FLIRTING WITH 'straight' women (generally much more curvy than me) is an activity which used to worry me a lot. In fact, the implications of exchanging an appreciative glance with a woman batting for the other side filled me with anxiety.
If I allowed my eyes to linger on her for just a little bit longer than I 'ought' to, would I be perceived as creepy, a voyeur? Was I furtively taking mental snapshots of her to fill the sordid scrapbook I keep under the mattress in my head? Would she think I was the desperate, lascivious lesbian sidling off to have a quick wank behind the nearest bush, dirty raincoat-style?
I can do it no hands, as it happens. But for me, flirting is about something else altogether. Flirting is zen-like - there's no end in sight - and quite exquisitely meaningless. If it's a game, then it's never a cold and predatory chessgame. It's hopscotch and bubblegum. It's a spacehopper race. So clean and wholesome, even your mother would approve.
Which isn't to say there's no edge to it. The moves can be sly, the glances sharp and tone firm. You might not be touching, but all of the other senses enter into this business. Including taste if you do it over food.
You can, of course, do it over the phone, although mobiles don't work so well. It's no good if you have to shout because true flirting is gentle and subtle to the point of subversiveness. If you're skilful enough you can do it before a roomful of people with nobody but your own sweet selves the wiser.
GLAMOUR BABES
The dark-side for dykes where cross-cultural dalliances are concerned is that we can feel teased, even taunted, by a flirtatious motioning from a straight woman. Sometimes it does seem a bit like an 'I-know-what-you-want-better-than-you-do' attitude. I've felt it in clubs, particularly in the loos when glamour babes look at me as though - and sometimes while - they're checking themselves out in the mirror.
But I'm beginning to get over the trauma of it all, and to realise that to dwell forever on such negative territory is to bolster and perpetuate a problem that only notionally exists.
Flirting is not a problem; it's treading water, neither coming nor going. I don't necessarily want to take it any further, but then, of course, neither do you. It's really far more of an 'Alright mate?' than a 'Checkmate!' situation.
These days I like to get caught. And since I no longer bashfully avert my gaze when caught looking, I have the opportunity to witness and savour some very different vibes to those that previously governed my shamefaced head. Morrissey got it right about shyness. What a waste!
To think how many gorgeous smiles, giggles, blushes and other little moments of intimacy and recognition I missed out on . . . But there's no point in crying over spilled milk. From this moment on, I propose to lap up every last drop before anybody gets the chance to spill any more of it. n