To my deep regret, I stopped into The Loft Friday night.
The spot I once enjoyed (at an earlier time in my life) now offers little more than a sweaty mass of horny freshmen, and no space to move or stand or breathe.
I went to meet up with a group of old high school friends and agreed to dance with one of them, only to discover that dancing with a guy can tell you everything you need to know about what he'll be like in bed.
It's no secret that the dancing we do downtown is just simulated sex, anyway. Like a less-than-complicated mating ritual, we can decide on the spot whether or not it's worth our wild to go home with a guy ... or duck out after one dance.
Because there are no secrets on the dance floor.
We can weed out the assholes and the virgins and the gay guys.
If he's thrusting his crotch around in a lost and confused manner, or if he seems in awe of the fact that a girl is actually willing to rub her ass against his groin for an extended period of time, you've probaby got yourself a grade A virgin.
If he's pounding you mercilessly with his denim cock (to quote Dane Cook) as if he was already doing the deed, he's probably the kind of guy who'd finish in two minutes and then get up and leave, without nary a thought to satisfying your needs.
Because if he doesn't care about your comfort and pleasure on the dance floor, he's going to care even less in bed.
The guy you want is smooth -- he wants to make you comfortable and happy, not get off inside his pants.
His dance style is gentle but firm, and he knows how to put the moves on you without violating your space.
My friend was not this guy.
His dance style -- which amounted to beating me with his crotch -- told me he was both a virgin and a two minute man.
I soon turned tail and moved on in search of better mate material, a little sorer than before.