Show Off

I’ve had a couple people recently comment to me that they could not do what I do here. Meaning, exposing myself – warts and all as my grandmother used to say – to complete and total strangers.

I gave it a bit of thought, something I’ve never really done before. I have always written, for as long as I can remember. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, prose. It’s been a part of my life since I was in grade school. Journaling like this isn’t new for me. Obviously, I’ve had this blog for ~4 years now, and before that, I used other methods to journal, mostly private, but occasionally for public consumption.

Why do I do it? I’m not entirely sure.

But I thought about it yesterday and it brought to mind another question:

Am I an exhibitionist?

It’s true that when I lived in California, I played publicly quite often and happily. Despite the fact that I was unhappy with my body, playing in public never bothered me, and often added to the scene for me, depending of course on whom I was playing with. But I never considered that exhibitionistic; it was just what we did.

Later, when I had gained a lot of weight, I stopped wearing anything that showed any part of my body and the very idea of showing any of it off made me wince like crazy.

And up until recently, it remained that way.

I say recently, because the last time I spent the night in a hotel with a man, the room had a balcony, and when I was out there having one cigarette too many, I looked at the moon up in the sky, and the railing of the balcony, and very easily pictured fucking him right there.

That shook me a little. Until I melted it with this subject. And then it made a little sense.

Not because it was exhibitionistic, but because it was spontaneous and felt completely natural.

Much like my writing here does.

I typically don’t stop to think much about what I write here. It’s usually something I’ve been thinking about, and felt a need to put into words. Once I get that feeling, I rarely hesitate to do so, unless the writing would invade someone else’s privacy – in which case, I either don’t write it, or ask permission to write it.

I write here about what’s on my mind at the moment. Whether it has any reflection upon what’s going on in my life at the time or not is irrelevant. It’s what I’m thinking about. I’m not going to say something sappy about hoping my writing helps other submissives or dominants who struggle with their desires – while that’s a nice by-product, it’s not why I write anymore. I write for me. I may write *about someone, but I rarely write *for them, unless it’s a specific piece of fiction that was inspired *by them.

This is all about – and for – me.

I don't write to show off. I don't write to impress. I write for me.

And it would be dishonest if I didn't.

As far as being exhibitionistic goes, the jury is still out. I can honestly say that I have no drive to play in public anymore. If a situation arose and I were comfortable with the people, place and setting, then I may well consider it, but it’s not something I look for. And as far as sex** in public? Well, I have been known to enjoy pushing the envelope occasionally /grin. So maybe. We’ll see.

** = the topic of a soon to come blog: What *is sex?