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By B.E.

Recently I opted out of a potentially beneficial work event to be amongst friends in my neighborhood. In recent months I have solidified myself amongst an extraordinary group of artists and writers, businessmen and genuinely good people uptown. Although this meeting did not take place at The Algonquin and Dorothy Parker was not present, it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Let me start by saying I have an inordinate amount of affection for each one of these nouveau bohemians. I do, however have a more complicated history with some more than others. I am known by many names amongst this group. Usually, it is be heard, but on this last occasion a new moniker was bequeathed. Cock tease. Poetic, I know, but the message was received loud and clear. This man is not the first man to assert this and I am quite certain he will not be the last. It is also pretty safe to say that I am not unique in this, as many a woman has had the pleasure of being touted as such.  Upon the most recent assertion of this genital manipulator, one fine gentleman came to my aide. It was this young man who exclaimed, 'No, something tells me she actually puts out!' I was please, relieved, flattered even and then I thought, hey, wait…

With years of denial in my past I have more recently come to terms with my proclivity for flirtation and, as an adult, find it to be an asset more than a hindrance. It seems to put people at ease and allow a general flow to burgeoning relationships as well as with those who remain on the acquaintance level.

I am a single woman and overtly friendly and my question is, why does this result in name-calling? A modified version of hair pulling on the playground the other night, I would have brushed it off if the incident was isolated, but it is not. It is not for me, and having female friends, I am aware that it is not for any woman who has smiled, tossed her hair, accepted a drink from a man and didn't instantly spread 'em.

Being deemed a slut and a prude are offenses of seemingly equal severity, so where does this leave the gregarious women in possession of themselves?

Perhaps Goldilocks was onto something. This girl is too cold, this one is too hot, and this one makes my dick hard but refuses to give me some despite my passive aggressive approach of getting into her pants.

I am by no means a saint and, on occasion have used my feminine wiles in my favor, but really, what is so wrong with that? And if women didn't refuse the occasional piece of proverbial ass what would men have to complain about? Really, we are just assisting in providing material for their locker room banter.

I suppose like any great Shakespean plight at one point in time, every woman must pause and ponder, 'to tease, or not to tease, that is the question.'

B.E. is a photographer and aspiring freelance writer residing in New York City.

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