Sunday, April 2, 2017

Fur Fetish 2017

I've shared some snippets here and there, written about certain aspects of this, incorporated it into my fiction, and written bits and pieces about how fur has come into play over the course of my life, but I've never really tied it all together. While I know that this has become more of a D/s blog, I'm feeling like writing about this.

In the past few months I have had a few people have moral conflicts with my enjoyment of fur.  I have a very large philosophy background and don't mind conversing about it if people do have questions.  I'm also fairly politically informed on some of these subjects and I make a habit of knowing where things come from (fur, meat, produce, etc.).  I know I will probably never see eye to eye with many of these people, but I can assure any of them that I like animals.  I dislike cruelty to animals.  My pets are and have been very dear to me.  I don't really care to spoil the spirit of this post so I will leave it at this, but I figure it is worth mentioning.  I don't ignore it, I just have a system of moral priorities that fall in a specific order.  I don't mind discussing it in a civil manner via email.

I should probably note that in most arenas I downplay this side of myself (the fur, not the morality).  Acknowledging a fetish outside the norm seems scream "wanker" and bring about undue judgement.  Tack on the sissy stigma and I may as well change my username to "they_call_me_pariah".  So, it stays hidden unless someone asks and people don't usually ask.

The origins of this blog date back to a more confused version of me that was still trying to grasp what had been made of me and how it all fit into the crazy-ass psyche that makes up my person.  A lot of my identity, both submissive and sexual, had become intertwined in with the way that my fetish was twisted.  It's probably easier to get to that by starting at the beginning.  My apologies if any of these parts overlap with my 30 days posts, I honestly wrote so far ahead in them and scheduled them for posting that I don't quite remember which day is which.

When I was a baby in winter our house would get very dry.  Like... VERY dry.  Skin cracking, nose bleeding, static inducing dry.  Apparently I had a habit of rubbing my face against the bottom of a wooden crib, doing so until it would get raw and dry.  The chosen solution was to put some soft things in there lining the bottom.  A silky blanket and a fur pelt were among them.  My memories start at around 9 months and many of them include the feel of soft, silky, and comforting things on my face.  Early on I was someone that enjoyed touching things like that.  It was just an innocent enjoyment of tactile pleasure.  I liked how fur feels.  I liked to pet our cats.  I liked the touch of it on my face.

My (non-biological adopted) sister was insecure at a fairly young age.  Our adopted mother was quite good at breeding complexes.  She had two extra years to develop them before she began to mimic the behavior.  By the time I was three I had developed a fine sense of shame.  I went from being an expressive child who would touch and feel things openly to one that wanted to touch them but was ashamed to do so.  I would stand and resist, knowing if I did not I would bring ridicule.  These sowed the seeds of guilt and were likely what primed me for what was to come.

My experiences with racial harassment began at four.  While I will not recount these here, they opened up some deep wounds and insecurities and caused me to close off part of my heart.  Soon after followed the incident I recounted a few months ago where my sister caught me petting her fur coat and shamed me to tears with my mother's support.  The lesson was driven home: fur is for women and girls, not for boys.

After that I buried my desires inside of me.  I kept the inner-workings of my heart private.  I learned to bury my true feelings and keep them secret from the world.  Over these next few years M's bondage games became a part of my life and I found myself continuously drawn to fur.  If there was a picture in a magazine, a woman in a coat, and the like... I would stare from my peripherals, fighting every desire to look and to touch.  If my action figures came out with a new winter character, I would save up my money and buy it.  It just wouldn't let go.

This was especially difficult at school.  There was always that girl with the fur collar or hood ruff, or a pair of fur earmuffs.  I would watch in secret, never letting anyone know.  I spent so much time doing it and keeping it a secret that I'm not even sure when I became attracted to it.  As I matured and women became more desirable, I began to notice more things.  In some ways, wearing fur had become as attractive to me as a nice pair of breasts or some beautiful eyes.  It was a part of the whole, but a great big plus if it was there.  I noticed that the girls and women in fur seemed to also enjoy the tactile pleasure.  From the corner of their eye I would catch them rubbing it or petting it or pressing it against their cheek.  This was completely okay, because fur is for women.

Around the time I was 18 I discovered NTCweb while looking for pictures of women in fur to "appreciate."  My sexual fantasy still heavily revolved around being bound by M, and NTC was the perfect site to merge the bondage and fur obsessions.  It was there that I discovered Femdom and all sorts of terrifying images that scared me.  I kept all of this private to me but the desires continued to grow.

Through many of these years I was in my process of failing at vanilla dating.  This was the process where I became submissive.  This was the process where I evolved to love, serve, and focus upon the needs of another.  It was strange because this side of myself was kept completely separate from the hidden fur/bondage/femdom side.  The two did not interact.  It was my heart and lack of confidence that kept me pursuing the identity of the "perfect lover."

The fur/bondage part of me was kept completely hidden from everyone until K.  When she accepted me both as her lover and submissive I was ecstatic.  It was early on in our relationship where she wanted me to reveal everything about myself and I was finally able to unburden myself with the fur secret.  I'll never forget the happiness I felt when she didn't shame me for it, and instead, she contacted a friend and borrowed a fur hat to get used to the feel and immediately began shopping for fur to wear.  It was the greatest feeling of my entire life... that is until she told me she enjoyed it too.  The relief that I felt that I could look with my eyes focused and not my peripherals and not feel ashamed was amazing.  I loved her so very much.

She loved how fur felt and wanted me to rub it on her skin.  It made her feel sexy because she knew how  much it turned me on when she wore it.  I was the luckiest man on the face of the earth.  Until she took to it so much that she was absolutely determined that I would enjoy it as well.  That led to the fateful day at the fur/leather shop where I disobeyed her and the ensuing punishment that was to follow (the full recount is in Reflections part 2).

It was then that she discovered that I was still too inhibited to wear it on my own, but that if she forced me, I would comply.  The feelings that transpired sent me into a shame spiral with all of the voices from the past blasting me with ridicule.  Fur is for women.  You're a freak.  No one will want to be around a boy that wears girl's clothes.  Being forced to live in this state trapped me in a subspace so deep that it felt like torture.  Not long after this began to amuse her and any desire she had for me to get over my shame was reversed: she tended to it like a fire, adding the wood and stoking it to keep it burning.  That was the birth of "fur sissy."

After her passing this continued with F.  After F moved it continued with T.

I have tried not to look back and regret.  Writing out my reflections helped me finally accept things as they happened and try to embrace the good with the bad.  That being said, if I could go back and change one thing, I would.

When K started incorporating the "fur sissy" part into my orgasms she had no idea that I was being sexually conditioned.  It started out as something that she amused her Domspace but after that I think she just didn't notice that I was having fewer and fewer "natural" orgasms and for the last few months of us, fewer meant zero.  Out of everything that has happened to me in the kink world, aside from losing K, finding out that my sexuality was tied to being humiliated with fur was the next most difficult thing for me to come to terms with.  To be honest, it still embarrasses the hell out of me when I have to explain it.

Thankfully, since being with K I haven't found it difficult at all to introduce a love of fur to the women I have been with.  I'm very grateful that my fetish never went "inanimate," like how it occasionally does with subs and shoes.  I don't get aroused by a fur pelt sitting on a table.  I may want to touch it, but I'm only drawn to it if it is somehow wrapped around a woman... or not.  Here my wishful thinking gets the best of me.  I would love to say I am only drawn to it in that way, but I secretly know I'm also drawn to it if I can picture it being used to humiliate me.  It makes my face turn red and my heart hurts when I admit to it, but it's the truth.

Getting back to the point, the women I have been with enjoy that it feels good.  The like to touch it.  They like how I look at them, aching with desire, when they wear it.  It makes them feel powerful and sexy.  It keeps them warm in the nasty bitter winter cold that we have here.  They like that other women ask to pet them when they wear it.  It makes them feel special because it was a gift from me.

Now that I look back upon it all, I have to wonder if more damage had been done by shaming me than it saved me from had I been left to my own devices.  Would I have ended up down the same path?  Would I feel as much guilt and shame about who I am?  I know none of these questions really matter, they are just what flow through my head as this post comes to a close.


  1. It is so cute how many men claim to be broken or damaged like it is a bad thing.

    It is part of the process they willingly chose to become something more desirable. Do they have a right to regret it after? :)

    1. Thank you, Velvet Tigress.

      I believe the tendency for inhibitions stems from fears that it will lead to rejection, either in the present or the future.

      A lot of the courting process in the D/s lifestyle tends to red flag those with overt fetishes and shoves those subs into the "wanker" pile without even considering them first. It can be a bit cruel and breeds self-consciousness in the men that are aware enough to actually read someone's profile.

      I do know that if more people found my current state desirable that my regrets would be far fewer in number... and I would probably embrace the experiences that changed me.

      I do cherish every moment I spent with them. These thoughts only occur in their absence.

      Your comments made me smile. Take care.

  2. As I've said in conversations outside of here, it takes a lot of guts to post something that lays your soul bare.

    I don't know that I agree that you need break someone to make them what you want, but your journey has taken you to a place that did better allow you to get to know yourself, and that's awesome dude, seriously.

    Look forward to reading more!

    1. Thank you, Lyall.

      I'm finding that laying a bare soul seems to yield the most benefit in regards to sorting out my own feelings. I think I'm just getting used to it by now.

      I think the breaking to get what you want makes more sense than breaking what you want, right?

      Take care.