In a world shrouded by darkness, deep beneath the floor of a sophisticated cocktail bar with live mellow jazz, a faint rumbling rythm can be heard. As one descends stairs into the underworld lair, the faint rumble becomes a heart thumping techno beat, a swarm of male and female humans carouse, imbibing drinks of various colors, and orient concentrically around the source of their audio energy. In the center of the den is an open area bathed in an purplish light causing white to glow brightly on its occupants, and where the droning bass beat is concentrated. To one side is the control area where the evening’s hosts spin their discs of synchronic acoustic ecstatic madness. Their listeners communicate with them via calls of pleasure and crescendos of body and sound intereaction.
This hidden dance floor is the location of a strange and ancient form of human mating dynamic that was thought to be extinct from the modern “civilized” human world.
I entered the dance floor, and joined in the festival of Holoplot immersive sound and light, enjoying the beat and darkness, the splash of neon green glowing stars cast upon the ceiling, rotating slowly as the Heavens do.
I bumped into an old friend of mine, who also happened to be there for the same reason, and she and I danced across from one another for a short while, enjoying each others smiles and company.
Suddenly a young man of stocky weight-trained build, close shaven head, tight-fitting clothes moved in from my left, inserting himself dramatically between me and my friend. We had been no more than a foot or two apart, but he squeezed in none the less, intent, no doubt, on having the spoils of companionship of my woman friend for himself. I couldn’t help but laugh and think to my self, “Oh my goodness, this guy really wants my friend.” He moved in on her like a starving jackal on a tasty meal. He moved in close to her, consuming her boundary, matching her moves, even steering her to some degree, setting the pace, making her go his way. At some point, perhaps he took too much, pushed too far, wanted too much, as she moved away, didn’t reciprocate, and changed direction. He moved on at some point. I had moved on in my attention, watching the dance floor, the mixing of physical energies.
A little later I saw another young man, a more suave guy, with similarly short hair, but with glasses, a slender build, with a more “intelligent” look. As I observed the dynamics of the dance floor through the evening, I couldn’t help but notice this man’s method of approaching his counterparts in eros, severa times, several women, all with the same method. After some as yet still unkown connection had initiated, he would stop dancing, stand still, cock his head down like a bull fighter facing his prey, with a wry smile, slowly advance towards the young, still dancing, woman, who is meanwhile smiling and seeming a bit unsure of what his intentions are, and yet expecting and looking forward to them.
As he gets close he begins a sultry movement of harmony with her, slowing her down, making each movement deeper, longer. They move together erotically, slowly, grinding on each other. One time, he moved his head in for a kiss, with slow steady pressure, on the neck, to the side, advancing, approaching her lips, intent on success. She was laughing, surprised, resisting, feeling pleasure, consenting, then resisting further progress, laughing again, moving with him, laughing “no,” then relenting, but never kissing, maintaining that limit.
Last, but not least, the most memorable of examples of this ancient mating ritual occured as I was reclining on a seat at the edge of the dance floor, admiring the movement of a young woman who was dancing alone near me. She was of a smaller build, with glasses, having an almost nerdish look, but sexy. She had me even considering plying some of the techniques I’d been watching. Maybe I’d be more moderate, and find the pleasure of the anonymous physical contact without making too much of a scene, a nonverbal compliment to her movement. But I was tired and almost ready to leave, so I was a bit relieved to see another guy approaching her.
This one was the tallest of the men, at least 6’4″, maybe taller, a local redneck type, baseball cap, provincial body language, slow, dominant nature. He moved in on her, she turned away. He pressed up against her, she continued dancing, as others had during similar advances, him rubbing up against herr backside, her continuing her booty bumping. She seems to be working with him, and yet he continues to push on her, a full foot higher than her, with outright physical dominance, further towards the edge of the dancec floor, closer, closer, halfway off the edge of the floor. She seems unsure of what to do, what his intentions are, she turns, moves aside, he moves away.
They part and continue dancing, she turns moves back onto the floor, he advances again, this time she doesn’t turn away, and they move together, grinding as before. This time after a short while of this, the guy moves in right away to kiss her, perhaps assuming such overwhelming dominance is on his side, she’s no match for him, and yet she resists, turns, pushes him away, seems offended. After a short while which seems long, he gets the message and backs off, kind of saunters away. She returns to dancing where she had been before several feet back onto the floor, but still near the edge, and I could swear I saw her wipe a tear from her eye.
But here he comes again … but just grabs her a bit and says something to her. She half nods, not turning to lookat him, as if to say, “ya, whatever, just go away.”
But now I am wondering. Why the tear? Did I really see that? Was it because she had been anticipating the approach of a man, had been wishing for some guy to pay some attention to her, to notice her dancing there by her self, to be drawn in by her passion, her seriousness? Perhaps she had even had her eye on him, the tallest and seemingly most dominant of the men, and yet he let her down, disappointed, was so much less subtle than she had hoped. Her ideal of balance of braun with brains was denied, and she just got overwhelming braun. Or maybe she was hoping someone else would come near. Perhaps even me, as I was sitting near her, watching her. What if she was inviting me to dance with her, and I was the one who disappointed.
I had had a similar thought earlier in the night when a tall skinny black haired, tight black-clothed young woman, with mascara, to make an intriguing, sultry effect, had come near me, as I danced on the edge facing inward, with the bass beat behind me, as if I was the source of the acoustic sustenance that was feeding this tribe. She danced near me, close enough to get my attention, sometimes almost facing me, sometimes away, but never having eye contact, never making what I would consider a “connection.” And yet, she was unmistakably capturing my attention, paradoxically. This is my first time on this floor. Is this a “connection” in this new techno beat language? I don’t know. I don’t act. I don’t move in, not really sure if I want to, or if I am even comfortable enough with the music and beats to bring anything to the table of grinding with her hips, of moving in synch. But, regardless, at some point she seemed to stop, and walk away in a huff, as if she had been denied. Was that because of me? Did I deny her without even knowing it?
Perhaps this mating dynamic is more subtle than I’d thought, at least in terms of the women’s behavior. Perhaps the women only need to give off the most minimal of signals to attract a male, if any, only needing to be in the general vicinity and not currently preoccupied with another onslaught of male dominance. This will require further study, including some of a more first-person, up-close and personal nature.