The Asexual Fetishist
I’m attracted to concepts, not bodies or people.
It’s 9:30 am on a Monday, my regularly-scheduled time for a workout. Like always, I pad across the floor of the living room, roll out the yoga mat, arrange the dumbbells, and flip open my laptop to find a follow-along strength training video on YouTube.
The algorithm knows my patterns and proclivities. Populating the first row of content is a perfect encapsulation of my weekday psyche: a thirty-minute shoulders and abs video, a fresh episode of The Bald and the Beautiful to listen to while I complete it, and for relaxing afterward, a 60-minute livestream in which a sweet-faced middle-aged mother named Sammie is repeatedly dropped into a hypnotic trance and made to repeat mantras of obedience and servitude by her loving hypnotist and boyfriend.
If my workout doesn’t take too long and I’m alone in the house, I will absolutely make time for Sammie. I love watching her eyes roll up into her eye sockets as her boyfriend counts her down into a state of hypnosis, and hearing the shift in her voice as she transitions from alertness into a zombielike groan.
I love all the sides of hypnotized Sammie: when she is made to be a giggling maid, and when she dons fuzzy ears and mewls like a cat; when she devotedly calls her hypnotist Master and erases her memories…
