Posted by: littlegirlyone | August 13, 2007

exhibits, displays, and the gaze

i never thought i was an exhibitionist. never.

i always thought that being an exhibitionist meant that you wanted to streak, or go to a nudist colony or have sex in public, or flash people your body parts, none of which has ever been remotely appealing to me. so, i felt quite confident that whatever i was, i was not an exhibitionist. until this last assignment got me thinking . . .

i took tremendous pleasure in the act of being looked over. even though it was embarrassing, humiliating, scary, overwhelming, the feeling of eyes on my body, scrutinizing, looking, watching, evaluating, objectifying – i found all of that rather satisfying. in fact, more than satisfying, down right arousing.

i’ve realized that there is a certain heat in a person’s thoughtful stare. not everyone i asked to answer my question gave me the kind of attentive gaze i’ve craved, but when someone did, it felt like a hot spotlight traveling my length. taking and posting the photos of the parts of my body, disconnected from eachother and from me; then inviting you, my dear reader, to evaluate me as pieces, that all was powerfully erotic.

so i’ve been thinking about whether i am, in fact, an exhibitionist. and being the english nerd that i am, i decided to start with the definition. it turned out, the definition supports my earlier understanding of the word. it didn’t unlock the mysteries of my sexual response the way i’d hoped. so i started to think about the word itself – the root of the word is exhibit. that struck a chord.

i desire being made into an exhibit, something pretty to look at behind a glass wall (or in a case). i used to muse about how much i would enjoy living in one of those houses rigged with webcams, so that at any given time, any number of anonymous viewers could be watching me.

the more i think about it, the less i think i want to be watched in the way that exhibitionists supposedly want to be watched. i don’t want to flash my tits. i don’t want to strip on camera (although i’ve done that, and i enjoyed it, that isn’t what i crave). i want to be watched doing something normal, modest, and mundane. the less sexual, the better. there is no mystery to the appeal of a naked woman – who wouldn’t want to see that?

no, the idea that someone would find me compelling enough to watch in the throes of sorting laundry, or sleeping, or brushing my teeth, is so hot to me. i want to be watched, gazed at, scrutinized, looked at. i want to be an exhibit. an object. a thing that people evaluate by the sum of its parts.

i’ve talked before about my strange desire to be pinned to a wall like a butterfly in a case. i’ve been thinking about that fantasy, and the more i delve into it, the more it fits within my larger desire to be placed on display. the pinned butterfly is spread open, all her colors exposed. she is placed on a wall with other specimens, and she is supposed to inspire awe, wonder and delight in those who look at her intricacies.

i want to be the living girl version.

i have one other recurring fantasy that i think is related to these desires: the Lusty Lady. for those of your unfamiliar, this is a sort of strip club where the dancers are behind glass. patrons enter little booths, pay money to lift the screen, and watch them. it’s a seedy place, admittedly, but i’ve always gone back. first of all, i love that the girls are untouchable – they dance safely behind the glass, and none of the strange men can get inside there and hurt them. there is a safety to that. second, i love that they are like a display. third, i love the feeling of looking through the glass at these women – it’s like a girl-zoo.

when i go to the Lusty Lady, i lift my face as close to the glass as i dare (the booths, you can imagine, are often used by men who touch themselves while watching, so i try to refrain from getting too close to the walls or the glass). the nearer i get to the glass, the more the light shines on my upturned face. a girl is something of an anomaly there – it seems the regular clients are older men. so i always get a lot of excited attention from the dancing girls. i look up at them in admiration and wonder – like exotic birds in a glass enclosed menagerie.

i wonder how it feels to be a dancing exhibit, and i want to know.


Responses

  1. what a fascinating post. i personally have no qualms about my exhibitionistic nature. i have ached to be watched– in a benign, tender way, mostly– for my entire life. i have fantasized about having a camera on me all the time too (that fantasy started when i was no older than 8 or 9)… surprise surprise that we have that in common. 🙂 and i have fantasized about being the girl inside the glass case in those booths, although i have never been to one even to watch. (in my fantasy the watcher is always telling me what to do also, btw.)i don’t mind flashing body parts either, or stripping, or streaking, as long as i know the sight is desired by whoever is going to see. in fact, i don’t mind saying that that turns me on. 🙂 but you point out a subtle distinction. you say that you want someone to want to watch you so much that they’re compelled by seeing you do mundane things, not by seeing your (highly)marketable body parts… then, at the same time, you want to only be an object. you want to be more than just your body, but you also want to be just your body. what makes those different things come together as one desire?

  2. I confess I did not quite understand this at first, until persephone explained one or two things to me. I still wonder quite why someone would want to be watched doing mundane things if there were no sexual element in it; or why someone would want to watch. But perhaps there always is some sexual thing involved, if only latent. What do you think?


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