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My whole body was humming with excitement, and having people come up to me on the street to feel my stomach was every bit the flattering, glowing experience I thought it would be.
I felt like a goddess, in every sense of the word, and my husband couldn’t leave me alone.
He was happy to indulge my fantasies and support my dreams of being a mother as many times as we could, both physically and financially.
I couldn’t stand to be around my family, particularly not my children, and making up with my husband would only mean that my overwhelming fetish would return.But I meet with my therapist twice a week, and she helps me with that. I met my husband (with whom I have two children, the only two I have) seven years ago.He didn’t know about my fetish — something I’ve known about since I was a teenage girl — but over the years, I began to open up to him.(I would describe the love as the love I have for my parents, whom I’m not enormously close to.I feel a familial draw and obligation, and I know intrinsically that I would do anything for her, but I don’t get a rush of endorphins from seeing her.