Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

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Tightgloves
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by Tightgloves »

I only remember when I was a child (1978~1980, between 10 and 12, I think) I asked my mother pink rubber gloves for playing.
Some years later (1990~1992, 22~24 years old), at work, I saw an old colleague of mine using ***surgical gloves*** for cleaning technical mirrors! 8D At that times, you couldn't buy boxes of gloves at the store! :) Then, I begun buying some surgical gloves in drugstores and ebay; later, I found boxes of latex gloves in the stores. I always liked thin and skin-tight gloves.
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by EJA1985 »

I think it's Barb Wire, with Pamela Anderson.
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by idioteque1013 »

I think it comes from two places: 1. watching Cinderella so much as a kid. 2. watching House as a teenager and seeing Jennifer Morrison and Olivia Wilde wearing medical gloves; I think seeing it that age definitely awakened something in me.

If nothing else, I think they explain why I particularly love opera and nitrile gloves best.
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by greenyrst »

Almost all my kinks revolve around protective gear of one sort or another.
I love using it for it’s intended purpose.
As an example: rubber gloves I enjoy wearing for wet or messy jobs (or in the case of sex, acts).
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by EJA1985 »

idioteque1013 wrote: Tue Dec 13, 2022 1:01 am I think it comes from two places: 1. watching Cinderella so much as a kid. 2. watching House as a teenager and seeing Jennifer Morrison and Olivia Wilde wearing medical gloves; I think seeing it that age definitely awakened something in me.

If nothing else, I think they explain why I particularly love opera and nitrile gloves best.
Opera gloves are awesome, aren't they?
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by czol »

greenyrst wrote: Sat Dec 17, 2022 4:15 pm Almost all my kinks revolve around protective gear of one sort or another.
I love using it for it’s intended purpose.
As an example: rubber gloves I enjoy wearing for wet or messy jobs (or in the case of sex, acts).
Oh hell yeah. Can't wait to get an own place to grab some rubber hazmat suits and drysuits 8D
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by amadou »

Once I wrote this biographical text for a girlfriend who asked me for. enjoy !!!

The genesis of my glove passion


My first memories go back to my preschool. By the different working hours of my parents there was an hour for siesta, which I had to spend alone and asleep in the parents' bedroom. The housekeeper ironed in the kitchen downstairs. She rarely looked at me. I can not say that I felt lonely, perhaps I have covered this feeling quickly with adrenal-controlled "field research", that is to say, in my environment, to seek maternal warmth and security. I see myself, the deepest drawer of the white wardrobe in the bedroom open and amazed by their content: in addition to a stock of real skin colored nylon stockings, corselettes and bra’s, there lay the pair of white, elbow length leather gloves, so often seen on the framed wedding photo of my parents. My mother, greeting the photograph and the wedding-company, there was an understatement in this gesture. They wrote the year 1958.

Physically, one could have kept my mother for a sister of jackie kennedy, whom I had often admired in a French illustrated book with black and white photos in our bookshelf. Still today I feel this early childhood in love when I see pictures of this remarkable woman. And even then I wondered why female beings covered their fingers, hands, and arms with exquisite leather, without any rational reason to wear them, neither coldness nor dirt or protection could be the reason. Soon the question arose as to why it was reserved for the women to adorn themselves. And soon afterwards the bigger question: do they consciously or unconsciously put me under their spell (respectively me: the boy)?

More and more I fixed myself on this one detail, long white or dark leather covers, into which the tender women's hands and arms disappeared. A oversized love to fashion-conscious women and couturiers, to feminine accessoires, began to persist to this day, but above all an insatiable demand for soft and long leather gloves.

With 5 I had discovered my first pair of gloves, soon afterwards also their immense attractiveness and the essence of the ritualised try: at the beginning of the siesta I stripped the supple-soft nylons over my juvenile skin, pulled the long gloves up to the shoulder high and crawled naked into bed. A feeling of happiness flowed from these garments and the feeling of the lonliness dissolved. Everything seemed miraculously fulfilled. I was alone and happy.

With the time I drew more circles in the parental house and broke the housekeeping of my aunt who lived above us. She was single and had inherited from her mother's entire wardrobe. She kept it in a small room, calle „Käfterchen“, the little box, with a smell of leather, fur, and dust, and from then on became increasingly my hunting-tail. I found three long boxes on the bottom of the mirror cabinet, and in these three long boxes lay peacefully and neatly folded over two dozen long gloves, some made of cloth or very fine felt, but most of them were made of finest goatskin. The length ranged from underarms to the shoulders of an adult lady. For me, young boy, they were never-ending - a circumstance which made me aware of the magic beauty of wrinkles. Most of the long leather gloves had the obligatory slot on the wrist, and with the missing pearl buttons I learned to sew. I immediately fell in love with a shoulder-length ivory-colored pair, but in the background several black pairs, but also bloody red and green, were waiting to be kissed by me.

Over this treasure hung various fur and long dresses. Behind me were the boots and sandals of my aunt, jewelery I found in a wooden casket, veils and ladies' hats on the top shelf of the mirror cabinet. There was a nearly religious atmosphere. I have rarely enjoyed femininity as solemnly as here, in the little box.

I gradually took the courage to take some of these coveted objects to my room, to hide them under the mattress, and to put them on at night after the good-night kiss of my parents. The wooden floor and the bed were not allowed to creak. The old house was badly soundproofed. I developed a catlike ability to sneak silently, to remain silence and to dive into my world.

I was pure feeling, enjoyed the warmth, the fragrance, the softness, the suppleness, the magic aura of these long leather gloves. What did I do? I remember how the fear of getting caught mixex up with the pleasure, being naked, in nylons, a silky night shirt, and long leather gloves over my little thin arms. But this fear increased the charm to play with the fire: I read even before the good night kiss with gloved hands keeping the book, or switched the light in the middle of the night to self-love my leather-wrapped arms, hands and fingers, to look at them, sniff the fragrance of a mundane world.

The older I became, the more took up this obsession. I kept my treasure behind the big books, which really did not lack in this household. With the time I joined to the inherited gloves garments which I gradually took off from female relatives and girlfriends of my parents. Each time, when I came across a new gold mine, I felt the precarious situation with a beating heart, and wondered how I could best take home the new trophies. In addition to the gloves of nobler households, it was mainly nylons, pantyhose, lingerie and even tricots from the girl's wardrobe at the gym. There I also found danced ballet slippers, long worn, with blackened toe prints.

I felt the heavy burden of taboo from the beginning. I could not talk about it with anyone. My passion often made me self-confident and I began to prefer my company to others. I went hunting, glanced through fashion magazines and illustrated books, cut out ruthless portraits of gloved ladies, leaving a traitorous hole in the valuable books. I read a lot of novels and fashion books across the horizon, hoping to stumble over keywords like: leather gloves, gants longs, gloves, ..., copied whole passages of text when they came close to the descriptions of my erotic world. I wrote stories, imaginary love letters of a boy to a girl. And I could feel both of them in me, that of the languishing, hot-enamored boy, as well as the girl, who was partly naive, partly conscious of her clothes. I went with the gloves to school, hid them sometimes in my panty, drew them for the way back, practiced my finger exercises on the piano or learned to write in glove.

After a childish, ivory-colored phase, I began to love demonic black: at that time I fell in love with a black, unlined pair of French provenance, which, with amazing wrinkles, came up beyond the elbows. The smell of animality, of leather, fur and sin made me crazy. They were my best friends. I trusted them, I gave myself completely to them. I kissed them, smoothed the surface, honored them with all my attention. They warmed my body and my soul. I felt so rich in gifts: they gave me the feeling of being something special and lent me the opportunity to dive into a magical parallel world, which promised stressless, indefinite, promising pure lust.

I often slept in gloves just to see my leather-clad hands and arms next to my head the next morning. My hands felt warm, the leather embraced every finger and followed every tiny movement. I began to pay attention to details, to the wrinkles, the brilliance of the moonlight, to the delicate seams in the inner, to the different ways to wear them, from very tight to loose. And when I had to undress her in the morning, I enjoyed the sight of the seams around my naked fingers.

Besides the gloves I had also a strong addiction to pantyhose and nylons. At first I wanted any I found in wardrobes or drawers, but with the time I recognized enormous quality differences. I began to wear them every day under my clothes, with the exception of the days when I had gym. I took a look at the empty dressing room of the girls, fished out of the basket wool tights,thrown away because of their ladders or dirt. In addition I noticed this indescribable odor of girls and woman dressing rooms, which I could take so with home.

I remember I took with me the complete wardrobe of a femme fatale, protagonist in the drama-play „the misanthrope “by hans magnus enzensberger, and that before the general rehearsal. My bravery knew no limit. It consists of were high-heeled black sandals, a mini leather skirt, a tight glittering top, a real fur jacket with leather hemline, a push-up bra and black pantyhose with black dots. I wasn’t really interested in the long satin gloves. But the idea that the beloved main actress touched with them different objects or subjects, and perhaps had sweated in them made my heart beat faster. I took them with me. I was 13 years old. I hurried up home and hid my trophies until the night came. After the good night kiss I pulled on, with hurry and caution, the black dotted pantyhose - how beautiful the shimmer of my tender skin - the sandals, my own long black leather gloves and the fur jacket over it. I took a sniff to the satin gloves and instinctively began to play with myself. I was my own lover, stroked my dick, caressing my trophies, did five careful steps on the high heels - my little feet slipped out of the straps, the ground creaked. Breathlessly I remained in the position. I felt the heart beat, so strong. The door of the parental bedroom opened - in preemptive embarrassment I remained frozen in the middle of my room. There was only one step to the full drama: door opens, light goes on and the pubic shower, the shock in the face of my horrified parents ... but my father only went to the toilet. I knew his habit. After the silence came back, I lay down on my bed, fingered my body, my sex, my breasts, my face. And then I did not understand the world any more: a brandy pain in the feet, and soon after a white liquid shot out of my cock. My young body surrendered in long painful convulsions. Unenlightened as I was, I looked at the wet bedcloth, the pantyhose, from which the white cream swelled - I was terribly afraid that I was sick. Never in life had I heard of orgasm or sperma or stuff like this. As much as I could I caught the cream in my black gloved hand cup. The sight set the crown on all: fresh seed on black leather. I will never forget this sight. I put the hand on the mouth and tasted this new product of my body: it tasted like javel water and had a nutty note like chestnuts in the spring. And I had experienced my very first orgasm.

The fear disappeared, remained this triumphant experience of an incredible gathering of first orgasm with black leather gloves and black lace pantyhose. Before I fell exhausted into my pillow, I stowed my most intimate witnesses and „mama’s little helpers" under the mattress. The next morning I perceived the rest moisture and the odor became branded into my mind, for ever. In a way it was my first wedding night, the mystical wedding of woman and man in my person. And the long soft kid leather gloves were my maids. And from then on essentials.
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by Rbrsara »

I have an early memory of being in my parent’s bedroom at a very young age. There was an open closet door with a floor length mirror on it and a shoe rack mounted in front of that. In the fifty’s women would wear rubber overshoes to protect their high heels. My mom had a pair on that shoe rack. I was fascinated by them. They were a natural rubber color and the insides of them were slick, smooth and soft. I think my mother saw me there and whisked me out of the room. I never saw those covers again.

My family had a catering business through the 50’s and 60’s. We would prepare food and beverages and drive out to where field workers were harvesting vegetables. The workers wore rubber gloves to protect their hands from long hours picking lettuce, radishes and spinach. We stocked boxes of the gloves and sold them on the trucks. When I became aware that there were boxes stored on a high shelf, I climbed up when no one was looking and grabbed a pair and brought them to the bathroom. When I slipped them on, I felt that same softness in the unlined natural rubber gloves as the rubber shoe covers. I turned them inside out and pleasured myself. The feel, the smell and somehow believing I was doing something “wrong” totally turned me on.

I would regularly, secretly take out a pair, play with them and then return them to the box so it looked like nothing happened. I guess I got older and realized that no one would notice a pair missing from one of the boxes and took some for my own.

That was sixty years ago and I still have a secret stash of gloves for my pleasure. That’s how it started. Why? Maybe because I sensed I was doing something wrong when the rubber overshoes disappeared and I was attracted to the taboo nature of of rubber. Whatever the reason, it’s something that has stayed with me my whole life.
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by gloves1162 »

My rubber glove fetish originates from before I can even remember, although I've come tantalisingly close to unlocking some telling older memories in various drug-induced states (more on that later). I remember also being "interested" in women wearing aprons and having their sleeves rolled up, though those never developed into a fetish the way wearing rubber gloves has.

Growing up the women in my life often wore rubber gloves during cleaning tasks, especially my childminder who wore yellow Marigold rubber gloves to perform any minor cleaning task; conveniently enough for little boy me, she kept used and spare Marigolds in the bottom drawer in her kitchen meaning easy access for me (why would she have done this, I wonder?). I have memories of lying prone on her living room floor rubbing my little willy wearing these yellow gloves and getting myself in quite a state of excitement! Although I don't quite know where the notion to stroke my 6-year-old dick came from, I remember it feeling awesome and exhilarating and wanting to do it over and over again. The adults in my life, childminder included, undoubtedly knew about this quirk of mine but mercifully there has been no mention of this in my adult years as that would be such a raw wound to open because of the extent of my current fetish. Case in point: I'm currently wearing yellow Marigolds as I type this :)'

My mother also wore Marigolds yellow and green around the house, and I often looked for excuses to catch as many glimpses of her wearing them as possible, which surely aroused her suspicions and curiosity. I remember on one occasion taking a pair of her green Marigolds from under the kitchen sink and hiding them under my pillow to "play" with at night, and after getting caught by her while she was changing my bedsheets I resolved not to indulge in this activity so blatantly. Another memory is of being told off by mum for "playing with my penis" whilst prone on the couch wearing her rubber gloves - she clearly permitted me to wear the gloves if I wished but had understandable misgivings about touching things I shouldn't whilst wearing them. I remember (as well as the sight and sound) finding the smell of the Marigolds, especially the sweaty insides, irresistible and consciously looked for opportunities anywhere to get a sniff of a pair of gloves that had been recently used and left over the sink.

Other rubber glove-related childhood memories involved: being visibly upset that my aunt declined the chance to wear her rubber gloves to wash up; seeing a classroom assistant in school clean some toys clad in yellow Marigolds prompting a little squeeze of my parts underneath the desk; trying on a pair of my neighbour's rubber gloves whilst locked in her bathroom; and being patted on the head by a gloved hand whilst observing wide-eyed and open-mouthed my aunt's housemate clean her kitchen in two-toned yellow and blue rubber gloves.

As I type this a theory is forming in my head about the possibility that I've inherited this fetish off one or both of my parents in some abstract way. My dad sometimes wore the same gloves that my mum wore for cleaning tasks, and after they split up when I was around 11 years old I never saw him wear gloves again, nor recall seeing any rubber gloves in any of his houses thereafter. My mum continued to glove up after the separation but the occasions I saw her in them became increasingly rare - maybe they brought rubber gloves into their life in the bedroom? Did I once catch a glimpse of something I shoudn't have? Maybe my mum has some sort of rubber glove fetish that hasn't been activated in all those years as a single divorcée?

Other possible theories also spring to mind: was the fact that the first inorganic material I ever would have felt coming out of the womb a latex glove in some way related to an almost animalistic arousal by gloves that was triggered a mere few years later? Was my childlike mind drawn to the rebellious act of sliding into the adults' gloves for adults to wear when performing adult tasks like cleaning? Did I just like the smell of a moist and sweaty Marigold glove for no particular reason? Did an adult perhaps play with my willy with a gloved hand when I was a tiny baby (I think my childminder might be a candidate for such a violation, odd woman that she is)? This last theory could go some way to explaining why I linked the wearing of a rubber glove to the feeling of rubbing it against my penis, and doing so with my childminder's Marigolds, before I even developed anything remotely resembling a sexual consciousness. Any feedback or suggestions on these theories would be most welcome!

In adulthood I have indulged this fetish with a lot more freedom and lust and, having taken lots of drugs during my 20s, my attention often turned at some stage during a high towards spending some time in my Marigolds, if possible. When I'm high on weed or mushrooms it produces both the best, most sexually stimulating experiences, and brings me closest to unlocking some memories which might shed some light on the origins of my glove fetish. Some evocations might involve sitting on a high chair as a toddler watching my childminder wash up in her yellow Marigolds, or feeling my mum boop me on the nose with the tip of her gloved finger, but they could be invented images just as easily as they may be actual experiences stored somewhere in my subconscious. One thing is for sure, I will keep pursuing some closure on the matter, even if I might end up recalling something I might have preferred to keep down in the subconscious, and mostly in any case because it feels so damn fine 8D
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Re: Where do you think your glove fetish comes from?

Post by devdas5z1 »

I had a pretty interesting experience after my father passed away in 1998 that made me rethink my assumptions about fetishes. My fetish started young - I remember finding women wearing gloves interesting/stimulating when I was 5 or 6, even though I wouldn't really call it sexual.

But importantly, I grew up without living with my father. My parents got separated when I was 2, and divorced when I was four. So all this was going on when my father was not involved in my life at all. Fast forward to adulthood, and my dad passed away. We needed to clear out his belongings, and each of us took a different room. In the room I took, my dad had a stack of of about 15-20 Playboys. They weren't chronological and they didn't have a subscription sticker on them. But I immediately recognized a pattern with them: every single issue either had a cover model wearing long gloves, or a photo spread of a model in long gloves. If you know late-70's - early 90's Playboy, then you know that they rarely used gloves or any kind of fetish clothing in their photoshoots. And every issue my dad had was either an issue I had boughtmy own copy of because of the unexpected gloved model, or an issue I had seen and remembered noting the pleasant surprise inside the covers. Importantly, none of the issues were glove-free. He clearly sought out gloved cover models as a preference, as there were only about two or three issues that didn't have a gloved cover model.

So either it was a really bizarre coincidence that both my dad and i developed the same fetish for the same article of clothing with the same sensibilities despite never discussing women or sexuality, or fetishes can be inherited.
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