Hypersexuality: Sexual assault and its impact on control and intimacy

Trying to find the language for sexual assault is like sitting an examination in a subject you were never taught. The appropriate vocabulary for violation is elusive; stories, or rather experiences, vary widely, from the harrowing minutes of the act to the decades that follow. We often search for a singular narrative of grief, yet trauma is not uniform; it is a shapeshifter.

For 28-year-old Marion Nekesa, the ghost of her assault did not manifest as a fear of touch. Instead, it appeared as a hunger for it.

To the casual observer, Nekesa’s behaviour might easily be judged. In a society quick to condemn, individuals driven by intense, seemingly out-of-character sexual urges are often labelled as immoral or deviant. Yet beneath what may appear to be self-indulgence lies a complex and agonising coping mechanism known as hypersexuality, or compulsive sexual behaviour disorder (CSBD).

In clinical circles, hypersexuality, or compulsive sexual behaviour disorder, is described as the persistent inability to control intense, repetitive sexual urges that cause significant distress, according to the Cleveland Clinic.

For some sexual assault survivors experiencing hypersexuality, the sudden urge to engage in sexual activity is not driven by mania but by a desire to reclaim control over sexual encounters, ensuring they never again feel powerless. It can become an unexpected manifestation of the same cycle, where survivors feel deeply damaged and subconsciously seek situations that reinforce their lowest self-perceptions.

Now 28, Nekesa is at an age when many women are building careers and seeking stable relationships. Instead, she lives with the aftermath of a day she never believed she would survive. Her reality is a paradox: she survived a crime that stole her bodily autonomy, yet her body craves the very act associated with her trauma.

She recalls how her experience began:

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“After I was raped multiple times, I felt completely broken and violated. I lay there naked, stripped of dignity, and even as tears rolled down my face, they could not erase the horror I knew I would carry forever. I walked away in a blood-stained dress and promised myself it would never happen again; I would take control of my body.

“My next experience was with a friend. I coerced him into sex, not because I liked him, but because I wanted to feel in charge. After that, the urge never went away. It became an indescribable need to constantly seek control through sex.”

“Trauma manifests differently in each individual,” says Kelvin Obegi, a private psychologist. “It rewires the brain’s survival mechanisms. For some people, the ‘fight’ response remains permanently activated, leading to behaviours that feel like a loss of self.”

During therapy, Nekesa’s counsellor noted that she was not a perverted individual, but rather a deeply wounded person attempting to heal in the only way that made psychological sense to her at the time.

However, trauma responses exist on a spectrum. While one survivor may crave sexual contact after assault, another may feel intense aversion towards it.

Amanda*, a 31-year-old Nairobi resident, describes how prolonged sexual abuse by a close relative left her emotionally scarred years later.

“After I was sexually assaulted by my uncle, I blamed myself for not defending myself or telling my parents. He threatened to kill me if I spoke out, and as a child, I was terrified. I stayed silent.

“Years later, in my marriage, the consequences became clear. I could not enjoy intimacy with my husband. Flashbacks would return whenever we tried to be intimate, and I began to hate sex altogether. Meeting my marital obligations became extremely difficult. My husband eventually initiated divorce proceedings, and that is when I sought therapy to give my marriage a chance.”

Unlike Nekesa’s story, Amanda’s experience illustrates how sexual assault survivors respond differently to trauma. One survivor developed an intense need for sexual encounters as a way of reclaiming control, while another developed deep revulsion towards intimacy.

In a society that often expects victims to express grief in a particular way, the stories of these two women challenge those assumptions. They remind us that life after sexual assault is not linear but a complex and often contradictory landscape of survival.

Their stories are not merely accounts of pain; they are testimonies to the messy, enduring resilience of the human spirit.