Wilting Poppy

Apparently, the men in Sydney suffer from Wilting Poppy. It's the reason Kylie left the country, apparently.

Andrew explained it to me. The men have flip-flop/passive-aggressive moods - they switch between being man hungry devils and shy angels. In seconds.

I'm so glad he told me it's a known phenomenon. I was getting puzzled.

EXHIBIT A: On my first night out in Sydney, I was chatting up Dan, originally from Germany. He was flirty, and bold, but refused to kiss in front of his friends. Once outside the club, he demurely let me kiss him, but only once he was sure the bouncers weren't looking.... and then demanded we had sex in an alley.

EXHIBIT B: On Monday night, Matt. Lovely bloke - grabbed hold of my nipples in the Colchester Hotel. He smiled and waved, waltzed off, and beckoned me over. He was wearing jeans and a smile, and stood there bumping and grinding against me, his grin getting broader and dirtier as his muscles pumped and whirled around like popcorn in a pan.

Then there was a pause. Gradually all that muscle came to rest.
"Why are you looking at me?"
"You're a very attractive man. You're dancing. Topless. It's hard not to."

He throws his arms over his head, howls, and cringes. "Don't say that! Don't tell me people are looking at me. I'm not doing it for that."

An aggressive new version of 'American Life' comes on, and he starts to pole dance a bar stool.

Later: "You find me attractive? I wish you hadn't said that. You're so forward!"

But... but.... you dragged me across the dance floor by my nipple...

Pause. Shrug. Witling poppy.