In the Encyclopedia of Mental Disorders, Exhibitionism is defined as, “a mental disorder characterized by a compulsion to display one’s genitals to an unsuspecting stranger.”

I love how the word “unsuspecting” is used to define the term, because it just goes to show that people inflicted with this mental disorder are severely fucked up. Imagine getting caught off guard by a random dude flashing or jacking off in front of you – man, I wouldn’t know what to do. That is both a “WTF?!” and an “ARE YOU OK?” to me.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV-TR) files exhibitionism under “paraphilias,” a subcategory of sexual and gender identity disorders.

What the hell are Paraphilias?

This is a collective name for mental illnesses marked by obsession with weird sexual practices or sexual activity involving non-consenting or inappropriate partners, which includes kids (pedophilia) or animals (zoophilia). The term paraphilia is derived from two Greek words meaning “outside of” and “friendship-love.”

Exhibitionism as defined by DSM-IV-TR

DSM-IV-TR defines exhibitionism as the exposure of one’s genitals to a stranger, but with no further intention of engaging in sexual activity with the other person. Because of this, the term is sometimes grouped together with “voyeurism,” (peeping or watching an unsuspecting person or people, usually strangers, undressing or engaging in sexual activity) as a “hands-off” paraphilia. This contrasts with the “hands-on disorders” which involve physical contact with other persons.

What goes on in the minds of these motherfuckers

If you are like me, you’d probably wanna know what these guys are thinking while doing their thing. Well, some exhibitionists are aware of a conscious desire to shock or upset their target; while others fantasize that the target will become sexually aroused by their display. In the case of peeping Toms, the exhibitionist masturbates while exposing himself (or while fantasizing that he is exposing himself) to the other person.

 What makes flashers do this shitty thing?

Several theories have been proposed regarding the origins of exhibitionism. As of 2002, however, none are considered conclusive. They include:

  1. Biological theories. These generally hold that testosterone, the hormone that influences the sexual drive in both men and women, increases the susceptibility of males to develop deviant sexual behaviors. Some medications used to treat exhibitionists are given to lower the patients’ testosterone levels.
  2. Learning theories. Several studies have shown that emotional abuse in childhood and family dysfunction are both significant risk factors in the development of exhibitionism.
  3. Psychoanalytical theories. These are based on the assumption that male gender identity requires the male child’s separation from his mother psychologically so that he does not identify with her as a member of the same sex, the way a girl does. It is thought that exhibitionists regard their mothers as rejecting them on the basis of their different genitals. Therefore, they grow up with the desire to force women to accept them by making women look at their genitals.
  4. Head trauma. There are a small number of documented cases of men becoming exhibitionists following traumatic brain injury (TBI) without previous histories of alcohol abuse or sexual offenses.
  5. A childhood history of attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). The reason for the connection is not yet known, but researchers at Harvard have discovered that patients with multiple paraphilias have a much greater likelihood of having had ADHD as children than men with only one paraphilia.


Why the sudden interest in Exhibitionism

In my continuous conquest to post something extraordinarily fucked up as often as I could, I would read the weirdest books and Internet stories that I could find. Just recently, I’ve come across Chuck Palahniuk’s short story entitled Guts, and I was overcome with this intense need to further explore masturbation in an essence.

By the way, the short story involves a carrot in one’s asshole and a foreign object inserted in a boy’s pee-hole all for the sake of “taking jacking off to the next level” (read the story, I double dare you). So I did my research until I’ve reached the offensive side to jacking off. The gods of the Internet love me so much that they bestowed upon me this mind-opener, originally published in 1961.

Here’s an excerpt:



By B. H. Leveret, Ph.D., LL.B.

Sending a man to jail for indecent exposure is psychologically useless and socially unsound.

MY young secretary came into the office very much upset one morning and said to me: “This morning as I was coming in on the subway with several of my girl friends a terrible thing happened. We were standing near the door of the subway car. A man got out. Just before the train pulled out of the station, this man stepped up to the door and placing himself in front of the win-daw of the door, he proceeded to unbutton his trousers and show himself to us.”

“Poor fellow,” I said.

“Poor fellow, indeed,” she replied. “How about us? I was nearly frightened to death. And the other girls were very much disturbed also. One of them was very young. She may not get over it so easily.”

“I did not mean to suggest that what he did was condonable,” I replied. “I think it was reprehensible. I think it certainly deserves to be punished. But you know, in the law today we also recognize another side to a situation of this kind.

“We realize today, owing to the advances of modern psychiatry, that a man who does a thing like that may be committing a terrible offense and may be causing shock and injury to girls before whom he displays himself, but also that this man is probably a quite sick man.


So you see where I’m heading at?

If peeping, flashing, jacking off in public, and other lewd acts done publicly stem from a strain of mental illnesses, why are these very sick people arrested and thrown into jail instead of getting psychiatric help?

Here in my country, these acts are seen as merely something that’s so disgusting, inappropriate, “bastos”, perverted, “manyakis,” and a whole lot more insults in our native tongue, and I bet not half of my own people realize that these lewd acts could be caused by an illness, something that the “offender” has no complete control of.

I am a female, and I would sure be traumatized and really fucked up to death if somebody did try to jack off or flash right in front me; but on the other side of things, I’d like to think of myself as somebody who would consider to get this very sick man a fucking doctor before even deciding of detaining him.

Online and in the heaven-sent libraries, there are a whole lot more cases of mental disorders that most people aren’t completely aware of and if the fucking government and other related sectors would put their attention to these things then maybe we could somehow control the instances where exhibitionist freely roam the streets.

Exhibitionists should be placed in a mental institution and not inside a cell, wherein there’s a bigger chance of them getting more fucked up than ever than getting better. The complete lack of systematic approach (at least in the country I am in) also applies in the case of drug addicts, which most people would rather shun and push off to oblivion instead of sending them to the nearest rehab facility.

In the case of the victims of these “offenders”, a debriefing process should be carried out; not only to treat the mental and emotional trauma, but also to inform and make them understand the existence of such mental disorders. With this, I think they’d be more willing to (what B. H. Leveret has implicated) “deal” with the unfortunate case by way of psychiatric treatment, rather than seek to “penalize” the apprehended.


Death and the Maiden (La Jeune Fille et la Mort)


Painting Title: Death and the Maiden (La Jeune Fille et la Mort)
Artist: Marianne Stokes (1855-1927)

I was skimming through my really sad Facebook account months ago when this painting caught my eye and upon reading the title, I knew I had to blog Death and the Maiden one way or another. It had taken months, yes, because I slack a lot plus my plate’s always full. I am much obligated to work and rarely have time to delve into the dark abyss of the Internet.

The title alone is enough to give you goosebumps. If I hadn’t seen the image first, I would have imagined a young girl (a virgin, of course) getting raped by Death; or a maiden snatched by a malevolent creature of darkness (think Hades and Persephone).

In an unexpected turn of events, Death in the painting is depicted as a woman, dressed in black, with dark wings I am quite infatuated with. The young girl across her appears to have suddenly awoken – the sight of Death obviously scaring the shit out of her. Her face is a cocktail of fear and “what the fuck?!” – curiosity looming over her in a why-am-I-seeing-this fashion.

Now there are two ways I’d like to interpret this masterpiece:

  1. Death and the girl could be the same person. Something really fucked up happened while she was sleeping and she “woke up” face to face with her own “Death” self. Notice how Goth chick holds her hand up like, “Chill, it’s just me – I mean you, but dead.”

The painting kinda suggests the sudden death of the girl, but in a dreamlike sequence.

  1. Maybe Death is a girl… all this time. The maiden, unable to absorb the unexpected plot twist, holds the blanket to her chest and whispers, “NOOOO SHIT.”

Between the two I kinda like number one. The latter sounds more fun but the former seems to me makes a lot of sense.

How would you interpret the painting?

Hey lemons – fuck you.

“When life gives you lemons, just say ‘Fuck the lemons,’ and bail.” – I fucking love this. Paul Rudd said this in Forgetting Sarah Marshall on a surf board, talking to this always-depressed-looking-actor-I-know-of-but-dare-not-Google-his-name-for-the-sake-of-saving-myself-from-embarrassment…. –self-embarrassment (deal with it).

It’s probably because I always find myself bailing out countless times. Fuck challenges. I hate them. I am too lazy to handle those things. I am more of a, “yeah… imma let this one pass” type of person and I like it. When I feel like things are about take a turn for the worse I withdraw myself almost immediately. I don’t even care about the whole situation – I just do it. When the consequences arrive I think of the stupidest ways to forget or get away with it, and more often, it hurts a lot of people. Like the really important ones. But let a day pass or two (or even sooner), I forget about the whole thing. I have this incredible superpower of getting over and moving on real quick. I’m a maniac.

My mom always told me I am heartless. My dad believes otherwise. To him, I am the sweetest, most fragile girl. To mom, I am the girl without any emotion at all – cold as dry ice. I remember one time mom told me she’d rather not be with me because she feels like there’s nobody around anyway. She likes the fact that I’m fascinated with books and find contentment in our house reading or writing. But at the same time she loathes it because I don’t talk much… at least around her anyway. With dad, there are a lot of things to talk about – he is the smartest man I know. I swear I could listen to him the whole day. I’m not saying that I hate my mom. In fact, it is safe to say that we’re pretty close. She would go with me on gigs unminding the noise, smoke, sweat, puke, and occasional blood in the rowdy bars I once frequented. Yes, I am a home buddy – but I am in a band (was once anyway) and the only time I let myself out into the blasted streets around sweaty motherfuckers is during band rehearsals and gigs. But mom and I, we’re not in the same wavelength, you know. I took to dad more often than not, and maybe that’s why I am what I am today.

Getting back to the “lemons”, I bail because I don’t like the commotion and the stress of handling it. You see, I am toughie and a weakling at the same time. I don’t cry a lot, not because I don’t want people to see me as a sissy, but because I am too lazy to do it. Crying is a bitch, seriously. Not the kind of cry girls make while watching The Notebook. I am talking about the kind of cry where you can’t fucking stop no matter how hard you try to. The kind that that makes that awful sobbing sound it confuses the shit out of you that you’re actually capable of making that nonhuman noise. The one where your chest aches too much it’s as if your heart is being ripped out; it drains you out completely you can’t fucking move and no matter how hard you try to be still to regain the strength you lost, your body betrays you. That kind of crying is a bad bitch.

My dad, he is a silent man. He doesn’t believe in aggressive reactions whatsoever. When life gives him lemons, he bails. He bails so he could think, maybe find answers. If not, maybe just so he can carry on with his life without us seeing him in pain, or in anger. I sometimes think he is depressed, but I dare not know the truth for fear it might be true. I am scared one of these days he’ll wallow into depression and just completely lose it, you know? I hope that all the smarts he’s got will save him, I need him to because I can’t right now. I live far away and I just can’t go back home out of whim. I am broke as fuck and living off in a minimum-wage salary. I have that job that I truly love with a salary I truly hate. Some of you here might be really familiar with this.

This bailing habit clearly I got from dad. It is both a blessing and a curse. It is easy to misinterpret bailing as an act of cowardice, but to us, the “fuck the lemons” kind of people, it is the best way to avoid doing something regrettable in the future. You know what they say about silent people, how they run deep and all, I think that shit’s true. It is easy to be violent, you know, but we’d rather not resort to it. That’s what separates or stops us from becoming psychopaths, full-on criminals without conscience because why not. We can easily bail, not minding the pain we caused. I am not gonna disclose now all the shit I thought of doing to people who caused to me to fucking bail, because it scares the shit outta me.

Maybe, you are just like me, or you know a “fuck the lemons” guy. The whole thing I wrote might shed light or confuse you otherwise. I don’t know. I don’t care. But if you’re reading this, thanks. For now, I’m bailing.