Tic-tic-tic. Typing away. Just another 9-to-5 work day. And then there’s a presence in my cubicle. Hands on my shoulders. Oh. It’s the VP of Marketing. My boss’s boss. Giving me an impromptu shoulder massage as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. I go stiff as a board, hold my breath. I’m just a consultant here, trying to prove myself and get hired full-time. Gulp . . . 

Oh, the evils of Corporate America, where men with power use it to get their jollies, like the ever-lengthening lines of Hollywood bigwigs who’ve recently been called out for their “bad behavior,” (to make a gross understatement). #metoo is all too prevalent, and not just in Hollywood, as women everywhere know all too well.

But you know where I’ve never been disrespected? In the used panty fetish world. From alternative clubs to sex parties and personal clients, there’s a respect in the fetish community that doesn’t exist in the general pop. No shocking sexual comments. No inappropriate touching. Nothing but respect. Here “no” ALWAYS means no. That’s even when going out for the night in nothing but electrical-taped nipples and a thong.

This even branches into modeling. Are photographers ever gropey? I’m sometimes asked. Well, I’ve shot with around 75 of them in the past 20ish years, and the two jaw-dropping offenders are highly successful commercial photographers — the types with framed magazine covers plastered over their studio walls. One actually slapped my ass. Yet I can work repeatedly with foot fetish or bondage photographers with nothing but good vibes (and snacks!)

I truly see fetish communities as advanced societies — where you’re free to be you. The honesty of people being their unapologetic self creates trust. So instead of taking advantage of each other, there’s a love there. An empathy. A greater understanding of one another and respect for our quirky little likes. That’s the type of jobs I accept, the friends I make, and like Scented Pansy, the places where I choose to spend my time. And I’m thankful to have it all as part of my fetish world. It’s a *better* world.

Far as the unsolicited corporate backrubs go, I’m a freelance writer now. No one can sneak up behind me. Oh, and that VP guy? He got canned. How’s that for a Hollywood ending?