Member-only story
Seven Insufficient Shelters
I haven’t written anything, even a little thing, that I liked, even a little bit, since I stopped drinking before writing months ago. Sometimes, when I’m reading quietly before bed or standing in scalding shower water, remembering how to feel, I let my deepest fear creep in. What if I never do, again?
I confessed to my new counselor that sometimes when I didn’t have the time to find erotica or get into the sexual headspace I felt I needed in order to pursue intimacy with my partner of a decade-plus, I’d read the adult section of Craiglist. Knowing the secret desires of people just miles away from me, maybe next door, was a quiet thrill — enough to excite my body into action or some sort of response.
“You need a chance to play a submissive,” my counselor told me. “You take on the power role in every area of your life. Your desire stems from wanting to feel occasionally irresponsible or out of control.”
A week later I read the ad on Craigslist — targeting every single desire I’d expressed. I never told that therapist I read it, but something shifted in the safety of the space of that sheltered room and I saw a way my confidence could be exploited. Not too far after, Craigslist removed that section, and the therapist left town. We never spoke of what I’d read and how I’d known.
