The Return of Gleaming Biceps

Months ago, back in the summer, i had a bit of a crush on a wannabe flirt called Gleaming Biceps. that of course is not his real name, his mother did not give birth to him and take one look at his puny purple baby arms to say "I see he has great potential in developing gleaming biceps! therefore that name shall be his!"

Forgive me. I am in a silly mood.

So the story is that I spent four months flirting my butt off with Gleaming Biceps, only to discover that he was an all-talk and no-action kind of guy, which brought my summer to a disappointing end. No fun with Gleaming Biceps, which didn't seem to gleam that much anymore.

So this weekend I ran into him, and the whole group spent the afternoon on the balcony of the Greek club in Alexandria, watching the sunset, nibbling bisaria (tiny fish- i don't eat the heads though, the thought of eyeballs creep me out) and fighting over the last pieces of bread.

Once outside, we all climbed into my car, Led Zeppelin blaring loud, as Amina lit up a cigarette and looked like a twelve year old stealing her first smoke, Sarah wrapped her arms around Sherif's back, Roba sprayed vanilla perfume in the car and broke the headrest of the passenger seat, so I had to yell at her.

GB asked me to teach him something sexy in Italian, so I taught him: "Andiamo a casa per fare lamore tutta la noche" which means, let's go home to make love all night long.

He blushed and he giggled, Amina asked me how i did it, and as i explained, i wondered how this dork had suddenly turned into a flirting expert.
I knew who had brought about the change in me, but I didnt want to tout his horn too much, even if he wasn't there to hear it.

I said to GB: "The problem with you is that you can never answer me back!"
"Well," he said, "you use all my lines, i'm not used to being the one who's being flirted with, it should be the other way round! men should be the predators, not the women!"

Sexual politics aside, i knew he had a point, it's so much nicer when you just sit around and watch the guy attempt to gather the courage to come up and say:
"Um, nice shoes." as if that's going to open your heart and let him in.
ha.

But the truth is , the only reason I can flirt so carelessly with GB, say the most outrageous things and make him blush with just one stare, is that I no longer care about him, because there is someone more.

I watched him in my rear-view mirror as we drove through the evening traffic along the sea, and remembered how his eyes used to light up my smile and make my stomach weak.
Whatever happens to a summer crush when you see him in winter?
He always seems that much paler, smaller, less significant.

I once said I wanted someone who could answer me back, who could top my lines, and make me blush.
well, i've been blushing for one month straight there, and somehow that has turned me into this over-confident, lazy pantherlike female who flutters eyelids and watches as past flames melt at her feet.

Interesting how things work out.