of questions

Because I’m attracted to you, he said.

As I tried to make sense of what he had just said, one of his hands found its way around my waist for the briefest moment and his face came really close to mine, and it felt like my skin was on fire. I withdrew, and then realized my skin wanted to be on fire.

And what did I do? Punched him in the face. Not because he was attracted to me – I already knew that – but because his saying it aloud meant I’d have to end it with him.

That, my friend, is the kind of chemistry I had to walk away from that night. It wasn’t easy, but I have never wanted a relationship with A – I am already in one with Mister. And btw, A knew too that nothing would come of our little game. It’s not like he has been pining for me – he goes home with a different girl every night anyway. I am just someone he can’t have and therefore, wants.

Are you familiar with the exhilaration that flirtation gives you; the gentle tug of anticipation and the endless possibilities? The joys of not knowing? The guilty pleasure that only comes from knowing that someone wants you desperately?

That night, when I went to A’s club to see what he was up to, I was looking for the same thrill. I needed to remember how it felt to be desired. A’s being “in love” with me is exciting and flattering, and I needed to feel the temptation again. I sought nothing else; I did not go there to cheat on Mister, and you know that.

Why, then did I need to be reminded of my marital status?

Does marriage turn people into asexual beings who don’t (or shouldn’t) care how people react to them? 

Do you not feel some sort of self-aggrandization when you indulge in harmless flirtation? Do you not feel this magnification of self-image when someone fawns over you?

What do you do when you learn that a good looking guy in your office/gym likes you? Do you not make an effort to dress better or behave better around them?



of dancing with strange men

Really? This is the third time this week. What’s gotten into you? The boyfriend is obviously puzzled about your sudden willingness to go out more often. Sure, you like dancing but going out three days a week isn’t really your scene. At least it wasn’t your scene until ten days ago. He says he will meet you there.

Now, you find yourself drawn to this place like iron filings to a magnet. A magnate, you should say, for it’s the person you’re interested in, not the place.

You’re always jittery as you enter a club alone. Will he be there? But this time, your heart is pounding. He’s there, sitting on one of the bar stools. Your bar stool. Continue reading of dancing with strange men