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PEP Callers, PEP Lovers:
At the age of 22 or so, I attended my cousin’s bachelorette party. Everything from the decorations to the food to the party games was adorned with a phallic motif, rivaling the boys-only dormitory at my college in its excess. Not that I minded. I was a 22-year-old girl, after all.
The setup, however, did lead me to the false belief that I was in a completely sex positive environment. Somewhere past my cousin’s confession that the nickname for her groom-to-be’s genitalia was “Kong,” in-between bites of cock-shaped cupcakes with chocolate sprinkles for pubic hair, and during a game in which the objective was to shape a peeled cucumber into a dick with one’s teeth, I decided to make a joke about anal beads.
I don’t remember what the joke was exactly, nor do I remember it being particularly provocative when held against a backdrop of a “pin the balls on the penis” poster, but I do remember the sudden vast silence and awkward glances in my general direction. Even the cucumber-dick in my hand seemed to grow limp. I shrank into my chair, probably looking as sheepish as I felt. For the first time, it was made apparent to me that my sexual tastes were a little “different.”
I’d never given it much thought prior. I seldom discussed sexual matters with friends—not for lack of trying. I would gently brush upon the topic of sexual matters with close friends and was often met with flushed faces, a change of subject, or “I don’t want to talk about that.” But even then I didn’t think my tastes were “different.” I thought my friends were shy.
Upon my return to my college apartment at the end of the weekend, I began to ask myself: “What other things do I like in the bedroom that other people think are weird?” And that’s how the story of finding my “kinky self,” began. I’ve been unfurling this part of me for well over a decade, with a number of stops along the way, and I still seek to expand and stretch it, every day.
I guess you could say I’m a connoisseur of the more esoteric fetishes—diapers, monsters, transformation, breeding/ impregnation, expansion, vore … (The list goes on, but I think we should save that for a more private conversation. *wink*) The “stranger” the fetish is by conventional standards, the greater the chance I will like it, perhaps because I’ve learned that “strange” and “weird” are rather subjective concepts. What’s bizarre to one person can seem very normal to the next.
Those of us in the world who are odd rarely go out of our way to be so. We don’t wake up every morning and say to ourselves: “Gee! I’m sure feeling WEIRD today! I wonder what kind of WEIRD I can get up to. I’m going to start my day off with a bowl of WEIRD and maybe go for a WEIRD walk!” It’s not a conscious decision to be different, and I don’t believe our kinks are either. Our fetishes and kinks are often the parts of ourselves in which we feel most comfortable. Some of us never feel more at peace, more “normal,” than when we are dressed head-to-toe in latex, or covered in slime, or kneeling on the floor with a tongue stretched towards a Mistress or Master’s boots.
Which is how I want every one of you to feel with me: Comfortable. Oh, of course some of you will respond with: “B-but Miss Ami I want you to make me feel the opposite! Humiliate me! Make me hurt!” And of course, I’m much obliged to fulfill that fantasy, but to clarify, I want you to feel comfortable that you’ve chosen to share your fantasy with me.
Maybe your fetish isn’t something I personally enjoy, but I always personally enjoy helping people feel good about what they like. I may not always understand it at first, but I will always do my best to listen to you so that I can understand. So many times I’ve had people call and share their most clandestine fantasies with me, and I can hear the apprehension in their voice. I notice the subtle but sharp intake of breath after they ask me: “Am I disgusting?” “Is there something wrong with me?” “Do you think I’m strange?” I absolutely love to hear the smile in their voice when I reply with, “No, I don’t think you’re disgusting or strange. Nor do I think there’s something wrong with you. Thank you so much for sharing this fantasy with me …”
What I want you to know is: No matter how hard we play, or how filthy the language we use, or what nasty names we call each other, I do not judge you for what you like. I’m both happy and honored that you chose to share parts of yourself with me. I’m humbled that you feel comfortable enough with me to discuss something so personal, something you may have felt a lot of shame for in the past.
I know how it feels to be the odd one out. I understand the shame, and the judgment, and how it can poison even the things that bring you joy. But my prerogative is to never judge you, or make you feel bad, and that prerogative doesn’t stop at feeding you the fantasy you want to hear, contained in a PEP phone call. My goal, in every call I have with you, is to help you love yourself, in all of your beautiful weirdness, just a little bit, and then just a bit more …