My story “The Sex of Therapy” — in the complicated-gender anthology Up For Grabs 2 — is about a sex therapist.
It came out a few months ago.
I was pretty happy with it. I thought the sex was hot, the concept was good, and that the kick-ass anthology editor Lauren Burka had polished off most of my rough edges to make it shine.
Then something unexpected occurred.
This morning I started a training course to become a sex therapist.
Now, I would like to state up front that I knew even before writing my story that sex therapy is not practiced as a hands on profession in the U.S. The main character in that story was more of a sexual surrogate than a sex therapist, and I never had any intention of that story reflecting sex therapy in real life.
On the other hand, I also never had any real intention of my life including a course in sex therapy.
Needless to say, there were quite a few moments during class when I thought about that story and felt more than a bit awkward.
I didn’t feel awkward because I’d written erotica, the class is very much in favor of things that help people think erotically. I felt awkward because I had gotten the mechanics of my potential future vocation so utterly and completely wrong.
