My mother wasn’t like other mother’s. I couldn’t imagine any other mother, finding
My mother wasn’t like other mother’s. I couldn’t imagine any other mother, finding an excuse every Halloween to get her son into a Disney princess costume.I could imagine how as a result, where all the other boys had their bedrooms adorned with photos of themselves doing all kinds of thinks they were proud of, such as sporting achievements. In my bedroom it was different. On my nightstand, was my mother’s favorite photo of me, framed prettily, that I would see first thing every morning, and the last thing I would see before falling asleep. Of a past Halloween, dressed as Cinderella, in the arms of “my” princes charming. The photo of me “on the brink of true loves first kiss”, was bad enough, but it was also how how overwhelming it was for me, and visibly so. Trembling, experiencing emotions that were so inappropriate for a boy.Mother, of course, loved it, and couldn’t help herself on the drive home, from describing how I looked like I so wanted him to kiss me, that I was falling in love. Appalled, I of course denied everything.That night I dreamed things which brought just as much horror to me as it did ecstasy, as I was kissed so wonderfully and passionately by my prince charming. And when the photo emerged on my nightstand, how seeing it every night before sleep, influenced more dreams of this nature. How my dreams, to my shame, were becoming much more like a girl’s, than a boy’s. The Masochistic Emasculation Fetish reddit group -- source link
#kissing fairies