I just watched a soundless video of the last stages of a woman giving birth found from one of my ex-classmates’ Xanga. My reactions ranged from “oh my gosh that’s amazing”, to the sudden urge to give my mother a big hug, to a weird, weird thought: “Hmm, if I should ever want a baby… I better start loosening things up.” *eyes Trusty #3 who could even be bigger* Damn, I don’t know why everything reminds me of sex.

Now that I got the weird thought out of my head, I have a less weird and completely unrelated confession to make.

I… I have a fetish.

It’s strange. The typically bold and unblushing Vickie who enjoys sharing sex and masturbation stories (in real life alike) would feel uncomfortable confessing to having a fetish. It isn’t even anything remotely like a scat fetish, or blood fetish, or necrophilia, or bestiality, or incest. It isn’t even anything illegal. It’s… just…

I’ve had this fetish ever since I could remember, at as early as the tender age of, what, 6 or 7. Just back then I didn’t know that the word “fetish” existed, didn’t know that was considered a fetish, and wasn’t even bothered about my mixed feelings when I came across that kind of “situation”. It’s funny how things become so much more complicated as you grow older.

You’d think this is exactly the thing to share with your sex buddy… I doubt if my ex-girlfriend knew any of it. I doubt if I’d have the courage to even hint about it to my next partner (if applicable). Yet, with this fetish, I’ll need the help from a partner. Oowrrgh…

But at least I know I’m indeed not alone; bless the Internet for multiple reasons.

No, I’m not telling. Yet.