Walker Thornton
Monday night I went out to dinner with three friends, women I met a mere five days earlier at the beginning of a retreat. The night together was part of our gentle reentry to the “real” world we each live in. As I write this, Tuesday morning, I’m watching the sunrise in Victoria, British Columbia. In every sense of the word I’m a long way from home.
Last night was fun and I felt a bit of the “old” me butt up against the person I’m shifting into. Mexican restaurant of sorts, a block from the hotel. The owner, whose name may or may not have been Santiago, seated us. He was our waiter as well. We were all full of energy as we left our secluded retreat and started the journey home. After taking a bath and a shower, washing my hair, and putting on a very sexy low-cut top over my favorite lacy black bra I was feeling the urge to play. And as it turned out the restaurant owner was just my type.
He was attractive in a very down-to-earth manner. He wore a pink or orange checked shirt over jeans, unshaven with a strong face. His smile was nice and I played to it. The other women were chuckling at me as I talked to my man about the evening’s drink specials. If I had several, would he assist me in getting back to the hotel? He asked what my limit was, two or five? I smiled and indicated that it was hard to say. We played gently throughout the evening.
I accidentally brushed his leg with my foot as he walked by and used that as an excuse to reach out and touch him with a gentle apology. I am big on touching—that little bit of contact is so yummy. The woman sitting next to me swore we were getting more attention than the other diners. I bathed in it; I loved the flow of energy.
The key to this kind of flirting is subtlety. I found myself leaning forward as he walked up; fortunately I was on the outer seat in the booth. I felt open and relaxed. The four of us talked and laughed. Several of us had the drink special of the night, a Pisco Sour—a drink very much like a margarita but made with a splash of brandy. I was giddy on the alcohol, the friendships, and more so from the energy that surged from my flirtation.
We finished dinner and contemplated dessert. The choices were heavy, fried or drenched in sauces. When the owner came to take our order I noted that his offerings were complicated and asked for something simpler. He brought my scoop of vanilla ice cream drenched in Kahlua with a dollop of whipped cream. And, as he set it down he looked at me and said, “I would have added a cherry, if I’d had one.” And, without thinking, I blurted out, “And if I (still) had a cherry I would offer it to you.” We all giggled at that one. I think I even blushed.
Part of me was exhilarated as we left the restaurant, and part of me was restless. Sexual energy awakened and expanded. One of the women asked if I would have gone further had the situation presented itself. My response was a no, but maybe a yes. This wasn’t about sex—this wasn’t a call to take me in his arms and have his way with me. This was a delicate dance of flirtation. We played, we enjoyed each other in a fun, nonthreatening way. It wasn’t overt, yet I clearly showed him that I found him attractive. The occasional eye contact as he walked by, the smile, the openness of my body stance.
The flirtation was a gift to him—that may sound arrogant but to be shown that kind of attraction is a compliment to the receiver. I wasn’t seeking anything. I was just offering a bit of myself. It was a gift to self as well. His responsiveness was fun, a mutual recognition of the playful nature of our sexuality. Expressing pleasure, engaging “the feminine”—these are gifts of nourishment and sensuality.
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