“Go for it!” he said. “Flirting is fun. It feels great.”
We were talking about how I have felt vaguely awkward around other men since being in a committed relationship (um, years now). My problems, as described to said husband, were as follows:
I didn’t want to lead anyone on. I’m no femme fatale, but I’d learned to be a pretty effective flirt after some trial and error. (For me, this generally meant making a well-placed Star Wars reference. Know your audience!)
I didn’t want to confuse myself. I feared that I wouldn’t know how to flirt platonically. And since my current relationship is the only one I’ve had of any length, I’d had no experience with infidelity or even the temptation of it. I didn’t know if flirting would lead to more. In my prior experience, that had been kind of The Point.
Wasn’t it wrong? Wasn’t I supposed to be a one-man kind of woman? Wasn’t flirting, or more specifically, getting that little thrill that reciprocal flirting provides, a kind of infidelity unto itself?
In short, my husband told me, no.