To A Flirt

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I’ve been thinking about flirting lately, it’s come up in a few conversations. So I hope you’ll indulge me as I write about a long-ago encounter with a Grand Master of the craft of flirting. This was when I was in law school, already married— and let me say right now that the event I’m gonna describe is the be-all and end-all of my interaction with him. We didn’t become lovers. We didn’t become friends. It was what in literature they call a hapax legomenon, occurring only once, complete in se. And also, that I’m not bragging about my own pulchritude; as I’ve written before, everybody was on the make, all the time, in those halcyon days.

So, there was was this guy in my class. He wasn’t my type, oh my GOD he wore tight printed polyester shirts unbuttoned to the sternum! He was blond; did he have blond chest hair? I reckon he did, or he’da buttoned up his shirts. Not really very good-looking, beginning to bald. He wasn’t of the preppy or academically shaggy types then indigenous to the Philadelphia Main Line, where both my bluestocking women’s college and my Catholic law school were situate. An exotic transplant, a smart, slick New Yorker. So sharp he’ll cut himself, as my mom woulda said. He made me think of Tennessee Williams’ description of Stanley in Streetcar: “the gaudy seed-bearer”. I was aware of him, knew he had…the juice, even though my friends and I found him kinda …funny. But this interaction didn’t transpire until our third year.

I can’t remember what the occasion was, some kinda reception? Somebody’s party? when he strode, maybe even swaggered, (guys used to do that) up, and started talking to me about me. (Good gambit!). What did he actually say? Well, as I recall, he started with excusing himself for his boldness in accosting me, capped that with some ludicrously extravagant compliment, and he went on talking about my beauty, about my……well, mos’ly that, I guess, he really didn’t know much else about me— interrupting himself occasionally only to ask, “Am I being too direct? Please, stop me if I’m being too direct !”
Im ashamed to tell you that I’m pretty sure anybody in the room with us woulda known I wasn’t gonna stop him. If I had been sitting down I’da been in danger of sliding off my seat. He was kinda… smirking, but somehow earnestly, throughout, and I was teetering on the verge of (dirty) laughter. He never took his eyes from my face. It went on and on, just, bonus round after round, dizzyingly circling the drain of overt sexual suggestiveness but never really in peril of getting sucked in. I felt I was blushing but the blush wasn’t a one-time effusion, like a light bulb; it was more like…a lava lamp.
Oh, and what did I say? No idea. But anyway, that wasn’t up to me! He was already a skilled cross-examiner, didn’t ask any questions to which he didn’t know the answers.
We both knew it was bull. He may have even had some kinda wager (Guys used to do that, too) going with our male classmates as to whether and how long he could engage with me— I was kinda a dea-ex-machina on campus, not too acccessible, since I had a long daily commute. If so, I wouldnta cared then, nor do I now. This gent was an adept. He was THE most accomplished flirt I had ever encountered.
And still holds the title.
And: all hail to the craft!

Isn’t this awful? Shows me up for the vain, simpering fool I was, and, incredibly, still am, if presented with the slightest circumstance of inclination and opportunity. Shallow, silly…..add any pejorative you can think of, I won’t gainsay you.

But…….I can’t stay mad at me! This incident was at the time an unadulterated (and un-adultery-ed ) pleasure. And so has been the act of re-creating it here in memory. (So thanks, ET and the others who commented about flirting! )

I’ve been sitting on this essay. To post or not to post? But our self-styled Sexpat puts up images of the lovely Candies, and makes it clear that his pleasure is more than purely aesthetic, and we ‘Ettes rejoice with him, we truly, wholeheartedly do. This piece is mild by comparison—can I be so bold as to hope for a similar beneficent response?
Therefore, good master and (especially) mistresses:

“As you from crimes would pardoned be,

Let your indulgence set me free! “

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Published by Hypatia

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65 thoughts on “To A Flirt”

  1. Thanks, Hyp! This is an education for one who was always the ‘good little sis’. I’m still that, but *someone* has introduced me – over the last several years – to the joys of badinage. For which I will always be grateful.

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    1. Hoot! THERE it is! Thanks Nanda!
      And it’s a tribute (say I— there might be them elsewhere who think different😠) to this site and our “vibe”, as we seem to be calling it, that I felt I could post this here, albeit not without teensy trepidation. Couldn’t imagine the disdain with which it mighta been greeted or ignored elsewhere. Viva la Vibe!

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  2. Oh boy, Hyp, you’re posting on my particular area of expertise and even though happily married this skill set never disappears.

    Your friend was NOT flirting; he was engaging in braggadocio in order to impress you. Flirting involves a complex form of teasing, mild insults and intellectual challenges that somehow inspire attraction. We all know men have always enjoyed the chase so I gave it to them. My husband and I became such instant soulmates we skipped over this part of courtship and I’m sometimes rueful that we did. I like games! (Up to a point.)

    I used to hone my skills on my father’s septuagenarian friends which was harder than you think. They were mostly wealthy, powerful men with a definitive sense of entitlement but I managed to break through. One time, at a dinner party, my father told me to “knock it off” because I was upsetting the wife. 🙂

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  3. Yes ET, I experienced the coup de foudre with my husband almost instantaneously too. And: When you’re in love, you don’t flirt, it’s waaay too scary-serious for that. I wonder if, contrary to the way it is in the movies, our experience isn’t closer to the norm?

    I had been thinking about older men. See (IMHO) what you don’t want, as a woman still thinking of herself as having “it” to any degree, is gallantry. Gallantry is what charming men exhibit toward very, very young girls, y’know, “little princesses”—and, toward old ladies.
    If you get gallantry from a man your age or younger: You. Are. An. Emerita.
    OTOH, from a man much older than you, gallantry is flattering still: the old codger perceives and is responding to your youth and freshness relative to his. And the old guys love to flirt! It is adorable, and you feel like Lady Bountiful!

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    1. I don’t think age has much to do with it if one is a successful male. As a matter of fact, several of my father’s friends were married to women my age or younger.

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  4. May I put in a word for gallantry – as a response to the ageless heart/spirit/psyche – whether from contemporaries or elders? It’s not second-tier, or a consolation prize. It’s part of why Foxy lives, just sayin’….

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      1. No worries at all! It wasn’t heedless, it’s just that your experiences have been different….I’m just thoroughly enjoying having “woo” playfully pitched at me, occasionally, even in annoyance. -grin-

        Liked by 1 person

  8. In my defense, I only flirt with (known) married women (I am ignoring that huge rock on your left hand’s ring finger btw) if they are also trophies. Otherwise the juice just ain’t worth the squeeze, so to speak.

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  10. Loved the bluestocking reference. Well played, your Ladyhoodness.

    Another target-rich environment of gold nuggets and pearls. I shall return after my morning Alk- Seltzer. Nursing a wee bit of a hangover

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  11. “Cut it out Hyp! You know better than that.”

    Yes, Hyp, I second this sentiment; bang the drum loudly – and unfurl your guidon/blazon with joy and mirth, please do carry on….I love your bold, adventurous spirit and style!

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    1. And Liz has – eons ago, it seems – very helpfully introduced me to the possibilities in a bottle of bubble-soap a la “Harold and Maude” – a true classic in filmdom.

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  12. Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to learn the art of flirting because gorgeous women were always falling into my arms unbidden. Please dear ‘Ettes, teach your humble servant the way of a man with a maiden. I think I’d like to learn a new skill.

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    1. Pish-tosh, ST!…The very form of your request here shows you to be well-versed in pitching woo – though you manifestly seldom require the use of those arts and skills. -smile-

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    2. ST, you dissemble! Those gorgeous women WERENT “unbidden” I’d wager..some skills don’t need to be taught. S’knida what this comment thread is about—and s’why I thought you might not like it.

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    3. Mon Dieu! So much to teach…

      Rule#1: Do not ever admit “I never had the opportunity to learn the art of flirting because gorgeous women were always falling into my arms unbidden.” This is just not appreciated, Simon. Trust me.

      Rule#2: I did give you a little hint when I commented on a previous post: “You are impossible!” This was a classic example of harmless semi-aggressive flirting.

      Rule#3: Maintain a cool but polite distance at all times. Go for the intellectual conversation and the nonchalance.

      I should write a manual me thinks.

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  15. “Liz, I am but an ignorant and down-on-his-luck redneck from the wrong side of the tracks. Please be merciful.”

    I’m too smart to buy into this one!

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  18. Wonderful post, Hypatia, thank you! I have no idea why anyone would have a problem with this post, except maybe some people don’t like it when other people have fun?

    The funniest experience I ever had with a “man” ( he wasn’t really a man, I will explain) flirting: I was living in Waikiki, and was sitting outside of my hostel having a cigarette. This unbelievably gorgeous man whom I had never seen before comes striding along-he was breathtaking. Very tall, very dark, very handsome, with long flowing black hair, and he had an air of confidence that was really striking. When he saw me, he immediately came over and started talking to me: first-and I mean, the first thing out of his mouth, was him telling me how beautiful I was. I liked hearing that, but it was kind of weird, and only became weirder: the second thing was him telling me that he wanted to make love to me, and then he started describing in flowery language how he would go about doing that. He didn’t have to talk for very long at all for me to realize that he was just repeating stuff he had read in some romance novel. I stopped him, and I asked “How old are you?” His reaction was priceless: His cool facade immediately collapsed, this total goofball look came over his face, and he said “I’m seventeen”. I was 24 at the time. I explained to him as nicely as I could that I was way too old for him. Then, he started trying to convince me that age didn’t matter, but even he could not keep a straight face as he attempted to make that argument: he knew it was hopeless, but he tried anyway, and it was so cute. He was priceless 🙂

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    2. Liz, you schooled me on my poor flirting technique earlier, for which I thank you most kindly. Let it be known that from now on I shall put on airs of a devil-may-care international man of mystery.

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      1. Doesn’t sound like you truly need my help except with spoiled American princesses. When and if you get to that challenge, let me know. 🙂

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