Crossing the Line

I am not a flirt. I’m always very aware that flirting with someone other than Mr P could cause him upset. Or I’m perceptive that my flirting with a coupled-up boy mate could piss off his girlfriend. I hate Mr P flirting or anyone flirting with him. It’s a dangerous occupation so I steer well clear of it.

My good friend, the Little Chef, is a lovely chap and usually accompanies Mr P and myself on our forays around the village’s drinking establishments. We have good fun and he is one of my closest mates.

However, sometimes I worry that his friendliness towards me might be edging closer to the fancying me kind. Some comments he makes will set me on edge, make me feel uncomfortable. For instance, once he remarked on how he was finding it hard to watch me writing as it make my boobs jiggle. Not offensive particularly, but very un-Little Chef like.

I mentioned my fears to Mr P who thought I was probably overreacting. He suggested confronting him about it if I felt so strange in his company but I couldn’t. What if I was wrong? What if it was just meaningless flirting? Our stand-off could cause a huge rupture in the friendship and remove from my pub arsenal one seriously good drinking partner.

I let the whole thing slide and things went back to normal. Until the other day. Little Chef remarked that I “shouldn’t have come out wearing pigtails. They really get me going”. I just laughed feebly and tottered off to the bar. How was I supposed to answer him? Shout “let’s go, big boy” and have him whisk me back to his flat?

Maybe I’m overreacting but I think there’s a definite line drawn where flirting is thorny not horny. And the Little Chef is definitely capable of crossing it at times.

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This entry was posted in Comrades, Criiiiiiiiiinge, The Hairier Sex (usually). Bookmark the permalink.

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