Going through life as I did I felt like an alien. In moments of reflection I slowly realized that many didn’t have the same experiences that I did. They didn’t have the same viewpoints about interactions between men and women. Oh sure I met other men who called themselves players. Men who would share tales of their schemes of seduction and on the surface seemed liked the favored group of men. I would watch, as they would entice their female prey with verbal aphrodisiacs hoping to loosen hardened defenses. Superficially it seemed like these Lotharios were indeed the smooth talking persuaders they projected themselves to be. Indeed I felt I could share my deepest thoughts with kindred spirits. I would begin to open up and then as I watched the faces of my supposed peers I would witness their facades crumble as easily as a house of cards as their confidence gave way to seething envy.
These were not my Brethren, my brothers in spirit. These were imposters, masked men. The type studied by psychologists and amateur sociologists. A few have even written books claiming to be insiders into an exclusive club for which they renounced their membership. Perhaps they did through a newfound spiritual insight or an inability to keep up with numerous fabrications. Maybe they do indeed speak for a certain class of men. I would read their work and except for a paragraph here or a statement there I have not seen a full recognition of my Brethren in general, and myself in particular.
The reality is that only a few can call themselves Mr. Goodbar. With the exception of a close circle of Brethren nurtured over the trial and error of time, I can go months without encountering another of my
kind. We’re like phantoms in the night, shadows out the corner of your eye. We are anomalies in plain sight.
So who is Mr. Goodbar?
Is he a man of uncommon beauty and impeccable grooming?
Is he a smooth talker knowing all the right words to say to capture a woman’s heart?
Is he a celebrity whose fame and fortune make him a god among mortals?
Is he a man of status as money and power do serve for some as an aphrodisiac?
He is potentially all of these.
He is really none of these.
Mr. Goodbar is simply a man who is the object of carnal desire for many women. The key to understanding him is that WOMEN THROW THEMSELVES AT THIS MAN. Where other men are predators he is prey. His lure is not a smooth conversation or his credit line. It’s his mystique that says to women, “I’m not pressed to be with you. If you want to be with me you’re going to have to work.”
I have met several Goodbars over the years. They were considered handsome but not necessarily pretty boy gorgeous. They had decent builds but not always like Adonis. They certainly were not famous and money was not their primary attraction. The only thing they had in common was the quality of their relationships.
One of my Brethren defied the conventional wisdom of the “experts” as his lure for women was not a smooth rap as he was soft spoken nor his material goods as for a long time he lacked so much as a
motor vehicle and the place he laid his head was only a step above a housing project. Yet his quiet ways were all the enticement women needed as they braved the falling plaster in his bedroom to sample the delights he provided. Others of my Brethren were similar to he as they defied the prevailing media image of a ladies’ man.
Mr. Goodbar is never the obvious one. He is not the one who walks into the party with a designer suit and a cell phone in hand projecting an image of monumental self-importance as he hopes to catch the attention of the attractive women in the room. Mr. Goodbar is over in the corner looking deeply into a lady’s eyes as she vibes off of his masculine energy. While his attention is on this one, making her feel as if she is the
most beautiful woman in the universe, the other women look on in envy as they wish they could be the focus of his piercing gaze.
Women don’t necessarily want the flashy man. Often they want the quiet low-key one who can
exercise discretion as many of these women are looking for a respite from dull and inattentive husbands and boyfriends. Most men wearing a player’s façade are far from discreet as their game is to draw obvious attention to themselves.
When my Brethren and I encounter each other there is a look of wary recognition. There are only a few of us and many imposters. Trust is hard to establish as those who seek to compete or undermine our rapport with the opposite sex have burned many of us. Slowly we would open to each other and in confirming that we were indeed kindred spirits talk of things buried deep within. It’s a relief as we can live a lonely existence. Many of us are in pain though we may not necessarily verbalize it. I remember how one of my Brethren wished he could be an ordinary man who could be content with one woman. Another
wanted to leave the city in hope of starting anew. Many prematurely married in hopes of changing their seductive ways until they found out many women were intrigued by the challenge of conquering a married man.
Despite the numerous women there is a spiritual price to pay. There’s emptiness at times, for sex is more than physical. There is a part of us that desires an emotional connection but the women who flock to us aren’t interested in our deepest thoughts. They just want to get their fix like a junkie tapping his arm;
instead they tap their thighs. They want the fire they miss in their ordinary lives. Then when we tire of them and send them on their way, they call us unfeeling and callous, at least until they need their next fix.
I laugh when I hear men who claim they have given up their “player card”. I know they are not my Brethren as what we are is something that cannot be discarded as easily as an out of date suit. Mr. Goodbar is who he is down to the core of being. His only escape is death.
These were not my Brethren, my brothers in spirit. These were imposters, masked men. The type studied by psychologists and amateur sociologists. A few have even written books claiming to be insiders into an exclusive club for which they renounced their membership. Perhaps they did through a newfound spiritual insight or an inability to keep up with numerous fabrications. Maybe they do indeed speak for a certain class of men. I would read their work and except for a paragraph here or a statement there I have not seen a full recognition of my Brethren in general, and myself in particular.
The reality is that only a few can call themselves Mr. Goodbar. With the exception of a close circle of Brethren nurtured over the trial and error of time, I can go months without encountering another of my
kind. We’re like phantoms in the night, shadows out the corner of your eye. We are anomalies in plain sight.
So who is Mr. Goodbar?
Is he a man of uncommon beauty and impeccable grooming?
Is he a smooth talker knowing all the right words to say to capture a woman’s heart?
Is he a celebrity whose fame and fortune make him a god among mortals?
Is he a man of status as money and power do serve for some as an aphrodisiac?
He is potentially all of these.
He is really none of these.
Mr. Goodbar is simply a man who is the object of carnal desire for many women. The key to understanding him is that WOMEN THROW THEMSELVES AT THIS MAN. Where other men are predators he is prey. His lure is not a smooth conversation or his credit line. It’s his mystique that says to women, “I’m not pressed to be with you. If you want to be with me you’re going to have to work.”
I have met several Goodbars over the years. They were considered handsome but not necessarily pretty boy gorgeous. They had decent builds but not always like Adonis. They certainly were not famous and money was not their primary attraction. The only thing they had in common was the quality of their relationships.
One of my Brethren defied the conventional wisdom of the “experts” as his lure for women was not a smooth rap as he was soft spoken nor his material goods as for a long time he lacked so much as a
motor vehicle and the place he laid his head was only a step above a housing project. Yet his quiet ways were all the enticement women needed as they braved the falling plaster in his bedroom to sample the delights he provided. Others of my Brethren were similar to he as they defied the prevailing media image of a ladies’ man.
Mr. Goodbar is never the obvious one. He is not the one who walks into the party with a designer suit and a cell phone in hand projecting an image of monumental self-importance as he hopes to catch the attention of the attractive women in the room. Mr. Goodbar is over in the corner looking deeply into a lady’s eyes as she vibes off of his masculine energy. While his attention is on this one, making her feel as if she is the
most beautiful woman in the universe, the other women look on in envy as they wish they could be the focus of his piercing gaze.
Women don’t necessarily want the flashy man. Often they want the quiet low-key one who can
exercise discretion as many of these women are looking for a respite from dull and inattentive husbands and boyfriends. Most men wearing a player’s façade are far from discreet as their game is to draw obvious attention to themselves.
When my Brethren and I encounter each other there is a look of wary recognition. There are only a few of us and many imposters. Trust is hard to establish as those who seek to compete or undermine our rapport with the opposite sex have burned many of us. Slowly we would open to each other and in confirming that we were indeed kindred spirits talk of things buried deep within. It’s a relief as we can live a lonely existence. Many of us are in pain though we may not necessarily verbalize it. I remember how one of my Brethren wished he could be an ordinary man who could be content with one woman. Another
wanted to leave the city in hope of starting anew. Many prematurely married in hopes of changing their seductive ways until they found out many women were intrigued by the challenge of conquering a married man.
Despite the numerous women there is a spiritual price to pay. There’s emptiness at times, for sex is more than physical. There is a part of us that desires an emotional connection but the women who flock to us aren’t interested in our deepest thoughts. They just want to get their fix like a junkie tapping his arm;
instead they tap their thighs. They want the fire they miss in their ordinary lives. Then when we tire of them and send them on their way, they call us unfeeling and callous, at least until they need their next fix.
I laugh when I hear men who claim they have given up their “player card”. I know they are not my Brethren as what we are is something that cannot be discarded as easily as an out of date suit. Mr. Goodbar is who he is down to the core of being. His only escape is death.
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