Note from Goddess Opal – this is my first ever guest post on this blog, and I’m very happy to welcome my fellow silk fetishist Andy Warren (@SilkenAssassin on Twitter) to describe his evolution into a textile-o-phile with a preference for silk! And kleenex tissues, but that’s a story for another time… ;D
A silk dom’s journey
I’d like to point out to all of you that at the time of writing this, I’m a heterosexual dominant man. Yet I had to get here, to this place, to this…. ‘ME’ somehow. The ‘how’ is a long, exciting, and very sensual story, filled with trial and error and some bizarre behaviours for a ‘Top’. However I began this journey very much from a rather submissively innocent eye.
Like it or not, our infantile and juvenile years are the moments when we absorb everything. Regardless of our external behaviour we as children absorbed everything. We saw things that our eyes were entranced by, be that colour, movement or expressive maternal stimuli. We touched things that we didn’t like that evoked memories that we take with us today: like nails on a chalkboard or squeezing tin foil. We felt things that gave us feedback back to our skin, our flesh that sent waves of pleasure through us without connecting it not to sexual activity but those of comfort, gentleness. We were growing and learning, feeling, touching, experiencing, as all children will whether we like it or now. And as adults, when we learn that mutual pleasure between us and our partners makes the world go round, we also realise that we ourselves are the masters of our pleasure. Then we tend to rely on what we learned as children.
From the mundane to the sublime
When we become sexually active we leave behind the innocence of childhood. Yet some of what we take with us into our sex lives are made up of things that our peers have brought to our eyes, ears, and flesh. We never enjoyed having our hair pulled as kids yet we do now, because our relationship with pain and touch changed as we grew and firmed up. The punishment of being spanked when we’ve been bad brought with it the guilt of having done something wrong and the admittance of that was often painful enough. We cried tears of woe and soreness. Now we cry for very different reasons.
Fetish grows from past traumas again faced as children. What was once a feeling of guilt, sorrow or hardship, even abuse, can, in adult years define how we live and enjoy sex. Or on the flipside it can be utilised at our own control instead of it controlling us. But fetish is always what it is: the contextualization of something that can be so normal or commonplace that provides pleasure to us when in others it remains something so mundane. There are strange fetishes, there are very gross and outlandish fetishes. But the very first and now most important to me, was that of silk.
Introduction to silk sensuality
My exposure to silk began when I was 5 years old, some 30 years ago. Back then I used to crawl into the marital bedroom, delve into Mum’s drawers, and dig around for her 80’s style white silk satin petticoats.
Silk is undeniably the most precious feeling and lavish of fabrics; its sheen and delicate nature calls to all of us. It denotes class, taste, decadence, and the desire to look at our best. If we can dress in silk, we’re asking, subliminally to others, to touch us, feel what I feel. The sensation of silk upon human skin is just something that tops the sensual hierarchy. Its smell is very clean too, fresh and you can almost smell the smoothness. But then saying that, there are men and women who would rate the feel of rubber, PVC or leather at the pinnacle of material and the responses they get from its contact with their skin is out of this world. And to those I say “You Rock!!”
So…. I digress. These satin slips, I used to put them on, across my infantile legs, my arms, my face and buttocks, and just lay on the carpet and relishing on the fabric. I was very young and I’d never experienced such a phenomenal material. It clearly had an impact on me. It was heavenly to feel, the smell was beyond compare, so clean and unique. I derived a great amount of comfort and security from it. And it seemed to naturally raise me to a level of… beyond enjoyment. Again, I was 5 years old so it was nothing sexual, because at 5 years old age we have no comprehension of that. And thank God we don’t.
But I wasn’t just enjoying it. I felt like this stuff was just different to everything else I was touching. Eventually I got caught and I stopped doing it. Now you may be thinking to yourself right now “He’s a latent crossdresser!!!” But no. I am very comfortable in my identity as a man, my sexuality as heterosexual and my sexual identity, which is why I am writing this now. There’s no harm in how or why I felt what I felt or did what I did. I don’t wear women’s clothes now nor do I ever wish to..besides this one time (at bandcamp) an ex girlfriend of mine wagered me to wear her underwear to work one day. And I did. I didn’t derive any pleasure from it besides being man enough to go through with it and see the look on her face after I sent her photos (Yeah I’m all kinds of wrong, me).
Maturing needs & desires
After being caught touching her silky clothes I think my Mum thought that it was due to me not getting enough comfort from her as a Mother. I was also never breastfed as a baby, something I’m wonderfully glad for. Now I see breastfeeding as both the nurturing and essential part of a child’s growth and bond with their mother but also as a sexual, sensual, erotic and emotional process, and doubly glad I don’t and cannot view this as something my Mum did for me. Other Mothers however, should breastfeed their children if they choose to. There is nothing at all remotely wrong or disgusting about it, be that in public or privately. Maybe my Mum didn’t give me the comfort and security I feel a baby needs but I’ve never held it against her, to be honest, I’m thankful. The reasons I was deprived of this I need not know and I’m glad I don’t, but it didn’t stop me from seeking out the comfort and nurturing elements of life for myself.
As a side-note to it’s importance: the eroticism I find in breastfeeding now, while I’ve not been exposed to it actively, I feel from the viewpoint of someone who needs comfort and intimacy. Being held by an older woman to her breast, slowly stimulating her as well as myself, is a constant fantasy of mine. I do have a lactation fetish completely aside from my fetish for silk but it’s all linked to my childhood and my relationship with what I was exposed to during these years.
I think it’s why I adore older women so much. Is that wrong? No, but it is a fantasy I have that’s come from something deprived from me as a child. Memories or lack thereof give way to fantasies and fetishes and only makes us ‘different’ from each other. We all have these little quirks and errors with our lives, our childhood or teenage years, that may one day lead to a major part of our sexuality.
Anyway, I digress. 2 years later, when I was 7, I had to perform in a school dance. I really cannot recall what the play or theme was. But there was a dance that a number of girls and boys had to do in front of parents and I was in this group. (Don’t worry, I dance a lot better now.) We were tasked with having our mothers buy a white silk scarf for us to wave around for the purpose of the dance. I still cannot recall why though. Now my Mum bought the silk scarf and on the day of the dance I had a stomach bug and couldn’t go in to school. So there I was, relieved, saved rescued by illness from an effeminate performance of silken prancing.
A silk collector is born
Yet there I was, with this white silk scarf that was useless now…. or was it? Hee hee. I would take it from MY drawer this time and hold it over my face, nose and mouth. The feel and smell, was intense and I knew I shouldn’t be doing it. I felt guilty and naughty…. yet good, really really good. I would do this most nights of the week.
I just really wish I could still find that white soft silk scarf today. My very first.
This has buried itself in my mind until I was 15. All the silk scarves my Mum had accumulated over the 80s were left in a box in the spare room. When the house was empty I would steal away into the room, lay out all the 10 or so silk scarves, strip naked and just lie in them, allowing them to touch my skin. I wouldn’t masturbate; it was hardly a sexual thing for me then. Yet the sensations were mindblowing. I would just caress my body with them. It’d be cold, fresh yet very stimulating and that old smell returned. I grew up with it and clearly have not abandoned it. Now with more than 300 silk scarves making up my personal collection, nor do I predict it ever doing so.