The saying goes for writers that the first story you’ll write is your trauma story. It’s almost a rite of passage that before you can begin creating worlds that aren’t your own, you must dig out the shrapnel of your past from the crevices of your memory and lay it out on paper. Only then can you begin working.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit that The Clitoris Conundrum (TCC) is my trauma story, told with a healthy lathering of dark humour, all the lashings of drag and camp-level drama, and washed down with a life-sized lap dancing vibrator; of course.
Operation ‘Fix-the-clit’ began in 2021, where my initial idea for the show was born out of the directive to ‘excavate what’s inside’ during solo-show week at The Actors Program. I was entirely green to writing theatre. But I knew that a) I had a story to tell that would sadly resonate with many, about navigating sex and relationships as a young person with unresolved sexual trauma. And b) I would tell it while serving absolute c***.
Gassed up on Michaela Cole’s I May Destroy You, Carmen Maria Machado’s Her Body and Other Parties and Lisa Taddeo’s Three Women; and fueled with the belief I too could write something that would help SA survivors unstitch the cloak of shame we all wear; I got to writing and cooked up the first iteration of TCC. The play's debut season premiered in 2024 at Basement Theatre, and much to my surprise, it sold out.
My inkling had been right, and only further validated by the countless post-show convos I shared over a G&T with people who felt seen by the story. My friend and icon of the stage, Janaye Henry, told me it had “changed her life” by acting as the catalyst for “the beginning of the end of her relationship.” I wasn’t sure if this was a compliment, but it turns out the rife toxicity between on-stage girlfriends Cam and Ava had held a mirror to the state of her own relationship. You never know the power of theatre, I guess.
For those who’ve seen TCC before, this upcoming season will look a little different. Since 2024, I’ve completed a Master of Creative Writing at The University of Auckland and was lucky to be a part of Auckland Theatre Company’s 2025 Emerging Writers Table. So when Q asked us to return for Pride 2026, and I dusted off the old script, I was (not unexpectedly) aghast at what I read and couldn’t resist copious rewrites.
The heart of the story still revolves around our protagonist, Cameron Jones, who suffers from anorgasmia (the persistent or recurrent difficulty, delay in, or absence of attaining orgasm after sufficient sexual stimulation, causing personal distress); a condition which varying research suggests impacts around 15% of women. Her last relationship fell apart when her girlfriend realised she was fake-cumming, so naturally, she’s determined to fix herself.
With her best friend (and absolute terror twink) Ariki by her side, Cam navigates the overwhelming and downright intimidating world of sexual therapy. The problem is that Ariki is more dedicated to Cam’s healing journey than she is, and while he’s devouring The Body Keeps The Score, she’s falling hard for her latest crush, a self-professed femme-top called Ava. Soon Cam finds herself pulled between her new infatuation and her ride-or-die bestie who’s displaying the emotional maturity of a jealous toddler.
Image from Basement Theatre season 2024
All queer people know just how deep the bonds of chosen family are, and I wanted the relationship between Cam and Ariki to embody that. In a society built upon the foundations of the quarter-acre dream, Weet-Bix and All Blacks Jerseys, queerness has always been the anomaly (in post-colonisation times, of course). Many of us flock to Tāmaki Makaurau and Pōneke and finally find spaces where we feel normal, and people we feel at home with. I try to tell stories where queerness is assumed, simply a given-fact of the world I build, and so I’ve set TCC in Cam and Ariki’s home; where a red lip couch takes centre-stage.
In essence, TCC is an ode to the strength of SA survivors, an acknowledgement of the ripple effects of trauma upon loved ones in our lives, and a celebration of our queer community in Tāmaki Makaurau.
