On striking sparks

—“She’s probably a slut,” I say to myself.
The fact a fiftyish woman so enjoyed my being attracted to her has me wondering.
I turned and said hello to her the other day, and clearly she loved it. She kept smiling at me. We were striking sparks.
“I still attract the attention of the younger ones,” except at age-76 I’m hardly a younger one.
But I AM laughably innocent. My experience with women is zilch.
It’s my childhood of course. Convinced at an early age that no female would have anything to do with me. Marked-for-life, = scared of women.
But now, 70 years late, I find that horribly WRONG. My silly dog, who I no longer have, can take credit.
He’d drag me into meeting pretty girls, and got me used to interacting with pretty girls.
But my interaction with women is rudimentary. We strike sparks, and it makes us both feel good. I tell a girl she’s pretty and she smiles. No “buzz off creep,” perhaps because I’m so innocent.
“He’s not hittin’ on me, but we sure are striking sparks.”
I worry what my innocence might get me into. Striking sparks is a lotta fun, and if doing that makes a girl feel good, well hooray!
Except I like it so much, I take chances I probably shouldn’t take.
Better not say anything. It might get me into trouble.
But I loved seeing that older woman smile.