Poontang Safari: An anthropological study of mating rituals in the urban Serengeti

Posted by Beth Dylan on Jun 30, 2010 in Blog, Contemplation | 1 comment

Over the past few years, I’ve watched enough NatGeo to know that when it comes to sex, pretty much anything goes. But truth be told, the sex really isn’t what makes things interesting– although seeing a male giraffe trying to mount a female at the zoo was good for a chuckle.

It’s more about what goes on before sex. How is it that two individuals wind up in the sack together? What exactly took place to get them there? My education on mating rituals has been twofold: the detached viewing of wild animals searching for a mate courtesy of National Geographic, and the up-close and personal exposure to the randy desperation of pub crawlers lookin’ to get laid. It was through participating in a pub crawl myself that I observed the rituals that comprise an average night’s partner hunt.

For the purpose of this piece, I will give a pseudonym to the friends I accompanied to the various bars on our journey. Cola is a rather quiet guy, and Iron was more extroverted. They had both been out to the same couple of places recently, so they had a pretty good idea of what the hot-spots would be. While Cola didn’t explicitly state his intentions, Iron made it clear he was looking to get some action. They had observed a trend in the patrons of a certain sports bar nearby, which goes a little something like this:

A sports bar seems like the type of place a bunch of men would frequent. These men might sit at the bar, suck down a pitcher or two of cheap domestic macrobrew, and watch whatever games were on TV. Women, who are out looking to hook up with men, are aware that a sports bar would probably have a higher concentration of men and visit in the hopes that the male/female proportion will be in their favor. Therefore, the concentration of women looking specifically for men will be higher in a sports bar, because that’s where women think the men will be.

Based on this hypothesis, it was decided that the drinking and cavorting would be best done at the sports bar that had a dance club upstairs.

So we went.

Once we were in the bar, we made our way to the dance floor to put the guys in closer proximity to potential hookup partners. While making use of the ever-popular dance sensation, the Caucasian Lunge/Retreat (AKA the default “I can’t dance” dance), I watched as my friends positioned themselves behind or next to a woman. Without openly hitting on her, Cola and Iron worked to get the attention of their targets by dancing wildly or accidentally bumping into her.

After about thirty minutes of vigorous “dancing” and watching as my friends tried to work their subtle charm, I decided to be bolder and grab the focus of a guy by slyly placing my hand on his buttocks. My boldness was rewarded with a few minutes of good-humored dancing before he turned back to his own target.

Now this was a crucial realization for me: by not caring if I left the club alone or had to buy my own drinks, I was free to act however I wanted. Because I wasn’t out to impress someone, I could brazenly pinch asses and hump-dance with whoever was interested. So pinch asses and hump-dance I did.

As my friends and I situated ourselves more in the middle of the throbbing mob of people, we found ourselves face-to-face with a guy Cola and I had met as we entered the bar. I’ll call this specimen Dolittle.

Dolittle originally thought Cola and I were together. He developed an irrationally mounting interest in me once I divulged that not only were Cola I not Chitty-Chitty Bang-Banging, but that I had siphoned males from my dating pool entirely. Dolittle’s reaction was typical of men of his caliber, and I politely declined when he offered me his cock if I ever found myself needing it in the future. What a generous, selfless guy.

When retrospectively making judgments on Dolittle’s behavior, I came to the following possible conclusions:

A) He went to the bar without intending to find some adequately-intoxicated female to hook up with.
B) He was interested in hooking up if it happened, but would be just as content to have fun where he was.
C) He figured he could rile me up enough to forget how I’m oriented.

[In reference to C, I commented to Cola that it was common for men to hit on really unavailable women because they think that with enough effort, they can be that guy to straighten her out. I likened this approach to pushing on a door marked "pull." It's an amusing use of bravado, but ultimately a waste of effort.]

Regardless of what his  intentions had been before we serendipitously met, he seemed to quite driven to pursue Option C’s course of action. And in true player fashion, I led the headstrong hetero along like a desperate and dreamy little puppy.

Dolittle, eager to be so close to a woman who seemed to be having fun with him, began to get a little grabby-handed toward the end of the night. And this is where lack of interest was in my favor. I traded a grope for a drink. Gin and tonic. I thought it was pretty fair.

So I drank his drink, said goodnight, declined his multiple offers to go home with him, and disappeared from his life forever. Did I use him? Perhaps. But do I mind? Not one bit. Because it’s use or be used in this club-scene jungle. And it’s play or be played. And with the right attitude, anybody can turn themselves from being prey to being predator.

For me, that attitude just happens to be apathy. Armed with apathy, boldness, charisma, and a d-z’s worth of other helpful character traits, I can be the ultimate hunter.

And so can you.

[This post is dedicated to the memory and tenacity of Iron, without whom this crawl might have never taken place.]