Sunday, September 22, 2002

Diary: Getting Religion

I haven’t written a word about my fetish in weeks.  I have stopped recording my use patterns in my database.  I have even slowed down quite a bit with my masturbatory tendencies.  I briefly became deeply infatuated with a girl, and dreamed about fucking her – something that rarely happens to me.  Even still, I couldn’t think of anything to masturbate over except wearing something.  I was crazier about her than I’ve ever been about anyone else, and it made me forget about any other fantasy.

My reticence stretches even further back than that.  Actually, it started weeks before I even bought my vinyl minidress.  I haven’t turned my back on turning myself into a girl.  I’ve simply been distracted by a new perspective.


I’m not sure what triggered my epiphany, but I now know precisely where my fetish comes from.  Even the word ‘fetish’ itself proves to be phenomenally accurate: “An object that is believed to have magical or spiritual powers, especially such an object associated with animistic or shamanistic religious practices.”  That’s exactly how I look at women’s clothes.  They possess magical properties bestowed upon them by their owners.  By wearing a bikini, I indulge in the fantasy that it somehow is imbued with femininity, and that I soak in some of that femininity.  None of this, however, explains why I want to become a girl in the first place.


It has taken me my entire life to figure this out.  I have been writing in this journal for nearly ten years now.  I have floated all sorts of theories about it, yet none of them have ever come to the heart of the matter.  All of my fantasies, and all the fantasies I have read have included this one constant, this single underlying premise that has gone unnoticed in spite of its blatancy.  I can’t believe that it never occurred to me before.


I know now that femininity is religion.  God is a woman, one who sweeps me away in uncontrollable passions.  I can do nothing but succumb to her whims.  Female sexuality overwhelms my senses, destroys my reason, brings me to my knees.  Not only is God female, but God is feminine sexuality.  God is the lovely hourglass shape, the delicate, soft, lean lines at the very core of womanhood.  Goddess has such sublime power over me, at such a base, primordial level that no amount of intellectualization can suppress or even comprehend it.  
Femininity is a force that I am completely enslaved to, even before any considerations of fetish or even normal sexual desires.  In the deepest recesses of my mind, I worship Woman as an infinitely potent force of nature.  There is nothing I will not do for Woman.  


None of this is particularly groundbreaking.  The key to my epiphany is my obliviousness to the simple fact that I, a man who does not believe in magic, superstition, or even any pantheon of gods, behave exactly like some primitive savage when it comes to the phenomenal power of Girl.  In spite of my scientific world view, I have still humbled myself before this strange, otherworldly power for my entire life.  She is a Goddess that I truly can perceive – a Goddess who makes her existence crystal clear to me every time I salivate over one of her gorgeous avatars.

Still, why the underwear?

I have already shown the definition of ‘fetish.’  To me, women’s clothes are the fetishes of my sexual Deity.  They are material items imbued with the infinite power of my Goddess.  I know that, as a man, I am not like my omnipotent Mistress.  As her humble pawn, I worship her with the greatest deference.  Naturally, as I prize her as the Ultimate in Perfection, I humbly pray that She will grant me the power She grants her avatars.  I want to follow Her ways.  I want to be like Her.  I want Her power.  If only I could be like her, then I could not only wield Her power, but in so doing also soak in Her Divine influence.  I would cast away, in a heartbeat, the very thing she controls me through, so that I could join her in complete blissful abandon.  I would betray all the men in the world, eradicate masculinity altogether, in my worship of Femininity.


In all my fantasies, I (or my surrogate hero) invariably give in to the awesome, irresistible influence of Girlishness.  I cannot escape the power it has over me.  I inevitably strive to join my Goddess, and become her perfect avatar, to the point where I would be in every way one of Her girls.  I gain Her favour by making myself more and more like her.  I will wear women’s underwear because that way I put myself in Her power, and she rewards me with a small but intensely delicious taste of Her essence.  The more I do it, the more I gain her favour, and the closer I become to Her.  This is the essential plot of every single fantasy I have.

So you see, it’s all based on a primitive sort of worship.