“Freak.” That’s the headline forever branded in my heart by my inner critic. She takes the form of a monster, so I suppose she is also a hypocrite born of sex-starved years. These days I try on the word “anomalous” when my lady-parts get excited. It feels better to define myself as a deviation from the norm. Unique, rather than a “freak.”
It all began with something purely medical. A barium enema. Not so nice? I wasn’t even receiving it. My friend had to have the procedure done when I was about nine years old. When she described the assaulting procedure to me after the fact, and how she felt her insides were “full” I felt a small twinge of electricity in my gut.
Later on, she told me about how she had to take a fiber supplement in the form of psyllium husk. She talked about the horrors of this supplement, and how it made her stomach distend, and she felt “full.” I again — innocently, not understanding what was happening — felt a bolt of electricity shoot through my body. But I still didn’t equate it to sexual feelings.
At that point in my life I was starting to have innocent crushes on boys and girls, and was exploring that soft and bittersweet realm of sexual development. However, I kept drawing cartoons of people with swollen abdomens, and I recall it making me feel “weird” down below. Soon all of this started to fade from my mind. I all but forgot about the strange electrical feeling my body felt, and the idea of being “full” until years later, in my twenties.
My sexual development had been miserable in my teens. I was heavily depressed in high school. I was afraid of sex for my entire junoir year of high school, being borderline sexphobic. I chastised any of my friends who were sexually active, and shirked away from any advances. I became miserable as a late teen, having only really kissed boys in plays. I had dated a couple boys, but nothing sexual happened between us.
It wasn’t until college that I discovered sex, and lots of it.
I became addicted to the control, loss of control, emotional highs riding on oxytocin, and obsession that grew when I developed feelings for someone. I was out of control soon into my early twenties, having sex with pretty much anyone who was interested. I believe I was trying to make up for not experiencing sex in my teens.
But this reckless self-exploration eventually resulted in injury, emotional scars, and very low self esteem. This only prompted me to go deeper into a world of emotionless sex,where I could amputate my heart from my pussy.
I started exploreing the world of sex parties. In the heat of one of these lusty, smokey nights, I rediscovered something I had lost. I was talking to someone about tentacle hentai, and they seemed to find it gross. I had never given much thought to any of that. I recall after the party going home and looking up tentacle porn out of curiosity.
And I fell into a rabbit hole. I remembered that feeling I had when I was nine, when my friend told me about her medical regimen. I felt it again except, now, I could finally put it into words. Pure sexual arousal.
I looked up every tentacle video, written erotica, and picture I could find.
But soon I got bored. I was tired of finding stories about people being ravished by a monster with tentacles only to leave them in the same state pre-intercourse. The only exciting thing was if there was a story about a tentacle victim being filled with monster spunk and its eggs. It was made better if the victim’s stomach was visibly distended, or there was an account of the person feeling”full.”
I started exploring pregnant porn-stories about people rapidly getting pregnant. I found, again, it was the “filling” descriptions, and the descriptions of being “full” that got me off. I soon ventured into feeding videos, but found those not to be exciting in the same way. I found alien porn where people are abducted and eggs are implanted into their stomachs and rectums. I loved looking at balloon porn with people sucking in air, or reading about fantastical stories of people having air blown into them to inflate them.
I realized that it was ultimately the concept of having your abdomen inflated and distended by a substance was what I enjoyed. In whatever format that happened in (favorites being science experiments, slime monsters, aliens, and mystic forces). I also enjoyed the physiological concept of losing control, and feeling embarrassed about the situation. Being controlled by an outside force. In short- I have an inflation fetish. Not to be confused with an enema fetish, because for me, it’s more complex than that.
I got stuck in my search for interesting porn. Most of this could never happen in real life. So I was stuck with mostly erotic writing. I found I really had no interest in real life human porn. I felt pretty isolated in my desire.
This is now my deepest secret. I have since had two long-term partners, the second whom I am currently with. We have been together for eight years. I have never told him what my fetish is. He knows I have one, I tell him it’s not something simple like feet, or spanking.
I have a lot of shame around it. It feels painful to explain such a strong sexual desire for something normally so gross. I don’t believe I will ever act out any of these fantasies with my partner or beyond. It stays in my mind, and lives in its own apartment there. Like a secret naughty mistress I pay for. But I try everyday to own my inner “freak,” to embrace my anomalous nature — however difficult it is to. I hope someday I’ll get there.
