First, a bit of background on my fetishes. My first attraction was to pregnancy (bear with me). I never realized how early my love for pregnancy was until I looked back on it recently. I remember early in elementary school re-reading a book called Stellaluna (I know I probably misspelt that–it’s been a while). It was about a pregnant bat. It was a guilty pleasure of sorts. Other books and media that featured pregnancy grabbed my attention, too. I love multiple aspects of it: the shape, the quick gains, the reality (and by that, I mean my hopeless romantic fantasy). I quickly gravitated to multiple gestations.
It was something I never wanted to share, but there was interesting about it that still baffles me. I was not ashamed of having the fetish, just of anybody finding out. This is probably common for those with fetishes or kinks. I never criticized myself, like “why are you like this?”. I knew it was taboo, so I kept it private for social reasons. It led to some fleeting fearful moments, but nothing distressing in the long term.
My affinity for fat boys grew later, in middle school, I think. I would try to furtively stare at the most obese boy in school or at after-school camp. I remember my efforts to take my time in the locker room, trying to time my walk out so I could catch of glimpse of the kid changing his PE shirt. I would stay close beside him as I jogged past on the track, holding my breath so I could hear his puffs. The days the YMCA went to the pool were my favorite, as I would soak in the view of the shirtless fat boy, a few years younger than me.
Then came the dreaded moment: discovery. I was in either late elementary or middle school. I did not have a personal computer at the time, so I had to go downstairs in the middle of the night to secretly browse. Unfortunately, I was unaware of the incognito mode for browsers. One night, I must have failed to delete my history, and it was readily visible on auto-complete. I’m not sure the extent to which my family members know about my fetishes. But my mother casually brought my passion for pregnancy up one day when we were riding alone in the car. She made a light laugh to diffuse the awkward tension, but the way she mentioned it nonchalantly out of the blue was the most effective tool. It made it feel okay. I admitted it and shrugged it off. She asked how it started, and I honestly couldn’t tell her–I didn’t know. She never pushed for details, and it was cathartic. I was still a bit ashamed, but I survived.
Since then, we’ve never talked about it. I never told her about how I roleplay pregnancies some nights. She may have caught a glimpse of my props, but never me in the act. My sister has seen my prop setup as well, but a few explanations (read: lies) and the sheer oddity of the arrangement without context has satisfied her curiosity for now. My mother never confronts me on it. As for obese boys, I have no idea how much my family knows, but “out of sight, out of mind” goes both ways there.
My approach of keeping it private, but owning it if there is no other choice, has worked for me. I find that if you cover your tracks even decently well and don’t let it interfere too much with your social life, people aren’t typically going to hunt down your fetish, especially if they love you. If you are ridiculed for it, remind yourself that it does not solely define who you are. As for my personal self-assessment of my fetishes, I like to think that it’s what makes me unique. I have acquired tastes just like everyone else. If I like to savor such tastes by myself in a locked room, that’s my decision to make.
Sigh There. I feel better now.
