As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I've rekindled a little whatchacallit — romance, if you will, with Gabriel, after taking the winter off.  It's been interesting.  He's a relentless and unrepentant flirt, and sometimes shockingly profligate with his affections. And I'm talking as someone who prides himself on spreading the love. 



I can't really blame him.  He's intelligent, good-looking, and sexy.  That's the trifecta.  And it's rarer than you'd think.  Again, as someone who's been around the block a time or two hundred, I can say that over time you learn to settle.  Or you compartmentalize. 

Intelligence — I can take it or leave it at this point.  It's not the most important thing.  I mean, sometimes young, dumb and hung hits the spot.  If they're this too-clever-by-half type you can't shut them up.  And sex shouldn't be too pedantic, should it? 

Looks are also overrated, as far as sexiness is concerned.  It's not always, or even often, the conventionally good-looking ones that have ginormous... je ne sais quoi.  

Sexiness is hard to define, of course, but you know it when you see it.  And Gabriel makes no secret of the fact that he sees it every time he looks in the mirror.  That can be a little off-putting, but there is a certain kind of sexiness that has its roots in outrageous narcissi— er, I mean confidence.  As long as the ratio of self-awareness to self-delusion is not too out of whack (in which case you have sociopath on your hands), that confidence can translate into a kind of generosity.

These days people don't understand or appreciate that kind of generosity.  Which is why flirting is a dying art.  Aside from the generosity, we have neither the patience nor the subtlety for it. The constant want that has become a substitute for desire and our relentless focus on the bottom line has taken a lot of the fun out of flirting.  For those coming of age in cyberspace, waving your dick on webcam with a ;-) is about the extent of their flirting skills.

All you have to do is glance at a few Craigslist Missed Connections to see that people are clueless when it comes to in-person encounters.  Most the time they don't even know they've had one.  It's got to be spelled out, literally in writing, before they know for sure.  But I'm not for re-educating them at flirt camp, either.  Flirting isn't really a technique.  It's not a repertoire of smooth moves, although eye contact is helpful (but you can probably leave out the "fluttering eyelashes", girls).   

I don't say this as a master flirt myself.  I have been told I'm "unapproachable" (by someone I met at a bar, no less, who approached me easily enough), and I will admit I've all but given up on what used to be a favorite pastime of mine.  Partly to preserve my energy for more important things.  If I felt that by flirting I would get some energy back, but the opposite is more often the case.  It's not that I'm ungenerous, it's that generosity takes a lot out of me, especially when met by an ungenerous reaction. 

So I'm a bit of an emotional mercenary.  I choose my battles.   

I'm not ashamed to say that I'm not liberal, much less flamboyant with my deep affections.  I offer a modicum of respect for everyone I encounter — a fraternal rather than strictly erotic love — that takes as its starting point the sacred autonomy of souls, like the "adhesiveness" of Whitman, and often as sticky. 

Still, sometimes I'm genuinely shocked at what people in these parts take for a sexual advance (only to use it as an opportunity to sneer back as if the merest, incidental eye contact were an all-out ogling).  As I've said, ungenerous people react to even the meagerest generosity ungenerously.  I know I've quoted the brilliant, bitter queen mother of queers, Gore Vidal, before on this point, but he summed up the attitude perfectly when he wrote: "I can think of no greater pleasure than to approach an open face and swiftly say whatever needs to be said to shut it."

Flirting is not deserving of any such reaction, of course, although it often seems to garner it.  It's not a high stakes game, as attested to by its etymological association with "flit" and fleureter ("talk sweet nonsense", "touch a thing in passing").  And this lightness — to touch a thing in passing — is what turns Gabriel's self-regard into a gift.  What is remarkable is not only his eagerness to flirt, but his uncanny ability to engage others in it. 

I've come to realize that as much as we have a little thing of our own (which is itself light and fluffy), when we are out and about I am also a foil for his flirtations.  

Although he doesn't seem to need a wingman, two men together garner much more attention from other men —- gay, straight, and curious — than a man walking down the street by himself.  For some reason, men, whether with a girlfriend or a mate, or alone, feel safe to make eyes at you when you're with another guy.  Often they don't even seem to know they're doing it.

To be honest, although I have noticed the Couples Effect before, it's downright distracting when I'm with Gabriel.  He's fond of subtle displays of our intimacy that communicate to the keen eye that we are a couple (I don't mean to say that we are, in fact, a proper couple — we are not — but for onlookers we well could be). 

It has always seemed the case to me, since our first encounter, that I served a dual purpose, which I don't mind — it's a flattering show of a certain kind of esteem, I guess — of both display and cover.  The first time I slept over, it was partly so he could show his roommate who was hitting on him what's what, after the roommate had mistaken his flirtations for something more. 

The truth is, Gabriel can't help himself.  He's a flirt.  Simple as that.  And if I don't have quite the spirit to flirt with such abandon (it's more work than play for me), myself, I can at least do my part to make the world a little safer for flirting by serving as his cavalier.  Like I said, I choose my battles.  And I'm well-rewarded.