I’m obsessed with CPR. It’s not erotic. I do CPR correctly, two sets of 30 compressions ~2 inches in depth, elbows locked in place, about 100 to 120 bpm, and do it on everything. I do compressions on pillows, stuffed animals, beds, soft soil, hamburgers, bananas, etc. I keep on giving until it feels like it’s alive. It’s satisfying. It’s empowering. I also ask my friends to perform CPR on me, and it makes me feel alive. I used to have them do it 3 times a day, sometimes one more before sleeping if they’re around. I know they would feel weird, which is why I only have them do the “hands-only” type. But now they have left me saying that “It’s creepy, stop.”
My latest CPR session was with my pile of laundry before loading them into the washing machine. I treated it like a victim whose heart has stopped beating. I crossed my hands together, locked my elbows in place, and did 2 sets of 30 compressions, about 4 breaths. I counted out loud. I felt triumphant. My laundry was alive again.