A while ago, I wrote a post called On Prowess. As I did, I found myself having to rein in on a number of other tangents, most notably two – my love of dominant partners, (though I myself am dominant) and, far more central to this post, voyeurism, or watching people and how it relates to control and domination and curiosity and sexual interest.
Voyeurism operates differently for everyone, I suspect, but for me, it feeds into why I love to write. You see, I create these characters and then let them work on each other while I record and watch. It’s an immensely satisfying arrangement – one that I’ll admit I enjoy in real life as much as I do on the page.
But then I listened to a podcast that made me realize that my relationship to voyeurism and, conversely, exhibitionism, is a bit more complicated than I’d originally thought. On the (It Girl. Rag Doll) episode titled, “Flashers and Peeping Toms,” Molly Moore and Harper Eliot spent an hour examining exhibitionism and voyeurism from a variety of different angles. After listening to that conversation, I realized that, while I don’t consider myself to be an exhibitionist, I do like knowing that I’m being watched, but only under certain conditions. So what the hell does that mean?
Before I could even begin to try to figure that out, I had to take a closer look at what it is that I love about voyeurism. That wasn’t terribly difficult – I’m a people watcher in all aspects of my life, whether I’m waiting in line for coffee or telling a partner to strip for me. I love fleeting moments and human detail. I love watching an old gentleman put his hand on his obviously adored wife’s back as he guides her through a door just as much as I love watching my partner come…okay, maybe not quite as much. But you know what I mean. The point is that I love those fleeting moments; those moments take you beyond what a person is doing to how they feel about it, even when they aren’t consciously aware of it themselves. Those moments make an experience singular and distinct.
There’s a cause and effect element to voyeurism, as well. My presence has an effect on the people being watched, because my presence, (or the presence of any audience), creates a heightened circumstance for the observed. It turns up the volume on their experience, which, in turn, makes it all the more vibrant, dynamic and sexy to watch. I think it’s that element of cause and effect that ties into my own conditional enjoyment of being watched.
One of my oldest sexual fantasies was of my partner being hidden away, watching, while I fucked someone else. In the fantasy, I knew my partner was there, but he didn’t know that I was aware of his presence. What always, always got me off was the knowledge that watching me get off with someone else was driving my partner mad – that he was desperate to join us but couldn’t do so without giving himself away. It was the fact of his desire, (ie: my effect), that turned me on, rather than the fact of being watched.
Looking back on it now, that fantasy is packed with my psychology and my relationship to power, dominance and sex. In other words, my need to cause an effect. As with that fantasy, being watched has never turned me on in and of itself. It’s the fact that watching me is turning the watcher on that makes me smile like the cat that got the cream. It’s the feedback loop that I want – he, (or she), watches and desires, I know this and want more, and so forth….
Does this make me an exhibitionist as well as a voyeur? I’ve no idea. All I know is that the idea of being watched by strangers does nothing for me, just as watching strangers engage sexually is never as intimate or powerful as watching people that I know. Being watched is, for me, an incredibly contextual thing, dependent entirely on who is watching and why, and always on whether or not I want them to want me. I have to want, very specifically, their desire.
It might be tied to the fact that I’m not generally concerned about being “caught” having sex. Aside from feeling a bit smug and pleased with myself, being caught or watched by someone I don’t know doesn’t ruffle me…but if I were to get caught by someone I do know and find out that they liked it? Well, now that’s fucking hot.
So, what does all that mean? I’m honestly not sure. The bottom line is that I want to be desired and I want to have an impact. As Harper Eliot and Molly Moore pointed out, there is something incredibly powerful about being desired, and my enjoyment of being watched is, to some level, proof of how true that is for me. I’m not entirely sure how comfortable I am with that, but there it is.
In the end, it’s far cleaner to set characters in motion so I can watch and record what they do, just as it’s a much simpler pleasure to watch people I care about sink deep into a sexual experience… Life for me as a voyeur is a fairly peaceful, comfortable, black and white affair. If I claim the title of voyeur and ignore the rest, I don’t have to confront my own massively ambiguous relationship with being watched. And yet it’s still there, teetering on the edge of my sexuality. That’s not the most comfortable thing, but then, the ambiguous, shadowy parts of ourselves rarely are. I’m just going to have to get used to the fact that I am, apparently, both the goldfish in the bowl and the cat that’s watching it.