Fetish Friday: Emetophilia

Ugh...Emetophilia, at long last we meet. I've been pushing this fetish back as far as I could, but the time has come. Since starting my job at this new shop, I've been sending some pretty graphic snapchats to my friends, including some...let's just say "creative" porn. Putting my friends through a series of emotions including fear, anger, disgust, and sexual confusion, it brings me a small amount of joy to see their reactions.

It makes me feel warm and tingly inside

It's especially enjoyable because over the years I've grown a protective layer that's prevented me from being disgusted at most things. Most. There is still one thing that gets me. Every. Single. Time. So this Fetish Friday is for you, guys. Know that I was thoroughly disgusted writing this article, and suffered through every minute of it, like you "suffer" through my snaps.

Today's Fetish: Emetophilia

Emetophilia, the bane of my existence, is the sexual attraction of vomit(ing). Also known as a "Roman shower", emetophiles are aroused by the act of vomiting or watching others vomit. Passive fetishists, or those who like to watch, are turned on by the sound and smell of puke, while active emetophiles find relief in the heaving and hacking followed by the release throwing up gives them.

From the amount of information I found on this paraphilia, it seems like it's pretty common. There are forums, tumblr accounts, erotic literature, and porn sites you can visit to get your fix. Oh, and remember this video? (Yeah sorry, about that) Well...here's another take on it, but involving today's fetish.

I don't know what else to tell you. This is a pretty easy fetish to explain. Not much more I can add to it, but while we're on the subject of unhygienic fetishes, why not check out my post on menophilia? Fuck it, you're already walking down a dark path, you might as well follow it to the end. Now, go get your kink on! I'll be in the bathroom if anyone needs me.

Oh, and here's some more shit for you to explore: Tumblr, Yahoo Answers, straight porn, gay porn, and yet another video.

Go to 2:15 for the money shot

I had to end it on a nice note

Social Media: Twitter

Hey guys! I forgot to mention on my last post that I have finally caved in and joined Twitter. This is a personal account, I don't have one for the blog just yet, but if you find my ramblings amusing, you can follow my daily shenanigans a lot easier now. It's mostly porn, video games, and random thoughts, so be warned. Just look for omfgitsannette. See you there!

XO

P.S. Fetish Friday tomorrow! Aaaw yeah

Windshield Love Songs

I swear, working here never gets old. My assistant manager went to the bank earlier today to run some errands and came back to, what he thought was, a parking ticket. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was an envelope with instructions.

Looks Legit

After putting on gloves (Yeah, I'm going to open it without protection. I work at a sex shop, I know better), we were treated to a struggling poet and Latin Lothario in training.

 This'll keep the Herp and Anthrax away for sure

And was it ever a treat. I don't think I can really write anything about how confusing this was. I'll just let the pictures explain. First of all, why was there a wad of newspaper clippings stuffed in the note?

If my face is turned into a wallet after this, his info is on the envelope...just saying

Then there are the ramblings themselves. He starts off by jotting down some helpful suggestions to the U.S. government:

Because he clearly knows what he's talking about

Followed by an excerpt of his music:

For my Spanish-illiterate readers:
"I am a prisoner of your arms because of the love you give me,
Because of the love you give me, I will always be the happiest prisoner,
Your look has me as a prisoner,
Your love has me as a prisoner,
I am the happiest prisoner with your love"

Finally, he decided it'd be a good idea to write these love songs on his earnings statement. Please note that he made sure to highlight how much he pays for child support.

And if you had any questions about how to contact him with a contract, don't worry, he left specific instructions. Leave them on the car you found the envelope in the first place.

Not his Blazer

....?

What did we learn today, kids? Sometimes working at a sex shop is not all about porn; sometimes, it's about love. In this case, a prisoner of love. Either way, someone's getting tied up.

Lonely

Oh my fucking God. I just had possibly the loneliest customer ever come in; my head still hurts from it.

He was an older man, which I later learned was 55, coming in to exchange an old DVD without his receipt. I explained that I don't have the authority to do exchanges, but he decided to stay and browse anyway. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Cue to his checkout. I barely understood what he was saying because he softly and nervously mumbled under his breath the entire time. All I could do was awkwardly stand there and nod while I mentally strangled the Milton out of him.

I was told there would be free blowjobs

Once he was ready to purchase his "Cum Guzzlers 3", I asked to see his ID along with his credit card. Of course he left it in his car, and of course he had to get it while the store was busy. I patiently waited for him to get it, not knowing I was in for his life story. He came back with, not only his ID, but a box full of memorabilia.

Full

He proceeded to show me pictures of his illegitimate daughter, love letters, "famous" paintings he bought, his Lamborghini that he "only rides on the weekends", his junkyard dog, his grandparents, and random letters/postcards from the 1920's. He also divulged about his sister's inappropriate comments about incest in their family, how he had to literally swat the babes away when he was young (but he wasn't bragging), and how his doctor called him a rockstar for looking so good. I now know he was raised in the area and that his birthday was two days ago. This is everything I was able to understand in the hour that he was here.

Finally, I had to let the poor man know that my job description doesn't include free therapy and sent him sadly packing. He gathered his things and left quietly...oh wait, no he fucking didn't. He slowly made his way to the door while showing me more pictures. Once he made it to the exit (so close!), he came back to make sure he didn't forget anything.

Oh well, at least he didn't lose his shit about using condoms on dildos.