FLASH: Romantic Delivery Systems @ the Sexual Baseline

He was where she would come back, (her with her bra-high Kate Hepburn slacks, her shiny hair, her butch caterpillar eyebrows), once she finished a conversation with this other man.  She was too attractive to be friends with, and her refusing him entanglement thus far was frustration he didn't need.  But he was still here.  Circling her.  
She knew it.  And too comfortable with him and his interest.  
This being friends was never him -- it was time to enact a strategy.   Time to climb out of the wool, and get back to wolfing.  He liked her was the problem.  It was legitimate.  Itchy to a guy like him to like the thing he wanted.
"Don't pout."
"I'm not."
"I know you're not.  You're faking it.  I see you."  She said.
"You watch me."
"Here is your game: looking away, at nothing seemingly, while looking right at a girl.  You're a sneak, Tom"
"We can't all dance from body to body."
"It doesn't mean you should skulk to the corner and simmer.  What do you do here in the corner while waiting for a woman to take interest, categorize planets?"
"My skulking is your dancing."
"How so?"
"A man can't use the same delivery system for his desire as a woman."
"How's this?"
"Darlene, if tonight we walk home to the east, if as we cross an intersection a man jumps out of the bushes and exposes himself to you, I'll needs must protect you; I'll chase him off while you call the authorities.  But if we leave here tonight, and walk to the west, if as we cross the intersection a naked woman jumps out of the bushes, chances are you'll be finishing the walk home alone.  Delivery systems.  A man jumps out, you will testify against him in court; a woman jumps, I might marry her.  I'm patient."
"Poor you." She said.
"You could jump, Darlene."
"You're a dreamer, Tom."