ELIZABETH ROSE, SAM SHARPE, and SKYE BLUE

We’re finally here folks. It’s time to recap the fourth and final week of Fringe Month 1. And oh, what a week it was…

First up was The F’in Man himself, our boy Sam Sharpe. In his post  I Love Me Some Panties he shared both his love for panties and his general disdain for being asked to don them.

Next, in My Submissive Cyberstalker, I told you all about the adorable, persistent, black woman-worshipping submissive who has been stalking me online for years.

Elizabeth hit you hard mid-week by admitting she has a thing for men’s backdoors – and by thing I mean she wants to get real up close and personal with them. Really she does. Don’t believe our Cambridge educated English rose whose vowels cut glass has such ‘dark’ desires? Then read Fringe in Action for yourself.

Coital Cabaret yet another funny tale by the delightful Elizabeth, that could prove to be helpful to any woman who wants to ensure that the sex tape(s) she films with her bed mates, never see the light of day.

In Fantasy vs. Reality, I shared the story of one of my long time friends, who was hit with a hard reality bitch slap when she chose to fulfill a long time fantasy.

To close out the week Sam Sharpe offered up Careless Whispers, a cautionary tale that highlights the importance of thinking before you speak at all times – yes, even when spewing the dirtiest of dirty talk as you turn your lover out.

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Happy Reading All,

Skye

Cause, baby, these things you’re doing to me
It hurts so bad but, It’s worth all the misery

Cause it hurts so good, don’t you know that
It hurts so good
-Millie Jackson, It Hurts So Good

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It was a silly dance. One repeated over and over and over again. Me meeting her new boyfriends over and over, me forced to pretend that it didn’t matter. Make that, forced myself to pretend. She was always quick to remind me of that, that I didn’t have to sleep with her anymore if I didn’t want to. But she would say that they didn’t understand her like I did. They didn’t touch her like I did. But for Christ sakes how many times can you meet some poor bloke and say, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you” without feeling….something.

“When we were together, did you have other men?” I asked her once.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snorted “There was never anyone but you”

I once told myself that I would stop. So the next time she called I didn’t answer my phone. She showed up at my door anyway; with a bottle of rum, a bottle of wine and some massage oils.

“One for you, one for me and a little something for both of us” she said.

Apparently the more she took the more I gave. The more we behaved as if we were together. Until the morning would come, or her phone would ring or…then it would start all over again.

It didn’t make sense unless we were naked. I loved to run my tongue along the back of her thighs, linger in the small of her back, tasting her. Caressing her. I’d press my body against hers, making sure that she could feel me against her ass, on her thighs. Or in between them.

She loved to hold my hands and extend our arms over our heads until they hung over the rails of my bed. Then she would look me in the eye and ask me if I was ready. She would proceed to kiss and nibble on my neck, slowly meander in sinuous fashion over my chest and abdomen. Releasing my arms she would put my hands on her head so I could guide her.

Our last time together wasn’t tender. Or gentle. Or sweet. It started as a casual conversation over drinks at my place. I was telling her about Jen, whom I’d just started seeing. For some reason things got heated. Insults were exchanged. Names were called.

I told her to fuck off. She followed me into the kitchen, hit me in the back of the head and tried to slap me again as I turned around. But I grabbed her arm. And then the other one and backed her against the wall. It was stupid. It was some clichéd movie bullshit. But I was hard. She could tell.

She placed her hands on the inside of my thigh and started to kiss me. I pushed her away, turned her around and bent her over my counter. She stepped out of her panties as I hiked up her skirt and undid my pants. I entered her. We both moaned. Deeply. It was violent. It was hard. It was fucked up. It felt fuckin’ good. But it hurt. Really hurt.

A couple of weeks later I was at the Rivoli with Jen when she walked in with a group of her friends. Our eyes made four. She approached my table and said hello.

“Jen, this is______, ______ this is Jen”

She focused her gaze on Jen.

“Pleased to meet you” she said, “I’ve heard so much about you”.

Those of you who’ve been coming around for a while may remember that week three of Fringe Month 1, was a veritable hodge podge of kink. That week we gave you all a glimpse into our preferences, tastes and curiosity about various fetishes…

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Our man about town, Sam Sharpe, kicked things off right by sharing the fact that during the folly of his youth he failed to oblige two of his past lovers, resulting in some very regrettable Missed Opportunities.

Then he followed up with a post warning us all about the perils of a bout of role playing gone wrong in Don’t Get Burned (both literally and figuratively).

In Why Knot? I broke down the do’s and dont’s, the hows, the whys and the wherefores of bondage.

Next, Elizabeth, our lovely English rose, confessed her love of The Delicate Art of Spanking – both giving and receiving. Unfortunately, to date I don’t believe she’s had any luck finding a man who’s willing to receive. What gives boys? You afraid of a little paddling?

Choosing to stand in solidarity with my sister from another mister, in my post Eureka! I’m a Spanko I too declared my love of spanking, before going on to highlight the physiological reason why a little paddling can lead to a whole lot of pleasure in the boudoir (YUMMY!).

And to close out the week, Elizabeth Rose hit you all with Fantastic Fantasies, in which she urged you all to explore, express and do your utmost to fulfill your deepest and darkest desires.

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So, don’t waste another minute. Hurry up and (re)read these posts. Then get busy role-playing, spanking, hog-tying and fulfilling those fantasies.

Play Safe and Stay Kinky,

S

Which of the following is true?

a. Sam Sharpe enjoys being pegged.

b. Sam Sharpe enjoys being choked.

c. Sam Sharpe enjoys being spanked.

d. Sam Sharpe enjoys being gagged.

______ ended a relationship with me and called me a freak because I asked her to ___________. The fact that she got turned on by the idea of me f***ing other people while she watched or that she used regular household items as dildos or that she loved to receive facials didn’t make her a freak. But my simple request to _______ apparently was enough for her to throw that final parting barb my way.

Two things about this. One, I don’t mind being called a freak. However, I do mind the term freak being used in a pejorative sense. Two, these things really are relative. I mean I was planning to get all self-righteous and blast _______ for being judgmental and then metanotherfrog’s powers that be decided that we were going to talk about breath play. And part of me freaked out.

Breath play? You mean, erotic asphyxiation? I know what you’re thinking. “C’mon Sam, we already know that you’re open minded. You just told us that last week. Plus, after reading this how could you possibly be threatened by a little breath play whether done with a partner or self-administered? And since we know all of this, we’re sure you’re blowing smoke up our ass.” (Blowing smoke up your ass huh? Now that might be something I could get behind.)

Well you’re only half right. It’s not the run of the mill jerkin’ off with a belt around my neck or pounding you while you strangle me that gets me a little nervous. It’s the other stuff that makes me quiver. It’s the less conventional stuff that gives me pause. It’s stuff like this (NSFW). And this (NSFW).

Let me be clear here. I’m not claiming that there is anything wrong with any of these activities. Its just been a long time since a sexual act, behaviour or predilection truly made me a little nervous. And this feeling made me reconsider the ire that I directed at ______ for calling me a freak. Because though I don’t believe in attaching negative attitudes to any person’s sexual tastes and desires, I could relate to her discomfort.

Plus, the more I perused the sights, the more open I became. Now, I’m not likely to ever get all rubbered up and shit, nor am I likely to get aroused by it, but I think I can see how someone else would. And maybe that’s what bothered me most about _______’s words; I mean she didn’t have to be into _______ but she didn’t need to judge either. Oh, and about that quiz, the answer is e. – none of the above. But I’ve got an open mind.

Voyeur:

1. A person who derives sexual gratification from observing the naked bodies or sexual acts of others, especially from a secret vantage point.

2. An obsessive observer of sordid or sensational subjects.

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Mademoiselle Richard. I was in grade four. She was my French teacher. She had curly locks that wove around her face and her cheekbones like climbing roses on a trellis. I am convinced that her lips inspired the word “rouge”. They were so…rouge. She loved plunging necklines and pencil skirts. She always, always wore several bangles on her left wrist. I hated French. But I loved French class.

One spring afternoon we were conjugating verbs or some other nonsense and while my classmates were dutifully scribbling in their notebooks I was observing the way that her perfectly formed bottom was being caressed by the oh-so-lucky fabric of her skirt as she wrote on the chalkboard. When she turned to address the class I couldn’t help but watch her lips form words and imagine tasting them. And then my gaze started to follow the outline of her collarbone that was left exposed by her sweater….

That’s when it happened. The firming in my pants. It wasn’t the first erection I’d ever had. But I think it was the first time I intellectually made the explicit connection between the feminine form and my sexual arousal. I squirmed in my seat. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I wanted to do it with her.

This arousal was preempted by fear the moment Mademoiselle Richard asked me to come to the front of the class and finish conjugating the verbs on the chalkboard. Every boy knows what happens next. The guilty, shuffled steps. The clumsy attempts at hiding the “issue” with a textbook or folded hands. The feelings of utter shame.

All these years later, very few experiences come close to matching the charge that ran through my body when I first realized what watching the female form could do to me. What watching in general could do, how powerless it could make me feel. How at any moment gazing upon a snatch of female flesh could turn me into mush.

I’m sure you can all relate. If not, we at metanotherfrog.com have got you covered. During our first Fringe Month we covered Voyeurism and Exhibitionism from multiple perspectives. If you missed it, take another look and see just where you fit in.

Sam Sharpe aka The F’in Man

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To See and Be Seen

Let’s Play Outside

Lights! Camera! Action!

Group Action Makes Me Hot

Top Tips For Outdoor Affairs

Voyeur or Exhibitionist

The sleeper. The suplex. The seated double chicken wing. The scoop slam. The spinning spine buster. And my personal favourite, the figure four leg lock. Yeah, I’m talking about wrestling moves, but they could just as easily be sexual positions. I mean, doesn’t the spinning spine buster sound suspiciously like a rear entry position on steroids.

I don’t watch wrestling at all now, but when I was young it was the shit. The non-stop action, ridiculous story lines and role-playing was like a powder keg to my imagination. I couldn’t get enough of it. Then puberty hit. Suddenly, watching two fat and greasy men collide into each other lost its luster. Watching them grope each other just didn’t seem appropriate to my 12-year-old brain. But wrestling had been one of the largest sources of entertainment and pleasure in my life. What could possibly replace it?

I don’t know if it’s a coincidence that my fading interest in wrestling coincided with my heightened awareness of training bras, spandex and girls in short shorts. But I do know that the first “girlfriend” I had used to initiate every make out session with a fight. She’d want to try to pin me and I would let her. Then I would put her in the camel clutch and the next thing you know we’re rubbing against each other like a cat and a scratching post.

Not to mention my experience with Karen, the first girl to show me what she could do with her tongue. See Karen bet me that I couldn’t pick her up and body slam her. I said that I could. She said that if I could do it, she’d do anything I wanted. Well, I really wanted a blowjob.

Then there was Tina, a girl I met during my university years (God I love higher education). Tina loved wrestling. She loved to grapple. And she loved a little role-play. After months of begging and pleading Tina convinced me to help her live out a complex fantasy that included a mock kidnapping scenario that evolved into a wrestling bout. It was patently ridiculous, and I did feel silly hopping around a bedroom in a wrestling singlet (provided by Tina) but I have to admit that putting her into a camel clutch and having her grind her breasts, ass and camel toe all over my face and body made me harder than the rock of Gibraltar.

Tina and I have long since parted ways, but I still run into her from time to time. And every time I see her I feel a little tingling in my loins, not because I want her back or even want to sleep with her (okay that’s a lie, I would run it in a heartbeat) but because I remember the hot, sweaty, wrestling inspired sexual scenarios that she wanted to act out. Her husband is a lucky man.

I haven’t regularly engaged in any sexual activities that flirt with concepts of role play, alternating power dynamics and even a little domination and submission since my time with Tina, but I’m still game. I think I’m now primed to get out there and learn a little more. The thought of being manhandled is very intriguing. So readers, are there any budding Lisa Fury’s or Trish Stratus’ out there looking for a man to handle, or beat into submission?

This week saw Jami opening all of our eyes to the potential for butt secks. Even for vanilla girls! I’m not a vanlla girl, but the tips, clarity and giggles provided in the two day literary feast had me reaching for my lube and bending on over.  As I said at the time, this is a far cry from my previous view point, though that largely centred around why men want to put it up there. We have yet to really address why women enjoy this, so it appears we have yet to exhaust the topic!

Our launch week of Fringe (the first bit in January) was also anally focused. This is where you’ll find all things for all bottoms, including a bit about “pegging”, some purchasing tips for butt plugs, anal avoidance techniques and a taster on rimming.

Enjoy!

Elizabeth Rose

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Instinctual Butt Clenching

Above The Rim

The Anal Truth

Ain’t Too Proud To Peg

Heteroflexible Dudes and Straight Pussy

Bum Toys

When I fantasize about a woman, I fantasize about her in her entirety. I find virtually every single inch of the female form to be tantalizing. Lips? Check. Thighs? Yessir. Booty? Amen. Breasts? Affirmative. Ankles? Uh huh. Collarbone? Yep. Thighs?….I think you catch my drift. And anytime I’m taking a ride in the cockpit (whether it’s a solo or tandem trip) the sheer overwhelming volume of “God I gotta have some of thatness” that is the female form is an undeniable force of nature. My appreciation for the female body knows no bounds.

One exception. Feet. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nibbled, licked and sucked toes with the best of them, but it’s always for her benefit, for her pleasure. I just don’t get excited about toes. On the other hand, my bredren Mikey (who I last mentioned in Even With Two Heads post) is straight up obsessed with feet. What seemed to start as a mild preoccupation back in our high school days became obsession in adulthood. Now, Mikey will dismiss any girl for feet that are substandard. Forget how smart she is. Forget the fact that her cleavage looks like it was sculpted by Rodin. Ignore the fact that her booty looks like it is dipped in molasses. If her feet aren’t perfectly manicured, sufficiently soft and don’t meet some mythical proportional ideal that exists in his mind alone, Mikey can’t do it.

Case in point—Selena Gonzalez. Selena was this fine ass girl who went to our high school. She was all kinds of sexy. You know how in some schools things get segregated and people only date their own—y’know black guys only dating black girls, white guys only dating white girls, asian guys only dating asian girls—well our school wasn’t all that different. You wouldn’t dare date a woman from another side. Unless her name was Selena Gonzalez. Every straight boy (and probably some gay ones too) wanted to take a stripe off of Selena Gonzalez.

Anyway, years after we’d graduated high school, when we were still in our “not a boy, not yet a grown man” phase (yes, I just referenced a Britney Spears song) Mikey and I were out drinking when we ran into Selena and a group of her friends. We ended up joining them in their booth at the back of the bar. From word go, Selena was all over him. Talking about “Mikey, you’re so hot” and “I’ve always wanted you” and on and on it went. It looked like an open and shut case. Mikey was going to live out one of our high school dreams—slamming Selena Gonzalez–and I was going to be there to bear witness. Just when I was entertaining thoughts of the juicy story Mikey was going to be telling me the next day, Selena excused herself from the table and went to the bathroom.

Then it all went pear shaped. I saw them. I knew Mikey saw them. She had (to put it politely) substandard feet. In that instant I knew our dream was over. I don’t know if it was the shoes she was wearing or some harsh and shoddy bar lighting, but for some reason her feet looked long and broad like loaves of bread. Plus, even to me, a man who doesn’t claim to be into feet, they were tough looking. It was as if she’d been kicking stones or breaking cinder blocks with them in her spare time. Needless to say, soon after Selena returned from the ladies’ room with freshly applied lip gloss, obviously ready to get her flirt on, Mikey made up some weak excuse to leave and we breezed out of there in a flash.

Clearly traumatized by what he’d seen, Mikey spent the rest of the evening peppering me with questions (that I couldn’t answer) about her ugly feet:

“How come  we didn’t notice them in high school?”

“They couldn’t have been that ugly all along right? Sam, her feet weren’t always that ugly?”

“How can she go outside in open toe sandals with feet like that?”

“How could such busted feet be attached to such a pretty girl?”

and my personal favourite,

“Can we be sure those feet were actually human?”

Even though I had known all along about Mikey’s predilection for feet, I was more than a bit suprised by his quick dismissal of Selena. She is/was fine people. Really, REALLY fine – even with the ugly feet. (Is it alright if I say that I’m still a little bitter about it? I was all ready to live vicariously through Mikey. To fulfill my own thwarted desire to lick every inch of Selena’s body, with the exception of her feet, through my friend’s good fortune. Only for him to go f*** it up because he couldn’t get past her feet. Couldn’t he have just asked her to keep her socks on?)

Privately, I couldn’t help but be a little judgmental. I know that foot worship is the most common sexual fetish, but I couldn’t help but think that Mikey was crazy, that he was being way too rigid. Plus, whenever I think of foot fetishists all these crazy images and visuals come to my mind (don’t ask).

But to be fair, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that though the sheer intensity of Mikey’s tastes may trump some of my own, I myself have some pretty serious obsessions. Specific things turn me on and they  turn me on in very specific ways. And as they say, let he who is without kink cast the first stone.

Man Month.

How could we have just one month focusing on those hairy,
grunting, bear-wrestling MALE specimens when I spend every month focusing my lady parts towards in a slightly intimidating and oft unnerving fashion?

A hairy, grunting, bear-wrestling MALE specimen - the stuff ER's nether regions dreams are made of.

So what wonderful insights did we grasp from this month of old spice, cigar smoke and whisky?

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Firstly we tackled the myth that men have feelings?! Oh sorry, I mean the myth that men don’t have feelings. Mind you, I didn’t – I chose a more self indulgent route. Sue me.

Men Have Feelings

10 Things You Shouldn’t Say When a Man Opens Up

All Men Are Bastards

FYI Ladies: Only Sociopaths Feel Nothing

Guest Post: A Word on Men and Emotions

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Next, as we discussed men and skinny women, we shared a catchy new T shirt slogan,  and Ken explained how he discovered his love for voluptuous women after suffering a broken nose during a romp with a skinny girl:

Do All Men Prefer Skinny Women

The Skinny on Women and Thinness

Why Skinny Chicks?

Two in the Pink, One in the…aka My Favourite Links (A brief side step by Sam for comedic relief.)

Guest Post: In Praise of Not-So-Skinny Women

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During week three we shared ours thoughts on men and their one track minds. This time Skye took a diversionary tactic. (Seriously, you cannot keep us on topic here at metanotherfrog.com, it’s like herding kittens. Get them all in one place and you have an urge to drown them in a sack.)

Sex We All Want It

Sex is Awesome

Do Men Really Have One Track Minds

Say It Loud – I’m a Slut and I’m Proud

Guest Post: Men Want Sex

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Next up…men and cheating, which since I don’t believe in monogamy to begin with gave me a wonderful excuse to run delightfully off topic again. Meow. (Oh look, a large bag with tuna in it - I’ll just step inside, purrr.)

Is Polyamory Right for You?

Cheat Sheet

Men and Cheating: A Reality Check

Top 10 Ways to Tell He’s Cheating

Guest Post: Men Only Cheat When…

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Finally, we ended the marvels of man month by proving beyond all doubt that men are stupid. Sorry, that’s not right; we proved they aren’t all stupid. (I am having trouble focusing. The tuna bag seems to have closed above me and now I’m in the  sack with water rising around my feet…)

Men Are Stupid

If Men Are So Stupid

Rules of Engagement

A Little Bit of This, a Little Bit of That

Guest Post: Men Aren’t Stupid

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Enjoy!

Elizabeth Rose

The gods of the blogosphere have determined that it is my task, my duty to recap the shenanigans we got up to during Relationship Month. Considering my studied and determined disdain for the manner in which most people go about handling their relationships and considering that Barack Obama was still a senator in Illinois the last time I was in a “proper” relationship, I thought this was akin to asking David Duke to address the NAACP or asking R. Kelly to take your daughter out for ice cream. You know. Ill advised.

Well, it appears the gods have a sense of humour. So here I am. I figured the best way for me to sum up Relationship Month was to share what I learned. Or to share the nuggets of wisdom that have made me look upon the conventional modern day committed monogamous relationship in a favourable light. So, without further ado here is my list of things learned about relationships during metanotherfrog’s Relationship Month:

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Ha Ha! Just kidding. Relationship Month was a treasure trove of insightful and hilarious commentary on the modern day love match. From first phone calls, first dates and first f****, to office parties, trips together, waning lust, communication tips and the pain of a break up, we covered a lot of territory. With that said, take a look through our archives and rediscover the joys and pains (word to Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock) of metanotherfrog’s relationship month.

Sam Sharpe (aka The F’in Man)

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The Highs: From The Meet Cute to the First I Love Yous

The Meet Cute

The First Phone Call

The First Date

The First Kiss

The First Time

A Perfect Night

On The Wings of Love? (The First Trip)

For You, Just Because

Sex + Experimenting = Fun

Meeting the Fam

First Office Party Survival Tips

Guest Post: Love – A Choice

I LOVE YOU

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The Lows: Right After the First I Love Yous to the (Often) Bitter End

Planning: The Beginning of the End?

Living Together

Upgrade You

Many Sexless Nights

Hello Granny Panties, Goodbye Morning Wood

Intolerable Defects

4 Tips to Keep You Communicating

Noticing His Friends

Sharing Bodily Functions

Away From Her

IT’S OVER