I thought I had discovered every fetish. A couple years of stripping took care of the normal ones: feet, stockings, ball kicking, white knights, spit, pee, stuff like that. Further explorations in phone sex, fetish sessions, and a decade or so of stripping took care of the rest: erotic hypnosis, money ripping, watermelon stomping, belly buttons (look, it’s talking!), diapers, electricity, financial domination, etc. I remember the night that I truly thought I’d found every hidden nook of fetishes, sitting in the Champagne Room at Christies Cabaret while a balding business man enthusiastically stroked my ears and explained to me how special ears are. After all, they are the only body part that is all cartilage. No bones. No loose flappy skin. My ears were extra special because I’d never marred them with piercing.
It turns out the world of sexuality is too huge to be completely cataloged by me in just a decade. Last night, sitting with a defense contractor for the gubberment who was hanging out at the club waiting for his cocaine to be delivered, he raised my hand, turned it, stared. I don’t exactly have well manicured girlish hands. I have big indelicate hands. I chew my nails, I wasn’t wearing nail polish, and I might have a few callouses. So I was wondering why the heck he was staring at my hands like this.
Then he turned and stared into my eyes. “God, I’ve never seen hands like this. So beautiful.”
Being, as I am, so inclined to capitalize on the appreciation of any part of my beautiful body I sold him hand dances. The whole time he stared at my hands, turning them, stroking them, and muttering, “Gawd, such big mitts. Like baseball gloves. Oooh, big, sexy mitts.”
I am not making this up.