Fear what you crave?

Fetishes are scary.

Actually, fetishes are completely fucking scary.

Sure, it may sound all facile and flippant to couch it in such terms, however, when you get right down to it, there lies terror. Think about it.

There is something fundamentally frightening to having something, however esoteric, that evokes an immediate sexual urge. An innocent pair of stockings worn by some unsuspecting stranger could trigger an upwelling of desire and fantasy custom-fitted for the psyche of the one possessing the requisite fetish. What a loss of control. How can it be anything short of chilling to know one has one or more switches poised in their unconscious requiring only the most fleeting of recognition to derail the mind? What is more threatening or embarrassing than to reveal “inappropriate” sexual response?

It happens to me. I can be quietly making my way down the sidewalk lost in my thoughts or in pursuit of some assorted errand, when suddenly I am ambushed by my sight. Some college girl, otherwise unremarkable in dress or features, but for a vividly intense red scarf catching the breeze like a spray of arterial blood. Or some woman sitting at a bus shelter with her feet and lower legs encased in graceful leather boots. And in that very instant, carnal drives whisper through my perceptions. For minutes afterward, this unknown woman is exposed to the most brazenly lecherous attentions within my mind's eye. Oh the times without number my mind has been derailed by the chance notice of a short skirt about feminine hips. A chance sartorial selection culminating for a time in being cast as the living embodiment of sex.

Most of my predilections are rather generic and lack-luster. For instance, I’m highly fond of women’s legs and those items that call attention to that area of anatomy are subsequently bound to my libido. For various reasons, leather and silk capture my attention in a primal way. However, some things seem to be more specific to me as opposed to being shared with the wider population.

Which brings us to the next layer of scariness, that of uniqueness. If it’s a commonly held fetish, then one can be disturbed by the implication they are less than original, boring, or shallow in their sexuality. If it’s more exotic, then one can fear they are somehow odd or that they are a freak without much chance of ever meeting someone else who understands.

Then there is the layer of moralization, of assessing how aberrant their lusts are. Imagine the person who finds an erotic tingle in amputees. Do you think they ever struggle with whether it’s “right” that they get turned on as the result of mishap? “I’m sorry Mrs. Jones, but Timmy’s injuries were just too great. We had to amputate both legs at the hip. But on the bright side, once he’s healed up, he’s going to provide hours of spank material for intern Rollins.” This and many others do not typically make for what is considered socially acceptable fetishes to share. One ill-timed admission could brand someone for a lifetime.

Gods help the man who gains a spontaneous erection while passing a kiddie pool. Indeed some preferences cannot be tolerated to any extent for very sound reasons, but there are so very many that exist in a societal grey area.

Damn skippy, this shit is scary.