Ok, an answer:
My favorite game, by far, is.... (drumroll please)
flirting.
Yup, that's right. The fine art of flirting (An art, and a game! What could be better?).
I play games I know I can win, so I watch for cues. Once sure, my heart opens and my brain goes into overdrive, a sort of overdrive not entirely within my conscious control.
Then, I notice everything. Changes of inflection, a smirk, a shoulder roll, a hand moving, changes of gaze, language shifts, posture changes, walking mannerisms. I see it in them, I see it in me. I craft my sentences, I position myself, I smile, I laugh. At my best, I time comments to shock, amuse, and titillate simultaneously, but I'm a little out of practice. The interplay is intensely entertaining, the question of "What if?", the prospect of discovery makes it terrifically exciting. It has degrees from little league to the majors, and there is something marvelous to every degree. There's flirting for lust, there's flirting for love. There are different challenges and rewards. The experience of your...object of affection... informs how much of the manipulation comes from you, and how much is shared.
I play to win.
I don't pine for people I can't have.
I am fiercely protective of my emotions. They run deep and I like it that way, so I have to. Of the people who know me, the only ones who know that fact are the ones I've told it to. No one guesses because I love so freely. I usually say, "I don't only wear my heart on my sleeve, it's hanging from a string, dragging on the floor two feet behind me." It's mostly true.
What's really true is I don't let myself feel deep attraction, real love, until I get a response. I need a seed; I can't make anything grow without one. It doesn't have to be big, but it has to be genuine. I see actual lust in the eyes, and the game has begun.
I don't lose this game.
My current problem: I think I met someone better at this game than me.
My boyfriend is on par with me in this game, perhaps even a little better than me. But then, we didn't start with the game. He was one of very few examples of people I've seriously wanted before getting any cues at all. It happens, but I hate it. In his case, it turned out better than I could have hoped.
He is not the problem.
I do not want to be left speechless. I don't want to consciously avert my gaze to maintain my composure. I don't want to feel helpless or silly. I don't want to seek desperately for cues I can't discern, garbled in my own intentions.
It happened. Someone was better at my game than me. That means I lose.
Well, damn.
Blog done. Now I go watch MythBusters with my boyfriend.
So do you play the game?
My favorite game, by far, is.... (drumroll please)
flirting.
Yup, that's right. The fine art of flirting (An art, and a game! What could be better?).
I play games I know I can win, so I watch for cues. Once sure, my heart opens and my brain goes into overdrive, a sort of overdrive not entirely within my conscious control.
Then, I notice everything. Changes of inflection, a smirk, a shoulder roll, a hand moving, changes of gaze, language shifts, posture changes, walking mannerisms. I see it in them, I see it in me. I craft my sentences, I position myself, I smile, I laugh. At my best, I time comments to shock, amuse, and titillate simultaneously, but I'm a little out of practice. The interplay is intensely entertaining, the question of "What if?", the prospect of discovery makes it terrifically exciting. It has degrees from little league to the majors, and there is something marvelous to every degree. There's flirting for lust, there's flirting for love. There are different challenges and rewards. The experience of your...object of affection... informs how much of the manipulation comes from you, and how much is shared.
I play to win.
I don't pine for people I can't have.
I am fiercely protective of my emotions. They run deep and I like it that way, so I have to. Of the people who know me, the only ones who know that fact are the ones I've told it to. No one guesses because I love so freely. I usually say, "I don't only wear my heart on my sleeve, it's hanging from a string, dragging on the floor two feet behind me." It's mostly true.
What's really true is I don't let myself feel deep attraction, real love, until I get a response. I need a seed; I can't make anything grow without one. It doesn't have to be big, but it has to be genuine. I see actual lust in the eyes, and the game has begun.
I don't lose this game.
My current problem: I think I met someone better at this game than me.
My boyfriend is on par with me in this game, perhaps even a little better than me. But then, we didn't start with the game. He was one of very few examples of people I've seriously wanted before getting any cues at all. It happens, but I hate it. In his case, it turned out better than I could have hoped.
He is not the problem.
I do not want to be left speechless. I don't want to consciously avert my gaze to maintain my composure. I don't want to feel helpless or silly. I don't want to seek desperately for cues I can't discern, garbled in my own intentions.
It happened. Someone was better at my game than me. That means I lose.
Well, damn.
Blog done. Now I go watch MythBusters with my boyfriend.
So do you play the game?
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
greaser:
I play the game from time to time, but my trouble is that so few people truly interest me. A nerd that few people notice can put butterflies in my stomach, while I can be perfectly at ease around a supermodel-type, simply because I don't care about her one way or the other. But it's so exciting when someone sparks my interest and I'm left speechless! You're probably much better at the game than I am, and I think I'll enjoy that 
greaser:
You're very, very welcome, darling. I'm glad you liked it 
