[s0litude]

I discussed posting a preview with a friend of mine, and she really liked it. She liked how I described parts of the gay district in Dallas, TX. If you're familiar with the area, you may know of or have been in some of these establishments.

---

Trudging down the rain-soaked sidewalk past the “Throckmorton Mining Company” and “JR’s”, I hurried across the street as the timer ticked down and traffic waited. Baristas at the “Crossroads Market” were wiping down tables, diming lights, shelving stray books, and setting chairs upon tables. The bars were still in full-swing, and apparently, “Sue Ellen’s” had a live performance that even the muggy weather couldn’t halt. Their patio was filled with laughter, smoke, drinking, and acoustic guitar. But me? I was feeling more honky-tonk than folksy, so I continued over to the “Round Up” and made my way into the bar.

I was having another of those nights where my thoughts simply would not slow down, figured that I’d step in for a beer or two, head home, and try again to rest. One of the things I loved most about Dallas was the “District” and the fact that the city never seemed to sleep. Living a few blocks from Cedar Springs meant never having to worry about parking or calling a cab.

Over the past several months, I’d hidden away basically, worked as much as management would allow, slept when my body permitted it, ate “on autopilot”-- just enough to keep me going, but life offered little pleasure and no real comfort. It was about time that I pulled myself “out of my shell”. At this point, if I didn’t do something, I feared I’d never venture out of my safety zone again. That’s not living; that’s merely “existing”. You have to feel it to heal it, have to live outside of your comfort zone, or what’s the point really? So here I was.

Music roared out of the bar as I pulled the door open and retrieved my wallet for my ID and cover charge. It’s always much too loud here, and it used to reek of cigarette smoke until city ordinances were put into place and forced the smokers to the back patio under the awnings. Inside the club, it smelled of beer, whiskey, sweat, and fragrances of cologne and perfume applied much too heavily, too… well… “eagerly”. It was after midnight, so the baby-faced doorman just smiled and waved me in after stamping my hand. Men with men, women with women, and combinations of every gender in between moved around the dance floor under a rainbow-assortment of lights as I adjusted to the bass from the speakers ricocheting off of my body, others pressing and moving here and there by me, against me, and made my way to the bar.

A few beers, some “people watching” which I considered a hobby of mine,… hell, maybe if I saw a friend or two, I might even loosen up enough to get in a dance or two? I ordered a Sam’s [Adams] and turned on the stool to scan for familiar faces as I brought the bottle up to my lips. But then I saw her and everything froze.

Her smile, her eyes, the way the corners of her lips had a slight lift to them as she was talking to another femme over by the pool tables. Suddenly, the music didn’t seem too loud anymore, the place wasn’t nearly as crowded, and I wasn’t too sure I hadn’t fallen asleep in front of the television at this point. Was I imagining her? I had to be. In a bar this bustling, music this loud, there was no way I could hear her laughter over it all, but I would swear on my life that I could decipher her voice and laughter from the rest of the din.

---

I'll be driving up the intensity from here, so....

I'll post again when the story is complete. This is a rewrite from a similar story I did years ago. Ten years later, more sensual, less blatantly sexual,... more mature, and... well... perhaps a bit less frustrated?