By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
"What the hell is that?" asked Nadia Mir, looking at her younger, drunker sister with amused disgust.
"Coochie popping," replied Noreen Mir, as her gay male friend danced with his face in her lap and his bottom in the air. This was the scene on a recent Friday night at Nocturnal (50 NE 11th St, Miami; 305-576-6996).
Around the crowded club, cameras flashed to capture pairs dancing lewdly. If ever one needed a crash course in human mating rituals, this would be the place to go. Testosterone-fueled men on the prowl were everywhere, while a few scantily clad women danced alone (this being the common ratio of sexes in such environments). In an almost ceremonial fashion, a single male and female would sniff each other out and engage in a premating dance some refer to as dry humping.
But the road to this promised land of sex and copped feels is not easily traveled. To get in, you need to have a connection, or serious patience. Otherwise you will most likely be ignored, unless you are willing to shell out twenties to the doorman.
Inside the club a continuous current of people floated around the bar like ocean detritus. There was no standing room, and patrons had to keep moving, lest they disrupt the parade of swaggering, thuggish types. The DJ seemed aware of this as he played Ludacris's "Move Bitch," the pervading theme of the evening.
"Let me get a sip," Jeff Lindsay said to a bystander. It was more of a demand than a question, as he snatched a Jack and Coke from another guy's hand. The owner of the drink complied without so much as a blink of an eye. Perhaps he understood that Lindsay was in need of a break after booty dancing with every portly woman in sight.