One of the most charming facts of life is that everybody is different. We can even have a dozen of look-alikes, but humans are so nuanced that a quantic analysis will detect automatically significant differences. We just have to scratch a little bit. Zoom in.
Those are perfect news. We human beings complement each others.
This said, I must acknowledge I have a weird fetish with fetishes. How can I justify it? That was perhaps my way to overcome no tangible obsession in my life. Let’s face it: a deep-rooted fetish in a man is something quite idiosyncratic. Gives us character. Impresses. It’s something others will always write in our obituary: “Donald just loved smoking pipe hours long”, “Magnus never missed a FC Levadia match”, “Ruslan loved so much stars and planets he bought a powerful telescope with his first salary”, etc.
Yet I am being too benign. Some of men’s biggest fetishes are related to women’s bodies. That’s quite normal. Funnier is the fact women have a love-and-hate relationship with male fetishes: on one hand they believe it’s another sign of men’s primitive thinking; on the other it’s a great chance to manipulate (or seduce) their targets.
Generally speaking, we can divide males into three very different families:
- The ones who look for a harmonic face with breathtaking eyes;
- The ones who value a really generous bust, euphemism for “big tits”;
- The ones who prefer to contemplate women from the back, since they just go crazy with a butt.
Even though we must consider the national/cultural biases, a beautiful woman is always a beautiful woman. Inhere we don’t use metrics, just senses. Emotions. Empathy. Love. Yet there are individuals who are tremendously picky with things one never imagined. Still remember the day my friend Xavi visited me in Tallinn. He had just divorced and came to distract himself for a while.
Honestly, I feared I was inviting another sex tourist to Estonia. All my friends and acquaintances had fallen in love with Estonian women — and not necessarily just male visitors. They made me believe Estonian women were the most beautiful in the world.
But not for Xavi. Surprisingly, he gave up the very first night. He got suddenly demotivated. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”, I asked him in the club. He pretended he was more tired than he was, had a sip in his beer, and replied me: “Estonian women are too blond for me.”
Not only you. I was also quite surprised, since we were surrounded by dozens of extremely attractive party-goers. How could he be so picky?
This was some four years ago in BonBon, if my memory doesn’t betray me. Also remember that night Xavi and I spoke about fetishes for a while. We concluded that besides the three most common ones there are four secondary ones that tend to haunt men:
- Really long legs;
- Bellies, either very lean or slightly chubby belly-dancer-style;
- Pigmentation and skin texture;
- Abnormally elegant feet.
We laughed a lot while mapping men fetishes. If we discarded vague categories like large, young or mature women, this 3+4 equation comprehended most potential anatomical combinations. But no, we were mistaken. I thought we had been quite assertive but the next week I just met a German (or Austrian) guy in Tallinn whose main fantasy was...
“Hands are the most important part a woman’s body!”, underlined me Manfred. He was categorical enough to close the subject.
Impressive. Once again, Manfred could have the most amazing girl in front of him but his focus were hands — and not necessarily porno-like gel nails. Manfred just depicted himself has a rather sensitive soul for whom hands were determinant. Alas, a girl with bad hands was immediately vetoed.
It took me another couple of years to digest such radicalism. “How a fetish can be so cruel and illogical?”, I wondered. “Why people focus so much in small details ignoring the whole?” But no, I don’t want to sound neither moralist nor spreading the word of Jesus. Very far from that. I myself in times of doubt adopted the Spanish politically incorrect saying: En la duda, la mas tetuda (“If you are in doubt, pick the girl with bigger breasts”).
I just want to confess that — after another troubled emotional storm — I realized was haunted by an irrational fetish. Finally. Better said, an anti-fetish I am not particularly proud of: I’ve just discovered I hardly favour women with short thumbs. Another Freudian-like fetishism?
Hate to admit it, though looking at too short thumbs turns me off. Somehow. And that’s very stupid, I know — so stop looking at your fingers.