611. Reintroducing Myself Part 3 – Origins of My Kinks

• 609. Reintroducing Myself Part 1 – Early Life
• 610. Reintroducing Myself Part 2 – Origins of My Submission

Continuing where I left off. This post may end up longer than the others. I will fully admit that writing this is proving difficult for me right now. My brain hasn’t been working up to its normal capacity and I’m having trouble keeping things organized. Trying to keep things concise and focused leads to me forgetting to include things, but I’m trying my best to get it all out there.

While the last post focused upon the formation of my submission, this is a focus more on the submissive and emotional masochism narratives that fuel my submissive mental space.

The experiences with M give an obvious origin story to a handful of my kinks. Being restrained, helpless, and trapped primarily originates there. Being intimidated by women who are taller than me does as well. There were other kinks at work there, but they require a bit more information to make sense.

Being saddled with my sister’s hand-me-downs had another major impact on my submissive development. I was able to shrug it off if it was something like a bicycle, big wheel, or sled. I wasn’t able to do that with things that had to be worn. When I was three, the first cold snap of the year happened and I was sent to pre-school wearing my sister’s old boots, snow pants, mittens, and hat, all of which were feminine styled and included pink or lavender in their designs. This led to me being made fun of by nearly everyone there, and it was ultimately humiliating. Following that were my greatest acts of defiance to my parents. I began refusing to wear winter clothing beyond a coat, which was about the only thing piece of seasonal clothing at that time they were willing to buy me new ones of, although they were usually several sizes too large, as their plan was for me to get three or more years out of each coat.

When they applied pressure about it, I would come up with any and every excuse about why I shouldn’t. Having to wear a winter hat was enough to give me a panic attack and have me so upset with anxiety that it would manifest physically, and I would end up vomiting. At first, my mother tried to figure out alternatives and she got me a pair of earmuffs, which in theory wouldn’t have had the same outcome as a hat. The first time I wore them was outside of my home and my sister and her friends made fun of me for them, calling me a queer, fairy, gayboy, faggot, etc. since earmuffs were for girls. I never wore them again. After that I just said that I didn’t get cold and wearing those types of winter clothes made me too hot and were too itchy. If I did find something I would wear, it had to fit certain criteria to make sure that it couldn’t be perceived as feminine in any way. The colors had to be “boy colors” or neutral tones. There couldn’t be anything fuzzy. Nothing could have pom poms or tassels or fringe or anything of that nature. It couldn’t be anything in a style that was more common for girls to wear than boys, e.g. mittens vs. gloves.

At various points in my childhood, recess teachers or parents of friends would occasionally try to force me to wear a winter hat to go outside. With the teachers, my parents would call in and arrange something. When it came to other friend’s parents, I was kind of screwed. If this happened, I would basically shut down entirely, but I would try to keep myself from vomiting, since if that happened, I knew I would be immediately taken home. The only time I didn’t get sick, was when M would use girl’s winter clothes for bondage. I think that is because I was already feeling so ashamed and helpless that I would just surrender and that would put me into the subdued state before the hat was on me.

There was another development that happened around age four that connected to this. When I was young, I had a strong affinity for the feel of fur. My mother and sister both had fur coats and sometimes I would pet them in the closet and rub my cheeks on them when no one was around. Around this time my sister caught me and flipped out on me, calling me a freak and told me that if anyone else knew I did that, they would tell everyone, and no one would ever want to be my friend. With my life experiences with peers to this point, what she said seemed realistic. With this, fur became taboo to me. I wouldn’t touch it. I tried not to look at it. I tried not to want it. Denying myself these desires only made them grow stronger. Having those desires made me feel like a fucked up, deviant freak. In the end, this ended up impacting my kinks and my submission in several ways.

The first is that fur became my deepest secret and I did everything possible to make sure no one else would ever know. If I saw a woman in fur I would watch her from my peripherals, making sure that it wasn’t obvious that I was watching. I don’t even know why I did this, but it felt like a compulsion. She had what I could not. I used to look through the Sunday paper ads for women in fur. If there were pictures of some, I would wait until the day before they were thrown out to cut out the pictures and hide them. This would give me a great deal of shame and it was quite often that I would hate myself so badly about it that I would destroy my cache of saved photos. Every time I would end up regretting it. It was strange because while I started masturbating fairly early (age ~11), my interest in girls and women (beyond M) developed fairly late (age ~14). While watching them in fur, I started noticing beauty, and before long, I found a woman or girl in fur to be the most beautiful. I also felt severely ashamed. I felt wrong and perverted and dirty. This made me tarnished and lesser while they were Goddesses in my eyes. Even if I would have had a chance with one of them, I was undeserving of being in their presence, while I knew I was violating them with my eyes. This began what I would later call a “Venus in Furs complex,” and I discovered later that a woman in fur makes me feel submissive.

Another connected aspect was that some action figures I played with when I was young, included fur. The Star Wars Han Solo Hoth figure was the first. Certain He-Man figures did later. The one that had the greatest impact on me was from the G.I. Joe toyline. It was always hard for me to relate to most action figures since the majority of them were Caucasian with the occasional black character, or if they really went deep, possibly some Latino characters. If they were Asian they were usually some form of kung fu or karate stereotype that spoke in fragmented English as was the common trope of the era. I was never allowed to take martial arts and I spoke like a normal white person, so I couldn’t relate to them either. The G.I. Joe toyline had an arctic-themed bad guy peon figure that had fur and a covered face. I instantly bonded with this figure because it was a male with no visible race and it was wearing fur as their required uniform, which was about the only possible way I could imagine it being okay for me to wear fur. Being that line had an extensive marketing campaign, complete with a cartoon series, comic books, novels, and story coloring books, there was no shortage of fiction and storylines to immerse into. A critical aspect of these stories is that the bad guys always lost. Badly. Usually very badly. Utterly dominated and defeated at every turn. The peons were usually hung out to dry by the elites in leadership and they would end up killed or captured. At some point with M, I began imagining myself as one of those arctic peons who was her captive and would spend the rest of my life locked in a small cell with her as the prison guard. This added another layer where fur and winter clothes became symbolic of being dominated and it served as the foundation for what would eventually become a forced feminization kink.

I was around 16 or 17 years old when I realized that I could use the internet to find pictures of women in fur. It was through this that I learned that there was something known as a fur fetish and there were entire websites and communities dedicated to it. It was on one of these sites that I discovered the existence of this thing called Femdom and there were actual dominant women that liked doing the things that M would do to me, even ones that did it while wearing fur. I learned about this mythical novel known as Venus in Furs. Mostly I learned that I wasn’t alone, although I figured I would never be brave enough to actually seek one of these dominant women out. Even if I did, I figured that she wouldn’t choose me. Even so, fur ended up being a central theme that linked nearly everything together.

The last kink origin is something I wrote about recently, but I will give a brief summary of it. Some of the early bullying led to my penis being made fun of for being uncut, which caused me a great deal of anxiety at the thought of anyone seeing me naked. Later, I became aware of the stereotype that Asian males have small penises, which added a layer onto that. Combining this with my abnormal sexual desires, and I really felt fucked up about my genitalia. These experiences heavily influenced my emotional masochism, both the idea of “being exposed” to others and other things like SPH. I believe it eventually contributed to my interest in chastity.

While I have developed a number of kinks over the years, I believe these were the experiences that formed the foundation of what would happen later.

To be continued.

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