Advertorial: Click click, ding dong

In the early days of human civilization, we had the cavemen. These souls would get up every day, and hunt for food while their women folk would gather nuts and berries and sew together buffalo skins to cover up their rude bits.

We now live in the era of convenience, where everything is available at the touch of a button and can be delivered to your door in 5-7 working days for a low fee, VAT inclusive. Our clothing is easily available, as is our food, our entertainment, our relaxation, our medical facilities and even our alcohol can be ordered online, so essentially our every need is catered for with a Wi-Fi connection and a credit card. Or is it? What about the needs of the flesh?

We are lucky enough to live in a great country where no matter who you are, and no matter who puts lead in your pencil, you have the freedom to bonk with wild gay abandon. When all you want is a shag, tag and release, or a good old fashioned hit and run you are free to do so without fear of villagers arriving at your door with pitchforks and torches.

However, all this freedom means absolutely nothing unless you are the sort who prefers your own last Rolo. So, as the gay species, we hunt. Some of us hunt for white picket fences and violin music, others still want to hold hands and skip through the tulips. But some people just have an itch that needs scratching. They prefer to buy their milk by the liter instead of investing in a cow. Unfortunately penises are not found in fridges at the local Woolies, so where do we hunt?

It was this conversation at a very cold Trouble bar in Randburg that got me chatting to my friend Kevin Britz, Marketing Manager for Manhunt South Africa. In between shivering so hard I can barely bring my drink to my lips, and trying to light cigarettes to keep warm, here was this gorgeous man telling me about this place where the “milk” flows freely and where itches are scratched without red tape, exchange of money or the need to call the next day.

My inner prude tensed up. This is not my scene and at my core I’m an old Afrikaans lady who bakes things and blushes when someone utters the word “cock”. I laughed it off and went on drinking and ogling men bending over pool tables and blushing.

I had put the matter out of my mind to be honest when I logged in to Facebook on Monday morning and saw Kevin’s advert for Manhunt showing a huge sale. Now one thing we all know about gay men is that we are curious by nature so I followed the link.

Before I knew it I had registered a profile, uploaded a photo and then…and then the dam broke.

Suddenly I was confronted with endless pages of men, listed according to proximity to my home and all looking for one thing…and it was not competitive car and household insurance. Now listen, I’m no stranger to the dating world, I have grinded, I have growled, I’ve zoosked, and I’ve scruffed, but here was a platter before me on gorgeous men, non apologetically asking to get laid.

And where, on all the other apps, we were being demure and advertising headless horsemen, these guys were not shy at all. The last time I saw this much cock on display it was being hosed down on the concrete behind a KFC. I put the Afrikaans lady in a box and started clicking.

Within an hour I had been winked at several times – great guns! My ego was boosted and with new gusto I had started exploring this new world, my job and financial reports long forgotten.

Within two days I had several invitations to meet, which I thought was nice since I haven’t been on a date for a while, and then it was explained to me that “meet” was code for “pomp”. And that was when the Afrikaans lady, let’s call her Elsabe Kritzinger, came back to the forefront and I closed the lid of my MacBook as if a serpent had emerged and threatened to gouge my eyes out.

That was two days ago. I’ve since visited the site again, checked the menu once again, knowing full well that I likely won’t take up any of the offers because I’m an old fashioned (Afrikaans lady) boy who prefers to play for keeps, but I am amazed by the freedom found on the pages. Is this not what we have been fighting for all these years?

When we get gussied up and march for freedom is this not the sort of thing we hope for? The freedom to make our own decisions? To live our lives as we choose without fear of persecution and judgement?

So here is my verdict. I love it. This land was made for you and for him. Want to get your cock out, you go for it. You wanna find ‘em, fuck ‘em and forget ’em, you have the freedom to do so, and frankly you won’t find a better place to do it that on Manhunt. You have nothing to lose. Log on, sign up, and click away.

I’m not saying your going find Mr. Right, nor am I going say you will find Mr. Right now, but you are going to have options. And you can pick, choose and refuse at will.

I leave you with a message from my friend Elsabe Kritzinger, words that were taught to her by the one and only Evita Bezuidenhout. Remember to keep your love in a jiffy bag, it keeps in all the juices.