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Everyone knows someone they only see at parties You introduce them as your friend, but if you stop to think about it, you don’t really know anything about them. Some of us take this relationship one step further and this person becomes someone they had a one-time fling with.

There’s no bad blood, no animosity; rather, a mutual knowledge of what you each look like naked.

When this is the case, the “friendship” takes on an entirely different aspect; there becomes a need to show the other one that you’ve got other prospects lining up to see if they can fill the sexual void.

Girls hug other boys, boys have other girls sit in their laps while each sex partner sneakily makes eye contact with the other, saying without words, “see, other people want me.”

This engagement is more a sport than anything else – it’s Competitive Flirting. This happens not because you’re really interested in that girl or boy, but because one wants to be able to “one up” the other.

The danger of Competitive Flirting is that most of the time you don’t even realize you’re doing it until you’re in too deep. It starts off slowly, a few subtle glances to see where your competition is or a kiss on the cheek to the guy who brought you a drink.

But things quickly start to escalate; you’re constantly checking the room to find your competitor and see if they’re looking, and if they’re looking, you step up your game. You bend and snap to get that cap you dropped. And just like that, you’ve become a full-fledged Competitive Flirter.

I’ve qualified for the Australian Olympic Flirting Team with my CF partner, Ben. Ben and I met in a series of events that beginning with me stealing his hat in a tipsy delusion that I looked good in late nineties skateboard fashion and ended with me sneaking out of his room at four in the morning praying I was holding my pants and not his.

Ben’s best friend lives below me and is always throwing parties, so we see each other at least once a week. We’re always friendly, catching up with each other and making jokes, but we inevitably end up on different ends of the room with someone of the opposite sex to show off with, constantly making sure there’s a direct line of sight between us.

He’ll have one girl on each arm and catch my eye; I’ll let a guy pull me in to his lap and throw him a nod. It’s all in good fun, all in the name of the competition.

Then, last week I got together with a different group of friends before going out for the night, and it occurred to me that normal competitions have a winner and a loser. But this competition Ben and I had going on had no defined end. There were no rules in our game.

I realized I’d been ignoring actual connections with people to continue on with my stupid flirting feud with Ben. Out with different friends, I met a group of people I’d probably run into a half dozen times, and yet I’d never noticed them before, even though most of the guys were considerably hotter than Ben nicer and funnier, too.  My need to prove I could get other guys kept me from actually going out and getting other guys.

 

Claire Delahorne works as a copy editor for the Clarion. She is currently studying abroad in Australia, where she serves as a

correspondent for all things regarding sexuality and culture