If this isn’t the first blog post of mine you’ve ever read, you’ll probably know that I’m a sex nerd and fairly outspoken slut. It should thus come as no surprise that I’m a fairly explicit flirter – I prefer to directly tell someone that I’m into them and want to give them head in the bathroom. I have a feeling that my own directness might be why I seem to entirely miss it when folks hit on me.
Content note for discussion of unsolicited flirting and sexual harassment. This post also includes affiliate links.
In my experience, asking for what I want tends to lead to brilliant sex. Yes, it can be embarrassing and awkward, and yes, you have to be ready to hear a no, but explicit flirting is a strategy that works for me. I have the lack of grace – or possibly the confidence – to ask people if they’ve been flirting with me, or tell them that I’m into them.
I started fucking one of my play partners after telling her – while more than a little tipsy – that I really wanted to kiss her. I asked out my enboifriend if I could get their number about 90 seconds into our first ever conversation – though in all fairness I was rushing off to another gig and couldn’t stick around for flirting. I told them they were cute, and asked if they’d be up for spending time together to work out if they thought I was cute. (Spoiler alert: they did, and we kissed half-a-cup-of-coffee into our first date.)
This is what I mean by explicit flirting. I will tell folks I’m up for make-outs, or ask if they’re down for talking about sex. Just this morning, I asked a long-distance play partner of mine if they’d be up for scheduling some time for a DM date, because I wanted to reconnect with them. I spent the last three days asking explicit questions while fucking my partner to ensure our sex adventures were fulfilling for both of us.
Of course I appreciate subtle flirting and playful teasing – drawing out flirtation can be super fun. However, I do prefer to do this when I am certain the person I’m exchanging innuendo with is into me. I don’t want to overstep someone’s boundaries, and as someone who knows how shit it feels to have your consent violated, I’d rather embarrass myself by asking outright if they’re down to flirt than make them feel uncomfortable.
Luckily – or perhaps by careful and deliberate choice – I tend towards fucking fellow sex bloggers, queer folk, and sex nerds who aren’t fazed when I ask them if it’s ok to tell them exactly what I’m thinking about doing to them right now. (Even/especially if it involves butt plugs.) However, my direct approach to flirting means that I’m often oblivious to more subtle seduction.
At least, that’s the hypothesis I formed after a friend texted me to ask if I remembered the arsehole guy who hit on me at the poly meet we went to together a few months ago. I didn’t, but I think this was partly because I realise that anyone was hitting on me that night. Apparently it’s a recurring theme.
I was wearing my ‘I’m a feminist but…‘ t-shirt the first time a random guy stopped me in public to ask me out. I don’t remember exactly what he said, or what I said. I have a feeling I spoke too quickly, tripping over my words in my haste to explain that saying he “got the whole feminism thing” wasn’t a big a turn on as he seemed to think it was when he’s literally stepped in front of me so I had to stop and talk to him. Mostly, though, the whole thing felt utterly surreal. It felt like it was happening to someone else – after all, who would hit on me?
That fact someone asked me out like that is only marginally less believable than the fact that he thought that I might have said yes to getting a drink with him.
I don’t think it’s only an inability to think that others would find me attractive that stops me from realising when people hit on me. I just don’t seem to register when folks are flirting with me, unless they specifically ask if they’re ok with them flirting or escalate our conversation to a point where it’s very clear that they’re into me. To give an example, I’m oblivious to the point where I wasn’t sure whether the guy who was buying me brunch was actually into me until he went to the toilets and sent me a photo of his dick, hard through the lace panties he was wearing.
I’d be far more forgiving to random guys who slide into my DMs if they were upfront about their intentions. While I’d answer their ‘would you like to sext?’ messages with a resounding ‘no!‘ almost 100% of the time, it would make me feel less infringed upon than the weighted expectation of an unsolicited ‘hi’.
It’s the same with people I’m actually into – partly because I try not to let myself believe that the folks I like are flirting with me until I’m sure that I am. It’s easier to imagine that they aren’t flirting with me than assume they are and be disappointed when it turns out I was misreading signals. While everyone has their own styles of flirtation, I sometimes wish that folks who hit on me were slightly more obvious about it. I’m probably not interested, but it would be a shame to miss out on sex adventures just because I don’t realise they’re flirting with me.
Explicit flirting for the win, basically. Not least because asking ‘are you down for me to flirt with you?’ is an excellent way of checking in for consent.
Want to help me share more of my kinky dating stories? Alternatively, why not support me to write more straight-up-filth? Basically, please buy me a coffee – I’ll raise a festive Starbucks in your honour!
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.