There is a subtle and subversive beauty to walking into a strange bar for the first time.
I felt it that day. The neighborhood was new to me, and I was adrift because the guy I was in the neighborhood to find didn't answer his door. What could I do?
I found a little pub instead off the main boulevard that afternoon and it was a lovely haven, at once unfamiliar and yet altogether too familiar ... I had been there countless times, even though I'd never before set foot in the place. When my eyes adjusted to the room, I noticed a woman sitting about halfway down the bar ...
She was a full figured lass, well-dressed in a skirt and with tasteful pumps on her stockinged feet, and she sat with an air of poise and containment, as if she were totally in control not only of herself but of anything or anybody that would come close to her ... an independent woman alone at the bar. I was immediately smitten and intrigued ... I have always had a profound & pronounced weakness for strong women, and this woman had an undeniable aura of strength and command about her . . . what an awesome and irresistible allure!
No surprise then that I sent her a drink, in all humble appreciation. I was already under the spell of that intoxicating air of command that she projected. It was as if she had claimed me without my slightest objection -- Game. Set. And match. When she smiled in my direction, I picked up my own drink and moved down the bar.
"Hello," I began, "my name is Ra's Elf ... and yours?"
She turned towards me and her eyes delved candidly into my own. She was clearly and obviously an intelligent woman, but there was also a quality that went deeper -- when she looked at me I could feel her gaze reach down deep into the pit of my belly, as if she had found out my most private essence. She was a knowing woman, and she already knew me! The sensation was alarming, and I could feel my manly pride commence to bow at the waist -- although I didn't know it right off, what she was staking claim to was my own willingness to be altered and transformed from my male social nature into something much more privately compliant and malleable.
"I am Marilyn," she said, "and I thank you for offering me a drink ... usually I won't accept a drink from a stranger, but you seem harmless enough ... " There was a slight mocking purr to her voice, something ever so slightly cat-like β¦
The way she said it put me in a coy turmoil -- she was clearly flirting, but there was an unnerving edge to her manner, as if she fully anticipated my eagerness and was bound and determined to allow me every chance to expose my male weaknesses. Her comment about me seeming "harmless enough" seemed calculated to poke at my male pride. I was both confused and aroused and I knew then that I would be unable to say a single word that did not reveal my hopelessly adorational nature. I was already lost and Yes! it was so very true that I was harmless enough -- harmless enough that she could render my pride into whatever supplicantβs posture her strong nature desired.
"Well thank you so much for accepting the drink," I stammered, "you seemed so all alone and all I wanted was for you to feel welcome."
"I do feel welcome, Ra's Elf," she said, "your concern is noted and wholly appreciated. And since you are a rather attractive fellow, I'd love to hear more, but I have other business today -- perhaps you will join me Thursday evening -- there is a discreet little room I know over across the river -- a place called Secrets -- do you know it?" The mocking purr had left her voice, replaced with something much crisper, an undeniable certitude and assurance.
I did know that place. I had been there several times, usually after having toured that small rivertown's assortment of titty bars. I would come into Secrets with a frazzled, horny buzz on, and I would stand at the bar uncomfortably, as if everybody in the place knew that I had been at the titty bars and was in a keen state of low arousal ... I'd try to be normal and cool, composed and in control, yet I always felt that I could not hide my secrets well enough in Secrets -- I always felt as if everybody had my number. Secrets was a bar I liked, but it was not a bar I really understood. Which was about to change ...
Even though Secrets was an unremarkable enough tavern -- several tall tables in discretely dim lighting off away from the bar, a small dance floor and a tidy wee staging area, three pool tables in an adjoining room one could see down into from the bar, two televisions at either ends of the bar, a couple of goofy video game modules on the bar, one week-end night a week for karaoke, the other week-end night with a dj -- nothing really out of the ordinary, but as I thought about it, Secrets actually was oddly and unnervingly unusual, it had a flavor to it, rather subtle ... a typical bar but somehow not a typical bar, in a way I could not quite put my finger on -- yes, and it was odd and yet it seemed wholly appropriate for this poised and ever so obviously accomplished lady to mention Secrets.
"I've been there a few times," I responded, "it's a nice joint, but why would you want me to meet you there?"