Michael is a successful professional in his late 50s to most people he seems like a pretty unremarkable guy. Just another white middle class man living in a suburban area with his wife.
But since his early teens he has had numerous ecentric fantasies: from wearing nappies to being given forced enemas.
Outside of these fantasies Michael enjoys a healthy vanilla sex life with his wife. He does struggle to orgasm through penetration alone and she uses vigorous masturbation to help him climax. But Michael finds their sex life extremely pleasurable and is very aware of his wife’s sexual needs.
However due to his very specific kinks he has not been able to fufill the more outlandish side of his sexuality. This has meant he has to fufill his fantasies in private, never telling anyone including his wife.
Michael didn’t loose his virginity until he was in his 30s. His childhood tainted by sexual abuse perpetrated mainly by a female, which included the use of enemas and nappies.
And for many years now Michael has been practicing kinks secretly.
In private he enjoys wetting and messing his pants or doing so in a nappy. Using an enema and then using his potty and afterwards inserting objects into his anus or rectum. All the while he is imagining a woman taking control of him. This in order to recreate the events of years ago.
He believes that reliving these expieriences on his own terms, as an adult, would help him to reconcile with the unusual urges he habours, aid him to feel more comfortable about his kink. Although he worries that with such an offbeat and specific set of activities, which have such a complex history, that he will be unable to find anyone who would be willing or able to help. A fear of someone making things worse by misunderstanding his needs and motives.
And from Michael….
How do I feel? I have a strange urge to keep repeating this but can tell no one – it’s too shameful, too dirty, and would not be understood. Yet I can’t leave it behind. That’s why I’d like to find someone who can recreate not just the physical events but the tone, the words, etc., to see if I can move on.
Sure. I have an itch I can’t scratch, so to speak. But I’m happy, I have what I need including a happy family life and friends I treasure and who appreciate me. Life’s good.
I’ve never told anyone about this before it’s a secret even from those who know me well. I feel quite liberated having spoken to someone about it and having been aceepted for who I am, reassured and not judged.