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About Literature / Professional Member Closet FetishistMale/United States Groups :iconfemalefartstories: FemaleFartStories
 
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ClosetFetishist
Closet Fetishist
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I often wonder who I am. In years of life, you start to get a feel for it; things you like, things you don't like, the building blocks of you as a person. I'm sure I'm not done finding myself but I feel like, outside the fetish, for the most part, I know who I am. It's within the fetish that I don't know.

I know I'm a writer. I don't love writing, it isn't something I think of with great pleasure; it's work. Yes, it's pornographic or erotic but it's also work. I guess I'm lucky in that, once I start writing, it's difficult to stop until I'm finished. I too enjoy the sense of completion; the crossing off of something from the to-do list, to get it off the plate.

But who else am I? I'm often at such a struggle; to anyone else, I'm completely normal and that's a valid, true side of me. But then there's this other side of me, the side most people don't know or can't attribute to my name because it's hidden. Where as men talk about normal vanilla sex, I find myself quiet; I'm not aroused by normal vanilla sex. In fact, I get off by thinking myself the submissive; but to admit a submissive inclination to a group of male friends? That seems foolish and to call upon ridicule.

In society, we don't speak about sex unless it's generally the "normal" type; heterosexual or homosexual, people are generally talking about penis in the vagina or ass sex. Only in the present day, the modern day am I hearing more mainstream references made to the concept of facesitting (I believe American Dad and Cleveland Show each had at least one); it's good, but it's still going to be a long time before any of us feel conformable talking about this. If ever.

Which I also find confusing. It's sex. It's something you don't generally talk about in everyday conversation; so, it almost becomes the question of, does this need to be mainstream knowledge? To know about us and accept us? It actually almost seems foolish to think otherwise actually; why don't our feelings, our thoughts on eroticism deserve to be respected? Is it because we question our own sanity in liking this that we start to question whether the mainstream ever has to know about it?

I feel that way, I question my sanity every day and wonder why the fuck I can't just get off to watching regular porn like a normal person. Why, on top of what already makes life hard in general, I had to be burdened with these feelings that put me so outside the spectrum of normalcy, that I'm scared to talk about it.

I know I don't want to be afraid. I don't know how I'm not going to be, but I know I don't want to be.

I question even whether I like this at times. I think my stories would argue strongly that I do. But I don't know, would I ever really want it to happen to me? Be farted on, in the face. I don't know. I don't even know if I want to know. Maybe that's residual character fear from the stories. Maybe I never wanted it in the first place but it's hard then, to live in a world that's strictly fantasy. Or I think it is. I mean; this "fantasy" has gone on for 8 years professionally, let's guess 20 years in my head; eventually, it has to go somewhere because there's not going to be an amazing, affordable technology that's going to blow my mind in the fetish realm.

I've definitely seen a lot of content, it's kinda all the same after all those years; just the models change, the farts sound differ, but overall, it's the same. My stories, they're the same; that's why I didn't want to write for a while. My stories are still the same; they are written better, yes, but mostly, everything is the same.

I guess I know that about me; I feel I've hit a wall.
Mature Content Filter is On. The Artist has chosen to restrict viewing to deviants 18 and older.
(Contains: nudity, sexual themes, violence/gore, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
Barry's wide eyes reflect the light from his computer screen; sweat forming at his hairline.

He types a few quick sequences on his keyboard without taking his eyes off the screen; windows pop up rapidly, his eyes quickly glancing at each once.

The screens stop and he leans in, staring at a particularly telling entry line; he scrolls down.

"Hey."

Barry jumps, startled; his keyboard hand twitches as if flicking an imaginary pen. He slides back in his chair and turns; it's Natalie, coworker and friend.

"Sorry," she holds back laughter, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Barry's hand on his face, he wipes his eyes; "You didn't scare me...caught me off guard is all."

"Of course, so, I just wondered if you wanted some coffee? I was gonna make a run."

"Ah, no, thank you though."

She shrugs and walks off, down the platform; she was cute, a bit nerdy it seemed but her figure was nice and she seemed pretty smart.

The lights dim in the facility, then steady.

And surge again. Then darkness.

Power out. The computers on battery backups, the monitors now illuminate the room.

Natalie returns to Barry.

"What do you think caused that?"

"Not sure, could be anything," Barry answers.

Natalie looks at the ceiling as if the answer will appear. But nothing does.

"Well, you could probably still get coffee if you wanted; it's probably nothing serious."

"Yeah? I guess so. Alright, yeah, I'll go; I'll be right back."

Barry smiles and nods sincerely.

Natalie looks at Barry from the door; he notices - does a wide mouth smile and single arm wave across his face. Natalie laughs and exits.

Barry sighs to himself; why hadn't he gone for her? Clearly she liked him. Just a struggle of how; she's a coworker, that makes it like "Oh, what, you just came up with this now?"

Ah, what the fuck; when she gets back...

BVVRRMP! PCHSSS!

A bright flash overcomes the room, blinding everyone; the facility employees drop to the ground, hands on their heads, as they were trained to do.

Voices and rushing footsteps; heavy boots, running around.

Barry cups a shaking hand over his eyes, looking down; he removes it. Cautiously, he looks up.

A figure, dressed in black camouflage, with a wrap covering the face and dark sunglasses over the eyes.

And the butt of a gun, flying perilously towards his face.

SMACK!

Barry is out.



With a throbbing pain on his forehead, Barry's eyes slowly opened. On the wall opposite him, a worn poster of a woman in black military uniform; her mouth open as if yelling. The fading text reads: "General Oro Stands for Peace!"

Barry's body is sat up in a corner of a stone cell. He stirs slightly, his clothes scratching against his skin. He notices his clothes have been replaced with a crudely made shirt and pant of burlap, with just a rope string to keep the pants up.

Close by in the darkness unseen, a metal door creaked open; footsteps approaching in unison.

Barry tries to look tough as he cowers further into his corner.

Bright lights strike with a metallic CLUNK.

Barry averts his eyes while still trying to see who approaches. As his eyes adjust, he sees the modest sized cell around him; but it appears ancient, slimy stone floors, iron bars. It was nothing short of a medieval dungeon.

Steps get even closer, then appear on just the other side of the bars. Three slim figures, in all black uniforms; each had a different color cloth over their face with only their eyes visible like a bandit.

"Greech, Barry." One of the voices, Blue, says; looking down at a clipboard.

Barry shakes a bit, hearing his name.

The one in front, Red, looks to Blue and nods firmly.

Blue and the other figure, Yellow, side open the door and rush to Barry; they grab him, hold him down while pushing him to lay on the floor.

"What are you doing? What are you doing?!" Barry yells, frantic and fighting.

Red appears above Barry, holding a clear cube with no bottom, a small semi-circular hole near the bottom on one side, and a small oval hole at the top. Red puts the box down over Barry, the semi-circle accommodating his neck so the box sits flat on the hard ground.

Barry's head is now encased in this clear cube, just a few inches of clearance on either side; enough room to turn his head, and even that, just barely.

Red signals Yellow and Blue to leave; they do so but leave the cell door open.

Red reaches up for the cloth covering; pulls it off, revealing a woman underneath. Her face cute.

"Sorry for all the procedures, Mr. Greech; can't be too careful."

"What is this!?" Barry's voice echos in the cube.

"No, you misunderstand; I'll be asking you questions."

"I don't know anything!"

She smirks, "Well then, I guess we can skip right ahead then..."

The woman pulls down her black pants; her black underwear.

Barry's eyes widen as he starts to understand what's happening to him; he yells as the woman's butt comes down over the hole above, sealing Barry's cube.

"So, you're sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

"I'll tell you anything, just please..."

"Oh? But you said you didn't know anything."

BRRRRrrrrrrrraaaaaaaapppppppppp!

Barry's head shakes in disbelief at the gassy emission that wafts down to him and invades his nostrils. His head recoils back in disgust; a sight that makes the woman grin wide - his first fart.

"I don't but you didn't ask, maybe I do!"

"Hm..."

PRRRrrrpp! "Is it worth it? I mean, you seemed pretty sure. Maybe you're just saying that you know something, so you can try to avoid my gas."

BRRrrraaaaauuuupp!

"Is that possible?" She asks, pointedly; she stares down at him between her legs, her butthole pulses in and out furiously.

"No, no," Barry shouts, pleading.

"So what is this information?"

"I have names, names of workers."

Her bootyhole opens wide, she closes her eyes in concentration and she pushes out a big airy fart that she passes with difficulty as it explodes loudly in the cube.

BRRRRRRRRrrrrraaaaaaaaaaapppppppppp!

The gassy emission drives Barry mad as his head rattles against the plexiglass cube; the woman above giggling to herself.

"Names? We have all the names we require. I'll let you in on a secret..." She parts her legs to look down at Barry, sincerly.

"I know you don't have any information I could use."

"So why torture me?"

She grins, "Because torturing is fun."

PRRRRRRRRRRAAaaaapppp!

"Now smell that fart and tell me what other information you think you have;" she laughs, tiny farts escape her uncontrollably.

Barry starts to choke, suffocating in the small cube of noxious farts, his vision getting hazy.

The woman looks down at the suffering Barry and pulls up one of the sides, allowing her gassy emissions to escape the box prison around Barry's head.

Fresh air flooded in and Barry started to feel better; he greedily takes in breaths of oxygen, tilting his head towards the fresh air; the moving air outside the cube.

Then she closed the side again.

Barry looks up right on time.

FFFFffffffrrraaaaapp!

"Mmmm, back to smelling my farts; I know you love it."

Barry shakes his entire body, hoping to break free from the box but it's useless and his heavy breathing oxygen only allows the fart air deeper in his nostrils as he recovers from the fight. He feels like he's going to puke and choke at the same time.

BRRRRRRRRAAAAaaappppp!

Barry's dry throat gags, looking for oxygen but only treated to thick, potent gas from this woman's ass.

He tries to say something but it doesn't come out; his head falls back, lifelessly.



Barry wakes with a fright. The box is gone around him, the smell somewhat remains though it could be in his nose rather than the air around the cell. He tries to pick at it to get it out but it's hopeless.

Fuck...this is fucked up.

Footsteps approach, Barry turns his head to the sound in the darkness; he sees nothing yet still shivers, knowing what it must be.

The cell door creaks open but still in darkness; Barry skirts up along the wall, terrified.

A figured lunges from the darkness, hand out to put over Barry's mouth.

"Shhhh!" The figure whispers.

Barry's eyes wide, mouth covered; he stares at the figure, trying to see who it is.

"I thought you might want that coffee now."

"Natalie," Barry says in recognition and relief, his mouth still covered; the words muffled.

"Hey, shut the fuck up!" She whispers, "You know what'll happen if they find me?"

Natalie releases Barry's mouth.

"Sorry." Barry whispers, "But what the fuck is going on?"

"No time, simple answer; the side of feminists that actually hate men, won; now they are rounding them up and killing them."

"What?"

"What's so hard to understand about that?"

"Does that seem fucking normal to you?!" Barry whispers colorfully.

"It doesn't matter; their cause is getting stronger everyday. The attack on our facility gave them what they needed to isolate the infrastructure. Now they are going after media channels. It's a coup; they're taking over."

Barry looks deeply concerned, barely hiding his helplessness; now not only for himself but all of mankind.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Natalie grabs Barry by the arm and pulls him through the dark prison corridor and into a dimly lit air duct; from there they crawl.

Through the ducts, patches of light and dark. Whispers echo through the ducts, likely from elsewhere; hopefully. Natalie removes the panel of the duct on the other side; they crawl through and emerge in another room, pitch black.

Natalie feels around, finally touching something rubber; "Good! Here," she says, handing off the rubber something to Barry.

It's a mask; Natalie helps Barry put the strap over his head.

"What's this for?" Barry asks, his voice muffled by the mask.

Natalie whispers, "You're gonna be in here a while, you'll need it. Stay quiet."

Barry can't see Natalie as she starts to walk away, "Wait, Natalie...I've always wanted to tell you...I think I love you."

Barry smiles in the darkness, feeling good about getting that off his chest; he waits for a reply.

Nothing comes.

"Natalie?" Barry whispers out in hushed tones.

Quick footsteps approach and harshly grab Barry's arms, forcibly pulling them behind him and handcuffing them.

"Hey, what the...?!"

He shakes and trying to free himself, trying to shake the mask off his face but even as he loosened it; the figures tighten it more painfully against his head.

Blinding white light.

Barry's eyes slowly adjust. He looks up; eyes widening when he sees a glass ceiling several feet above him, with at least fifty women standing there, all naked, looking down at him.

The women stand on this glass ceiling, though, for them, it would be a glass floor to look down upon the inferior; the height of luxury and dominance.

Barry notices that all the women have tubes, coming from their butts. He traces the tubes down to the ceiling above, where the tubes connect to a single tube that he follows to...his own mask.

Barry looks up again and the women smile wide as he comes to the realization, some nod knowingly. The women above reposition themselves, starting to squat; they still look down at Barry, many of them wanting to see his initial reaction.

He screams!

BRRRRRRrrrraaaaaappppp!

BRRRrrrpppppp!

The first farts echo out and rumbles down the tube. As the smell reaches Barry's nose he can almost smell the wetness of them as they splatter their way through. He chokes like a stoner who's taken too much; the stench thick and eggy.

PRRRRrrruuuuuuuaabb!

FFFFFFrrrppppp!

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPppppppp!

Barry shakes his head as if to make a plea to the collective of women; a plea that falls on deaf ears or is drowned out by gas.

PPPPRRRRRrrrppppp!

The second roars like a tuba.

Barry's throat dries, his nose burns and began to chap.

FFFFFFFffrrrrrpppppp!

BRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAaaaaaapppp!

PRRRrrffffttt!

Farts ring out continuously, endlessly; pummeling Barry with an inhuman stench from an army of gassy women. Barry moans out like a mummy as the farts no doubt begin to erode and rot his skin.

PRRRrrrrrrppp!

BBBRRrrrrrrruuuuuupp!

Barry's eyes dart wildly, dizzy and dry as more flatulence rains down on him.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrraaaaapppp!

A large gassy gust in his mask easily knocks Barry's weak body back; his head hits hard on the floor.

His eyes flutter open and close as the fart assault continues to burn his face; the women above him chuckle, looking determined to rip a deadly fart down their tube and into Barry's helpless face. They laugh uproariously as their gas echoes through the tubes and made Barry's head recoil, his face react to such potent farts.

His head spins, darting from side to side on the floor; every inch of his view covered by naked women above, farting down into his breathing tube.

His eyes finally rest on one woman, entering the crowd. It's Natalie. She looks down at Barry, she's naked now; smiles evilly as she jams the tube up her butt. She smirks, closes her eyes in concentration.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAaaaaaaappppp!

Her fart roars through the tube and caresses Barry's face with an eggy, cheesy smell that joins the other shit smelling air.

He chokes up once, his body convulsing then stiffening; his head falls back lifelessly. Eyes close. Involuntarily, he smiles.

Relief at last.
Mature Content Filter is On. The Artist has chosen to restrict viewing to deviants 18 and older.
(Contains: nudity, sexual themes, violence/gore and strong language)
As my body starts to wake up, something feels off. My eyes flutter open slowly; the harsh daylight piecing in through the blinds.

I try to get up. But I can't.

I lift my head and look down. Tape, all around my body like a cocoon.

I try to yell out. But I can't.

It's just muffled sounds; lowering my eyes, I think I can make out just a bit of colorful cloth wrapped around my mouth. It feels soft; silky smooth.

The door flies open, swinging hard against the wall; the handle probably making a hole.

It's Sheila, my girlfriend.

"Oh, glad you're awake," she says as she walks over, closer to me.

"Whaaaaa ggooonnn?" I muffle out; seems clear enough.

"Don't bother trying to speak, there's nothing I want to hear from you at this point; my mind is already made up."

She smiles as she sees me, perplexed expression across my face.

"Awww, so cute when you're dumb; I'm dumping you, hun. Sorry." Her apology seems less than sincere; in fact, it feels tacked on.

"Wha?" I ask, in a gagged disbelief.

"I thought I said don't talk," she says, calmly but firmly.

"So, yeah, that's what I've decided and I know you'll get over it and you know, blah, blah blah, breakup stuff..."

What a fucking bitch. Is this a breakup or a return policy?

She leaves. I use this as a chance to get away. I wiggle in the bed, trying to free myself, though, honestly, what am I gonna do? Even if I get off the bed, then what?

Within seconds, she returns, now in only white pattern underwear and holding her laptop.

She notices me, "Awww, you're trying to get away...how stupid." She pulls me off the bed, my body hits the floor with a loud THUMP.

I yell, hoping she'll stop.

She puts her foot on my face; "I think I said, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" She barked.

I shake hearing that, she'd never even raised her voice before...

She smiles, satisfied, as she lifts me; I try to shake from her grip but it's pointless. She puts half my body under the bed, allowing just my upper chest and head to be out from under the bed.

She sets her laptop on the bed.

And then...oh fuck, she's gonna sit on my face!

I shake my head from side to side to avoid it but there's no avoiding it.

Her butt makes contact, then all of her weight lowers on my face and it feels like my skin is being pushed off by her butt sitting on me.

Then she rises again, her butt off my face and I inhale deeply from my free nostrils.

"I'm gonna look for someone to fuck tonight, maybe it'll go somewhere; but while I do that, I figured you'd help me," she says; never once looking down.

Finally she does, "You've always been so helpful and nice; I really appreciate this."

God what a fucking...

BRRRRRRRRRrrrraaaaapppppp!

Oh my God, she just farted! No...no, her ass is...

She sits her ass back down on my face, pressing the fart and her panties, absorbing some of the smell, onto my face until there was no light and no other air either. Just whatever I could get here; from the backside of the girl that just farted and then sat in my face.

"Heeeellllllppppppp!" I yell out muffled; I doubt anyone but her heard it.

FFFFffrrrpppp!

Sheila's butt answers with a thick, smelly fart right against my nose buried deep in her crack. She sighs, relaxed.

I hear clicking and clacking of keys; the occasional loud laptop click.

Light comes in; she's lifting up...thank God!

I inhale greedily the less tainted air around me; dying for oxygen.

PRRRRRRRrrrruuuuuuppppppppppp!

I yell out again, pleasing with her; tears in my eyes.

As she lowered her butt, she smiles down at me.

BRRRRrrrrrppp!

And then she sits, quickly, full weight on my face; sealing in the smell with me. I hear her chuckle a bit; her butt giggles with the motion.

The fart smell invades my nostrils with a rich, old eggy smell; although, shit is also a good word to describe it.

I gag, my nostrils unable to stop begging for air and tortured by the gassy remnants of my girlfriend's ass. Well, I guess ex-girlfriend.

PPPPPRRRRrrrrraaapp!

Her gas ripped through my nose like a wind storm; I moan out, hoping for sympathy. Begging for it; this was inhuman!

She sits up again. Relief; but for how long.

I start to cry, I didn't even think about it but I didn't know what else to do.

She looks down at me, looking sympathetic.

She lowers her ass some; but I can still see her face. She looks away from me, her mouth open a little, eyes closed. Oh...

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAaaaaaapppppppp!

"Oh, yeah! That was a big one!" She said, ensuring to sit on me fully, she even cupped her legs around the back of my head, pushing me up into her butt.

PRRRRRRRraaappp!

She sighs, "Okay, I think I might have found someone; I'm gonna get ready, you can chill out here."

FFFFRRRRRRRAAAAAaaappppppp!

Her butt exploded with a gassy emission over my face that spread like a blast from an explosion. I moan almost zombie-like; I feel zombie-like.

She doesn't get up, I kick and squirm; running out of air. Choking. Coughing.

PRRRrrrppp!

I scream out as my nostrils inhale a thick, cabbagy smelling fart. My head spinning; I hear her laugh a bit as my legs kick around. I try to buck her off but my arms are weak, I barely even can push.

One deep, gaping breath; no oxygen under here. I pass out.
Mature Content Filter is On. The Artist has chosen to restrict viewing to deviants 18 and older.
(Contains: nudity, sexual themes, violence/gore and strong language)
BRRRRRrrrrrraaaaaaaaaapppppppp!

The loud bursting of flatulence caused all the guests to look over with angry eyes to the woman who had been breaking wind continuously in the restaurant continuously for the past half-hour; she talked to her companions as if not even noticing the unpleasantness she was causing.

RRRRRRRrrrrrrrrppppp!

The woman leaned her ass to the side and let a terrible, audible fart escape her; her face euphoric as if she didn't have a care in the world.

Customers were starting to hold their nose as the rancid smell was beginning to take over the restaurant.

Penelope, a bright young girl who'd just come on at the popular Indian restaurant, stands near the front; she's had just about enough. She was left in charge and there was no one else she could turn to. She had to do something.

She steps forward, deliberately, to tell the woman to stop farting or leave...

Wait, she thinks; that's stupid. How can I tell her to stop farting? Is that really allowed? I mean, what if she has a problem...

It's too late, she's next to the woman now and she's looked over at Penelope.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh..."

The woman smiles, "Yes?"

"I...I came here...to say...uh...that your...erm...flatulence is bothering the other customers."

"I see," the woman says, flatly.

"Yes, I am sorry to..."

"No, no, I'm sorry; you see...I thought this was an Indian restaurant...and what do people know about Indian food?"

The woman gets in Penelope's face, she retreats into herself.

"No? Nothing? It makes you fart!"

"Yes...ma'am...just, maybe, you could go outside..."

"Outside? Do you think that's fair?"

"Well..."

"How about you be my fart cushion?"

Penelope looks at her blankly, having no idea what she means.

"Yes, you can be under my ass, inhaling all my farts; that should keep the customers happy and you as well, right?"

"I...sup..."

"Good, then; if you would."

The woman stands, allowing Penelope space under her prodigious butt.

"Uh..."

"We're waiting..."

BRRRrrrraaaappp!

She farted; Penelope heard customer's grumbling still, some looked at her with an expectantly glee; others with pity.

Penelope got down on the floor, putting her head down on the seat for the woman.

The woman smiled; closed her eyes in concentration and...

PRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaapppp!

Wasting no time, she sat down on Penelope's face, making her endure the monstrous fart in her face. She kicked and squirmed but the heavy weight of the woman held her in place.

BRRrrrraaappp!

"Smell deeply, dear; we wouldn't want any complaints, would we?"

Penelope moaned in terrible pain as her breathing became labored and raspy; "He-lp..." she pleaded once.

PRRRrrrrrppp!

That was her only response.

Penelope felt her head spinning, her eyes rolling back.

BRRrruummppp!

Another fart, suffocating, coughing; and Penelope passed out.




After a few days, Penelope finally felt ready to return to work; she'd gotten over the trauma.

She opens the door to the restaurant; her heart stops as she sees the woman standing there.

"Ah, Penelope; glad to see you again, I was just telling your co-workers that I'm the new owner around here."

Penelope's look is of disbelief; she shakes her head.

"That's right, and, uh...actually, would you see me in my office. There's something I'd like you to...help me with." Her smile was wide, sinister.
I'm starting work on a project that's a bit like a confessional; I'll be talking to camera about this fetish and myself, attempting to lower the stigma of the fetish by putting a real face on it. If the project goes as planned, I won't be an anonymous person of fart fetishism anymore.

I'd like to talk to other fetishists as well, maybe online, or by phone, or in person if doable and comfortable; because I know my thoughts, fears, worries, on this fetish, I'd like to understand what other people think and feel about this fetish or other fetishes they have; what are their struggles, what are their triumphs, etc. 

Though I'd prefer people who'd like to join me in "coming out" as a fetishist, if someone who'd like to participate but only anonymously, that can be worked out.

Given the sexual nature of the subject, to avoid any pontential problems, all interested participants must be 18+ (or older if applicable where you live).

If you'd like to participate, just drop me a note or email me (closetfetishist@gmail.com) and we'll talk.
I often wonder who I am. In years of life, you start to get a feel for it; things you like, things you don't like, the building blocks of you as a person. I'm sure I'm not done finding myself but I feel like, outside the fetish, for the most part, I know who I am. It's within the fetish that I don't know.

I know I'm a writer. I don't love writing, it isn't something I think of with great pleasure; it's work. Yes, it's pornographic or erotic but it's also work. I guess I'm lucky in that, once I start writing, it's difficult to stop until I'm finished. I too enjoy the sense of completion; the crossing off of something from the to-do list, to get it off the plate.

But who else am I? I'm often at such a struggle; to anyone else, I'm completely normal and that's a valid, true side of me. But then there's this other side of me, the side most people don't know or can't attribute to my name because it's hidden. Where as men talk about normal vanilla sex, I find myself quiet; I'm not aroused by normal vanilla sex. In fact, I get off by thinking myself the submissive; but to admit a submissive inclination to a group of male friends? That seems foolish and to call upon ridicule.

In society, we don't speak about sex unless it's generally the "normal" type; heterosexual or homosexual, people are generally talking about penis in the vagina or ass sex. Only in the present day, the modern day am I hearing more mainstream references made to the concept of facesitting (I believe American Dad and Cleveland Show each had at least one); it's good, but it's still going to be a long time before any of us feel conformable talking about this. If ever.

Which I also find confusing. It's sex. It's something you don't generally talk about in everyday conversation; so, it almost becomes the question of, does this need to be mainstream knowledge? To know about us and accept us? It actually almost seems foolish to think otherwise actually; why don't our feelings, our thoughts on eroticism deserve to be respected? Is it because we question our own sanity in liking this that we start to question whether the mainstream ever has to know about it?

I feel that way, I question my sanity every day and wonder why the fuck I can't just get off to watching regular porn like a normal person. Why, on top of what already makes life hard in general, I had to be burdened with these feelings that put me so outside the spectrum of normalcy, that I'm scared to talk about it.

I know I don't want to be afraid. I don't know how I'm not going to be, but I know I don't want to be.

I question even whether I like this at times. I think my stories would argue strongly that I do. But I don't know, would I ever really want it to happen to me? Be farted on, in the face. I don't know. I don't even know if I want to know. Maybe that's residual character fear from the stories. Maybe I never wanted it in the first place but it's hard then, to live in a world that's strictly fantasy. Or I think it is. I mean; this "fantasy" has gone on for 8 years professionally, let's guess 20 years in my head; eventually, it has to go somewhere because there's not going to be an amazing, affordable technology that's going to blow my mind in the fetish realm.

I've definitely seen a lot of content, it's kinda all the same after all those years; just the models change, the farts sound differ, but overall, it's the same. My stories, they're the same; that's why I didn't want to write for a while. My stories are still the same; they are written better, yes, but mostly, everything is the same.

I guess I know that about me; I feel I've hit a wall.

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:iconmike184:
Mike184 Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for all the :+fav:s!
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:iconclosetfetishist:
ClosetFetishist Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2014  Professional Writer
No problem, really enjoy your work.
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:iconpiggyfood:
piggyfood Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2014
great stories, hope you come out with more soon!
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:iconclosetfetishist:
ClosetFetishist Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2014  Professional Writer
Thanks, definitely will try my best to keep doing more.
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:iconsmilefurdagamer:
SmileFurDaGamer Featured By Owner Jul 31, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
I just got told by a friend that one of my stories is on your site, I'm really surprised my stories aren't that good XD

Also I'm a big fan of your stories whether they are the ones on your website or Writing.com :3
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