True story time!

Did you know that if you’re really talented it’s possible to sing a David Bowie song, take off your shirt, smoke a cigarette, drink a beer, and have sex all at the same time?  It is!  The amount of skill and coordination required is pretty high, but with practice it can be done.  It also helps to wear a skirt and make sure the man you went home with likes lying on the couch and being used as your fun new toy.  Oh, and he should have good taste in music.

Once all these activities are well in hand, you might look over at the front door and see that it’s been left wide open.  You might freak out a bit over this, but if you were me, it would only add to the excitement and you’d get at those shirt buttons faster than ever.

Story time is kept short again, because I have other things on my mind again.  I just happened to have a recent story that fits perfectly with my topic of the day.  Which is weird, since the topic of the day is not just this post’s subject, but one I was specifically assigned to meditate on this morning.  I don’t plan these things, but it’s nice when the Dirty Sex Goddess hands you an instructive encounter right when you need one.  Clearly, I’ve gotten myself on this particular Goddess’ good side.

Exhibitionism.  It’s one of the many things I enjoy, but only when balanced very carefully.  And it’s a tough balance to find, and full of potential problems.  Part of my enjoyment might be that I like to poke at things, and the more layers and hidden bits there are to poke at, the better!  Take the wide-open front door, for example:  I was thrilled by the feeling of exposure, and the slight possibility that someone would drop by.  It was only a slight possibility, and the exposure was more mental than anything else.  It was so late at night that it had turned into early morning, and the living room was in an over-the-garage apartment set off the street and facing the backyard of the main house.  Anyone dropping by would be an equally drunk friend of my friend.

Once the likelihood of a random stranger or a cop (not the kind with velcro down the sides of their trousers.  A real one.) showing up or being able to watch is strong enough, all the fun goes out of it for me.  Getting arrested is off the list of fun things to do, and that random stranger that isn’t morally outraged could be someone I don’t want watching – or might even be reaching for the camera.

In certain settings I don’t care about strangers.  At the right type of party, for example, I will happily frolic about naked and have all kinds of loud orgasms even though I don’t personally know everyone in the room.  It’s a great feeling to be able to shed my usual reservations and have the audience I can’t get outside of a safe setting.  I can relax knowing that no one is filming or photographing anything I do, and that everyone there showed up knowing they might get to watch.  They’re not quite random, even if they are strangers.

Poking at this a bit more, though, I have to admit that there will be people around that I wouldn’t be interested in showing myself to sexually if I knew them.  Sometimes I already know they’re there, and who they are.  I still don’t care.

My argument for not caring is something I’ve thought through:

If I’m in the sort of situation where I can have fun with all the exhibitionism I can muster, the people I don’t want watching are the ones who are using it as a way to objectify me.  Objectification is dehumanizing.  It insults me and women in general – BUT!  Those people are already doing it to us all the damn time.  A man (I’m not being anti-male here, I’m using hypothetical man as an example because often it is hetero men objectifying women.) who shows up at a party where there will be sexiness doesn’t start seeing the women there as objects as a reaction to his surroundings.  He walked into the party with that mindset and will take it with him when he leaves.  He is the one you don’t even notice much of the time in your daily life, but when you do it’s creepy and gross.  He’s dehumanizing women in his mind when he sees them anywhere.  Wearing a bikini on the beach, walking down the street in a cute dress, bundled into a parka in the middle of winter, wearing a suit at work – this type of thinking shows up whenever he sees one of us that match his idea of “thing I want”.

I cannot stress this enough: It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing or doing.  The problem is in his mind and is no fault of the women he chooses to see as “things”.

Every time someone says, “if you don’t want men to objectify you don’t wear short skirts/high heels/bikinis/halter tops/whatever”, they are reinforcing the same sexist bullshit that allowed that hypothetical man to develop his way of seeing women.  As long as we accept that the problem is how women present themselves, we are accepting a misogynist society.

The way this relates to my own choices is simple.  I am fully aware that this shit goes on in some minds.  I am aware that my fun sexytimes might be turned into wank fodder.  I am also aware that going about my normal day in my least sexy clothing could turn me into wank fodder for that same mind.  My pleasure is more important to me than my fear of someone else’s issues.  When I have the chance to engage my exhibitionist tendencies in a safe place, I will.  I love my body, and I love my sexuality.  That love is strong, and I deserve it.  I know there are people watching who will see that strength and love and admire it, or feel inspired.  They will see a goddess, and not an object.  Those are the people I want watching me.  The others are not allowed to detract from my enjoyment with their petty objectification simply because I am greater than them.


One Response to “Sheela-Na-Gig”

  1. J. Wilson Says:

    Heart beats fiercely. Rising Suns. Steel eyes face the ever stretching horizon.

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