Discovering the Mother Lode

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As a chronically single male about every six months or so I get the urge to immerse myself in the dating pool, and try to find companionship. More often than not these endeavors go horribly awry, but there was one time I discovered the holy grail of dating locations purely by accident. A friend of mine, who had recently come out of the closet, decided he wanted to celebrate his newly reveled sexuality, and embrace in the homosexual lifestyle. However, this was still a big step for him, and he was more than a little frightened.

He asked me if I would be willing to go to a gay bar with him.

On a side note, I truly believe that those who are secure with their own sexuality are comfortable with other peoples as well. It’s the ones who are raging homophobes whose sexuality I truly question and can’t help but wonder why it is such a touchy subject for them. I happen to be very comfortable with who I am as a sexual being, so I’m not threatened by gay people at all.

I told my friend I would be happy to be his wingman.

Once at the bar, I ordered the Red Bull and whatever special, found my house music beat, and settled in to watch the shenanigans. This was when I hit pay dirt. Apparently women sometimes just want to go out dancing and drinking with their female friends, and not have to worry about being hit on by all the creepy men. One of the logical places for them to do this is at a predominately male gay bar. It makes perfect sense.

However, there was a small flaw in this plan that worked greatly to my advantage; when human beings take the time to dress themselves up and go out in the world, they like to be noticed and appreciated. There were several women at the club, dressed to the nines, helping each other get their respected grooves back, and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. As I watched I noticed several of these women being offended because they were being snubbed by all the men in the bar. While it was true they escaped the hassles of being hit upon, they also missed out on having someone buying them drinks, treating them like they were special, or even noticing them much at all.

Be careful what you wish for.

After my fourth Red Bull and whatever, I was out on the dance floor, in full rave mode when one of the girls danced over by me and asked why I was dancing all by myself when I had so many delicious men around to choose from. My friend (bless his heart) heard this and explained to the woman how I wasn’t gay and was only there to support him through a difficult transition.

I was golden.

When word got out that there was a heterosexual male in the place, I had women who wouldn’t have given me the time of day under normal circumstances, buying my drinks and giving me numbers. Not only was I the straight guy, but I was the sensitive, caring straight guy who supported his friends.

I would be hard pressed to think of a time when I felt more desired or appreciated.

I felt bad because my friend ended up being a far better wingman for me than I did for him. On the cab ride home (way to many Red Bulls and whatever’s), my friend asked if I would be willing to sacrifice myself again for his romantic endeavors the next weekend.

Sometimes being a good friend is hard.

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