Blush

A fetish used to be a thing to enjoy behind closed doors. Whether you were a dendrophile, a nasophile, or a good old fashioned voyeur, it was usual to keep your behaviour to yourself.

And then along came the internet.

Suddenly we had reference points for our behaviour.

We could Google our oddness in the safety of our own home, away from the prying eyes of everyone but the sinister data harvesting departments of our most trusted corporations, and make friends with other weirdos.

Once Pandora’s lesser known box, the one containing all the ideas for fetishes, had been opened, even the strangest behaviour became kind of normalised. In fact, the whole idea of normal became somewhat sketchy.

If you told an acquaintance that you were a committed narrataphile, as long as you used polite language the chances are they would hardly blush. They might make excuses and leave. They might start a whispering campaign against you. They might out you and troll you on social media.

But they probably wouldn’t blush.

Unless, of course, they were really into blushing. Y’know, as a fetish.

Now there’s a Google rabbit hole for you to disappear down.

Enjoy.


Blush

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