Hunter and the Hunted
I was having a chat to someone recently about the way online flirtation works, and she confirmed my suspicions to me.
"We are the hunted, and you are the hunters," she said, and of course it's so true. And it's probably as it should be and as old a story as Cromagnon man.
Man see woman.
Man want woman.
Woman shriek and run away.
Woman catches stiletto in undergrowth.
And whatever happens in the bushes is the way of the world.
But it's even more true online than in the real world.
Every woman I talk to online and/or meet in real life thereafter always says they get literally hundreds of messages from men over the course of a given week.
They may be dull.
They may be inappropriate.
They may be written in txt spk.
They may be long, langourous enticements, promising delights beyond your ken. they may be rude and crude, nasty, brutish and short.
They may be finely wrought examples of the copywriter's trade, but all in all, most women tell me they get so bored of reading the same old same old.
Whereas we men log on again and again, hour after hour, on the hour or half hour, day after day, week after week, month after yes OK we've got your drift... but we get one message. Usually an autoreply. Well not always.
But it's a given that men have to spend a great deal more energy on making any kind of connection online than women do.
Serve us right, I guess.
But (and I know you shouldn't begin a sentence with but, let alone two in a row), there is a lesson in this for the ladies.
All you have to do is write two little words.
I remember some time ago, on another site, where the trade is a little less specialist, getting one of the most concise yet arousing and inviting emails I've ever received. It may or may not have been the first time a woman wrote to me. Actually it wasn't.
But in its brevity, and directness, it unlaced the strings of my girlish heart... sorry. Manly heart. Although that doesn't sound right, does it?
What was her message, I hear you ask?
Well it was fabulously to the point.
That was all she wrote.
That was all she needed to write.
In that instant, I was hers.
It's fucking ridiculous how easy it is to get a man's attention.
Even one who's a Lesbian Boy like me.
Who's in it for the long game. The slow seduction. The gradual unpeeling of layers. The interplay of minds, the caress, the undress, the undoing...
There are times I feel almost embarrassed to be a man.
So easily seduced, so playable, so pliable, so pathetically grateful to someone who says two words.
Mind you, when we met, she didn't remotely disappoint.
Not only was she one of the kinkiest people I have ever met, she brought not only wine for every course of dinner including a fine dessert wine I have yet to drink, but bath oils, a fleece blanket, about 40 DVDs of the most extreme bondage and latex filth it's ever been my pleasure to watch, and a collection of playthings that would put Toys Are Us to shame.
But all it took was two little words to reduce me to: well the usual phrase is putty in her hands but those wouldn't be strictly accurate in this context.
Two little words...