FETISH: WARNING: IF YOU ARE A DELICATE AND WILTING FLOWER, GET OFF MY FRONT PORCH

ABANDON SHIP

My gay S/M friends will scream. They know what turns them on.

They will say, there’s nothing in this little film that has anything to do with what a fetish is.

Maybe for them.

Then, there are always people who see all the dirty dirties because fundamentally, they feel that sex is dirty.

Turn off the lights. Only in the dark.

Vanilla always wins.

I’m tired of all the leather photography of whips and ho hum. Been there. Done that.

Doing sex work is a fetish even if it’s just supporting someone — someone dealing with sex work itself — who needs support. Support is so rare, and it’s not the boogeyman.

I love a good pair of unders. Breathe it all in like a fresh spring day in a bordello.

Another fetish I have are down and out motels. And five star hotels. I subdue this fetish a lot.

I worship anything dystopian because the world is always coming apart.

Masks.

Feet.

Dancing at events like raves. Especially if they’re secret and spontaneous.

Art.

Photography.

Gin.

The human species is extraordinarily diverse. But there are always politically correct people who value homogeneity. All of us should find our worship of the erotic to be a shared eroticism.

Right.

A hard dick does nothing for me. Take it or leave it.

Anything I can play with can easily become a fetish. Or I can throw them away.

I can’t seem to limit what might be and what could never be a fetish.

Jesus on a cross does nothing for me.

But some people do seem to get off on it.

We all come to it with different addictions and different neurologies.

If we didn’t, the 1950’s would make a strong come back.

I told Hillary that turning Nancy Reagan into a fetish was unseemly and rude.

She never listens.

The fetish police are everywhere.

Watch yourselves.