It's All About Me

I don't want to think that writing this blog has anything to do with exhibitionism, which is sleazy and cheap, which is not how I feel once I've completed a post and clicked “publish”. I always feel good when I've finished a post.

However, the part of me that pretends it doesn’t know that feeling good and exhibitionism go hand-in-hand is the same part that pretends I can’t gain weight while eating all the milk chocolate I could possibly consume for as long as I want, whenever I want.

Exhibitionism requires a public display, although it's often a private matter. For example:

Does Meryl Streep act because she needs the money? No! She does it because it feels good to pretend to be someone else in front of millions of people she never sees or has to meet.

Did Pablo Picasso create art because he needed the money? No! He did it because it felt good to create and to know his work would be seen by millions of people he never had to see or meet.

Did Angela Thirkell write basically the same book over and over and over because she needed the money? Possibly yes, but No! She wrote because it felt good to write, and she knew that thousands and thousands of people would read what she wrote and she would never have to see or meet any of them.

Do I write my blog because I need the money? Trick question, and no! I do it because it feels good. Out of the billions of people who get on the internet each day, surely one person will see it but I may never find out and that’s okay with me but really, I do think someone will read it. Or is reading it. Or has read it. If I play my cards right, I won’t know who it is was will be and will never have to meet them/it. I haven't really come to terms with this issue; it is enough now that I figure out how to edit my posts.

Now comes the question of the exhibitionist who masturbates in public, and to whom is he directing his work? The silly, shallow, self-absorbed side of me wants to think he's doing it for me, that it's all about me! However, I've never experienced the work of a masturbating exhibitionist whom I've previously met, not even briefly, who wanted to get to know me better. They've seemed to want to keep themselves to themselves even while exhibiting themselves.

One rainy winter night I was walking on upper Grant Avenue in San Francisco's North Beach when I saw a man sitting in the street between two closely-parked cars. His back was against the front bumper of one car and his knees were against the back bumper of the other car. He’d pulled down his pants so his bare bottom was on the cold, wet asphalt and he was jerking off. I continued walking a few steps until my brain registered what I’d just seen. I turned and yelled, "That is disgusting! Why are you doing that here?" He looked up at me through the rain, still keeping his rhythm, and said, "I can't help it. I have to do it. " It made him feel good, especially since he didn't know me.

Then there was the exhibitionist-peeper in a movie theatre in Los Angeles. He had to keep paying admission to movie theaters until he found one with an empty row through which he could crawl on his hands and knees, maybe even slither, on the filthy floor in the dark in order to gain access to women who were wearing skirts and watching "That Man From Rio", sitting with their legs up, knees bent, and feet on the back of the seat in front of them. My peeper got a long look up my skirt and we know what he was doing to feel good before I was able to tear my eyes from Jean-Paul Belmondo on the screen to investigate tiny flashes of light that kept coming from the floor, and jump up from my seat, trampling the person sitting next to me as I got out of our row to run up the aisle to the lobby where I was going to scream at someone to call the police because there was a pervert in the audience but I couldn't because I was suddenly speechless, able only to wave my arms as the peeper burst through the auditorium doors and into the lobby, and ran out of the theatre and into the street.

There’s a connection between these forms of exhibitionism but it is far too late at night to try to make it. I’ll bet someone’s going to not like this post.