also involved frequent change of partners for sex; constant desire to have sex; dissatisfaction with his sex life (the number of intercourses did not play a role). In severe cases, a man could have erotic hallucinations and even disposition to violence (as well as aggressiveness and excessive irritation).

While the psychological causes included hormonal pathologies; cranial nerves injuries and cerebral vascular tree damage; by far the most common causes were psychological, such as inferiority complex, violence in childhood and even unpleasant past sexual experiences. It could also be a secondary symptom of diseases like schizophrenia and could cause sexual fetishism [where someone is attracted to inanimate objects].

It's believed to be commoner in teenage boys due to the testosterone surge that followed puberty, but it often disappeared afterwards.

Dr Unachukwu started to head to the the residents' room as a nurse attended to Mr Efekodo's gash.

"How could it be managed, Chief?" I asked.

"It's left for the Mental Health physicians to figure it out and I will write them a consult now since he's originally their patient," Dr Unachukwu said, "but basically it would involve sessions with the clinical psychiatrists and the use of antipsychotics and sedatives."

I stood there and peered aimlessly into space as Dr Unachukwu disappeared into the corridor. I'd heard of Nymphomania, but Don Juan Syndrome? I just couldn't easily wrap my head around it.

I turned to go. Then I heard it again!

"I want to fuck someone now!" a voice shouted angrily. "Someone should give me a p*y now or?"

A few persons in the Emergency room burst into laughter.

This time I didn't giggle. I didn't need to be told whose voice it was.


#ChukwuGozieUnuNiile

DISCLAIMER
This may be a true-life story, but the names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

APPRECIATION
Special thanks to my ARDENT READER, Unachukwu Somto; and my classmates Obazee Nosamudiana and Moses Efekodo, for using their names in the course of the story. This is my own little way of saying thank you to you all for your readership support.

~ Caséy Amaefule©