I miss flirting. I miss the fine art of seduction. I miss feeling the dizzying chemistry between me and a man linger long enough for the tension to swell. I long for the days when men wanted to work a little harder to get a gal’s attention and women knew how to beguile. Back when the journey to bed was almost as intoxicating as the arrival.
A wink. A light touch on your back as your paths cross. A man watching your lips move when you speak. I’d take up smoking just to have a guy light my cigarette. Those are the most alluring gestures because there’s mystery and eroticism in them. Romantic foreplay, if you will. One of the sexiest moments I’ve had all year was catching the object of my desire staring at me from the other side of a room. The whole world was buzzing around us, but it was just me and him locked in a stare.
Having a dude ogle your cleavage and tell you how “wicked hot” you are within minutes of meeting you just doesn’t cut it anymore. Nowadays, the mating game is all about Cuervo shots, witless come ons and grinding each other to shitty Justin Timberlake songs. I’m glad we don’t live in the goofy, puritanical ‘50s anymore but I don’t want to live in porno America either.
I think I’ll build a time machine and go back to the ‘20s. I’ll smoke cigarettes out of holders and do the Charleston. Instead of crotch-length mini skirts and thongs, I’ll wear shimmery dresses that hug my body with garters and stockings hidden beneath. A man with bedroom eyes will watch me from across the room, he’ll send over a cocktail and wait for my cue to approach. He’ll say something like, “do you believe in love at first sight” and I’ll reply, “I don’t know, but it sure saves a lot of time.” Instead of grinding him to Timberlake, I’ll sashay across the floor and let him follow my hips with his eyes. At the end of the night, we’ll share a kiss so full of promise we’ll be eager to see each other again.
Now, that’s what I call bringing sexy back.