I don’t intentionally set out to be BAD AT FLIRTING.
It just turns out that way.
I’m actually quite shy when it comes to being around people I have an attraction for.
I play it cool.
No sense letting on that I’d like them to stuff me like a Christmas stocking.
Usually someone else has to make the first move.
And then I unleash myself.
Beware of the beast!
I have been known to:
- Shove my naked crotch in a man’s face.
- Tell a guy that having sex with him is on my bucket list.
- Years ago I told a guy I was going to go home and masturbate while thinking of him.
- I showed up on a doorstep in nothing but a long jacket, garter belt and stockings.
- I once told a guy I was going to hit on him and then proceeded to hit on him.
- Don’t get me started on all the XXX rated pictures I’ve sent through text. . .
Subtle, I am not.
I don’t know how a shy person evolved such an outrageous way to flirt, but it’s the honest truth.
I’m either totally shy or I’m bombing you with my lust.
There’s a reason my playa name is Bombshell.
The fun part of being single is getting to flirt with all the single men.
My love of sexting and camming is legendary. There’s nothing like a little flirt to get you through the day and prepped for the night.
In particular, I like flirting before a date so that by the time he picks me up we’re both a little turned on and have our guards down.
Lately, I’ve been enjoying a batch of tattooed men – the Viking, the Bail Bondsman, and the Biker.
The Viking told me, “I like your style. So are you going to wear a skirt on our first date?” an obvious reference to a fantasy of mine.
The answer of course is yes, but it remains to be seen if he’ll get his hands up it.
According to the Bail Bondsman I’m “tricky” and “a unique woman who can make a man think of you long after you’re gone.” Thank you so much… I accept that compliment!
I think sexual attraction should be psychological as well as physical. I’m not above playing a few games to keep us both entertained and engaged.
The Biker is sweet. He likes my “beautiful face” and “sexy eyes.” He says I have a brain on me and he appreciates a smart woman.
See.. each one provides pleasure for me… Whether it’s hot-and-heavy flirtation, compliments, or a sweet exchange.
They provide more than enough entertainment to keep me distracted from everything I need to distract myself from.
It is rather ironic. I should identify with some wonderfully successful, bright, clever young woman like Angelina Jolie or Samantha Jones, but instead I identify with the character Bridget Jones – the ever-so-slightly-plus-size, funny, awkward heroine in Helen Fielding’s novels.
I’ve given this quite some thought and I’ve begun to realize that Bridget Jones and I have many similarities:
- She likes to go around naked in her paddling pool. I like to go around naked in my pool.
- We both are enamored of Mr. Darcy. Granted, her Mark Darcy was a human rights barrister, and my Mark Darcy is a character in a Jane Austen novel, but you get the picture.
- We are both, ahem, plus-sized. Although unlike Bridget Jones, I embrace my curves.
- We both have intimate relationships with bottles of wine.
- We both are attracted to really shabby guys.
- I too hate going to parties where I’m the only single.
- Like Bridget, I begin each year with boundless optimism but trouble always seems to find me.
- I am always on a journey of self-improvement.
- She writes a diary. I write a blog. ‘Nuff said.
- My professional life is one long fumble-save, just like hers.
- I flirt all day. With people who read this blog. You know who you are.
- I never feel like I’m the intellectual equal of everyone in the room.
- We both need a career change.
- My big plans never quite make it to fruition.
- I too use 4-letter words liberally.
- I’m also waiting for someone who likes me, just the way I am.
So there you have it, the reasons why I am like Bridget Jones. Because no matter how hard I try, I always seem to not quite achieve what I set out to achieve. And it takes a pretty evolved sense of humor to find the beauty (and the humor) in that.
It’s what I tell myself every time I go on a date.
Don’t try to be sexy.
Just be yourself.
But somehow I always find myself making playfully suggestive comments to my dates while smiling innocently at them.
Or giving him a lap dance at the beach.
I’ve come to the conclusion that being bad is just way more fun.
And it’s much easier than talking about meaningful things in my life.
Who wants to hear about my son dying from cancer? Or about my job struggles?
None of that is entertaining.
What do people do on dates if they don’t flirt with each other? How do you figure out if there’s chemistry? What makes a man want to get to know a woman?
This is a mystery to me.
I figure when I partner up with a boyfriend, it’ll be because he just happened to stick around past all the great stuff (i.e. my cleavage and bedroom antics) to discover all the extraordinary stuff underneath that.
Come for the boobs, stay for the brains.
Like today, for instance.
It began with me popping on over to My Mental Stream’s blog. Why? Because he put up a post titled, “I am Ravenous” and I could relate to the feeling.
The post was well written and it got my already simmering hormones to boil over. God bless 20-something young men with carnal urges and the ability to write about it.
I may have posted a comment or two admonishing MMS for getting my juices flowing. Perhaps I flirted a little.
Then… I flirted with Austin in my usual style by sending him some PG-13 rated pictures. I also showed him some of the new lingerie I bought which prompted him to suggest he’d like to see me I’m something black, lacy, and easily removable.
Tonight, Photo Booth and I had a date with my new black chemise, fishnets thigh highs and all…
And here’s a G rated version for you.
Between all the flirting and all the lingerie, I sure could use a nice soak in a hot tub.