It has recently occurred to me that I share the behaviour of a Pure Exhibitionist.
Wikipedia describes this as ‘being content with just showing off the genitals‘ (insert a sigh of relief when reading the word JUST). Perhaps the penny should have dropped sooner after years of keeping curtains open, lights on and clothes off. I’d understood this routine as somewhat free-spirited, nurturing a love for seeing the ever-changing sky. It transpires I just want to be free of underwear and love mooneying around.
After a handful of hours spent life modelling and a hint from a slightly less liberal lover, I finally questioned this indulgent joy for nudity. Once in a space where my nakedness was accepted and people were prepared for it, then the sense of liberation became a bit dull, less scandalous. These people have chosen and paid to see a body (unlike the residents across the road at Number 5). I have heard my conscience telling me to stop scaring the poor neighbours with my bare bottom but still I do it.
I have decided I have a want to feel free but in a way that swings me out of the confines of accustomed social behaviour. I have taken to being a night time street performer, serenading the pavements near my house, singing like I’m Jill Scott and whipping out footwork as if I’m one of Beyonce’s back up dancers. I tend to choose moments and places where there is less chance to bump into anyone else, but with time I am getting bolder, more flamboyant in my one woman performance. This has led me to consider myself not as an exhibitionist but instead, an attention seeker. I blame the fact I am the youngest of four and always fighting for the limelight. There is a need to show off, act in a way that is not with my eyes down, head phones on and social media in hand. All this performing is done with the safe knowledge that I can fall mute, turn that failed attempt of a pirouette into a run or pop a dressing gown on.
It is through this exercise of sharing my small pleasures, whether it be labelled as pure exhibitionism or loud attention seeking, that I can be sure of one thing. That these acts have helped develop my sense of self confidence. Confidence in my body, in my voice, in my tragically inadequate-for-Beyonce dance moves. I wish I could say I don’t give a shit what others will say. The fear of being taken the piss out of keeps me looking over my shoulder, but I am making steps in a more Sassy direction. Heading somewhere that won’t judge you for clapping your hands and singing a tune. It feels fantastic, trust me! Or maybe I need to start drawing my curtains before I can win you over…