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In the world of companionship, companions accommodating fetishes is commonplace. Some clients like feet, some like smoke, some like panty-hose/stockings, etc.

I have a fetish of my own. It's called: Words. I think that it is not unusual for a woman to be aroused by words. I think that the likelihood is probably higher than that of a man because a woman's sensuality is more cerebral and multi-sensory, while a man's is, at least according to stereotype, visual. While I do like to hear a sexy story, I probably like as much to watch something sexy, or even better yet, do something sexy. What I mean by saying that I have a word fetish is that I find words intriguing, fun, stimulating, among other adjective, in a very satisfying way, even if most of the time, in a non-sexual way.

What's been pointed out to me most recently is a stark contrast to words, that of non-words, and I thought I'd mention it. I've actually been considering the subject of non-words for a while but I've categorized it as “without words.” This is a group of poems I'm working on. The theme “without words” is what emerged, and so I labeled the group of poems as such to differentiate them from the other ones I've written. Without words, to me, means, not having the words to describe what it is you are/have experienced.

Obviously, if you are labeling your experience as “without words,” you are consciously trying to describe your experience; you are trying to find the words; but you are unable to. There are some things that, for whatever reason, you simply cannot describe. These things can be positive, such as meeting someone special for the first time, the release of oxytocin during grown-up play time, getting what seems like a big break in life/unexpected success; or they can be negative, like loss and grief over a loved one (resolved or unresolved), or encountering failure in life.

When I am alone, reflecting upon my experiences, I try to find words. Many times I do, even if they are not the right words. They may come out mumbo-jumbo, only to be tossed aside, deleted, thrown away and forgotten. Sometimes there are right words to be found and this makes me very happy. But sometimes they are no words. None at all. And it pains me to try to find them. But I try, still.

When I am alone with someone else, words and the process of finding those words, are still, an interesting thing. Sometimes there is a lively conversation, punctuated by laughter. I've found that if I'm uncomfortable enough, I try really hard to act like someone much cooler, much more gregarious and vivacious than I really am in real life, and I am successful because as I've found, I can be quite adept at making others laugh; but if I'm comfortable enough to be the more reflective and thoughtful introvert that is me, I may find myself complacent in a comfortable silence.

I want to know about the person whose company I keep, but I think it considerate to allow them to find their own words to tell me about themselves. There are some things for which it is too difficult to find the words, and there are times when words are inconsequential. If I were left to my own devices in trying to satisfy my curiosity about whoever is in front of me, I would seem interrogatory in a journalist/reporter sort of way but as a prim and proper lady, my approach is to be considerate enough by letting the other party talk at their own discretion (Or better yet, forget the words, engage in some physical activity, I. e. jogging, etc. and find the words later).

Sometimes, in the company of another, there is silence, a comfortable silence which requires no words. It requires nothing, and it means nothing, even if one can derive meaning from it. The sound of silence: It is a nice contrast to words. I don't have a fetish with non-words, that of silence, but I would say that I am equally intrigued.

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