Ok, ok, so you've got a slick website and lots of credentials, but who actually are your clients? 

I often get asked about who I work with, which reassures me I'm not the only nosey person in the world! For context, I only work with adults, and the majority of my clients are 30+, neurodivergent and/or queer people. Typically, they also belong to erotically marginalised communities, including LGBTQIA+, kinky, non-monogamous, fat, disabled, and non-white.

This article offers some composite examples of my actual clients. What that means is that all of these examples are based on real human beings. However, all identifying features have been changed or amalgamated. 

(For comparison, here's an earlier version of this article written in 2019 but republished on this version of the website in 2024.)

Paul

Paul is an autistic 30-something cisgender man, who is first-generation Black British. He had never had a partner because he felt so ashamed that he didn't want penetrative sex. Or at least, he thought he didn't. This lack of certainty about something he feels is fundamental to human existence is also confusing and upsetting for him. He also struggled to get or maintain an erection unless he was watching porn.

When we first started talking about how he feels about sex, he realised he felt a lot of shame as he didn't view sex the 'normal' way and didn't understand why it was something that everyone else seemed to want to do all the time. A few months into our work together, he shared how, in his early teens, he had been groomed and 'touched' by a local man. Ever since then, his feelings of terror, disgust, and shame had fought inside him, wrestling with his body's response to the unwanted yet somehow enjoyable attention. No wonder he struggled to imagine what healthy, consensual intimate pleasure might feel like. Added to this, as someone who watched porn but didn't have sex with other people, it was understandable that he had very little frame of reference of what sex might actually feel like as a physical, sensual, sensory, and emotional experience. 

A lot changed as he worked through these experiences, separating out the different emotions, and expressing his hurt and anger towards the man. There was also a lot to unpack in relation to his parent's cultures of origins and views on sex and marriage.

A few months after our work concluded, Paul emailed me to tell me that he had moved out from living with his parents, had joined a Meetup group for asexual autistic adults, and was exploring romance at a slow pace that felt comfortable and right for him. 

Alisa & Heather

Alisa was a bubbly 25-year-old queer Scottish ciswoman who dragged her partner to sex therapy after 7 years together. They couldn’t talk about sex without one or both of them ending up in tears. They were a blissfully happy couple otherwise, and communicated beautifully, with so much love and empathy. 

In the initial consultation, words and laughter flow out of Alisa at an astonishing rate, leaving little conversation space for her more placid, Chinese cisgender wife-to-be, Heather. Alisa’s combined-ADHD was a bubbling brook to autistic Heather’s limpid loch. Heather was often interrupted by Alisa, who either took the first response Heather gave and ran with it or assumed she already knew what she was going to say. When Heather was given more time to talk about her experiences with her senses, she started dropping clues that there were connections between them that hadn’t yet been acknowledged. 

When Heather heard about synaesthesia, she had a lightbulb moment and burst into tears with relief. She finally understood why sensory words like ‘hearing’ and ‘smelling’ never seemed to fit her intertwined sensory experiences. As with so many neurodivergent people, she had just assumed she was wrong or was misunderstanding her own inner processes, because she’d never heard of anyone else having the same experiences. 

Using this information and some of the tools from the Neurodivergent Me Course, Alisa and Heather both created their own sensory profiles and were able to have entirely different - and a lot more fun - conversations about sensations and sex. 

Juniper & Jackson

Juniper was a 30-something curvaceous, pale, and fascinating librarian who only wore purple. Rambunctious and avuncular, Jackson was an older, autistic techie and a cisman. They had met through their local kink scene and had been having penetrative sex until Juniper started to explore their own neurodiversity and learn about sensory sensitivities.

Juniper came to sex therapy because they were struggling to orgasm. They quickly realised they found sex overwhelming and confusing, as, although some sensations were enjoyable, most were uncomfortable or painful. Not that the physical act of sex was painful, but the level of sensory input was. This started Juniper on a journey to explore their relationship with their body, gender, and sexuality, finally feeling most comfortable with non-genital physical intimacy and identifying as non-binary and asexual. 

While being incredibly supportive, Jackson was at first sad and then frustrated to no longer be having sex with anyone but himself. After completing their sensory profiles and many heartfelt and tearful conversations, they were both able to express their needs for different ways to feel connected and to be physically intimate. Eventually, they found a solution that satisfied them both. Juniper would wear their favourite latex bodysuit and gloves to fist Jackson. Jackson was delighted, as he was still being penetrated by, and submissive to, Juniper, resulting in him feeling physically, psychologically and emotionally satiated. Juniper had the sensory sensations they craved and the physical but non-genital intimacy, without any body fluids touching their skin.

But what about your high-profile clients?

What about them? Do you think just because someone's famous or successful that they're not entitled to their privacy?!