You know, I never really considered myself an exhibitionist. Despite my deep wet sexual ungh for public places, it was never really the being seen itself that was the turn on – just the danger that you could be caught. I think. Er. That is to say, I’m not sure. There’s also the fantasy I had a while back, about a guy and his friend. Is that exhibitionism? Probably. Just not how I ever perceived it.
When I think about exhibitionism, I always thought: creepy men wearing raincoats. Or beautiful, drunk college girls riding on boys’ shoulders, sans bikini top. Stuff I’d never do in a million years.
And yet. And yet.
I’m a noisy girl in bed. I don’t say much – and depending on my level of arousal and general subbieness, I may not be able to respond sensibly to questions, either. But I moan, and whimper, and there are generally ascending levels of “oh god”s and “oh my gods” as I come closer to orgasm. If it’s a particularly intense orgasm, the sounds that come out of me as the wave crests are very loud indeed.
One time, a (dominant) partner of mine decided to record me as he touched, teased and fondled me into complete and utter ecstasy. I didn’t know he’d done it, and was so very embarassed when he chuckled and played it back for me once I’d come back down to myself again.
And yet. And yet.
Part of me was so very turned on. This wasn’t fake porn moans. These were real whimpers, moans and pleadings of a very turned on subbie feeling incredible pleasure all the way to a (relatively loud) orgasm.
And here’s the “and yet”.
Part of me wanted him to share it. To turn me on. To turn him on. And to turn on anyone else who cared to listen to it.
The idea of someone else getting turned on by listening to it… Whew. Is it warm in here? Does that make me an exhibitionist? Not sure.
Perhaps I should think more about this whole exhibitionist streak, hmm?