Agoraphobia to Aftercare
Shelia’s Journey into Joyful Kink
[Setting: The Alibi Room. It’s a typical loud, grimy South Side evening. The regulars are deep in their drinks. Frank’s already two monologues into a rant about the government’s plot to steal his liver. Kev and V are behind the bar, curious. In walks Shelia, beaming, with a tote bag that sloshes slightly when she moves.]
Shelia (excited, fluttery):
Hi everyone! Oh my gosh, this is so exciting! I haven’t been out like this since—well, since before I learned how to use a leash properly. And not the dog kind—though those can be fun too!
[A few barflies raise eyebrows. Frank groans into his beer.]
Shelia (cheerfully ignoring Frank):
So! The gang said they were curious about… why someone like me—little ol’ Shelia—would be into BDSM. And first off, let me just say, it’s not all whips and chains and… insert dragon-shaped fantasy silicone—though, some of us are big fans of imaginative design.
[She pulls out something vaguely iridescent from her bag. Frank nearly falls off his stool.]
Frank (grumbling):
Jesus Christ, that thing got forged in Mordor?
Shelia (giggling):
No, Frank, Etsy. But let’s talk about what this really is.
[She clears her throat, suddenly surprisingly composed, as if she’d been waiting to give this speech her whole life.]
Shelia:
BDSM stands for bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism, and masochism. But that’s just the technical part. What it really is… is trust. It’s communication. It’s connection on a level that’s so honest, you’d think everyone’s drunk on truth serum and oxytocin.
We use safewords—like “pineapple” or “Mickey Rourke.” You ever had that in a marriage, Frank? Hmm?
Frank (grunts):
I had a parole officer once say “pineapple” to me.
Shelia:
Consent, darlings! That’s the crown jewel. Everything we do is agreed on—enthusiastically. Whether it’s rope play, spanking, roleplay, or being led around in a latex puppy suit named Mr. Wags—it’s about feeling safe enough to let go.
Kev (curious):
Wait, people actually get turned on by getting bossed around?
Shelia (nodding):
Oh, honey. Some people get off on control, others on surrendering it. And when it’s done right? With care? It’s healing. I’ve met survivors who found power again through topping. I’ve seen marriages saved by a little blindfold and a flogger. It’s not about pain—it’s about sensation. Focus. Trust. Intimacy.
[She pulls out a small leather paddle, places it gently on the bar. Half the room flinches. She smiles sweetly.]
Shelia:
Also? It’s fun. It’s silly sometimes! You ever seen a grown man in a unicorn onesie begging to be tickled for points in a game called “Subby Says”? I have. Twice. Last Thursday.
V (laughing):
Girl, where do you party?
Shelia:
Community munches, local dungeons—no, not like medieval torture. Think themed rooms, safety protocols, and a dungeon monitor named Cheryl with a clipboard and a taser just in case. It’s safer than most one-night stands I’ve had!
Frank (horrified):
You’re all out of your minds.
Shelia (grinning wide):
No, Frankie. We just finally got in our bodies. And baby, it feels good.
[There’s a pause. A weirdly respectful silence.]
Kev:
So… you think someone like me and V could—?
Shelia (already pulling out a laminated pamphlet):
There’s a beginners’ rope workshop next Tuesday. First knot’s free.
[Fade out as Shelia starts explaining the difference between silicone-based and water-based lube to a very bewildered Lip, and Frank just slowly slides off his barstool in existential defeat.]
Shelia’s Takeaway (as she repacks her toys):
Remember, friends: safe, sane, and consensual—or if you’re spicy, RACK: Risk-Aware Consensual Kink. And above all else… talk about what you like. You might just find your own dragon in the dungeon.