I don't know how it started, but as a girl as young as ten, I've been an exhibitionist. I was never molested and came from a very loving home. I think something was just wired wrong in my head and I like to let people see parts of me they aren't supposed to.

When my family would go to the beach, I would dig holes in the sand, but bend over too deep and too long. Boys my age would look, but even men my Dads age and older would look too. When I knew I had their attention I would try to show more. Sometimes I would pull my bikini to the side splitting my pussy. Sometimes I would pull my bikini down a bit allowing it to sag away from my pussy. It all depended on how much I wanted to show which was most often all of me.

It became habit for me to wear skirts without panties just so I could "accidentally" show someone my pussy. One of my favorite ways to sit in a skirt was with my knees up to my chest and feet apart. I loved the way I felt so open and exposed.

I was sitting that way once at a shopping mall just watching peoples reactions as they passed. Probably several dozen men saw my pussy each time I did that. Some would stop and sit across from me and pretend to wait for someone.

My Dad had a thing for classic cars and was in the process of restoring a VW from the 60's. He had a friend over to help him one weekend. I was their helper getting them drinks and handing over tools. His friend was working on the engine from the bottom and Dad was working from the top.

I would walk back at forth around the front of the car making sure his friend had a good view up my skirt. When I thought he had a good view I would casually play with the edge of my skirt flipping it up a bit. My Dad could see me, but I thought I was being discreet enough for him not to grasp what I was really doing.

My Mom came out to let my Dad know he had a phone call. As soon as he left I wanted to make sure his friend saw more. His friend slid to the front of the engine with his head just under the bumper. I walked over to the front bumper and casually put my knee on in.

I heard him stop working and I smiled to myself. I heard him take a deep breath and I put my knee further out, spreading myself for him. The door opened, I put my leg down and Dad told me to go inside.

Just from the inside of the door, I could hear Dad telling his friend not to worry about it and that they knew I had a problem. What problem was Dad talking about? I felt fine.

A few days later, I found myself in a Psychiatrists office discussing my problem. It took a few sessions with him before we even approached the subject of me being an exhibitionist. He asked if someone was hurting me and I told him how great my home life is.

We began to talk about instances of me flashing people and just talking about it was exciting to me. I began to discreetly flash my Psychiatrist soon after that session. At first, I would move around in the chair often trying to get my skirt to cooperate. He knew what I was doing, but made no attempts to correct the behavior.

One session, he bluntly asked me, "Are you wearing panties?". I'd never been confronted about it before and was actually embarassed by it. I told him I was and he politely called me a liar.

He then said, "If you enjoy showing off, why lie about it when caught?". I was stumped. I didn't have a good answer. I think his goal of confronting me was to correct the bad behavior, but instead he got the opposite.

I put my knees up to my chest and feet apart like I did at the mall so many times. He looked while at the same time telling me that wasn't appropriate.

That's how our sessions went for a while. I would show him my pussy while we talked. He would always have his notebook on his lap. I never knew if I excited him, but I hoped I did. Sometimes, he would steal glances. Other times, he would blatantly stare.

I saw him for just under a year. Most of the time we talked about everything else other than my flashing problem. My pussy would be exposed while we talked about movies, TV, school.

I still have a habit of flashing people, so obviously I wasn't cured. If this habit had a negative impact on my life, I would see it as a problem, but it's not a compulsion and I'm not hurting anyone.