Prof. Tim and his “friend” arrived late. Chicago, airports, not a good idea. He was all keen to go to “Secrets” which is a male strip club in DC. There are few places like Secrets in the United States, a gaggle of fully naked guys roaming about. It’s a token sort of place I might take an out of town visitor.
For me though, the place is down right boring. It’s all fake. Strippers, despite their perhaps good looks, are very insecure and needy and the money isn’t bad either. To entertain myself, I focus on the patrons. Old men, graying, thinning hair, look like they just came from some insignificant government job. This is the highlight of their weekend. For all I know they’ll go home to the Misses. No harm done. They have their secret. Younger guys, may be playing in straight, here they can get their eyes full, before going home to a girl friend. No harm done.
I struggle with the intense sexual energy from men. It’s like a drug. A drug one can get addicted to. I watch the intensity of the eyes of these men in a club. It’s not just gay men. I’ve had to endure my share of ladies strip joints in all the great places like Montreal, Toronto, Calgary, Dallas, Ottawa (Canada has some really good spots). I’ve watched friends drop hundreds of dollars with not so much as a kiss. The animal look in their eyes vanishes in the cold of the parking lot, back to their hotel, they will resume their married life. But for a brief moment, they were wanted by these illusionary people.
In all of these examples, there is a some hidden delight at having a secret. I remember as a child, bursting at the seams, if I felt I had some secret knowledge within (“Suzie likes Billie”). This seems to continue to adult life. We all seem to be looking for excitement.
My game of simple observation doesn’t provide me any secrets or hidden delight. It simply raises to me more questions about humanity. We constantly like to ‘advertise’ that we are one type of person, but our actions speak so differently. Ah the diohotomy of life.
I too have secrets. Things I don’t write about no matter how public I might think I am. You have secrets as well.
I am searching for some level of happiness as if it’s a destination to suddenly emerge from the clouds as the plane sets down. Intellectually, I know it’s more about the journey. But I crane my neck, wanting it to be around the next bend, failing at that moment to simply take in where I’m at.