Long before “Basic Instinct,” women employed the power of the leg cross-uncross-recross. Of course, I wore panties – it would have been unthinkable to do otherwise for a nice seventeen-year-old virgin at the time – and I assure you, the power of those moves is not in the flash of heaven revealed but the potential and reminder of how near it is.
I consciously re-arranged my legs, carefully displaying my calves to their best advantage. I smoothed my pantyhose along the length of my leg a time or two, for good measure. I made sure to lean forward just enough that my blouse may or may not have fallen open enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. And of course, whenever that happened, almost immediately, the mass of my hair tumbled forward and obscured it. That naturally necessitated me flipping my hair back out of the way, and arranging it.
Phil stumbled through the lyrics to four or five songs. His voice deepened, cracked, his register changed numerous times. He blushed like mad. He scowled. He balled his hands into fists and concentrated harder. I decided to cut him some slack.
I leaned way back and draped my left arm around the arm of the chair, well aware of how this made my bosom rise. I tilted my head back just a smidgeon, exposing my long neck. I maintained eye contact the entire time. A friend of mine would have employed some tongue flicking at that point.
It would have been complete overkill.