I came across an online site that lists inmates seeking pen pals. As I was trawling for convict tail, I started wondering about the appeal of a romance with someone behind bars. There’s a whole slew of women out there who form relationships with convicted felons – some even murderers or woman abusers. Listen, I think wife beaters are super hot, too, but only when worn by sweet guys with glasses or Marky Mark.
Maybe the danger is the attraction. But if that’s all there is to it, there are plenty of dangerous guys evading the law on this side of the barbed wire fence. Maybe it’s the element of danger combined with a thick concrete wall: a safety zone. But, unless you shell out dough for a POBox, you’re providing a criminal with your home address. Most of these guys are going to get out eventually and when they come knocking, Bethany Ann best be ready to back up all those penciled sweet nothings (“I can’t wait to be together,” “Wrap those hairless, tattooed arms around me,” “I wish your hardened criminal manhood was inside me.”) because wishes can come true, baby. So: is there a safety zone when it comes to flirting?
I TOTALLY thought there was! And I totally thought it was the work place. What better setting for some meaningless, sexy banter than the teacher’s lounge of a Junior High? As a substitute teacher I was insulted, whined at, and made fun of (I mean, look, I was Ms. Whitehead) on a daily basis. The highlight of my day was foraging around the lounge like a starving mongrel in search of brownie bites. I was ready for some harmless flirting. So was Dan Richards, the bald, overweight principal. He had a good sense of humor. You have to when you’re explaining to a kid that not only is it inappropriate to write “Leslie is a hoe” on school property, but that he also misspelled ho.
I’d enter the lounge and say, “Man it’s effing hot out there,” (except, you know, I didn’t say effing, I said what effing stands for – flipping). Mr. Richards would say, “You’re effing hot.” If the kids were particularly rowdy one day I might say, “Eff those kids,” He’d say, “I’d like to eff you.” I’d always reply, “Sure, you’re all talk, Richards.” Hey! I’m not saying it was witty banter but it WAS just talk. I wasn’t interested in flipping. (Sure, in the glaze of 6th period I might’ve had a boredom fantasy that involved making out in the principal’s office because boy oh boy was I in trouble).
One morning Mr. Richards asked, “You seeing anyone?” “Nope,” I said. “Well, I’m available.” I pointed a piece of chalk at him, “You talk SO big. You know you’d never follow through.” This thought bubble appeared : “Erin, you idiot, you’re issuing a challenge.” The bell rang. He grinned, “We’ll see.” Boy oh boy was I in trouble.
By 3PM, having endured eight hours of hygienically challenged kids vying for the title of “Most Gangsta,” I’d forgotten this exchange. When Mr. Richards said, “Ms. Whitehead, can I see you in my office?” I said, “Sure.” The door closed. He pushed me up against the desk, took my face in his hands, and tongue kissed me. A lesser woman would have barked sexual harassment, but c’mon, I’d practically TOLD him to do this — so I figured it was good form to hold the kiss for at least 5 seconds. When we pulled apart, I smiled, said, “Good work, Richards. You showed me!”
Whether it’s a jokey boss in the least romantic setting ever, or an inmate with a tear-shaped tattoo in a 10-by-10 cell, there’s no flirting safety zone. I’m definitely NOT saying you owe anyone anything just because you’ve flirted with them. Just don’t be surprised if they take you at your word. And hey, I’m a lady who likes to back up her words. Even if it means frenching my bald boss in earshot of his beady-eyed secretary. At least he had an altoid first.
