Friday, January the 6th, 2006

Premise: Being rather socially stunted, I’m not always aware of the signals I’m giving out or those that I’m expected to pick up on.

It being Friday evening and everything, I was easily convinced to join someone for a night out in the town. After the obvious fun times ogling over drooly clothes (and finally making the inevitable selection) came the fancy wining and dining. I hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, just talking about the most interesting things in a most understatedly elegant ambience.

During the course of all of this, a palm that innocuously rested on a knee at first slowly worked its way a little up a thigh.

I think I should have freaked out at the time, but I smiled softly—flattered—but gently pushed his hand away; nodding slightly in disfavour, but not really wanting to cause much distress. The event passing, the conversation soon dried up. Later, on the walk home, the implication of what’d happened began to sink in.

I’ll probably bring this up again once I’ve calmed down from my state of hysteria.

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