What do you find strangely erotic?

cloud lightning

Can someone bump the weird things you find attractive thread im on my phone

Tks

armpits are just a few centimeters away from sideboobs so, sure

I dont find anything that would be considered strange erotic

Like im wrackkng my brain over this and got nothin

I have one, I think:

Certain female voices have a strong effect on me, and not that "sexy voice" R&B music video nonsense; I'm pretty much all in for nasally dorks - and sometimes, in a completely non-sexy context (for me - I realize "sexy context" in a thread like this is, how you say, a very fluid notion) a woman with the kind of voice I like will employ the interjection "huh!" and I take about a minute to focus, because um.

I'm a sucker for a strange / weird voice too. I think it stems from having a crush on John Malkovich as a kid.

also cosigning armpits

Love southern type accents with women.
Or like drawls, and the most erotic of all is a great vocabulary...damn

from 'the way life works', by mahlon hoagland and bert dodson:

Nature creates new combinations by exchanging information. The earliest life forms, simple bacteria-like organisms, found a way to inject bits of information into each other—a primitive form of sex.

Ha, in my first year as a biology student a genetics professor started a lecture about bacterial genetics with "Today we'll be discussing bacterial sex!"

Strangely erotic - running my hands under hot scalding water often produces a sensation like an orgasm.

No mess, but I'm sure it's not super healthy for your hands to do all the time...

https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2020/03/26/gary-lutz-private-parts-of-speech/

Over the last year, little by little, I have grown suspicious of the erotics of art. It’s not just that I object to the opposition, famously asserted by Susan Sontag, between interpretation and sensuality. It’s that any overeager commitment to producing or consuming art as an erotic experience often results in some very inexpert writing about both aesthetics and sex—rhapsodic, humorless, self-aggrandizing prose that gets off on the most basic category errors. When asked by an interviewer what the most interesting thing was that she had learned from a book recently, the actress and writer Phoebe Waller-Bridge replied, “That orgasms can be brought on by art, and vice versa.” I found this idea distressing. Practical considerations aside, what kind of sick person wants her orgasms to come from art? A person more concerned with receiving pleasure than giving it is one answer; a person who prefers her pleasure depersonalized, disembodied, and safely contained by representation is another. Art, after all, doesn’t demand reciprocity or reality.

Reading the aggrieved, heart-dragging short stories of Gary Lutz complicates these doubts. Grungy-haired and lantern-jawed, unnerved by sustained eye contact, and self-conscious of his middle age, Lutz is not ashamed to admit in interviews that he suffers from “ED”: “Experience Deficit.” He presents himself as a man who has lived a singularly unremarkable life of dejection, a man to whom nothing exciting has happened and who is incapable of exciting himself or anyone else—except through writing. Writing, he tells us, is where one word can draw other words toward it, tentatively at first, then with a violent resolve. Writing is where one sentence can “overcome its aloofness or diffidence and begin to make overtures to another sentence,” each rubbing the other the right or wrong way—more often wrong than right—before settling into a jittery, strained alliance. Writing is where withdrawing paragraphs can gaze upon each other with agony and longing, for they know that the end of one paragraph and the beginning of the next announces a traumatic rupture, “an irreversible parting of ways.” “Yes, I think there might be some fetishizing of language going on,” Lutz admits. “Shouldn’t writing be far more sexual than sex?”

Underbites

confusing first paragraph out of context. what kind of person finds interest in judging the sexuality of others as "sick"? well, the critic, of course, and fair enough, that's her job. lutz certainly does seem like a miserable, yes, aggrieved person, from the excerpts provided, and in that seems fairly unexceptional.

i suspect that there's something else at the heart of fetish other than the absurd, and also that the "something else" in question is probably inaccessible to lutz. unexceptionally, resorting to ero-guro, fetishizing grievance, is his fallback.

(for me, the objectified "other" of the fetish has tended to be the self; fetish writing has been an asymptotic approach to the self. that might just be me though.)

frankenstein girls