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Sports News Without Fear, Favor or Compromise

Sex With A Professional Bull Rider: Not Eight Seconds

Illustration for article titled Sex With A Professional Bull Rider: Not Eight Seconds

For those of you who've wondered what sex with a professional bull rider sounds like, here is your answer: "It sounds like fish slapping on pavement."


Craig Childs explored the, ahem, ins and outs of Professional Bull Riding circuit for the High Country News, including this brief meditation on groupie nomenclature:

As I approach one group of riders, pen out and notebook open, the talk quickly turns to sex. A high-scoring Australian named Brendon Clark speaks loudly of "skanky bitches." Bull-riding groupies used to be dubbed "buckle bunnies," in keeping with the Western theme. Now, a shade of hip-hop culture has apparently filtered in, providing another layer for the marketing campaign.


Late one night, after a party, Childs finds himself in a hotel room, on the same floor as the bull riders.

Around midnight, the sex begins.

My bed feels like a plank as I lie on it, listening to intermittent copulation from various locations. This sport cannot be considered properly without the sex. It is one of the raw elements of bull riding, as if PBR were a straight shot to the bottom of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, a direct connection to vulgar desires.

At 3:00 a.m., I lay awake wondering how they manage to keep up with so little sleep. Maybe they have been cycling from room to room, pausing for rest in between. Maybe I'm the only one who feels like I've been tumbling around in a washing machine all night.

At 6 in the morning, it starts up again.

I come slowly awake facedown on a pillow, reminding myself why I asked for this room. I'd wanted to get as close to this sport as possible, to spend as much time with the bull riders as I could. I sure as hell was not going to actually get on a bull. But this morning I feel as if I've been in the arena all night.

I roll out of bed groggy and swipe a hotel writing pad off the nightstand. With pen in hand and my forehead against the wall, I listen through to the other side and start writing. It sounds like fish slapping on pavement.

He should give these fellows a break. The bedroom is really the one arena of their lives in which they do not require the services of a clown for a safe dismount.

The Rise of the Minotaur [High Country News]

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