The Places We Live

I have an unusual quirk, one which I can't really sum up without some manner of explanation. The closest I could come to describing it would be some sort of minor architectual fetish, though that would seem to imply I'm in love with certain well-designed buildings or something like that, which is not the case. On a basic level, I have some sort of austistic facination with commiting building layouts to memory. Knowing each room, the exact dimensions, the feeling of space. The idea of not knowing where a door leads strikes me as a great tragedy. For the first few months I lived in my new dwelling I spent filled with nervous anxiety, until finally I had the house to myself and could explore the rooms closed off to me, learning which doors connect where and how and why.

Like I said, it's hard to explain. All I know is that three nights ago I couldn't sleep knowing that I'd never been in the attic of my grandparent's house. Knowing that with Grandpa dead and Grandma moved to Florida that the house will likely be sold without me having never truly conquered it, never having sated my retarded desire to know fully every minor space and what it might contain.

I don't know what this is, nor can I recall a certain instance of it occuring. The only real source I can pinpoint for this failing of mine relates back to how my mind commits these layouts to memory. Anything I write will likely take place in one of the six or seven houses that have always stuck with me for some reason. But perhaps most importantly, is that every sexual fantasy I've ever had has occured in these houses. It's something that I'm sure is awful on some deep psychological level, that I don't dare fuck or commit any other act of sexual depravity within the confines of my own dwellings, but instead have to take myself to the houses that have stuck with me since childhood. Odder still is I've somehow designated different rooms as containing the various implements of my countless fetishes, while other rooms remain un-used. Sometimes two houses will blend into one, sometimes rooms will shift slightly, kitchen islands and t.v. stands and coffee tables will be shoved aside to make room for the filthy sex acts my subconcious concocts, or for placing the scenes I read in fetish novellas. But always the same houses.

My Aunt's House (Mostly domestic scenes occur here - stern women and simpering submissives of either gender. Very popular one this is)
My Dad's old House (My dad's bedroom sticks in my mind as perpetually dark, as he always kept the blinds closed. This is used for the nighttime/dungeon scenes I enjoy. His concrete "fight club" esque basement is used for the same sort of thing)
My Dad's Lawyer's House (This is an odd one, because we visited this place exactly once and for some reason it's always stuck with me. Used for most anything involving very rich dominant women)
The Phantom House (I've been going crazy trying to remember where the hell I saw this house, because it's used almost as frequently as my aunt's house, if not more. The important feature here is the staircase, which allow for a timid submissive to descend into the waiting crowd of vultures, a surprisingly common element of some fantasies I read or dream up.)

Running through every sexual fantasy I've ever had in my mind, it really is bizarre how many of my childhood haunts I've sullied. The men's locker room at the community pool (conveniently replaced by a women's locker room in my mind), the gym of my High School, the mall, the Christian Bible camp, the daycare, the elementary school playground-- oh my god the J.C. Penny Factory Outlet. How great is that! The amount of shit that has gone down at the J.C. Penny Factory Outlet!

I'm laughing myself to death here, not literally because I'm at work writing this and wondering if I'll ever be cured. Fetish Girlfriend (formerly BDSM) girlfriend is the first person to successfully give me a handjob in over a year. I think she's a keeper.