Mrs. Lacha and myself went down to our local watering hole for a couple of drinks last night. Met up with a couple of friends, who were talking to two gals sitting at the bar. One was a semi-regular and had brought her friend along. An interesting conversation - the new woman was in the wine distribution business, and so we got to talking about wines. The conversation turned to accents, and the gal who was known to us proved to be a good mimic of various American accents.
She had had a couple of chardonays too many, I assume, because as she’s talking to me, and my wife is talking to her friend, she’s moving closer and closer. I don’t think she was hitting on me, per se, but closer and closer she came. Finally, she’s so close that my knee is just touching the inside of her upper thigh. Not crotch, exactly, but thigh nonetheless. There was no charged eye contact, or double entendres or anything that would really count as flirting, but she was still standing there with one of my knees to the left side of her and the other pressing lightly into her thigh. And my wife sitting about three feet away.
I wouldn’t say I was freaking out, but at the very first chance I got, I was up and off that stool, let me tell you. I don’t think she met anything by it, I don’t think I excused myself in such a way as to be deemed a spaz, but still…
I like my airspace. If she was a close friend and the bar was crowded, that level of intimacy would have been acceptable. Maybe.
…or did she? :dubious:
Was she hot? Did you go home and have better sex than you have for some time? Did you and Mrs. DL entertain the possibility of … you know…
Inquiring (read:bored and idle) minds want to know?
Negative. My wife teased me for it, but that’s about it. I wouldn’t describe her as “hot.” My wife thought of her as unattractive and loud, I thought of her as very funny and mildly attractive.
It was just… weird. I’m really not used to it. In another time, in another place, I would have taken it as a signal, but I also could have been very, very wrong.
I’m out so far out of The Game, I don’t know what the heck it was! LOL
Not as disturbed, no, but still disturbed, yes. Conscience by proxy; everyone in the bar knows I’m married, and if I had been seen to be enjoying it it too much… Well, I just don’t need those kind of rumors flying. Anyway, I’m pretty moral, and I wouldn’t have responded in kind, period.
I would say that that was a signal on her part. I cannot imagine having a guy’s knee touch my inner thigh even crowded under a bar table w/o intending to either flirt or come onto the guy.
Maybe I don’t get out enough.
Take is as a compliment, no matter how oddly expressed.
I would agree. A lot of women are ‘touchers’, forever reaching out and touching your arm, or putting a hand on your knee to make a point, and it’s just a gesture without meaning.
Note to women: This is an amazing turn-on even if you don’t mean anything by it. If I’m talking with a woman I find attractive, and I know she’s like that, I will always stand close enough to allow her this little pleasure.
But allowing a knee to rest against her thigh - yeah, this was a signal. That’s a “zone”, not given free access to touch by just anyone. if you’re there, even with a knee, it means something.
Know what you mean mate. I was out of the game for a long time as well. And liked it that way. But circumstances changed and I found myself back in familiar territory. It’s like falling off a bicycle.
Absolutely, positively flirting. This is how women do it…they either allow or initiate personal contact. I don’t know much about women but I do know that. It was probably kept casual by avoiding eye contact so that she could deny it if someone made an issue of it (like your wife!).
It could be flirting, but I disagree that it’s this clear-cut. I end up with having all kinds of body parts leaning against me at bars, simply because some peoplelose all sense of personal space after a few drinks. If every instance of this were flirting, I wouldn’t have spent a single Saturday night sleeping alone in the past two years.
