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On getting laid in a nightclub

This doesn’t happen. It might happen to other people, but it never ever happens to me. Therefore it might as well be light-speed interstellar travel or a stint as Emperor of the Universe – it is an almost-impossible dream. Moreover it’s one which, frankly, I’m not sure I’d want to have anyway.

The typical night out clubbing involves meeting people in a pub or bar, getting just drunk enough that you feel at your most attractive, then heading to some odd-looking fashionable warehouse to flail madly while some preening dickhead presses play on a stereo and underpaid miserablists charge you £20 for a gin and tonic.

That does not make me feel very sexy. Let’s break it down:

Groups of friends

Few people go clubbing on their own – they go with friends. And in a group of friends it is much more difficult to make an initial approach. What if your friends see you and whisper behind their hands? What if they’re nudging you towards him/her like you’re nrvously asking for a snog at the school disco? What if all of his/her friends laugh as you approach, or loudly tell you that your chosen one is taken?

Loud music

I don’t want to sound like your moaning grandma, but I am about to do just that: why the living arsefuck (yes, in my head your gran talks just like this) do you want to go somewhere where you can’t hear what anyone’s saying? Why do the kids these days insist on placing themselves in rooms with noise so penetrating that you can’t think, let alone share a coherent and captivating sentence or two with your neighbour?


Nightclubs are hot. They are boiling, boiling hot. I would no more try to approach a stranger in a nightclub than I would insist on jogging to a first date.

Yes, my sweat is beautiful and arousing and gets your dick hard when we’re in bed together, but if the first time you meet me I’m humming like a tramps’ sauna, chances are you’ll be unlikely to want to dick me.


No. Unless you’re stunningly good at it, nightclub dancing is a shockingly difficult way to get laid. It’s a very distant descendant of the partner dances our grandparents did together, but somehow all the beauty and sex has been stripped out of it until it’s just a repulsive husk of its former self – a rutting, gyrating dignity-killer that leaves us all looking like someone’s last choice.

Tea dancing, swing dancing, anything you do with a partner is fucking sexy. Beautiful. It’s closeness and warmth and the good, good scent of your partner and – if you’re lucky – the feeling of their growing erection pressing into your hips. It’s whispering into their ear that you want to squeeze it and making plans for later in the evening. Your grandparents did this – it’s why you are here.

What happened to that sort of dancing? What happened to chatting, and wooing, and subtle glances? Why do we now feel like we have to dance like we’re actually humping things in mid-air, or cavorting wildly with some invisible partner? I want men to sidle up to me, tap me on the shoulder, and take me by the hands. I want to get wetter and wetter as I feel their hands stray – ever so slowly – to my bottom. I don’t want to have to rub my crotch on them while they gurn over my shoulder and twist their hips around like they’ve got scorpions attacked to their bollocks.

It’s obscene.

I’m a massive fucking pervert – I love strip clubs and Beyoncé videos and all the rest of it – but even I have an issue with the idea that to pull someone you must first embarass yourself with undignified dancing until you’re dripping with a stinking sweat, eschew all forms of verbal communication then complete your advances by performing a borderline sexual assault on someone and hoping they don’t punch you in the face.

Sorry, that was a bit ranty, but it’s true. Even if you love clubbing, and live for the nights where you drop some pills and punch the sky in a delicious orgy of pleasure and music and people, I still don’t think you’d say the club is a sexy place to be.

Proof: If you pull someone at a pub, would you bother taking your fresh and eager loved one to a nightclub? No. You’d whisk them off to your house, slap on some Janis Joplin, and slow dance them until they’re utterly drenched in fuck.


  • MWStory says:

    Completely agree- a standard, generic nightclub exists mainly as a ‘fun’ night of last resort. Anybody with anything better to do will be away doing it, so they are already mainly attracting a customer base who lack imagination or forward planning. The loud music is beneficial to the club owner as people who are not talking will drink more- this also why the heat is on full blast to make you thirsty and there are few tables or flat surfaces in many places, so if you are holding the drink you’ll sip it till it’s gone then buy another. Yay capitalism!
    The music thing has another dimension too- the inability to hear what anyone is saying is annoying to you but can be prized by people who lack conversation skills or are terribly shy. While you are frustrated by your lack of communication with your prospective partner, they might be thanking the landlord for giving them an opportunity to interact with strangers without worrying about finding something interesting to say.
    I think you maybe just need to realise that nightclubs are just not aimed at you!

    • girlonthenet says:

      Yep, totally see your point about the ‘keep ’em drinking’ equation – it clearly works very well. On the few occasions I’ve ventured into nightclubs I have bizarrely felt the need to drink until I am incapable of recognising the hell that I am in.

      They’re definitely not aimed at me =)

  • Fat Tom says:

    Everything you say about nightclubs is true even if one isn’t going to get a shag in a month of Sundays. Not relevant to the blog, but glad you’ve said it.

  • Shreena says:

    This sort of scenario doesn’t tend to play out in the night clubs I go to (admittedly, these are of the more niche goth/retro/fetish variety) but I still wholeheartedly agree with this:

    “I’m a massive fucking pervert – I love strip clubs and Beyoncé videos and all the rest of it – but even I have an issue with the idea that to pull someone you must first embarass yourself with undignified dancing until you’re dripping with a stinking sweat, eschew all forms of verbal communication then complete your advances by performing a borderline sexual assault on someone and hoping they don’t punch you in the face.”

    Amen, woman. Funny thing is, for all of this “sexual display” and the associated dressing like a typical slapper, these are the people that will get most nervous or offended when you try to be upfront about sex.

  • Kandy says:

    “I’m a massive fucking pervert”

    Errr, based on what you’ve published on this blog I disagree. But you’re right about nightclubs.

  • Paul says:

    I think it would be wise of you to do an article on “The game” someday.
    Some guys think it is the be all and end of how to get laid.

  • Lucia says:

    Hmmmm… Yes and no.

    Standard issue straight nightclub is the yes part. The smell of desperation, the school disco feel of the start of the night where people are not pissed enough yet and the girls are posturing and flicking their hair while the boys are staring and are too paralysed by being rejected, they are standing there like spare pricks at the wedding. Then after 15 Jaegermeisters and 12 pints everyone moves from that state into falling about drunkenly, brawling, snogging and necking with a grace and composition of a drunk falling into a pile of binbags and then move to an inevitable blowie with a stranger in a dirty alleyway somewhere in leicester Square. So fuck yeah – no.

    Interestingly, I find straight nightclubs fucking seedy. It’s the preening and posturing, the princesses clad in Dorothy Perkins waiting for their Ben Sherman shirted Prince Charming, and then when enough booze is consumed,

    No. A decent fetish nightclub. A Torture Garden on a good night is a hoot. Not only because the burlesque, the weird and the damn right twisted sexuality just oozes out of people but also because the agenda is squarely at the table. Flirt, snog, finger and fuck if you want to, and have a drink and boogie and a damn good chat with like minded people if you don’t. I flirted, I pulled, I fucked there happily.

    Apart from that – a gay nightclub. Again, not seedy (well, the mainstream ones that will allow straights in, not the stark bollock naked fisting party variety) because the sexual agenda is on the table, plus everyone is comfortably off their tits, gays don’t usually fight and are friendly party animals with good conversation and general feel of inclusivity. You can boogie away as a girl and, funnily enough, pull too, often quirky off the wall guys who end up there because they fancy a boogie too (and not risk getting punched in the face if you look at someone’s bird or something), like the odd smattering of freely available drugs and are generally a bit more open minded too.

    Bloody love this blog by the way. Good work there Madame

  • Lucia says:

    Blah – typed too quickly… …and when enough booze is consumed all of the sudden the agenda is on the table. But it was there all the way and everyone pretended it was not. So there.

  • Realname Honestly says:

    Sometimes I think its nightclub owners who lobby hardest against sensible prostitution laws. (i.e. none)
    This post brings back some grim memories. It would have been better if I had never scored any sex in nightclubs, but just like the mice that get fed chocolate at random intervals by the mad scientists.

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