This entry is part 24 of 26 in the series Blogging from A to Z

“X” is for xenophilia, a term used for individuals who get sexual excitement from strangers.

Maybe you’ve used the term xenophobia before, used to describe the fear of strangers.  Well, xenophilia is it’s exact opposite.

Personally, I probably tend more towards the xenophobic side.  I don’t exactly fear them, but I’m shy around strangers, preferring the company of a close circle of good friends to anything else.

And while xenophilia isn’t a particular fetish for me, I’ve never ever had even a one night stand let alone felt the appeal of being sexually excited by strangers, it’s not something totally outside my personal experience.

Back when I was a community organizer, I had a young street hustler type working for my organization.  His name was Freddie Morris.

Mr Morris had a bit of a troubled background, at least one drug dealing conviction on his record.

I’ve never had any big issues with drug use, and certainly his offenses were never violent.  Freddie’s “victims” were purely voluntary, and paid quite highly for the privilege.  I just don’t see the “crime” there.

But what made Freddie most interesting to me, wasn’t his former entrepreneurial enterprises, instead I was fascinated by his absolute and total xenophilia.  Freddie loved to fuck strangers.

I’ll never forget the first time Freddie explained his particular fetish to me.  “If I’m with a woman a second time, I just get bored,” he said to me. “I’ve already been there and done that, what’s the point?”

I, of course, come from the opposite school of thinking.  I believe good sex gets even better with time.

Sure, I get the appeal of a deliberate random encounter.  Intellectually, I can wrap my mind around the mix emotions such an encounter would stir.

Fear.  The thrill of being “dangerous” or “bad”.  Sudden Anticipation.  Exhilaration at the Unknown.  Excitement.

Of course for me, the emotion would probably be different.

I’d feel the fear, but I don’t know that I’d get the trill, exhilaration, or excitement.  I’d probably feel anxiety more than anything.

I’m not much of a gambler.  I don’t just roll the dice and see what fate has in store for me.  There’s too much at risk for it to be even the slightest bit tempting to me.

And there are predators out there.  There are bad people with evil intent.  Play with xenophilia too much and you could will get hurt.  You know, I think that’s really my take away message from this piece.

I wanted to write something light heated today.  My intent was to create a “throw away” 300 word post on xenophilia talking about Freddie’s penchant for “strange”.  But I can’t leave the topic there, it’s simply not responsible, I know too much to just leave things there.

If you are too much into xenophilia, you could will get hurt.  You could get drugged and wake up in the middle of a strange woods.  You could catch a STI, a potentially lethal virus.  You could be murdered.

Events like I’ve described have touched my life.

I’d like to give you the heart wrenching details as I know them, as a cautionary tale.  I’ve written them out more than once, here as I write this piece, only to erase them.  Giving you their individual stories would tell a serious cautionary tale.  It could be outstanding journalism.  It might make a difference in someone’s life, perhaps make them rethink an encounter before their luck runs out and they get badly hurt.

But their stories are not mine to tell.  I value their privacy more than I value what the details might do for you, my dear reader.  So instead, let me tell you my story, let me tell you the way the potential for harm from xenophilia has effected me.

I know real victims.  People who have been hurt by random encounters.  They are among my family.  Just thinking aboutw hat happened to them makes me literally feel sick in the pit of my stomach.  I feel angry and helpless.  I want to rage.  I want to shake them and stop them, tell them they are worth more than what they are risking.

The worst point in my life since I sat holding her hand as my Mother died, was when a very dear friend who’s been hurt before on such an encounter sent me a text saying, “Probably going to get in trouble tonight . . . Craigslist.”

I felt panic, fear.  My stomach dropped and I felt suddenly nauseous.  I started to have an anxiety attack.  I started to puke.  I started to get ready to drive to stop her, then rejected the idea knowing that she was an hour and a half drive away in a city large enough that I’d never find her.  I felt fucking helpless, and that added insult to injury.  The worst fucking feeling in the world for me is feeling helpless.

Serafina is the one who kept her head, the one who didn’t throw the phone down in panic.

“Are you not worth more than that?” Serafina asked.  “I know you are to us”

I’m told that the words stopped our dear friend dead in her tracks.

Nobody had ever before asked her to stop!

Serafina has a heart of compassion, she usually knows what to say.

I’m told that no one had ever asked our friend to please refrain from these self destructive behaviors.



For fuck’s sake, the world can be a cold cruel place.

At this point, thinking about that night, which was not so very long ago, all I can do is shake my head and sigh.  Well, that and hope it never happens to her again, that her urge for that particular kind of danger doesn’t come back . . .

– – – – –

I didn’t accomplish my goal of writing a simple 300 word piece on xenophilia did I?  At least now you know why the letter “X” is for xenophilia, a word filled with fear and anxiety for me.  I am both anxious and fearful that it will touch my life again.

“x” is for xenophilia


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Blogging from A to Z Challenge “X” is for Xenophilia
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