The definition of intriguing is “arousing great interest or curiosity.” I believe this most likely was the usage intended. However, there is another definition, a verb. “To engage in secret or underhand schemes, plot.” And if you look at the root word, “intrigue”, it is an ironic choice in which to flatter, particularly to flatter me.
1. a. A secret or underhand scheme; a plot. b. The practice of or involvement in such schemes.
2. A clandestine love affair.
Ah, ha. Now we are getting somewhere. I do not even know if they are aware of the irony. It just made me wonder what I was putting out in the world, previously and at present. What shift in my behavior has occurred to allow for the expression of thoughts, feelings, even desires that have lain dorment, apparently for years in some cases? I am suddenly on the receiving end of compliments, flattery and offers which did not previously exist and have materialized seemingly overnight. Now, don’t misunderstand. I am enjoying the attention. It is nice to feel wanted and desirable. I am indulging in delightful conversations and I have confirmed what I always suspected-that boys are really dirty sometimes. But, I do not understand how I could be intriguing. I have always felt I was the epitome of average. I am average height (or at least I was until they changed the scale-I’m still pissed that we weren’t grandfathered), average weight, even average age-ok, maybe a bit beyond average.
What’s really weird to me is how my own friends react when I say this; like it is some huge surprise that I feel this way. I described myself thusly, “You know that hot girl that everyone always fawns over? The one everyone wants to dance with, to date, to screw? Well, for 20 years, I’ve been the one standing next to her holding her purse while she danced.” Ok, a slight exaggeration but not much. I really have never been that girl. But it appears that I am now. And that I am inciting some very passionate feelings which is also disconcerting.
Moreover, for the first time in a long time, I feel passionate. A friend of mine once called me a sexually powerful woman and I really thought he must be talking about someone else. Maybe he misread the email address or thought he opened up a chat window or something. For the last many years, part of my role was to not want sex. When it happened, it was great. Really great! But it was never my role to want or desire it, and I trained myself not to desire it during the long droughts that followed my marriage. Besides, I was still being satisfied, ok, really satisfied by Mr. Darcy. And then I wasn’t. It was my fault, but I wasn’t and I tricked myself into believing that was ok.
I do not know what I am going to do with this information or with the harbingers of intriguing. I have bourn secrets for so long; I don’t even know how to be honest. I don’t have the will or the time to be the caretaker of anyone else’s feelings right now, but I don’t want to be celibate either. So I guess I am intriguing, in every sense of the word. (And I think I might be a little cyber slutty too.)