Last weekend found me at an extravagant birthday celebration in Manchester when a charming figure from my past approached me.

“It’s been over ten years since I last saw you,” he remarked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. There was no mistaking the chemistry between us; his lingering gaze and the palpable spark spoke volumes.

I donned a floor-length dress that accentuated my figure perfectly, complemented by red lipstick and mascara-coated lashes. At 42, it’s easy to feel overlooked, but in that moment, I felt anything but invisible.

The weekend getaway included a hotel room just a short stroll away. I imagined the scene: swiping the keycard, pulling the curtains… it was tempting to let the encounter unfold in that direction.

“So, are you still married?” he inquired. I gestured to my wedding rings, answering him silently. He chuckled, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Indeed, I am happily married to a man I adore. We’ve spent 14 years together and just marked our ninth wedding anniversary. Our cozy flat in south London is filled with love and our cherished dog. Yet, I remain an unapologetic flirt.

Discovering my marital status didn’t douse our playful exchange. We shared a drink and some light-hearted banter before rejoining the crowd, both feeling a bit more confident and invigorated by the encounter.

This recent encounter was typical. I never take my wedding ring off or deny that I’m married. Flirting is not about being someone I’m not, but about seeing who else I am.

It’s like a truth serum when a compliment spills from the lips of a stranger. I revel in the knowledge that I’ve still got it, that I could pull this guy standing in front of me, should I want to.

Flirting is not about being someone I’m not but about seeing who else I am, writes Alice Snape

I revel in the knowledge that I’ve still got it, that I could pull this guy standing in front of me, should I want to

There’s always sexual energy between humans, and it’s something I don’t want to ignore just because I’m married.

I consider flirting with a stranger, someone outside my marriage, as healthy – like flexing a muscle. A man I don’t know can make me feel sexy and attractive in a way my husband, who sees me every day – at my best and my worst – simply can’t. A stranger doesn’t live with me. Unencumbered by the framework of cohabitation, there’s no checking in about what we’re eating for dinner; he won’t see me with morning breath and toothpaste down my top.

These brief flirtations are only about sexual chemistry – a liminal space with no past or future. They’re like ‘what ifs?’ Not secret, exactly, but a moment to squirrel away just for me.

There have been plenty in the past, and some ongoing. For instance, there’s a fellow dog walker I pass every morning, and we occasionally stop to chat.

There’s definitely something there; it’s not deep or revelatory, but an exchange of energy. I know he feels it… you can just tell when someone fancies you.

But he’s as happy to walk away from the chat as I am. I don’t know his relationship status – nor do I want to. I don’t want his phone number. I have no expectation outside of this affirmation that he fancies me. A moment purely about pleasure. I devour it and move on.

There have been similar experiences at work. too. Sometimes I think about being swept up in the arms of the security guard at one of the offices I freelance at. Plus, there’s always someone who’ll engage in some flirty banter – complimenting me on my outfit or the way I’ve chosen to style my hair, as I twirl it around my fingers and do my best sultry walk away.

Nothing hits like a man noticing how you’ve pulled together an outfit in which you feel just so.

There have been women, too, especially at my yoga class. Bodies relaxed, minds open, we share a brief acknowledgement of mutual attraction.

I might be outwardly straight and married to a man but that doesn’t mean denying other potential sides of myself. And so I indulge… up to a point.

Nothing hits like a man noticing how you’ve pulled together an outfit in which you feel just so

All our wants and desires are merely thoughts until we act on them. I can imagine what it would feel like to kiss a person. What it might feel for them to cup my face in their hands, their lips to touch mine. It makes me feel sexy. It gives me a small thrill I wrap around myself. And I like when it feels like that’s exactly what they’re thinking, too.

Danger, I suppose, is part of the allure; this stranger in front of you has the power to blow up your life – if you let them in. I always know when to step away at that exact moment before a line is crossed. If someone leaned in for a snog or touched me somewhere I didn’t want them to, I’d be quick to back off. They haven’t. Most seem to know what game we’re playing.

I can take the fantasy of it back to my marital bed. Think about it when we’re in a sexual rut.

Because often the idea of someone is more of a turn-on than the reality. Let’s face it, I don’t want to really know this person who seems fun and cute right now. I don’t want him inside my house, using my bathroom or leaving his boxers on my bedroom floor.

With their clothes on, at a respectable distance, these people are like a dream – a mirage. Flirting with a stranger can either shine a light on the deficit or it can illuminate just what you’ve got. In fact, sometimes it’s these temporary relationships we need the most. The ones who make us absolutely certain that we’re living the life we wanted – which I know I am.

I’ve asked my husband if he minds that I flirt sometimes. He said he doesn’t: ‘It’s not like it means anything, right?’

He’s observed me at it, too – a barman or a random person if we’re out for dinner or on a night out. It’s like a performance. A quick glance his way will show I’m his.

There are women out there who’ll think I’m not a girl’s girl if I flirt with abandon, but it’s up to the people in a relationship to decide its parameters. If you don’t flirt and don’t want your partner to either, tell them that. It’s not up to me to stop them. I know I’ve annoyed some wives and girlfriends – but I’m not the one they should be mad at.

I’ve also watched on as other women have flirted with my husband and observed him enjoying the interaction. Like a saleswoman at Macy’s in New York more than a decade ago we both still occasionally bring up when we reminisce.

Beyond typical sales banter, this woman really fancied him. Less secure in our relationship than I am now, I bound over to claim him. And yet, with hindsight, I see how much he enjoyed feeling handsome to someone other than me. I was jealous but I loved the feeling of it. It burned.

And I don’t want that fire to be extinguished. It’s affirming for him and, in turn, makes our sex hotter. If he’s conjuring up an image of another woman in his imagination, I don’t mind. He can share it with me, or not, that’s up to him. It gave him a boost of confidence that, to me, is sexy.

You see, I’ve realised there is this grey area – not black and white, right and wrong – but about looking beneath what we first see. Finding the nuance. It’s possible to love my husband while revelling in the attention of other men.

Maybe there’s another version of me living an entirely different version of my life. Sometimes I need to try those options on. Just for a minute or two. To see what it could feel like…

Relationships are hard work, monogamy can be a struggle. However, when I flirt with a stranger and walk away, I’m choosing my husband. Breathing new energy into a 14-year relationship, and bringing some of that sensuality back home with me.

And mostly when I flirt, I come away thinking: I miss my husband. When I look around a room, he’s always the one I want to go home with.