I have discovered that I have a fetish. A course of action to which one has an excessive and irrational commitment.  This course of action is to attract and attain attention from the most uncommon of men.  I am, by nature, moderate in general habits.  I am not flamboyant and gratuitous. I am contemporary and usually dream of normal, morally upstanding situations. So, I generally wish to find a mate along those same lines.  That's when I wish to find a mate. 

When I'm bored (which is a lot of the time), I think of more exciting things but I don't meditate on them. My chief fantasy at the moment is to actually be ravaged by Batman but since he doesn't actually exist, it's not that harmful of a fantasy.  It is when I find myself on a strange yet exciting course of action that I cannot seem to deviate from that I get scared - and absolutely thrilled at the same time.  This is leading to my now known fetish.  Attracting men that should only dwell in fantasies.  Gangsters, thugs, opulent men.  I don't know any of these men - they don't dwell in my circle of friends.  I generally gravitate to modest, thoughtful, family men who believe in God or some kind of humility. But when it comes to imagination, those men are boring.

Case in point: twp of the men in the yard at the moment (one got booted today but he refuses to leave). In hindsight, I think I've shown signs of this fetish before but thought I was just acting out.  I remember a brief fling when I was in my twenties with a tatted up, nose and ear ringed, bald headed white guy who took me on our first date to the backwoods of Acworth on a lake.  I remember thinking that I was going to be killed by this Nazi - he was really sweet though and ruined my expectations.

Man #1 - an ex-con with a heart and smile of gold, giggly and helpful, and full of war stories of his past life. It makes him generally safe though he doesn't stray too far from his old acquaintances but keeps his distance. He is almost therapeutically honest - telling the most detailed yarns of his past and horrible things that he's done.  He includes the consequences of his actions and his losses, so he's not boasting.  I at first found him thrillingly intriguing but now see him as a just a really good resource.  I noticed a change in my attitude when I realized that he did not live the life that he talked about anymore.  I became constricted with my time with him.  I didn't really have anything to say or ask.  I looked at the time on my phone while he yammered on.  I got bored.  I didn't mean to and it wasn't on purpose. But when I questioned myself on the main goal in pursuing his attentions, the answer was "thrill".  I'd never known anyone who'd been in jail several times on drug charges before.  Not anyone I felt comfortable talking to.  But he was past that and so I picked his brain about his experiences and as he got off on my suffocating attention, I grew bored with the way his stories all ended a few years ago when he decided to leave the life of crime and become a better person and parent.

Man #2 - never even been anywhere with him but his texts are so smooth, they leave you wanting to rob a bank and run off with him to Compton. At least that's what they do to me.  I finally put my foot down and told him we had nothing in common so anymore communication was a waste of both of our time.  All day I've gotten texts that compare our likes and dislikes in the most absurd connection ("You write books - I write raps").  I'm down to just ignoring the texts and not answering. But my fetish is pulling at me - making me fantasize about hanging out with a weed-smoking, gangsta rap, Lil Wayne-like, ghetto fabulous, super confident and aggressive young man. 

How do you live with such an absurd fetish?  I don't want any of this to touch my real life.  I can't be seen in public with any of these men and have no more in common with them than a groupie has in common with the idol of her affections.  And most of all, I'm fickle.  In the moment or two when they become "real" people, I'm done, off to find my next thrilling person that I've never known before. 

Well, as with all things, I'll work at my self-control.  I know they don't teach that anymore, but such an old-fashioned notion works wonders and has saved me in the past. It's just really hard walking past that long loc'd, gold tooth, tatted up, muscle-bound dude in the pimped out Escalade these days...sheesh!