Man with a gun

Closeup of the breasts of a pregnant woman.Image via Wikipedia

She was bright and attractive, she smiled and laughed easily and actively contributed to the conversation. She had blonde wavy hair, good hair as I’m sure many women would silently score, and a trim body. She wore faded, well worn jeans that creased at the right places and fit her so snugly that the eyes were instinctively drawn.

My eyes certainly were. I watched as she said her greetings and then smiled as she was introduced to me. She was a good sort I thought. My first impressions were that she was someone I could imagine spending some interesting and possibly fun times with purely on the strength of her personality. The bonus was that she was so cute, and so my imagination went a lot further than that…

Even as my mind routinely went through these paces I knew nothing would happen. She was married I knew, and though her husband was absent I had no interest in racing down a dead-end. Besides, I’m over getting involved with women already spoken for. That’s a no-no. And so I settled down to be nothing more than agreeable company, though I didn’t rule out some harmless flirtation – a man can’t go cold turkey after all.

Soon after she sat down I got up to buy some drinks. It was my shout. I asked if she wanted anything. She demurred with a smile, as if it was asking a bit much for me to buy her, a virtual stranger, a drink. I shrugged that off as if it was silly – it was just a drink after all – and told it was really no big deal. And so I ended up buying her a beer also.

Generally you get some sense when you know someone likes you, and I soon found that with her. It was simple attraction I think. When we weren’t talking I found her eyes straying to me as if to see what I was doing, or perhaps to check if I was listening to her. When we spoke it was easy and flirtatious and adult. I probably came across as self assured and confident, generally an alluring combination for women. I was not above gently teasing her and, much as I wish I could sometimes, could not shut off that virile male thing.

That probably needs some explanation. You learn a lot in life from the attitudes and reactions of other people. Over time they become like mirrors in which you catch glimpses of yourself. I like women and have always liked them greatly, and it seems something that women instinctively recognise. They smell it or taste it or maybe they just see it in your eyes. They know that you like them for what they are, for every womanly inch of them. Your raw desire, even when tethered to a post, is mysterious and exciting and maybe occasionally dangerous to them. Regardless it’s not something they can easily turn from, even when they find it unwelcome. There is the fascination of the Medusa in it.

I can see it in other men, a world of infinite possibilities, of interesting journeys and unexpected detours. It’s in Whisky say, but not in JV, nor indeed is it in most men. But I think, and I’ve been told, that it is in me. And so sitting there tamely and without any sinister intent I still gave off that heat – and like many she liked it.

Somewhere through the meal that followed I became aware of it. By now she had made certain of sitting opposite me. She had no real intentions. It was not even fun really. It was just nice to engage like this for a while, and to feel like a woman all the way through. Fair enough, and yet now it was I who became uncomfortable with it.

I am so gun-shy these days that I am very careful not to give anyone the wrong idea. Perhaps because of this thing people, women, are quick to conclude something that is totally wrong. God knows it has pissed me off and made me feel ridiculously misunderstood and wronged, but come the end of the day I generally shrug it off. All the same, I now avoid ambiguity. I may have flirted on the weekend but there was no innuendo, nothing grey. I was correct and friendly, and I didn’t want to be seen as anything else.

I pulled back a little. My conversation switched to the group rather than revolving between the two of us and others. I played a dead straight bat.

What further complicated the situation was the fact that while this was the first time we had met, I had seen her half-naked previously. About 18 months ago I was online when messenger flashed up and a drunk friend was online with two of her friends. Before I knew it their web cam was on and these three women were flashing their breasts at me. Now I knew some of those breasts intimately and was friendly with the other set, but the third were all new to me. And they belonged to this woman, and both of us knew it.

So I moderated myself a little and in response she did also. Then we both went to leave at the same time. We said our goodbyes and to be polite I waited for her. People forget I am a gentleman, but it seemed rude not to walk her to her car if I was going that way. Still she seemed surprised. And a little self-conscious. Then we got outside and she made some half joke and walked away, awkwardly I thought, perhaps even rudely, without saying goodbye. I shrugged again. Whatever. And I responded to her half-joke with another of my own. I got in my car and drove home and that was the end of that.

I don’t often write of such things. While this was a curious incident and not entirely typical, it’s true that I am always in conversation with women at different times and places, some alluring, some not, so known, many more not. I enjoy the engagement, the flirtation, the possibility, but then that’s likely because I am the sensuous man I describe. This is life to me, and I wonder sometimes how I could ever switch it off. It seems to me that much of it happens without me even knowing it, that it is as natural and as unconscious to me as breathing is.

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