Keep Going

I turn up the sexuality.
Our day date was my reserved, classic ******* laconic game that girls always find so maddening and curious where she doesn't know if I'm withdrawing or moving on.

I arrive later than her that night and make no effort to find her nor pull her away from whoever she's dancing with at the moment.
In fact, I dance with a number of girls to warm up and get my calibration set.
She is an afterthought and I push her to the back of my mind.

She comes up to me.
I layer on the flirting and the eye contact. I don't say much. I finger the fabric of her pants. I occasionally pull her into me even if she doesn't respond the way I'd like.
She doesn't walk off or withdraw.
I keep going.
I see the bigger picture even if she doesn't affirm the behavior by positive response.
I decide to take anything other than outright refusal as a positive sign.
I don't think she'll come home with me, but again, I make my intent clear and invite her anyway.
I will not reside in the friendzone.

Her refusing doesn't mean I was wrong or uncouth.
I'd rather press too a bit too far than not enough.
Besides, I've had sex with this girl.
It's silly for me to act like the simp of a man close friend who's afraid to upset her at times.
She, on some level, needs drama, and so, I will pump her emotional responses at times.
Time passes and I press again, I let it simmer in her mind, because even though she says no, I can see the want and the voices competing in her mind.
This is what she needs. The turmoil. The debate. The dissonance. I will give it to her.

Some dude who's always hawking over her takes her to the bar.
I don't give chase, rather I dance with a cute girl then go to the bathroom.
I walk up, say hey to her, and shake his hand the way I do when inside I'm thinking about choking the motherfucker unconscious and my body language belies a jovial dismissal of this nancy boy.
I bask in the slight awkwardness like the man stumbling out of the allegory of the cave and after the headache subsides, for the warmth and the sunglight is now warm and inviting and like the womb of awesome.

We walk to her car, this dude in tow, or perhaps I'm in tow, but then I remember we've had sex so I tell myself to own it.
He hugs her bye with that pathetic friend hug of desperation and though his clothes must cost more than mine and his car is more expensive, I remember her saying he looks so tense and controlling when he moves.
We hug and she is shy in parting like always and it drives me crazy but I just accept it and I wonder if this is the last time I'll see her and I accept it may be and head home.

I drive home and see and feel the matrix.
I'm going to push until it breaks.
I'm not going to lose her due to a lack of effort.
Nothing worse than going down in baseball having not swung at a pitch.
Fuck it.
All or nothing.
She'll handle the pressure or she won't.
Meet me with an open heart or don't.