Friday, 19 August 2011

DATING: Textual Intercourse

I feel like some sort of Sex and the City/ Absolutely Fabulous hybrid right now.  Sat at my desk (I work in PR), surrounded by rose quartz (brings love apparently – I have a very handy spirit guide one desk down from me), willing my phone to go.  I hate to be a clich√©, and I hate waiting for men, but here I am indulging in “The Game”. It p***es me off for a number of reasons. Firstly I can’t stand the artifice of being all nonchalant when it comes to flirting; why do we have to spend so much of it pretending like we don’t find the object of attraction, attractive? Secondly, it’s a dull waste of my time to be willing my phone to go off – a text is rarely that thrilling and I’d told the guy to ring me if he was interested – instead he’s persisted in the random odd message.

I pulled said guy in the Haunt Saturday night. After years of finding him insanely sexually attractive from afar, it took me 3 of their £3 G&T’s and a couple of seconds to subtley go over to him and whisper (/shout):  ‘I find you really attractive!’. After declining a bit of ‘smirting’ with him outside (I don’t smoke) and pulling off a bit of sexy dancing – my life long obsession with music videos has taught me well, ask my friends – I pulled the guy all night.

Well all night until he decided to dramatically leave, telling me to take his number. Another thing I hate, because it usually leads to the above problems…
I gave in because he has a pretty face and reckoned I’d give him a call later that week. Then on the drunken taxi ride home, mid Southern Fried Chicken wing, he text my mate for my number. I then got some kind of badly disguised booty call, followed by two (hardly verbose) texts, and a Facebook add (gah). I’d kind of be excited, except that he clearly did it all in some kind of drunken furore. When I finally replied to his late night (early morning?) messages – no reply, nada, for 3 whole days, so I left it. Now, last night he’s text me to ask if I’m out at the weekend – ok, unoriginal, but fine. On the advice of my desk-next-door-neighbour I text back WITH a question; again no reply.   

It’s not a big deal by any means; it’s just frustrating because if he’s decided now, in the cold light of sobriety that he doesn’t fancy me, then I just don’t need the random (non)messages. It’s not like he’s rejected my winning personality or blinding intelligence after one night pulling.  But if he does fancy me (god I sound like a teenage girl) – why the games? I’ve never got the reluctance to tell some one you think they’re hot. Sexual attraction is good right? Requited, or un-requited. Plus by doing so I PROMISE I won’t run out to plan a wedding, or even hope that we fall in love etc etc. Again, I barely know you – I just think you’re VERY fit. I might book in for my next Brazillian, fuck it – if I’m really keen I might invest in some underwear – but its really not going to unhinge my female brain. Cryptic texting does though. And it kinda makes me lose interest…

So why this textual intercourse? Its about as thrilling as foreplay without the tongues: answers on the back of a postcard please.

Or you could just wait a couple of days, till you’ve had a drink, and send me a half-assed text. Either is fine.


No comments:

Post a Comment