Don't hate the player

So, after a period of sustained sexual inactivity, I am, I regret to announce, open for business. At least, that's the blueprint. This weekend, it begins: the wearing of a shirt, the working out, the drinking, the flirting, the furtive glance across the room to see if she's looking at me, the checking of expiry dates on prophylactics.

God, it's so humiliating!

That's always been my problem with it, the sheer indignity of the whole thing. It's almost business-like, the way it unfolds: the eyeing of the merchandise (both parties), the approach play (me), the reaction (her), the opening lines (Too manufactured? Too cheesy? Too something she doesn't like?), taking care to acknowledge her friends, isolate her from the herd without offending them (me), the response (her), the body language, the batting average (just like baseball, .300 is a hell of a number...but that still means 7 times out of 10, your ego and your confidence take a heck of a beating), the conversation (us) the suggestive touching (both parties...if I'm lucky), the huddling with friends to compare notes and observations (her), the re-appearance (both of us), "the more drinks?" (me), the "wanna dance?" (her), the "sure" (me), the "don't dance too gay" (me), the "when to dance close to her" (also me), the dance-turns-to-grind (always her, if at all), the question of how to pop the invite to somewhere a little more private, worrying she'll x-nay that suggestion, worrying she won't, the pre-performance anxiety (me), the wondering if this is a make-out thing or a sex thing, the strategic planning of what kind of sexual behavior lies within the realms of the acceptable to this girl (should I talk dirty? How dirty? Should I kiss her a lot or will she think that's too much like making love? Maybe she wants to make love? Do I? Does she? Will we? Or maybe we'll just fuck. Or maybe that's not what she wants? How about me? What about me? Who am I? When should I go down on her...

It's a constant weight. I mean, the only good thing about being depressed is that you just go ahead and take yourself off the dating shelf (don't even make it to the bargain bin) and stay home and mope. It's so much better for the old confidence, that way. I mean, a saturday night, double header of ER never gave her back to me in the middle of a conversation, at the Lava Lounge.