tagReviews & EssaysSelective Fetishism

Selective Fetishism


Is it possible to have “selective fetishism”?

What I mean is that sometimes in some circumstances I find myself irresistibly drawn to one thing or another that could become a fetish if I were to find it appealing all the time. The word ‘fetish’ doesn’t really fit as it implies a desire that is permanent and always necessary for arousal.

I find some things arousing but not constantly required for my pleasure, more of a sudden and overpowering desire for a very specific thing. Call it a trigger if you will.

I tend to prefer hairy men because I enjoy textures. I am a texture junkie in many areas of my reality. It is a sensual rather than a sexual pleasure enjoyed on many levels. I don’t require my lovers to be hairy. I have certainly enjoyed smooth lovers as well, it is all about the texture, baby.

But just every once in a while a glimpse of hair above the opened top button of a shirt collar, a glance of dark hair against pale flesh as his tee shirt rides up with a stretch, the look of someone’s canine teeth as he smiles and I suddenly wonder how those teeth would feel on my flesh can trigger my knees to turn to water and I cannot seem to get enough air into my lungs.

The sometimes awful thing is that is that this trigger can happen with almost any man, it doesn’t matter if I find them intellectually or sexually attractive, if I am just minding my own business or engaged in conversation with someone else. The sudden visual trigger can distract me from anything. And even if I do not find that particular man attractive, I still find that trigger tormenting. The desire to feel the soft skin and texture of pelt under my palms and fingertips and against my cheek as I rub up like a cat... And so far I have always managed to tamp that sudden visualization back down into my lizard brain where I suppose it came from in the first place. It is even worse if I am attracted to the man who completely unknowingly is the trigger for this sudden all body sensation. While sensory memory is a wonderful thing, it feeds the sensory imagination all too well.

There are other triggers, too. I have no desire to dress a man up like a woman and take him out to a bar and see if he can get hit on like a woman. I do however think that some men with garters and stockings on is very sexy. This is because I dated a man who enjoyed crossdressing and it was very sexy to have him do something so unusual, to share something that to him was very private. I couldn’t blame him for enjoying the feel of stockings on his skin, I do. I couldn’t blame him for liking the feel of silk and satin and soft cotton, after all, I do. We enjoyed the sensual sensation of one another’s skin covered in soft cloth or crossed by satin covered garter straps, we reveled in our own skin’s stimulation and in the power we had to make one another shiver.

Years later I was at a party and a young man I had just met struck up a conversation. I have to admit that my then spouse had given me a very full and strongly mixed drink early in the evening and so I can’t remember the entire conversation I had with this gentleman, and I will plead inebriation for that. What I do remember is that it was a Halloween party and the young man was dressed in a suit with his hair slicked back in the style of PeeWee Herman. And after we talked about all sorts of things I have forgotten, we came to the topic of sex, since doesn’t everything eventually? He informed me he was gay and I informed him I had a fully functioning StraightGirl’s Gaydar, thank you very much. We both laughed then. But that I still found him amusing and even if we weren’t each other’s type, wasn’t it fun to make people wonder. He took my hand and ran my palm up his leg. Under the grey material of his slacks I could feel the garter strap and the edge of the stocking snugged to the muscular thigh under my hand. That was sexy as hell and thrilling. I didn’t feel sexually attracted to him, but the feel of the garter strap under my palm was the same sort of sensual buzz I can get from running my hands over my lover anywhere at all. And it is the same sort of vicarious thrill that I get from the visual triggers I have mentioned.

But when I say visual trigger, I am not giving a complete picture, because the visual is only the start. What is triggered is a full body sensation that is intoxicating.

So when I say I enjoy a man in stockings and garter belt, it is not at all the image of him as a woman I am enjoying. I am enjoying the memory of the sensation of those textures and imagining how similar or different those textures would be with this individual. And I must add that a man in girls panties does nothing for me, visually or otherwise, same with high heels, no reaction. For some reason, it is just the garter belt and stockings that set me off. The frame those straps and stocking tops make of his rampant maleness makes me weak.

It is not every man I want to see in garters, really. In fact, most men would just look sort of silly in them and while fun, not really sexy at all to me. It is the combination of the very masculine and the suddenly feminine that makes the trigger for me, and there is a very, very short list of men I would like to see dressed thusly for me. It tends to be the men that I find attractive who also make me very aware of my own femininity that I would enjoy seeing dressed in these things. And before you think it, NOT because it takes away their masculine aura, but because it underlines it, defines it and the juxtaposition of the combination is what I find most intriguing.

Sometimes the image in my imagination is more enticing than ever seeing it really happen. Imagining some particular person with flesh bare, stretched satin covered garter straps clipped to stockings and raging masculinity outlined by the incongruous softness... I suppose it just seems delicious to me because I know how the textures would feel against my own skin and every inch of me can imagine it, every particle of me is vicariously experiencing it, triggered by the image and my imagination. The real thing may well kill me, or at least make me pass out from pleasure. Some things are best left to the imagination to torture me.

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