Night owls

It's 2:28 am.

I love nighttime conversations.
They bring out the flirt in me (not that it's very hidden,but, well).
I love the conversations, in appearance totally innocent, but often with an undertone you can just detect.
The double-entendres-my speciality, apparently i have a warped mind, but it's just so easy.
the undertone of sex that comes along (with certain people, of course).
Knowing that certain words will plant ideas in the other's head. The repartee.
Doing it in French-i'm sorry, but Anglos are just too shy, most of this time, for this to work.
It never fails to bring a smile, especially when it's with someone especially talented with his words.
And just-leaving enough ambiguity for possible denial.
After all, these things shouldn't be dealt with over the internet, or even by phone.
That's just so...flat. And platonic.
Not that conversations can't be extremely erotic, no way.
But you just can't seal the deal (what a horrible expression) like that.
It just takes all the fun out of it if anything's certain.