Look at me! Okay, you can stop now

There's no way to write this without sounding obnoxious, I don't think. It's like the young chickies with the word "juicy" or "hot" splayed across the seat of their pants. They sashay down the street, then turn around and snap at some poor guy, "What are YOU looking at?" What do you think he's looking at? -- The walking billboard that is your ass!

Am I any different when I doll myself up, wear heels and a short skirt or dress -- sometimes with garters and stockings -- pick out nice jewelry, wear extra makeup to emphasize my eyes, etc., etc., before I go to a scene event? I want to look good (I've been working out and eating better for the same reason), I don't want to look demure, I want to look sexy, as much as I can pull it off. I'm forty-five. I wear glasses and look like a librarian. I still hate my cottage cheese thighs. But I suppose I can pull myself together and make a good showing of things at a scene party.

I like people looking at me. I'm an exhibitionist. I love the attention, more attention than I get in any other area of my life. And I get to play a lot, which is a pretty big reason I attend public parties -- to meet people and to play.

But there comes a point where I want to say, "Please stop looking at me." There will be some guy who won't stop looking or following a woman around, and he can barely start, let alone hold, a conversation. He may never talk to me at all, or, he'll ask me to play without an introduction or other preliminary talk. I have to look at him and say bluntly, "So, what's your NAME?"

There was a guy I had considered playing with on Saturday night at Paddles. We did actually have a brief conversation, so he was ahead of the game. I'd promised several others that I'd play that night, so I told him, "Let's see how things work out, time-wise." But as the night progressed, I kept catching him staring at me and hovering, and I started to feel funny. Maybe it's because he didn't seem to be doing anything else but stare, at least for a while -- he didn't seem to be talking to others; he was just sort of drifting around the club. I'm sure I wasn't the only woman he was looking at.

Later on, I did see him talking to more people, so he improved. I was still a little cautious and never went back to him to ask him to play, but I still may play with him later, if he appears to have improved his social skills somewhat. He was attractive, in good shape, and looked like he might be strong.

There have been other "starers" I didn't want to touch with a ten-foot pole. I feel really weird when it happens. I'm not used to it. I don't know how to ignore it and I don't know how to diffuse it politely. They're not "doing" anything to me, exactly, but it makes me feel uncomfortable nonetheless. I can't be the only woman who feels this way, right?

I really hope I'm not coming across as too much of a snotty princess here. Am I? I don't want to be! Maybe next time I'll wear a long-sleeved, floor length gown to avoid this issue. Men won't be staring then. They'll be running away.