Page 98 of Letters From A Stalker

Julia draws in a breath, then looks briefly toward the window before returning her attention to me. “I was wondering whether sexual preferences can be connected to trauma.”

There are moments when years of medical training become invaluable. This is one of them. They allow me to maintain a completely neutral expression while every inappropriate nerve ending in my body catches fire.

I place the pen against my notepad without writing anything.

“They can be,” I say carefully. “But that’s a very broad answer to a very broad question.”

“I figured.”

She shifts again, crossing her ankles instead of her legs now. “I’m not asking you to become a sex therapist.”

“I appreciate the distinction.”

A small laugh escapes her. “Obviously I’m not about to start discussing positions with you.”

Thank God.

Ghost strongly disagrees.

The thought comes with such speed that I have to redirect my gaze toward the notepad for a second.

Julia continues, thankfully unaware of the internal disaster occurring six feet away.

“I was talking to Tessa about what happened, and somehow the conversation moved into my sex life because she has no boundaries and apparently thinks getting laid is a medically necessary part of recovery.” There is enough dry affection in her voice that I can almost hear Tessa making the argument.

“And that made you wonder about your preferences?”

“Yeah.” Julia turns the bottle slowly between her palms. “Not because I think there’s anything wrong with them. I like what I like. I’ve never felt particularly ashamed of that. But after talking about what happened when I was eighteen, I started wondering whether I should be examining some of it differently.”

“How so?”

She takes her time. “I don’t really like gentle sex.”

The sentence enters the room and finds every part of me that has spent the last week desperately attempting to behave. Ghost becomes very still.

“What does gentle mean to you in that context?”

“The whole... soft, slow, romantic thing.” She gestures vaguely with one hand, already looking mildly embarrassed. “I’m not saying I need somebody to treat me like we’re reenacting a Viking invasion every time I have sex. I just prefer more intensity. More control.”

Mine.

The thought is so immediate it feels like instinct. I shut it down. Julia has not given that word to me. Ghost doesn’t care. Kai does. That distinction is rapidly becoming the only thing keeping me remotely functional.

“I like knowing the other person is in control,” she continues, choosing her words carefully. “Restraint sometimes. Being held in place. Things like that. Nothing that feels unsafe to me when I’m actually doing it, but on paper...” She gives a quiet laugh. “On paper it probably sounds spectacularly contradictory considering what happened.”

“It doesn’t necessarily.” I manage.

Her eyebrows rise slightly. “I knew I was paying you for something.”

I ignore the attempt to lighten it because she has asked a legitimate question and deserves a legitimate answer.

“Sexual preferences don’t always have a single origin, and even when trauma influences what someone finds comfortable or arousing, that doesn’t automatically make the preference unhealthy. Human sexuality is considerably more complicated than identifying an experience in childhood or adolescence and drawing a straight line from that event to everything someone enjoys later.”

Julia looks relieved enough that I wonder how much she expected me to pathologize her.

“What matters more,” I continue, “is how you experience those situations now. Whether you feel present, whether the choice is yours, whether the people you’re with respect your boundaries and whether you feel good about the experience afterward.”

She nods slowly. “That’s pretty much what I told Tessa.”