Mixed signals

By the time I got there, Ariel was there. She’s usually one of the first to arrive, and among the last to leave. Even though we’d had lunch just the day before, I got a big smile and hug, and as we stood in the doorway to the kitchen, she ran her hand tenderly around my back, and I did the same. A little handsqueeze as we separated, and on the evening went.

A minute or two later, Ariel is in the kitchen, sucking the last bits off a package of something sticky, and she catches my eye, giggling. And as she goes back to her package sucking, I can’t take my eyes off her. And she knows it. And we go our separate ways, talking with other people, in other rooms.

This little group is a regular weekly open-table sort of dinner at the home of some friends from church (the hosts and some, though not all, of the guests). It’s a slightly-hippieish feeling, with really tasty vegetarian food (you have no idea what a stretch it is for me to say that!); our hosts’ really great kids are part of the fun, too.

So unless I get there late and have been squeezed out of my accustomed place next to Ariel, that’s where you’ll find me. And that’s where the mixed signals come in.

Because…well, it’s hard to say exactly. There are good reasons to be discreet, and absolutely no excuse for being indiscreet. Ariel’s ex (?) boyfriend has been a regular part of the group, and came in late last night. Our hosts know me as the flirtatious married guy at church, and although Misty has never made herself part of the crowd, she’s there, lurking on the psychic sidelines.

It goes like this: Ariel and I sit together: close, but not intimate. Under the table, our legs rest—knee to knee, sometimes calf to calf—and neither of us flinches from the contact. Occasionally, there is even gentle back-and-forth sliding of the leg parts in contact with each other.

But a hand on her leg is too much, and she pulls away. Nothing is said, no looks exchanged, no break in the conversation. And then, soon enough, our legs are touching again.

That’s what the evening is like. Not just last night, but pretty much every week at this little gathering. We keep chatting, exchanging meaningful glances, but always under the radar.

And then, after dessert, I’m practically knocked over by a hug from behind. Ariel is leaving with her ex(?), and has practically tackled me to say goodnight. So we have a long, friendly, even affectionate hug, I kiss the top of her head (as I usually do), and away she goes.

Now the odd thing about all this is that when we’re together, just the two of us, none of this goes on. A hello hug, a goodbye hug, and hands off otherwise. Maybe that’s not as “safe” a situation as the big group, where there’s no danger of going “too far.”

If I were a different person, I would be frustrated, even angry, at these conflicting signals. But I love it. I love seeing her and having this (literally) sub rasa relationship. Do I want more? You bet. Am I going to press the issue? Not likely, knowing me.

But I’ll take it for what it’s worth, and we’ll see where things lead. As I put it in an e-mail to her earlier today:

That said, I know I'm an inveterate flirt. Good thing it's part of my charm. :-)

So we’ll just see. Heh.