I thought playing hard to get had gone out of fashion in the Eighties, but this week I was informed I was mistaken. That means I’ve been doing it wrong all this time. I don’t play the dating game. I text when I want to. I go on that date if I want to. I answer the phone when I want to. I make myself available when. I. Fucking. Want. To. Not in an hour or three days’ time when you’ve (incorrectly) decided I’m not interested after all.
I have more important things to pour my energy into than letting you think I have a crush on you and then pretending I actually don’t have a crush on you until such time as you want me way more than you did in the beginning.
Case in point: If I like you, and suddenly, by some miracle, I overcome my terminal shyness, I will tell you I have a crush on you because I want to. If my shyness doesn’t get cured, I’ll hide behind text… usually. I didn’t say I was perfect. Confidence is hardly my strong suit. Telling the sexy man in the wireframe specs that I have a crush on him because he’s behaving like a douche by not telling me takes every enth of the surplus energy I keep in reserve for my sex life. Until I become a narcissist, I’ll be focusing on that, and not on some stupid hook-up culture game of pretending I’m unavailable.
I’m not convinced that dishonesty is the best way to start a relationship. I don’t believe it’s a strategic error to immediately say ‘yes’ to the guy who asked me on a date a minute ago. Who wants to add strategy to their sex life anyway? Surely it’s complicated enough without turning it into a romantic version of Texas Hold’em?
My way has worked just fine for me. It’s snagged me the kind of men I’m into. You know, the honest, sincere type who goes on dates when he wants to and texts because he wants to instead of waiting long enough for me to decide he’s not interested anymore just because he *is* interested. I couldn’t even satirise this. It’s too damned contrived.
It’s also a waste of perfectly good blowjob time.