What’s the difference between Followers and Stalkers? And why do I crave one and not the other? Why are catcalls on the street demeaning, yet “likes” on Facebook so uplifting?
Inquiring minds want to know. So does my body. The “likes” that trigger a brain’s endorphin rush also sometimes make me wet — a fact that in today’s society I’m not embarrassed to admit and share.
Does that make me promiscuous, always seeking confirmation in numbers?
That I have almost 10,000 followers on Facebook is something to brag about. But what if I were to confess that I had been fucked by 10,000 different men? Not to mention innumerable women with dildos, plus the occasional animal (but none bigger than a horse!).
Would I be a sideshow freak? Or a savvy brand marketer?