An other or alien subject is initially scouted as a threat; it is filled with content both for itself and for an indefinite field of third parties, but this is alien content, superfluous to the self, in completion with it's own substance, somehow noxious and taboo. But then on the assurance borrowed from those other others, you venture it may be safe to drop your resistance and to admit yourself to this content. Suddenly you discover a passion for it - it is precisely what you were missing without having known it - if only you had realised this earlier. You become a champion of the new contents, but purely on its own conditions, your loyalty is uncritical, is a voluptuous surrender. This can only go on for so long before a sharp reaction ensues from the reawakened super-ego who deplores your feminine giving way. You are then shamed back into a somewhat stiff and world-weary rectitude, defenses remounted and prepared for the next iteration of the cycle.