Things we say in the dark.
A confessional for unholy desires.
Shame is an emotional stagnator, a barrier that blocks the capacity to feel. It sits like a heavy layer over the self – quiet, corrosive, and persistent. Sometimes it forms slowly, sedimented over years of silence and secrecy. Other times, it arrives fast, like a slap. Either way, it separates us from the fullness of our erotic, emotional, and creative lives.
To live in truth, shame must be dissolved – or pierced through. It must be broken open so that what lies underneath can be felt, known, and expressed.
What happens when we name it, expose it, and let it breathe?
I am curating a collection of erotic stories that engage directly with shame – stories that either inspire de-shaming in the act of writing and sharing or recount experiences that catalyzed shame or its unraveling. These stories can be heartbreaking, funny, eccentric, or mundane. They can be confessional, poetic, raw, or dreamlike. They can be written in first-person, third-person, or any format that suits your voice.
All submissions will be completely anonymous. I only ask that you please include your age, ethnicity, religion, pronouns, profession, sexual orientation, and place of birth or where you currently reside. In the end, this information will highlight the diversity of voices in the assemblage.
If you feel called to contribute, please mail your story to:
Honeypot
Choriner Str. 61
10435 Berlin, Germany
Yes, mail - there’s something intimate and intentional about putting words on paper and sending them out into the world.
But if you prefer to submit digitally, you can email:
seelenlabor@gmail.com
If you’d like to receive a free copy of the book when it’s published, please include your email address or mailing address with your submission (this will remain confidential).
And if this invitation makes you think of someone who might have a story to share, please pass it along.
This is an invitation to alchemize shame into something else – something that breathes, that stirs, that frees.
I want to share what inspired me to launch this project...
One evening, I spent hours with one of my closest girlfriends, talking about life — boyfriends, work, everything in between. At some point, our conversation drifted toward early childhood erotic experiences. As we shared these memories, something unexpected happened: it felt deeply empowering.
The stories we told held echoes of generational shame. They were full of secrecy — things hidden, things unsaid. Wrapped in that darkness was our sexuality: wild, imaginative, expressed through fantasy, role-play, and storytelling. And somehow, these childhood fantasies laced with caloused shame followed us into adulthood, quietly shaping our inner worlds.
That night, I shared fantasies with her I’d never told anyone — not even my most intimate or adventurous partners. Some weren’t even that unusual. But something about saying them out loud peeled away layers of shame I didn’t even realize I was carrying.
In my view, shame is one of the most toxic illnesses in modern culture. It isolates us, silences us, cuts us off from genuine connection. Of course, there’s a place for discernment, for knowing right from wrong. But in those murky grey areas — what if we gave ourselves permission to listen to the wild fantasies in our heads? The ones we shut down before anyone else ever hears them? It doesn’t mean that we have to do anything with them - nothing more than joyfully accept the pieces of ourselves that we’ve buried in the darkness.
When we put something into the world, even softly, we give it space to breathe and transform. And maybe, just maybe, those early parts of ourselves — the ones shaped by secrecy and dreams — can finally exhale, even just a little.
And I know — it’s easy to wonder how any of this matters when the world feels like it’s crumbling. There’s war, displacement, economic instability, and suffering on a mass scale. But I believe projects like this still matter — maybe even more so right now. Because when we’re disconnected from pleasure, from imagination, from one another, it becomes easier to lose hope. Reclaiming our stories, our bodies, our inner worlds, is a way of resisting despair. It’s a way of staying human in the face of collapse. Even joy, even fantasy, can be a form of protest.