There’s evidence that D.H. Lawrence enjoyed an erotic power exchange relationship with his wife, that James Joyce was into scat (among other things), and that Oscar Wilde—well, most of us know what Oscar Wilde liked. These literary geniuses explored radical sexual agency and desire in their work and in their relationships, but little beyond rumors and personal letters exist to tell us what they themselves thought of their turn-ons and the ways in which those dovetailed with their writing. Even if space for such a discourse and community had existed back then, Lawrence, Joyce and Wilde couldn’t freely discuss their sexuality. As it was, they faced censorship and generated scandal wherever they went, and of course Wilde went to prison for his sexual behavior.
Although our world is still intolerant of sexual difference, I want to believe we’re at a point where people can speak openly about the consensual ways we express our erotic selves. And I’m interested in the connections between those private expressions and the larger, more public work we do in the world. This series is meant as a forging of community; a validation of that which gets called sexual deviance; and a proud celebration of the complex, fascinating ways that humans experience desire.
In this ongoing series of short personal essays, writers in all genres—novelists, poets, journalists, and more—explore the intersection between our literary lives and practices and our BDSM and fetishistic lives and practices. In other words, these essays aren’t about writing about non-normative sex: rather, it’s a series about how looking at the world through the lens of an alternative sexual orientation influences the modes and strategies with which one approaches one’s creative work.
If you have questions or comments, or if you’re a writer who would like to contribute, please contact me at kinkwriting@gmail.com.
–Arielle Greenberg, Series Editor
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Anxiety, Control, and Escape
I am, and always have been, a really anxious person.
My mum used to call me a “worrier,” a trait that has been passed down through generations. As a kid I’d worry about anything from the next speech I had to give at school to the very nature of my future. As a teenager I’d get melancholy, spending nights in bed wondering where my childhood has gone.
As I’ve grown, that worrying has at times become more serious. In my early adulthood I was diagnosed with depression, with that occasional sense of melancholy coming to dominate my entire outlook. That sadness is now long gone, but I still often wake with an inexplicable pit in my stomach, a debilitating sense of fear I cannot put my finger on.
I get anxious about everything—that I’m working too much, that I’m working too little, that I’m not relaxing enough, that I’m not successful enough, that I’m not spending enough time reading, or watching movies, or exercising, that I’m not a good boyfriend, that I’m not having enough sex, that I have too much sex. The list goes on, often in contradictory ways. Sometimes this feeling stretches into days or weeks.