I really dig peanut-butter sandwiches, but I don’t want to eat those and nothing else for the rest of my life.
I really dig peanut-butter sandwiches, but I don’t want to eat those and nothing else for the rest of my life. It’s also a metaphor for why I’m not married, besides the fact that I’m unashamedly intolerable. So it makes sense that I can’t see why a person would latch onto a fetish as a 24/7 lifestyle. Not that I’m really trying to persuade anyone to give up what turns their crank. Apathy serves me well in that respect. In the waning years of the 20th century and since, we’ve seen fetishes brought into the public light by bad television and activists that insist sucking off Kentucky Derby hopefuls is perfectly normal. Thanks to the whole “sex-positivity” movement and their sanitization of naughtiness, damn near everything is permissible. You’re a bigot if you’re not nodding your head in approval.
Hey, weirdos! Go for it! Take that whip! Lick that boot! Make love to that dog! Not my business. You want to shout your love for used panties and sticky leather for all to hear whether they like it or not? Go tell it on the mountain. In our hyper-tolerant society, at least a few people will applaud and accept you for it, even as they puke behind your back.
There are some things you should probably keep to yourself. Even the most forgiving proponents of sex-positivity and political correctness do a double-take at certain fetishes.
BLUNT FORCE CROTCH TRAUMA
Pain as a means of getting off isn’t new. I know some people get off on whipping, choking, mild electrocution, shoving popsicle sticks in their dick-holes, etc. Seeing as how I’m a man, and possess the requisite testicles for being such, I know that taking a shot to the balls isn’t fun. That’s why I can’t for the life of me understand why any guy would jack his ham to the sight of a good-looking broad gleefully punching or kicking another guy in the balls. It’s masochism. I get that. I just can’t reconcile getting a boner over it. A Google search for “ball kicking fetish” yielded a Wikipedia entry for “Tamakeri,” which has a larger following in Japan. Also, I won’t deny that this appeals to a certain female demographic as well. It’s not outside the boundaries of reason to imagine some third-wave feminist sitting in front of her laptop, stroking her clam to the sight of the patriarchy getting walloped in the jewels. Fortunately, sexism isn’t a factor, as there’s an audience for cunt-punching as well. I’m not sure if there’s a feminist fatwa against it or not.
I like big tits. You like big tits. I like nice asses. You like nice asses. We’re in agreement, even if you won’t cop to it. Some people take their love of large things even further. Welcome to the wonderful world of Expansion and Inflation, where baby batter is let loose upon seeing anatomy get bigger at an exponential rate. I can’t even begin to fathom why this is alluring. I could at least understand Inflation if it were about some money-mad Wall Street fag spanking it to increasing futures in energy and agriculture. Maybe it’s a sub-set of pregnancy and fat fetishes, but for impatient people. I suppose one way to turn an inflation freak on is to go to an all-you can eat buffet and pig out until you get a slight pooch in your belly. If your date gets a big wet spot in his crotch, you can bet he didn’t spill his drink. As it always is with a “community” like this, they have a fair amount of self-perceived persecution and victimization.
Like most communities, they all deserve ridicule. Not because they’re perverts (they are), and not because they can’t fight back (they can’t), but because they picked something so goddamned ridiculous to spurt to. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a blind minority paraplegic who’s going through an identity crisis, and my cock isn’t going to suck itself.