I used to have a silk dressing gown an uncle bought in Japan and when I came downstairs in it my dad used to call me Davinia. There was never embarrassment about that kind of thing. My sister used to dress me up a lot. She thought I was a little doll.
I feel an intense intimacy with those who have this loathing interest in me. Further than this I know what they mean I sympathize with them I understand them. There should be a name (as poetic as love) for this relationship between loather and loathed it is of the closest and more full of passion than incest.