Ask Beastly: His Fetish Began in a Crib, with Fur and a Babysitter

A reader recalls a lifelong obsession.

Dear Alex,

I've just read and enjoyed your excellent article on tickling. It compels me to share my lifelong (70+) obsession as a fur fetishist. My fetish began in the crib when a babysitter tickled me with her furs. My erotic fixation with furs grew stronger. Even to this day, I crave submission to a man controlling my huge fur collection (read: arsenal) to explore pleasure and torment through light touch anywhere and everywhere. I've introduced many men to fur sex, some loving it and others not a fan of it. Gay fur fetishists are rare but still numerous. What compels me to write to you is my hope that you might include furs and fur play in your extensively sex-positive efforts. Thanks so much.

p.s. I, too, am in NYC.

— Bob

Hi Bob,

I have moved to Berlin, the land of fetishes. That tickling article is rather old, and I probably won't write another one like it, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.

Your note isn’t a question—it’s a moment of truth, a self-reveal, an erotic whisper in my inbox. I’m glad you sent it, and I'm honored that you trusted me with it.

In Berlin, it seems no desire is too odd, no fixation too fringe. But even here, it’s rare to find someone with your explicit focus on something so niche. You know what you love. You’re asking not for approval but recognition.

So here it is: I see you. I see your collection—not just of furs but of memories, lovers, and decades. You’ve introduced others to a kink they didn’t know they had. That’s no small thing. I’ll admit: fur isn’t my thing, but like you, I love the fetishes I have, and I love how they are changing. They make me more me, more alive. I’ve always believed that our fetishes aren’t stains or cracks but glints—shards of our realest selves, perfect and strange and true. They are the poetry of our pleasure.

One day, if I ever manage to explain what fisting means to me—why it unglues my sense of time, why it moves me so—I’ll have mastered language. I’ll drop down from heaven with a message from God in my rectum. Until then, I will keep trying.

Love, Beastly