Inside the Lion's Den

Today, my thoughts rest upon one of my best friends from Chicago, Illinois. We've been friends for years now, and we have quite a bit in common. We work for the same place; both love to travel; both love men; both delved heavily into religion in the past; both tend to put others' needs ahead of our own; and both come from 'families' not consisting of a mother and a father -- like many conservatives define a true family to consist of.

Despite all of our similarities, it is perhaps our differences that make our friendship so strong. Most certainly, we've come to respect each other's different philosophies in life. That difference in philosophy truly shines when we go out to bars together.

You see, recently, we went out to The Mining Company -- a dark, mineshaft-themed gay bar in Dallas' Cedar Springs gayborhood. The crowd seems less pretentious there, and there's definitely an age difference between TMC and other nearby bars. Nevertheless, when we walk through those front doors and into the cavernous bellows of the lion's den within, reality blurs for my friend... and I already know how it's going to play out.

Supposedly, the inner soul thrives on one of four core engines: power, intimacy, fun, and peace -- so the color code theory goes. My friend most definitely thrives on fun... and the bare-chested go-go boys, beefy bartenders, and hot, sweaty man-skin seems to instill some sort of hope for something more meaningful down the road. TMC has just the type of man he is looking for, but deep down, he clings to the belief that he can walk out with the heart, soul, and love of any bar fly --- after a night of hot passion in the sheets.

But, I watch helplessly as a sexy bartender pours more and more liquor into his glass, and it flows into his inner child, blurring reality even further. After the bartender engages in conversation with him, he takes that as an advance -- or someone that is receptive to giving him what he wants and needs after last call. Within moments, he's passing out his phone number like free condoms.

Now, my inner soul is driven by the core engine of intimacy. I see bars as nothing more than a place to hang out with friends and have good conversation over drinks... not to mention the occasional "make-a-fool-out-of-myself" routines on the dance floor. Bartenders and go-go boys will smile, say "honey", "baby", "sweety", and all sorts of other words for one main reason... CASH. For a man looking for intimacy, they are like props in a meat market.

Don't get me wrong... I love man-watching just like the next guy, but it IS a meat market. It can even be the proverbial lion's den if you are out for one thing, but truly need another. Lust drips from the walls and onto the floor. If you see where I'm coming from, then you agree that over-emphasis on youth, appearance, and status is shoving kryptonite into the hearts for those that need more for true happiness.

Immediately, physicality has taken priority above all else... and that's totally cool if lust and physicality is all my friend wants. However, as time passes, I become more convinced that he may thrive on fun; but it's not the oil that his engine truly needs in order to run. If he is expecting something more either instantly or down the road --he will continue to walk away hurt, as he did that night... and the night before... and the night before. Then again, what do I know? I'm an over-the-hill, cynical, 30-something, cast-ironed blogger that has no sense of anything but dark realities... only because I learned important lessons the hard way.

*grin*

I love my friends to death. I would die over and over for them... and I know I can be suffocating with my opinions, to the point where I'm dangerously judgmental. It's only because I care -- not to argue who's right or wrong -- but because it sucks being used, abused, hurt, and treated like trash at the first sign of trouble. Nevertheless, from this post forward, I will bite my tongue. I'll be there for my friend to lean on. I'll be there as a drunk man's crutch between the bar counter and the car. I'll hide his keys and take him home. But in his war to snag the "perfect" bar fly, I'll opt to stand outside of the lion's cage and hope for the best.