A lot of people use the words ‘kink’ and ‘fetish’ interchangeably. In my spanko mind, however, they describe different levels of interest and how we talk about them matters bigly (for those of us they’re relevant to, anyway).
In the context of BDSM, I think of kinks as the “unusual” (lol) sexy activities we enjoy, but don’t feel a need to do. Bondage, for instance, is a kink for me. I find it thrilling and sensual. It turns me on, but I don’t think about it all that much while I’m not doing it. There’s no deep urge or craving for it within me. Visions of it don’t spring to my mind all day every day. It’s like ice cream—nice to have sometimes, but not necessary for satiation. I can take it or leave it.
A fetish, however...
I like this definition. Well done, Google. ‘Gratification’ isn’t just about orgasm here. It’s a psychological state of satisfaction in the mind, body, and soul, where nothing else is needed. The craving is fulfilled… for a bit. (It then returns, like Batman.)
For me, spanking is a big fat fetish. It’s on my mind all the time, like background music to a movie, painting my reality with a subconscious air of whimsy. I want to do it every day—morning, noon, and night—and not for a short time. Getting spanked sends bliss right through every chakra and cell. It quiets my heart and my mind, satisfying my need for deep, intimate connection. It creates existential harmony and makes me fall in love with the people who do it to me. It is soul nourishment, like eating a melt-in-your-mouth slab of filet mignon cooked rare and seasoned to perfection. When I can’t do spanky things, I feel as if something big and important is missing. I cannot climax without imagining it happening to me in depth, nor do I wish to try. The universe sends my imagination the most scandalous of fantasies and I have long gone there to escape, snuggling into how seen I feel within them. The very idea of getting a firm spanking from someone I fancy makes me quite happy.
My point is, kinks are fun, but fetishes are powerful and one should not underestimate the significance of their impact on the psyche. They are neurologically hardwired into the subconscious mind. A person with a fetish doesn’t choose whether to think about it or not, for the thoughts related to it are generally intrusive, innate, and arise without effort or external encouragement. Often, a fetishist’s sexual interest becomes apparent years before they even find out what sex is. To have a fetish is a lifelong affair.
This soul was so cleansed by the birch, the Holy Spirit appeared to bestow booty enlightenment.
I have no doubt that fetishes have greatly impacted the course of history over the years. Some of the most influential historical figures on record were, as it turned out, into some “unusual” shit. Eighteenth-century philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, for one, was a fellow spanko who developed his fetish after getting spanked by his foster mother as a child. In his memoir he wrote,
“Who would believe this childish discipline, received at 8 years old, from the hands of a woman of 30, should influence my propensities, my passions, for the rest of my life, and that in quite a contrary sense from what might naturally have been expected?”
Those are the eyes of a man who knows the joy of spanking.
It is a trip, Jean-Jacques, that’s for sure.
Mozart apparently had a big thing for poop. He would write letters to friends, cousins, sisters, and even his parents (!!) unraveling refined trains of thought like,
“Oh my ass burns like fire! what on earth is the meaning of this!—maybe muck wants to come out? yes, yes, muck, I know you, see you, taste you—and—what’s this—is it possible?”
Yeah. He also wrote a piece titled Lick My Ass that he allegedly rolled out as a favorite at dinner parties. Lyrics are as follows. Feel free to sing along. Ahem:
Lick My Ass
Lick my ass nicely,
Lick it nice and clean,
Nice and clean, lick my ass
That’s a greasy desires,
Like the licking of roast meat, my daily activity.
Three will lick more than two,
Come on, just try it
And lick, lick, lick.
Everybody lick his own ass himself.
It probably sounded better in German, but I think we all get the idea.
We should also not forget 20th-century Irish novelist James Joyce. That man had a thing for farts, especially his “dirty little fuckbird” wife Nora’s. Theirs is a story of true devoted passion. Here is a salacious excerpt from one of his love letters.
My sweet little whorish Nora,
I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck up in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue come bursting out through your lips and if I gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.
Goodness me, butts and their functions can be truly moving indeed. Credit where it’s due. I could not write such brilliance in regards to a fart. A spanking, however? I’ll wax poetic on reddening ripe juicy jiggling peaches all the live-long day, so help me.
What could be better than this? Nothing.
If someone you fancy tells you they have a fetish, it’s safe to assume it could be a very big deal. Be sure to ask them some probing questions. Climb on in there and dig for answers. You just might end up striking brain gold and burnishing the sweet light of their weird little soul.
Sources from the internet (are they true? who the fuck knows eh):