We're in the early part of spring when the weather is becoming mild, yet the trees are still mostly bare, only a few of them beginning to bud. I found myself desiring fresh air in my lungs and warm sunshine on my skin. So I went outside to toss my volleyball around - for the first time this year! - in spite of the fact that it's still unclear the extent to which everybody's regular summer plans will be affected by the pandemic we are in the midst of. Will there even be volleyball tournaments this summer? And even if they are still held, will I consider it wise to attend them? It's too soon to tell.
So I was tossing my volleyball around, and I was feeling distinctly self-conscious about the many windows with partial views onto my back yard, thinking that I was looking forward to when the trees fill in and the yard becomes considerably more private. And it struck me that there are a lot of people (especially nudists I've grappled with online) that would simply not accept that an exhibitionist could feel this way. And I realized that this was an excellent example of what I've tried to explain many times before about exhibitionism.
Firstly, I am a nudist. Genuinely. I like to be naked in non-sexual situations for comfort, convenience, and about twenty other reasons I've written about in a book I've published. But I am also an exhibitionist. I have recorded videos of myself not just naked but masturbating (and in some cases having sex with another person - with her full consent, of course) for anonymous strangers to view and appreciate. I get off on random people making sexual comments about my naked body (online - where it is easier to maintain the boundary between vision and contact). I dare anyone to define me as anything other than an exhibitionist. Yet I still can be self-conscious exposing myself to unsuspecting people. Because I care about consent. And shocking and offending people, or getting caught and dealing with repercussions, does not interest me or turn me on.
Yet there are those who would tell you that I don't exist. That I must be lying about the way I feel. Or that I am so rare an anomaly that my perspective doesn't count. They make assumptions, and jump to conclusions about exhibitionism, based on sensationalist news reports and cultural stereotypes, without direct, firsthand experience with exhibitionism, and often in flagrant contradiction to what exhibitionists will freely tell you about themselves. They talk about "trench coat flashers" on the subway with a straight face, not realizing that this caricature is no less cartoonish than a criminal twirling a handlebar mustache. And they refuse to listen when you say so.
I am an exhibitionist. I am not some sex pervert that lives on the fringes of society, some antisocial vagabond who doesn't know how to interact civilly with other people, a disgusting criminal eroding the fabric of society, for whom it's only a matter of time before I cross some line and have to be put away for the good of mankind. I'm a person - a human being, just like you. Not all exhibitionists are the same, but I'm intelligent. I'm well-bred. I'm decent, and I know how to treat people with respect. I'm a part of society. I contribute to society. Society is better off for having me in it. And my exhibitionist feelings are not a disease or a sickness, or a criminal compulsion, but a wondrous example of human diversity. And I am not the only one like me.
