Mixed Signals

Dear Butch,

I am yet again confused by your bar actions.

Last night your eyes quickly meet my well displayed cleavage as you were walking into the bar.  You break your stare with my tits and our eyes meet.  Zing, there are sexual sparks in the air.  We casually chat and then you are swept away by your party to a table not far from mine.  We glance at each other from across the room.  You get up to go to the bathroom, tilt your head at me, and I pop up to follow you.  I am standing behind you in line and …

nothing.

No eye contact.  No funny conversations.  Nothing.

You are glued to your phone as I feel like a fool.  So here is a small piece of advice…if you flirt and have no follow through, then fuck off.  Stop wasting my time.

Love,

Femme

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