Written by Mercy Williams
I’ve been locked in a threesome for as long as I can remember—one between my body, my body dysmorphia and my inner consciousness.
On screen and in literature, we’re often compelled to romanticise the idea of threesomes as bodies lustfully pressed together, slipping in and out of each other, and entangled in passionate unison. Until recently, I hadn’t thought to interrogate the intricacies of what it means for 3 individuals to come together in the pursuit of pleasure, synergy and possibly surrender. I understand how intellectualising some things waters down the experience, but stay with me.
If a threesome were a smoothie, I think it would be a rich blend of intimacy, conflict, thrill, chaos, confusion, lust and so much more. If it were a mural, it would be beautiful, and ugly, and messy, and alluring all at once! And if it were a song, it would be a genre-bending melody punctuated with sharp turns and smooth transitions. No imagination of mine is rid of the unpleasant, the ugly, and the unwanted. Instead, it is a well-balanced choreography of both sweet and sour emotions and expressions.
The paradoxical nature of the entire arrangement is why I believe I’ve been locked in one I never questioned, consented to, or understood—at least until now. In my case, I’d like to think the lovers that my conscious mind is often warring against, yet making love to, are my body and my body dysmorphia. Here’s what I mean:
My Body
One thing is for sure: my body is a rebellious girl. I find it oddly intriguing and annoying that this pack of flesh, bones and organs will throw tantrums when she doesn’t get what she wants. Don’t believe me? Let’s talk about routines and rest for instance.
What’s your morning ritual typically like? If you’re curious about my morning routine, I would honestly say that I have none. Oh! You thought I had a poetic recital on how I yawn into golden rays of dawn from my princess bedroom? Ha! Unfortunately—or fortunately—I’m too lazy for all those shenanigans. My body gets into each day with fresh spontaneity. Some days she’s an early bird trying to do some work, and some other mornings she’s starting out with a high-vibration afrobeat song while crunching on any available snack she can find.
Let me start with the first two obvious things about my current life as a nonchalant freelancer approaching her thirties in the jungle that is Lagos, Nigeria.
First off, while I do have a comfortable bed and duvet that enable my spell-like, long stretches of sleep, my morning rituals are almost non-existent because my body and mind often decide that they will not fully be awake until noon is lurking around the corner. Yes, sleep is both therapy and punishment for me. Therapy, because sleep is the one thing I always run to when interfacing with the real world becomes too overwhelming for me. Punishment because it seems like I cannot always will it to come and go as I wish.
There are days when I sleep like a drunkard, often annoyed with all the productive hours that have passed me by. At one point when I was younger, I even arrived at the conclusion that I was possessed by a sleeping demon determined to ruin my life.
And then there are the other days when, to shut my brain at night, I would have to rely on apps, pills or even give in to the ultimate and unbecoming act of doomscrolling on social media until I’m sleep deprived and need another few days to recover.
Add living with a neurological condition and a neurodivergent brain in an ableist Nigeria to the mix, and what you have is a girl who is constantly combating fatigue or other debilitating symptoms, finding any form of motivation to get through each day and inventing new ways to stay positive in the midst of a storm that won’t die out.
Completing chores as simple as making the bed, doing the laundry, or washing the dishes feels like Herculean tasks, and surviving in a capitalist world feels like being plunged into a dystopian nightmare without a map, tools, or a guide to help you get to safety.
And so, of the three lovers, my body is the pillow princess who wants to be served, adored, loved, and pampered without complaints. She is averse to hard work and will either fight or have a meltdown when pushed to limits she considers too difficult. Typically, she will break down like a spoilt toddler if she does not get what she wants. But in her defence, she does what she needs to to keep me alive and even affords me some compliments every now and then.
My Body Dysmorphia
If I asked you to gather pockets of memories where you looked at your physical features and formed honest and maybe strong opinions on them, what would those clusters of words and phrases look like? Cute? Confident? Appalling? Sad?
What would the tone and voice that describes your body sound like?
I am among those who prefer to believe that we are all spirits, experiencing the human condition. And as much as that is a hill I’m willing to lay my life on, there’s the inevitable reality of our day-to-day interactions. There’s the persistent confrontation with a society that is strewn with many different tongues, tugging at us from different directions. Defining what is beautiful and what is acceptable.
And so as much as we fight to hold the most positive convictions and affirmations close to our hearts, there are the constant distractions that make us look away from it all. Loud voices that often make us spend more time in an unhealthy circle of questioning, self-rejection, and basking in all the elements of uniqueness that we own—attributes we commonly now tag as ‘insecurities’. Tough, isn’t it?
As an almost 30-year-old woman experiencing what many like to call “second puberty”, I find that I’m embracing my new body with mixed feelings. On one hand, I’m thrilled to see my petite and smallish body has the capacity for weight and thickness. But on the other hand, I am upset that while it grows, I cannot press a stop button at the exact weight I’d prefer to have. I want to embrace my new size in the spirit of body-positivity but I’m struggling to accept the fact that most of my clothes no longer fit, my fupa is as promiscuous as she is attention-seeking, and my inner consciousness cannot decide whether she wants to enjoy this phase or hit the gym as a silent protest.
My body dysmorphia, the domme in this triangle, has always embodied a wicked and urgent need for control, masked as love and concern. Before I knew her name, I’d always heard her voice and allowed her to make a home in the walls of my mind as a child. She was—and still is—insatiable. She described my body as a parachute for years and wouldn’t let me smile with my teeth out because she thought my gap tooth was ridiculous. She would make me stare at my lips endlessly because they looked too big and she mocked my legs constantly because my calves, lined with stretch marks, were also too strong for a girl.
She is an obsessive seductress who makes puppets out of people. And I’ve been hers for most of my life.
Of the three lovers, my body dysmorphia brings the sultry and powerful energy of a selfish dominatrix who’s after her pleasure—and her pleasure alone.
My Inner Consciousness
At what point did you first realise that you were a living, breathing, independent entity? At what moment did you first experience a brief but almost unsettling episode of derealisation—a short moment of dissociation from your body that forced you to confront your individuality?
I definitely do not remember my first time. What I do know is that every now and then, I experience a brief but dizzying feeling of stepping outside of myself to view the world around. Yes. I become a witness to my own life in a matter of seconds and return back so quickly that without a good sense of perception, I’d barely notice that it happened at all.
But those transient and possibly transcendent moments often remind me that maybe I’m not just a pack of flesh and bones and organs. And while I have this constant nudge to philosophise my way through life, I strongly believe that my consciousness also serves as the intermediary between the aforementioned lovers in this menage-à-trois. When she isn’t submitting herself to the cruel whims of my body dysmorphia, she is in service of my body, fuelling her unending need to be coddled. A true lover girl, my inner consciousness lives to satisfy her partners through and through.
But here’s where it gets interesting; she is thoroughly understated. Every now and then, my inner consciousness shows that her malleability is ultimately a choice and that she can also dominate or make stern requests of the others when there’s an urgent need for balance.
For instance, on the days when I have strict tasks to be completed and my body demands rest for doing practically nothing, my consciousness has the capacity to bring to the fore memories of disastrous consequences I’ve faced in the past for similar nonchalance or possible unpleasant outcomes that await me if I don’t get to work. And in moments when I don’t feel pretty enough, and my body dysmorphia takes her time to shine a torch on my older insecurities or even introduce me to new ones, my consciousness responds with a battle cry that says I am beautiful regardless of how I feel on the outside. She teaches me to be content on the days when I don’t have strength for positivity, and many a time, that’s good enough to get me through the day.
The Triangle
In an ideal situation, this closed triad would be the perfect throuple. They would be in constant sync on who dictates what per time. Like the lovers who finish each other’s sentences or never have an argument, in an ideal world, this throuple would be hopping from one rendezvous to the next, falling deeper and deeper in love with each other. In an ideal setting, each member of the group would’ve memorised every line of the foreplay rulebook. Every kiss, filled with the perfect amount of intensity and intention. Every posture and position is taken with the dedication of a soldier on a battlefield. Every thrust would penetrate deep enough; every moan, loud enough; every buildup, high enough; and at the peak of it all, all three would descend gradually, each one folding itself into the other, gasping for air as they gather momentum for another wave.
But real life isn’t ideal, and I don’t believe threesomes are always as glamorous as portrayed in the media. I don’t buy the idea that everyone is in the same headspace per time, feeling nothing but euphoria from start to finish. I think that’s an oversimplification of what I believe to be an ethereal negotiation of hedonism, of indulgences, but also of concessions.
Who is prioritised at what time? Who feels left out? Who gives the most in what moment? What does balance look like per session?
And so when I examine my beautiful, awkward and chaotic relationship between my body, my body dysmorphia and my inner consciousness, I’ve come to accept that the negotiations will always be an integral but ongoing part of my existence.
In some chapters of my life, my body will take the front seat, requiring enormous amounts of internal and external attention to function properly and to be her best self. On some days, my body dysmorphia will have her way and throw the others to the back burner. She will dominate and they will comply willingly with her instructions, as it will be the only way to maintain peace. And on many other days, my inner consciousness will conquer. Her voice will be the loudest, her undeniable wisdom charting the right course for the others to follow.
What a privilege it is to fall thoroughly in love with oneself over and over again. This love is not linear. It waxes and wanes. But it never leaves.
What a privilege to look upon a mirror every now and then and think, just like the great Narcissus of old “how dare I be so beautiful?”
About the Writer:
Mercy Williams is a multi-passionate creative whose non-linear career blends storytelling, product design, and advocacy, with a gift for writing everything from scripts and poetry to essays and fiction. As the founder of Denlaa Creative, she nurtures a vibrant community of African storytellers, using her layered voice to immerse, disrupt, and leave a lasting impression. She is on the writing track for the 2025 Adventures Creators Programme.
