Fetish Of The Month: Emotional Availability
I’ll be frank, I know that once I put this article out into the ether I will never find love. Because my fetish is the most disgusting fetish for a woman in our society to have. Especially a woman that dates mostly men. (The most disgusting fetish for a man in our society to have is murder, and boy is that one common!) My shameful fetish: Emotional availability in romantic partners. There, I said it! Whew, I feel like an enormous weight has been lifted.
I live in Los Angeles and have literally never been able to indulge this fetish. But boy, it sounds amazing. If I had a significant other that said things like “I can tell by the way you said “fine” that you’re not really fine, and I’m here to listen,” it’d be so fucking hot. Pretty much any guy I reveal my kink to is mortified and disgusted. I tried FetLife, but the most emotionally vulnerable discussions I’ve been able to get out of people on Fetlife were about my clit (I nicknamed it Pinkberry after the ice cream that sort of fills my emotional void). Also, about how to get Nazis out of the Furry community (it’s a problem).
I’ll be honest, my clit (Pinkberry), is basically dead weight. All my erogenous zones are pretty much shut down. But if a partner texts me back within an hour of my text it sends shivers down my spine. Especially if that text ends in a question mark, like they actually want to hear more. Can you imagine? I tricked an alarm service into texting me “How was your day?” every day at 7:05 PM, but I think they’re catching on because I keep replying “I’m so wet right now.”
You know what makes me dry up? When I vent about my problems to a dude I’m dating and they offer solutions like I’m some sort of simpleton who can’t solve them. I don’t want you to solve them! I want you to unwittingly get me off by listening! Is that so hard? Jeez.
I can’t go to therapy to cope with my socially unacceptable fetish because if I sit there with someone whose sole purpose is to listen to my feelings I will cum right on that couch. A lot of sex workers say that sex work is some people’s therapy, well, therapy is my sex work. I’m just not sure how to fill out the insurance forms.
I’ve tried role play where I tell my dates to pretend to be someone who cares about my happiness and life but they just can’t sustain it for more than five seconds without storming off and saying stuff like “THIS IS EXHAUSTING!” or “I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH LAUREN FROM HR!” I have one of those sexy body pillows (it’s technically just a regular pillow that I cry into sometimes), but it’s just not the same as a real person.
Are you still reading this? You are, aren’t you? Holy shit! Call me! Call me right now!