We talked about this recently, sitting in my living room with a handful of beautiful women, the last guests remaining at the end of a fabulous party. We’d had amazing food, football in the backyard, girls rocking out with guitars, an unexpected juggling show, chair massages and the reconfiguration of living room furniture to make room for an impromptu session of two-stepping and line dancing.

Later in the evening, when almost everyone had left, we rearranged furniture once again and settled in to talk and laugh and talk some more. Among a million varied topics (ranging from serious to random to hilarious) we inevitably began discussing attraction and dating and sex.

At one point the discussion rolled around to ‘the look’, the one you give when your interest is piqued, when the sight or scent or sound or touch of a woman awakens something inside you. When your eyes meet and pulse quickens because you want to get closer, to know more, see more, have more of her. We talked how to recognize the look, how to receive it, how to return it.

It’s that fleeting glance from across the room, across the dance floor, across the table - the meeting of eyes for a fraction longer than necessary, and then looking away. The moment of looking away just as important as the eye contact itself - because of how it’s done. It’s the lowering of eyes, the slight curving of lips, the body language that is questioning “do you? will you? yes, please?” and at the same time emphatically stating “i do. i will. yes. please.”

The look can be cocky as hell, or rooted in deep insecurity. It can be a stolen glance that lasts a fraction of a second, or it can linger, prolonged for endless moments as you trace the contours of her face, body, soul. It can be uncertain, flirtatious, confident, hopeful, aggressive, demure, bold. It can be a question, an answer, a frank perusal, an introduction, an invitation, a desperate plea.

In a confirmed mutual attraction, the briefest of glances repeated over time creates a current of energy. Those moments of eye contact can make your breath catch in your throat and send tingles from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. They heighten the anticipation of that inevitable moment of connection, and the look itself becomes an integral part of the exquisite dance of foreplay. Inside that look a million messages are transferred in a frozen moment in time – but all the messages can be reduced to the exact same thing.

Want.

…want to talk to her, date her, kiss her, possess her, touch her, dance with her, fuck her, drown in her, caress her, make love to her, discover her deepest thoughts and secret dreams…want to know more, to learn what makes her heart beat quicker, to know how she tastes and what she sounds like when she comes…want to hear what she is afraid of, what her favorite TV show is, what she is doing on Saturday night…want her to look back…want her to want in return…

It might be that seriously hot chick you just saw for the first time. It might be the girl you’ve known for years who you just now started to see in a different light. It might be someone you’ve been crushing on for months but to whom you have not yet found courage to communicate your feelings. It might be the woman who has loved you for so long you can’t imagine a time when you were not together.

Whoever she is, you just cannot stop yourself from looking at her. It’s the way the light reflects in her eyes, the way she unconsciously runs her hands through her hair, the way she throws her head back when she laughs. You look at her far more often than could be considered accidental, glance her way frequently than could be justified by normal polite interaction. Sometimes you feel like you couldn’t possibly look away.

Maybe you want her to notice your gaze; maybe you hope desperately that she remains oblivious. Whichever it is, you look because you just cannot help yourself. You drink her in with your eyes, you absorb as much of her as you can, you imprint her into your brain so you can recall her captivating nuances in detail later when you are alone.

Eventually, she will catch you looking, and in her return gaze – if you are confident enough to hold it for a moment – you’ll have all the answers you need.

The look. That’s where it all begins.

[…yes. the girl was there. yes. i looked. plenty. yes. she looked back. no. it’s not going anywhere but friendship right now. fucking logistics. forgive me a moment of self-indulent wallowing. feeling deflated tonight…]