Erotophobia and Other Challenges
R. K. Smith
Erotophobia and Other Challenges
R.K. Smith
Copyright © 2015 R. K. Smith
All rights reserved
Neither this book nor any part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author, except for the quotation of passages by a reviewer in print or through electronic mass media.
These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Canadian Cataloguing In Publication Data
ISBN - 978-0-9780485-5-6
Contents
Erotophobia
Bedbugs and Fleas
A.D.D. P.I.
About The Author
Other Works By This Author
Erotophobia
Steven Fletcher looked at the array of possible ensembles wondering what one wore to an adult book store. He didn’t lack clothes; his weekly visits to Thrifties guaranteed that. He was amazed by the discards people donated to the shop attached to the food bank. His job at the Canadian Pipe and Rail factory guaranteed he never went hungry but he had never before been able to purchase the wardrobe he craved. That changed when he discovered the fashion bargains at Thrifties. Now, the entire spare room was full of shirts, vests, and pants for all occasions, from a black tuxedo to work-a-day jeans to a pub-crawling silver shirt that he never wore. The only bar he frequented was dingy, smelled of tobacco, and never attracted women; the sequinned shirt would have been horribly out of place. But it was somehow comforting to know that he could dress appropriately for any occasion. There were many possibilities for this sex shop experiment, but he had no idea what would be suitable.
It had taken four months for him to agree to try Dr. Watford’s suggestion. He had originally started going to a psychologist when he finally admitted that his fears were paralyzing him. In January, Dr. Watford had asked Steven to bring to the next session two lists - five fearful items and five stressful situations.
The list of objects was difficult because the catalog was so extensive. Even if Steven restricted it to living things, there were too many. He knew there were other people who also feared dogs, snakes, and alligators. Most hated rats and cockroaches too, but they weren’t terrified of them like him. He feared horses because they were huge and greyhounds because they were fast - as well as being dogs. There was no explanation for turtles though, because they were small and slow. Bees didn’t count since he was allergic to them so his fear was rational. Any kind of bird was fine, except for bats, which weren’t actually birds but a species of mammal. Steven called them ‘flying rats’.
The list of stressful situations was easier since there were fewer. Being held down and public speaking topped it. He was also petrified by thunder. He had read that canines also were, which almost made him sympathetic towards them. Perhaps if the article had said felines, he would have felt some compassion. He also hated being the centre of attention, a hatred which was actually based on fear. “I hate it,” was easier to say than “I’m afraid of it.”
He added to the list that he was apprehensive about baldness because his hair was getting thin even though he was only twenty-seven. He didn’t vigorously towel his hair after a shower; he patted it dry. But then he realized that wasn’t the kind of fear Dr. Watford meant. He crossed baldness off the list, searching for a replacement. He avoided females, confessing to himself that he was quite afraid of their privates. When the other boys at school had told dirty jokes or held one of ‘those’ discussions, Steven absented himself. They called him a prude and he accepted the label, letting the fearfulness remain hidden.
Now he was going to a sex shop.
Dr. Watford was a behaviourist, someone who helped people cope with phobias through desensitization. However, going to a farm or zoo to acclimatize himself to animals was simply out of the question. Even thinking about it produced stuttering and shaking. Making a speech, letting someone hold him down, or going outside during a thunderstorm were equally impossible. So was becoming the centre of attention. He had carefully established a routine for work and could not jeopardize his job by suddenly changing, demanding the focus.
That left his fear of women’s unmentionable body parts. Dr. Watford suggested hiring someone to let him look but that would be too intimidating. He then recommended Steven take a less personal step by visiting an adult book shop. Steven still resisted but after a few months, Dr. Watford said he had reached the limit of what could be done by office talking and he was wasting his time. That’s when Steven agreed.
Steven knew of one such shop in town – Exxxstasy Books and Paraphernalia – which he passed weekly on his way to Thrifties. He knew from the lurid neon sign out front what the store was. The display window contained things he refused to look at, and they were separated from the store’s interior by a black screen so customers could remain hidden.
But he didn’t know what to wear for the visit. As he thought about how to dress, he realized he needed to look anonymous. He wouldn’t want Leonard Dorchester, his work supervisor, - or anyone else for that matter - to recognize him going in or coming out. Brown jeans, a plaid shirt and a ratty beige sweater he used for household chores provided the base. When he added a pair of sunglasses and a faded blue cap he had picked up when he was planning to paint the kitchen ceiling, the outfit was complete. When he looked in the mirror, he shuddered and thought Doesn’t look like me. Too unfashionable. Could be anyone.
He didn’t want to go into the store if there were others inside but he couldn’t see because of the black screen behind the window display. He stood across the street watching the comings and goings, not aware of the security camera over the door. Fifteen minutes later when he thought the shop must be empty, someone else went in and he had to wait another twenty minutes before that man exited. Then Steven decided the coast was clear but immediately after he entered, two young men followed. Then came an older man who smelled of Old Spice Aftershave Lotion.
The clerk was an overweight, middle-aged woman with bright red hair, which surprised Steven – not the hair, but the fact that a female was working in that kind of place. She seemed somewhat uncomfortable, which didn’t really surprise Steven. She re-stacked things on the counter which already looked orderly, then put her hands underneath. Probably has a magazine under there Steven thought. Hopefully, not one from here. There was a locked display cabinet beside the till containing brightly coloured boxes.
Unexpectedly, the place smelled like a rose garden. Steven realized it was slightly astringent, probably some kind of incense. There was a side room marked ‘Adult Novelties – Scented Vibrators and Flavoured Condoms’, but Steven had no interest in going into it. Being in the main section with books, magazines, and movies was proving difficult enough.
He watched as the older man picked out a DVD without spending much time looking. “It’s for my grandson,” he said as he slid it across the counter. “Wait, that sounds bad. He’s getting married and this is for his stag party. His father’s organizing everything else and I’m supposed to pick something up for everyone to watch, then raffle off after.” As the man fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, Steven noticed a monitor beside the clerk; the screen rotated between scenes from the various security cameras around the shop.
r /> He wandered, looking at the covers of the magazines, videotapes, and DVDs while trying to work up the nerve to actually pick something up to look inside or at least at the back. The boys seemed in no hurry and had no reluctance to examine things closely. Steven wondered if they intended to buy. He told himself he would actually touch something when they left. One of them took a phone from his pocket and the clerk immediately said, “No pictures. If you like something, you buy it.”
“Just checking my messages,” he answered, making a show of studying the screen.
When it began to sound from their conversation that they were planning to leave, the clerk said, “I have something here you might be interested in.” She pulled her hands from under the counter again and made a show of clumsily unlocking the display cabinet beside the cash register.
Steven wondered why she was delaying them since they had shown no inclination to buy anything. He didn’t wonder long though because the door opened and two uniformed police officers entered.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” the clerk said. “These guys are about to leave.” Then she pointed at Steven. “That’s him.”
“Sir,” said one of the policemen with his hand on his baton. “Let’s see those hands.”
Steven held his hands out in front of his body. “What’s this about? I haven’t done anything.”
The clerk said, “He stood across the road casing the place, a good half hour. People don’t realize we have a camera covering the front.” Then she continued. “He waited until no one was inside before he came in but fortunately these guys entered right after. So then he wandered around pretending he was shopping but he didn’t touch a single thing. I’m glad you got here quickly after I pushed the silent alarm.”
By that time, the two policemen had separated. The one who had spoken inched to his left while maintaining eye contact with Steven. The other moved to the right. Steven lost sight of him but noticed the young men out of the corner of his eye, wondered why one of them had his phone out. Probably telling a friend he’s in the middle of a robbery Steven thought, realizing what this must look like.
“I have some major phobias,” he explained. “My therapist said to come here to try to desensitize myself but I’m embarrassed.” He hoped they would believe him.
“We need to search you,” the policeman in front said, just as strong hands seized both of Steven’s arms from behind. “Put your hands on the counter when Officer Douglas lets go, then spread your legs and move your feet back so you’re leaning.”
Steven complied, though he flinched when hands patted him everywhere. “Nothing,” the cop said. Then to Steven, he asked, “Who’s your shrink? He might back up your story.”
Steven told him and the clerk typed the name into her computer. “416 634 4454,” she said shortly. “That’s his office phone. His website says there’s an answering service for emergencies.”
Steven hoped Dr. Watford was available. He was, and confirmed Steven was a patient and that going to an adult bookstore was part of his treatment program.
When he returned home, rather shaken, he turned on his computer. As Dr. Watford had suggested, he kept a journal of all unusual happenings and today certainly qualified. Before opening the word processing program, he automatically checked his email. He rarely had anything other than offers to improve his sex life or fraudulent notices that he had inherited a large sum of money but needed to send his bank information for a transfer; only occasionally was there something from someone he knew. ‘Thirteen messages’ the email program announced, which surprised Steven. That was more than he usually received in a month. There must have been a flurry of junk mail that made it past the spam filter he thought.
The first was from Leonard Dorchester. As it opened, Steven wondered what it could be since Leonard had only taken Steven’s email address last fall when he was worrying about winter ice storms and took everyone's. He had never contacted Steven before.
The message said, “Pay here too low?” It included a You Tube link. Mystified, Steven clicked it. On the monitor appeared the scene from the bookstore, cops and all, but without sound. Steven envisioned the young man with the phone.
The second message was from Dr. Watford. It said, “Centre of Attention also – two birds with one stone.”
Steven wondered how many people might see it. At least Dr. Watford said birds Steven thought, looking for anything even slightly upbeat. He could have said it put me in the dog house or called it a rat race.