I hate it. I absolutely hate it when a guy decides to Make A Move.
I can feel it, the wheels turning in his head. It was nice, the conversation we had flowing back and forth; I felt comfortable, exuberant in my affection for the world. And then he goes (warning bells ringing in my head) - from a casual sip of carefully held liquid courage, to a casual shift into my personal space in that crowded room. Oh, the very casualness of The Move, rehearsed on countless editions of American Pie! I have no words, I only have casualties, namely the comfortable mood. Because as soon as he does his thing - a man on a mission of claiming territory - I just freeze. However nice or cheerful I've been - all forgotten. Cheerful? like hell! as soon as it freezes over!
I'm getting better in this game. I can still picture myself on that windowsill, still smiling, only a slight lean [away] of my figure and one tense hand [too close] betraying my unease. Keeping the pose uses too much of the resources, so I can't really talk, but maybe I could find someone on the other side me? anyone? help!
The thing with The Move is, that when he does that 'casual-pretend' farce, he's not acknowledging it, so I feel I can't either. Also, I have to be NICE! [cursing the foundations of girlhood]. So I can't reject him openly without making myself and possibly him look really stupid. Consequently, I'm supposed to sit still while I'm being invaded. The options: either he feels rejected by non-reaction (the most subtle and least effective rejection possible), which makes me feel kind of guilty, or he still feels he's got a chance [a snowball's chance in hell!] and hangs around.
What's sad about it is that I truly liked him, thought him nice and kind of handsome until he started doing this. It's like a switch - he stops talking, starts scheming and I immediately feel like just a body to get closer to, probable possession, territory - any-thing but the human being he spoke to a minute before. Also, it's kind of a stupid situation for both of us. If he looked me in the eye, he'd know that it's no way Jose - also, if I wanted to, I could make my own overture, after all. But he chose not to look, not to know, not to ask my participation. And I chose to run. Cowardly of both of us.
I've been in that place - I still visit it from time to time - so I know that shy feeling, walking around someone impressive, hanging around enough to border on stalking. But there are differences. First of all, these situations are usually results of a brooding, melancholic mood - I'm usually shy during the 'depressed' part of my bipolar routine. But when the person does not look comfortable - or indeed, look at me at all - I just slink away to lick my wounds in peace or try to concetrate or myself. Secondly, I am, by nature, a direct person. If pressed, even in 'shy' mode, I would have answered to a direct query (i.e."Why do you hang around so much? - Well, your looks and sparkling personality pretty much guarantee my presence". I found it's best to confuse people with the truth. It can be kind of original). Thirdly, although presence of someone I like usually puts me on edge (unless I'm just so comfortable... but that's for another time :), what I want most is contact. It may be awkward (hey, it's me, so...), but I need the energy of it, some sort of connection, confirming it's about me, and not about that warm body nearby, with a small print of: nice tits!
In conclusion, I need to assert myself in space, and stop paying attention to people, who take a friendly "Hey! What's your name?" as: "You should start touching me, as of: immediately". It kind of makes me feel better to have the pattern of my (and his) behaviour figured out; overanalysing it might be, but as long as it helps, fuck the over- part of anything. I just wonder: are people afraid of contact (and, lest you think me judgemental, with a few stipulations I include myself in that happy group) more afraid of others, or of themselves?
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