I’m attracted to stuffed animals. I love the feel of their fur on my skin, their comforting size and their weight in my arms. Big cats are my favourite, with bears and wolves next (I like strong, aggressive species, perhaps because they offer protection). There’s a sexual aspect, but there are sensual and emotional elements as well.
I’ve felt this way since I was 10, when I’d go to sleep cuddling a bear named Kerry. I used to rub myself against her, in quite an innocent way at first, and eventually I’d look forward to going to bed just so I could hold her. As I grew up, I tried to understand what was happening to me. I panicked that I’d develop feelings towards real animals, but after finding an online community of other plushophiles I realised these fears were unfounded.
Dating has been difficult. One girlfriend complained: “You’re in bed with a naked woman and you’re holding a stuffed tiger.” Another wished to hide my companions and hoped for the day when I would get rid of them. For a while, I thought I couldn’t enjoy “normal” sex, but I’ve learned to appreciate the feel of skin on skin. My current partner is very understanding. She’s accepted my “girls” and even allows me to spend nights with them in our spare room.
One of my favourite animals is a tigress called Brooke. For my 30th birthday, my friends ordered a cake where she was recreated in icing, her tail wrapped around the base. They’re an accepting group. I’m very lucky.
• Each week, a reader tells us about their sex life. Want to share yours? Email sex@theguardian.com
Comments on this piece are premoderated to ensure the discussion remains on the topics raised by the article. Please be aware that there may be a short delay in comments appearing on the site.
