Years later you come to realize the real obscenity.  For whatever reason, the grain of sand that stuck in the craw to become a pearl, the part of the not having sex, yes of course, most largely his fault, which goes without saying, but the tease part of the flirt ended up hurting, the matter's addressing postponed, the slow spiraling demoralization, the utter bratty ridiculousness of it, that came as a repeated shock to the system... the tear in his own heart between knowing one thing and in his own way acting upon it but constantly being told another thing.  Well, it's a matter of the well-off self-confident nobility to figure out, not some poor college professor's son still waiting on his plans.  Trying to be polite, trying to mind his manners, to keep his dignity and continue his form of cool, the sting of cruelty, what are you going to do?

Another party with not a single available woman, few women even to talk benignly to, another Saturday shift being a loser covering for someone...