“If everything seems under control, you’re just not going fast enough.” – Mario Andretti

I have control issues. I like to be in control of the schedule, the menu, the car, most everything in fact. So in the world of domination and submission, I should be a natural dominant. I like to be on top after all. And I am always ready to tell my lovers all about my wants and desires.

But, it is nice to have a switch around sometimes and there is still nothing sexier than a man who takes control. (I have a long standing sexual fantasy involving Howard Webb that attests to this.) I have a job that involves making decisions and bossing people about (I’m not a professional Dominatrix, I promise) so I don’t always want that in the bedroom. Sometimes, I know what I want and I make it happen, but other times it’s nice to have a bit of a passionate throw down. (Not unlike Sam, I do enjoy a bit of a tussle during foreplay.)

So, basically I like variety, with a hint of Vanilla. As long as the end result is a good variety and some fun, I can go with the flow. However, there are a few key things I would ask all my lovers; past, present and future to remember…

Being submissive with me is not:

1. Lying back to “be done unto” – that’s just lazy, men can be starfish too.
2. Constantly asking “What do you want me to do?” – have a bit of imagination! Do I have to tell you everything?
3. Asking for me to put on heels and then kick you – this actually happened once, it was a bit weird for me.
4. Never reciprocating – you should go down too sometimes. Yes, it is a very good thing.
5. Running into the bathroom to suit up into some lunacy gimp outfit and coming back looking like Smeagol.

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Being dominant with me is not:

1. Coming in your timeframe and then ignoring mine  – that’s just lazy.
2. Unexpected anal – permission and lube are ALWAYS prerequisites
3. Damaging my clothes or delicate skin – a firm grip and a bit of a spanking is great, but try not to leave marks. It upsets the next chap.
4. Never reciprocating – you should go down too sometimes. Yes, it is a very good thing.
5. Running into the bathroom to suit up into some lunacy gimp outfit and coming back looking like Smeagol.

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Whichever way you choose to take the power dynamic is all good with me. Just remember it’s always about giving and receiving of mutual pleasure, and NEVER about gimp suits.

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?

I want to clear something up. Be a little more precise. About Man-Eaters. About who I am.  About chicks just like me.  Because there’s this notion. That Man-Eaters. Are Man Haters. (A notion proliferated by young buckettes who don’t yet know themselves.) And it’s really just the opposite. Grown Up Man-Eaters. Are Man Lovers. We love ‘em. Can hardly contain ourselves. Gotta have ‘em.

Friend – “Man-Eater!”

Me – “What?!?”

Friend - *raises eyebrows*

Me – *shrugs* *laughs* “Oh, okay fine. That’s about right.”

I’ll admit it.  I.  Am.  A.  Man.  Eater.

Back in the days of my early twenties, I had a rep. Slutterific? Sure enough.  Awesomtacious. True Story. But at the heart of my rep (pun intended) was my lack thereof. Tin Man. The nickname speaks for itself. I was a Man-Eater. I had a bed post and an abacus. A belt and a list. I had a ledger. The boys were a tally. I was like Columbus, conquering the natives. I was just a kid. I may have been one of the minions proliferating the notion that Man-Eaters were Man Haters. I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better.

But I never made anybody do anything. Boys did things of their own volition. For their Goddess, Man-Eater. One boy quit a job just to see more of me (he also proposed within 4 months). One boy stayed home on Saturday nights, in case I called late night. Boys set up bar tabs and announced our arrival in nightclubs. Boys made offerings. Boys left their chicks. And at dawn I left my socks (and ran). I hunted. I prowled. And the boys came out of the forest, hands raised in cheerful submission happy to be my dinner. I ate boys like chocolate, and they were delicious. I didn’t care. They seemed not to care. But I don’t really know. Because I never asked. Because I definitely didn’t care. Carve notch.  Move bead left. Punch hole. Add name and date. *hunger pains* and prowl again.

But that was then and this is now.  Here I am, in my Summer of Boys and it has me thinking a lot about what’s different (if anything) between then and now. Have I learned anything? Have I just gotten older? Has there been any kind of development? And I can without a glimmer of doubt answer yes. I am very obviously a Man-Eater but I am no Man Hater. Let me say it again. Loud and proud.

I am a Man-Eater but I am no Man Hater.

The boys of now. They’re in the know. Whether they listen or pay attention is on them. But I tell them. I say it. I will be kind and gentle. But you are a meal for the summer. I plan to eat you. It is no reflection on you as a person. I’m sure you’re awesome. And if you can handle it. I promise not to go prey mantis on your ass.

I heart boys. Really. Let me say that again. I.  Heart.  Boys. Just because I don’t want to be your girlfriend, your mom, your babysitter, your secretary, your teacher or your savior, doesn’t mean I don’t want to be your friend, your favorite summer memory, the reason you’ll forever laugh at the word “lozenge”, the person who challenged you to grow and know yourself, your smoking hot booty call, the memory that will always make you hard. Boys, I think you’re amazing.

So boys, I’m telling you now.  And I’ll tell you again if I have to. You are the candy of my summer. You are the giggles by a campfire and the sexy innuendo in a game of pool.  You are the butter on my movie popcorn and the breathless scream on a rollercoaster.  You are the magic in a first kiss and the impossibility of anything more.  You are the steam on the car windows and the writing on the bathroom mirror (cum back to bed).

Boys I heart you. I want you. I need you. This summer. I’m hungry. And I’m going to eat you. But I won’t be mean about it. Because even though I’m a Man-Eater, I’m not a Man Hater. I’m a Man Lover. And the moments that we have together, though fleeting, will be awesome. I’ll make sure of it. Because I want your world to be as full of rainbows and magic as mine is.

Now grab your balls and ask me out. I’m sitting right there. Two tables away at Starbucks.  Ask my name. Ask my number. Show me your balls. And I might just put them in my mouth. But I promise not to bite.

Women. Too emotional? Irrational? Reactionary?

I can only speak from my own personal experience. And that experience tells me that the answer is a resounding, emphatic, delivered-while-jumping-up-and-down-and-waving-my-arms “Yes!”

There may be one or two exceptions in my chequered past. But for the most part, they’re all the same. If I’m a few minutes late coming home, I get a crazed call screaming, “Who is she?” If I can’t make her Dad’s birthday party because of a business trip, she insists I hate her parents and want them dead. If I fall asleep during the chick flick we’re watching, I’m not sensitive to her feelings.

I’ve had girlfriends break down in tears because I was too slow to notice a new haircut. One who threatened to punch out a female ticket-taker at the local movie house because she thought she was “making a play for my guy.” Another who stopped talking to her best friend for three years because she was convinced the girl wore the same dress as her to a wedding out of spite.

Again, I can only base this on the women I know. And with my predilections and obtuse desires (which I give far too much screen-time to at my blog, Lustmongers), it could very well be that the women I know represent a small demographic. But in my experience, if there’s a conclusion to be jumped to, a handle to be flown off, or a boyfriend to be kicked in the balls based purely on suspicion and nothing resembling hardcore facts, women are gonna do it.

But, in fairness, I can honestly say that most guys I know – including myself – are pretty much the same. In fact, I’d say that a lot of my buds are far more emotional and reactionary than the women I know. This is especially evident when it comes to relationships. I’ve known some jealous women in my time, but those women got nothin’ on us guys. In fact, jealousy is the one emotion men do particularly well.

A good example of this is my pal Owen. Owen has never trusted a single woman he’s dated. In fact, whenever these women are out of his sight, he organizes groups of buddies to pull some undercover work and follow her at various check-points throughout the city. And as a guy once assigned to the “Beacon to Newbury Street” beat, I can tell you that I’m not exaggerating. God as my witness, I even saw Owen don a fake beard to follow a former girlfriend on the subway to make sure she really was going to a cousin’s birthday party as she claimed.

Though his motives can be questioned, I totally sympathize with Owen. There’s a reason most guys wanna make like Spider-Man and slap a tracer on their girlfriends’ backs whenever said ladies — particularly in packs — are hitting the town. And that reason is that we, as men, hit the town. And we know what we do when we hit the town, and that is mentally undress everything with breasts and a heartbeat that happens within our field of vision. After a few beers, it only gets worse, as we start imagining what it would be like to 69 the hat-rack in the corner of the bar.

Actually, I’m only half-joking. But the bottom line is that when guys head out on the town, the punch list of activities usually looks something like this:
1) Look at women.
2) Consume massive quantities of alcohol.
3) Shift from “Looking at” to “Interacting With” mode.
4) Attempt to sell women on the virtues of letting us in their trousers.
5) Absorb slap, continue drinking, continue ogling.
6) Repeat until arrested, broke, shot, etc.

You get the point. Guys go out because that’s where the women are. So when our ladies tell us that they’re going out, we figure that unless they’re heading to “2-for-1 dyke night” at the local Pizza Hut, they will most likely be in some establishment where there will be men for them to look at, and men looking back at them. And this bothers us to no end.

For inexplicable chromosomal reasons, women seem perfectly capable of going out with their friends, having some drinks, dancing and flirting innocently, and actually heading back home without the need to blow the bartender. Guys have never been able to get our arms around this concept, and the amount of suspicion our bodies can hold is usually directly proportionate to the amount of guilt we’re carrying.

But it’s always been this way. We’re all emotional, irrational and reactionary, but we make each other that way. And so long as we all love fucking, spooning, snogging, dry-humping, six-hour make-out sessions, slow dances at the corner bar and pressing each other against alley walls in a dull haze of sweat and booze, that’s just the way it’s going to be.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a fake beard to put on, and a girlfriend to follow through downtown Boston.

Okay ladies, today I’m writing with you in mind. Not because I think men have it locked when it comes to enthusiasm in the bedroom, but because I rarely hear women complain about their male partners being unenthusiastic about sex. Yes, we women complain about men’s lousy cunnilingus skills, their imperfect man parts, and go on ad nauseum if they come too fast or ride us too long. But we rarely, if ever rant about their lack of enthusiasm.

In sharp contrast, my boys come to me bawling about the lack of enthusiasm their women exhibit in the bedroom all the time – and it pains me. This seems to be the one area where we females are consistently falling down on the job. So, with that in mind I’m talking to my sisters today, ‘cause something’s got to give…

It seems a lot of you believe you need to be 21^st century courtesans to be considered good lovers – no thanks to magazines like Cosmo (Sam Sharpe’s fave) that continuously publish articles featuring ‘Tips to Drive Him Wild’. Trust me girls, that shit is misleading. You DON’T have to enter the bedroom equipped with a magic kit and a bag of tricks to please your man. Although, I’m a big advocate for doing what you can to enhance and expand your repertoire, I’d like to point out that in many cases all you really need to impress your mate is a shot of enthusiasm. Trust me girls, based on what my boys tell me, a hearty dose of enthusiasm can more than make up for what you may lack in skill.

As I hinted at via my list of questions in It’s All About Your Attitude, bringing a focused mind, being fully present (i.e. staying in the moment) and going for yours with zeal makes for better sex. A big part of batting an A-game in the bedroom is bringing the gusto and setting your mind on ‘wowing’ your guy with every stroke of your hand, flick of your tongue and thrust of your hips. Half-assin’ a situation and coppin’ out with lines like,

“I’m tired. When are you going to come already?”

is absolutely UNACCEPTABLE – and here’s why.

There isn’t a woman on the planet that wouldn’t rip on any man who ‘wimped out’ due to anything akin to tiredness during the act. We all know that no excuse short of bleeding from a severe head wound, could give a man room to cop out in the bedroom. I mean, any man who fails to drive it home for his girl knows his rep and his game will be irreparably damaged – as in FOREVER. Why? Because by the time you’ve finished telling the story of his pitiful performance to your friends, sisters, mother, cousins, female coworkers, etc. that man won’t be able to get next to a female within a 500 mile radius of your house – right?

So ladies, let’s be fair and not do unto others as we wouldn’t ever allow them to do unto us (not without punishing them for it through verbal ‘cockblockery’ anyway). Decide right now that whenever you start something in the bedroom with your man, that you’ll give it your all and see it through until the not so bitter end.

Friends…

If you’re going to bless him with a hand job, lube up and pump that forearm like nobody’s business.

If you’re going to suck a dick, get to sucking it like you mean it.

If you’re going to get on top, ride him like he’s a wild bronco.

If you’re going to peg him, strap one on and…

Well you get the picture.

For the love of God girls, stop pussyfootin’ in the bedroom and go in with enthusiasm.  Hit him hard, fast and long with everything you’ve got and he (and your coochy) will shower you with thanks for it.

Okay, this month I’ve talked about the importance of foreplay, curiosity and dressing to impress when cultivating healthy sexual relationships. Today, I’m going to tell you how being physically active can feed your sex life. What I am not going to do is talk about how improving your health can improve your sex (though this is true). I figure we all know this. And if some of you don’t you can find some of that information here. Instead, I’m going to tell you a story that highlights the unexpected ancillary benefits of physical activity.

Many moons ago, I worked in a manufacturing plant that had a large Caribbean population. One summer we decided to start up a soccer team. Vijay, one of the funniest men I’ve ever met, was nominated captain and entered our rag tag group into a rec league.

Now, I’d grown up playing soccer, so I was pretty proficient and was the best player on the team by a significant margin: which wasn’t a hard position to maintain considering the overall skill level of the competitors in this league. Anyway, we were a moderately successful team, but the real fun was found in the camaraderie that developed and the overall sense of well being that being regularly active gave me (I have to say having sex is the only thing that gives me a rush similar to the one I get when playing soccer).

I was dating N at the time. She begged me to bring her along to my soccer games. I usually found some cock and bull reason why she couldn’t come, but after weeks of nagging I relented. Best. Thing. I. Ever. Did.

N came out to the final game of the season to witness me score a hat trick and set up countless other goals. Frankly, I hadn’t played that well all season. I was a one man wrecking crew, weaving in and out of opposing players to score at will. It was spine tingling fun. Little did I know that my fun was just beginning.

When the game was over I walked N back to her car. I was going for a drink with the team, and made plans to meet up with N and a group of friends later for dinner.

“Thanks for finally letting me come out to watch you play” N said as she leaned against her trunk “I didn’t realize you were that good—it was pretty cute.”

N took a step towards me, leaned forward onto her toes and whispered in my ear.

“I hope you saved some energy for later. I’m gonna rock your world. I’m gonna suck your dick ‘til it’s dry.”

N was a little bit conservative, a prude even, so to hear her use such language was incongruous to say the least. And boy did she ever live up to her promise. When we were in bed that night I remember thinking:

“When did N turn into Heather Hunter?”

And for the duration of our relationship, N couldn’t stop talking about how sexy I looked in shorts, and how I should show my legs more often and blah blah blah blah. Rest assured, since that night, I’ve never hesitated to bring along a girlfriend to a soccer game.

For any man (or woman) interested in developing and maintaining a healthy sex life, this narrative highlights the importance of two things:

1.     Competence: I can’t emphasize this enough. Whether it’s soccer, physics, lawn bowling, darts, it doesn’t matter. Women like to know you’re good at something. Find out what you’re good at (if you don’t know already) and show it to her. It will turn her on.

2.     Inclusion: Men often feel that women are only interested in their own shit. Not true. If a woman is interested in you she will be VERY interested in your life. If they feel involved they become involved. This will translate into improved action in the boudoir.

Now what say you readers? Any other exercise related suggestions for improving your sex life?

Sex is a physical passion, a talent and a skill; yet we have heard of the impact of all day foreplay where the mind can be engaged from a distance to leave you jumping on your lover. This is a great tip for the way to get better sex, but today I want to spin it around. Get better sex through avoiding bad sex, as it were.

It’s all about focus. Don’t let others get into your head and ruin antics in your bed!

I’ll give you a common example of one’s head ruining the moment:

I wonder if his last girlfriend was thinner than me?

Suddenly you are thinking about lighting and avoiding unflattering angles rather than riding the waves of delicious orgasms. So switch it up, ladies!

Do you think he’s going to enjoy a perfunctory blow job performed by a lass who is wondering about how her technique compares to his ex?

How about his cock being explored by the tongue of a girl while she massages the length of shaft with her lips and simultaneously uses one hand to grip the base and the other to gently cup his balls? That kind of attention takes concentration!

Don’t you think he is going to enjoy it even more if he looks down to see you looking back at him with sheer unflinching desire in your eyes? He knows you are enjoying it – so he does too. Suddenly you are giving him “the greatest head” ever.

Get into the moment and out of your psyche, your insecurities and your hang ups; but most importantly get out of other people’s business. If you are worrying that someone is having better sex than you – they probably are. This is because they are out there doing it and enjoying it instead of worrying, judging or preaching. I sincerely hope everyone is having GREAT sex. It’s my personal belief good sex makes people happier, and I make no judgements about how or who they do.

However, if you are the kind of person who makes a habit of judging others because they’re actually going out and getting some in the manner they want it, you’d better go fuck yourself – because you ain’t gonna be worth anyone else indulging in nudity with you.

I wouldn’t normally impose such vitriol on this site, but over the weekend we had some cowardly comments posted by a cretin picking on our beloved Shans. (I’ve seen similar comments and nasty digs time and again across the blogosphere, and I just can’t understand what floats the boat of the trolls that leave them behind?) We here at metanotherfrog.com love Shans because she is a dear and slutty friend, who takes time out to share her sex life with our readers to give you guys entertainment, some education maybe and a little voyeuristic thrill. As sex bloggers we put ourselves out there – some for kicks, others for therapy and there are even a few among us who do it because they’re on a crusade to  make the world a better place for the naked.

I write about sex because I love it. Each each of my little missives to you is like the tender caress of my fingers across the page, every comment I get back another “petit mort”. So my advice to those with a darker purpose – go suck cock. Except this time do it with some enthusiasm and maybe both you and your partner will actually enjoy it!

For Shans, With Love  xx,

ER

Ladies, as far as foreplay is concerned, do you know what men want? No? Well neither do I. I mean, I know what works for me, but I can’t say with any certainty that your man likes his balls to be played with like I do. Having said that, I do know that there are a few things that you can all do to make sure your man gets what he desires. I’m talking about the rank and file of the hetero male species. This isn’t for the outliers. I’m not talking about the significant minority of heterosexual men who would rather LARP, listen to Rush and update their fantasy football team.

In the world of communications, public relations practitioners often employ a RACE (Research, Action, Communication, Evaluation) formula when implementing a PR plan. In that spirit, I’m introducing RACER, to help you improve your foreplay technique.

Research: Do not be afraid to find out what your man wants. Ask questions. A friend of mine asked me if I thought her man would like it if she tugged on his balls? Hell if I know. Ask him. Talk to him. You know. Communicate. Don’t just listen to your girls. Don’t believe everything you read in “he’ll like it if you rub dry sand in between his ass cheeks” Cosmo. And don’t assume that because your last man liked a finger in the butt your current one is into anal play.

Action: A public relations plan is just ink on paper if it’s not put into action. Similarly, wanting to be good at foreplay isn’t sufficient. It requires application. Seriously, what’s the point of setting the mood and putting on slinky lingerie if you’re going to lie there like a cadaver. If you’re gonna dress up, you should play the part. Oh, you say your man loves a good blowjob, but you’re worried about technique. Grow a pair, woman up and give his unit some love. Practice makes perfect. Still not confident? Don’t be afraid to take a class. If you’re in Toronto, places like Good For Her and Come As You Are have workshops to suit your (and your man’s) needs.

Creativity: This one is an offshoot of the research and action components. Once you’ve completed your research it’s not a matter of simply following the letter of the law. You want to implement your new plan in an interesting way. If during your research you find out that your man likes to be dominated, inject your own personality. Spice it up. Chances are this isn’t his first time at the rodeo. You don’t want to be just another girl he met at the rodeo do you?

Enthusiasm: Whenever I go out to eat I pay careful attention to the kind of service I receive. Being competent and able isn’t enough. Is my server attentive? Are they friendly? Do they go the extra mile to ensure my satisfaction? Enthusiasm for the job separates a middling tip from a generous one. Similarly, enthusiasm during foreplay will be repaid tenfold. Trust me.

Reciprocity: I think this speaks for itself. No one likes a selfish lover. Ladies, if you’ve never kissed your man’s belly button, you’re not really trying. If you treat your man’s body the way children treat broccoli, may the sex gods curse you with a lifetime of VSD’s, quick shooters and droolers. Don’t just talk about it. Be about it.

There you have it. If you’re currently a foreplay pumpkin, my formula will turn you into a foreplay princess. If you’re already a champion, consider this a refresher course. And if all else fails, put his dick in your mouth, lick it, suck it and you’ll probably be fine.

Please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times … do not exit until the car has come to a complete stop … and most importantly … sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

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Picture it folks. You’re at the amusement park, standing in line to ride favourite roller coaster. It’s your fave because you love the hills, curves and loops of the track.  You’re brimming with excitement as you wait your turn to feel the roller coaster run smoothly along the tracks the same way it always has, at the same speed that always takes your breath away. You wait patiently knowing that neither you nor any of the other riders can do a damn thing to control or change this magnificent ride – which is what makes it all so thrilling. So, when your turn finally comes, you happily hop into your seat and buckle up as necessary, all in anticipation of yet another exhilarating experience.

Now, imagine if halfway through your rousing ride, some fool in front of you tries to get up and steer the roller coaster. You know what would happen? The operator would shut the whole thing down, you (and everyone else) on the roller coaster would be pissed as hell that someone had f’ed with your enjoyment of the action. And as for the aforementioned fool responsible for the delay? Well, he would be unceremoniously thrown right out of the park – without having the chance to try out any of the other rides.

Now boys, you wouldn’t want be thrown out of the park before you’ve had your fill of fun would you? You wouldn’t want to miss out on all the chills, thrills and spills – i.e. the action – you came out to experience at the park right? I know I wouldn’t.

Well, missing out on the action is exactly what happens to men who refuse to sit back and enjoy the ‘rousing ride’ we women offer up every time we choose to give you a blow job. Although we’re (at least those of us who are smart) are open to verbal cues and pointers that let us know we’re on the right track, there’s absolutely NO need to try to steer or control the speed of your ride. Trust me, if we offered to do it, it’s because we know we’ve got it all under control. And like your fave roller coaster, when a woman decides to bless your ‘mike’ with a BJ, it’s STRICTLY a passenger ride.

Now after all that, it should be more than clear what my number one pet peeve in the bedroom is, but just in case let me spell it out for you. I and many other women out there HATE  it when men hold our heads down or otherwise try to take control when we’re giving a BJs. I’m sure you men aren’t shocked by this news, as most of you would balk at the idea of having someone hold your head down when you’re going downtown. Nevertheless I feel it is my duty to let you boys know what you need to do to make BJs a mutually satisfying experience. So here goes…

Guys, when you’re lucky enough to get a blow job from your girl you should remember to:

1. Keep your hands off the crown of her head when she has your cock in her mouth. Please note: Her head is not a stick shift.
2. Not thrust your pelvis forcefully against her lips or attempt to pound the shit out of the back of her throat. This is self-explanatory right?
3. Avoid using her hair to pull her head around as if her locks are the reins on a horse. This is an absolute no-no. Again, self-explanatory.
4. Think of her gag reflex as one of the airbags in your car deploying. It means there’s been a crash – against her tonsils and it HURTS!
5. Allow her to do what she needs to do. FYI: the person doing the blowing she is the ONLY operator of the ride. As I mentioned before verbal cues or instructions are welcome, but don’t you dare try to take the wheel.

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Trust me boys, if you follow my rules you’ll get more BJs because your girl won’t be suffering through it. And if she’s not suffering she may actually start to really enjoy them, which means there’s a good chance she’ll keep blowin’ you ‘til your done.

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Hmmm…Just think about that one for a minute..

What does it say about the state of my sex life that the following list of my sexual pet peeves was the easiest thing I’ve written for this site? Really, what does it mean? Am I too picky? Are my sexual partners clueless? Am I stuck in the bread aisle when I should be in produce? Anyway, on to the pet peeves:

1. Oral examination: A commonly held axiom in boxing is that a fighter should never lead with his chin. Similarly, a woman going down on the mighty crown should never, NEVER lead with her teeth. Sounds straight forward enough. Sounds like common sense. Then why in the name of sweet Jehovah do some of you ladies still feel the need to recklessly attack a man’s private parts as if it contains the Cadbury secret? Seriously. Why?
2. Hand Eye Coordination: Ladies, do me a favour. Take your left index finger and place into the palm of your right hand. Next, caress it or stroke it in a manner that you think might feel pleasurable. Okay. How many of you yanked vigorously on your index finger as if pulling weeds from your lawn. I’m guessing none. So what makes you think grabbing on your dude’s junk and yanking it seven ways to Sunday makes sense? I know it is hard. But it is a penis. It is a part of my body. You are not a pimp. It does not owe you money.
3. Oral examination, part 2: If you’re going downtown, go all the way. See everything. Do everything. Stick out your tongue. Work up a little lather. Pay a visit to my balls. But most importantly…do not…. be afraid…to swallow. Giving head and never being willing to swallow is equivalent to me always getting you to the point of ecstasy then stopping to say “Oh, wait it might get messy, you better get up now. I don’t want to stain my sheets”. To quote Mark Twain*, “spittin’ is quittin”. (Important programming note: This does not apply to any female relative of mine)
4. Giddy Up: The biggest double standard going isn’t women wanting equal pay but still wanting doors to be held. It isn’t even a woman earning way more money than her man but always leaving her purse at home. No, the biggest double standard is a woman getting naked, getting into bed and expecting the man to always work her over like a loan shark collecting a debt. I came across this article in Cosmo, where a young lady wanted to know how to “master” the woman on top position. Get the fuck outta here? What, is she new? Get on top, get it in and move. Simple. Seriously, this is the height of selfishness and/or laziness. Are there that many women out there who’ve never seen a porn? Or any love scene in a movie? Or talked with a friend? Or read one of those lame harlequin romances?
5. Speak Up: Do you like it hard? Let me know. Like it soft? Let me know. Want to do the “lizard lap”? Let me know. I want to have a good time. You want to have a good time. I want you to have a good time. But if there are specific things you want done in a specific way, you better speak up and let me know. (Isn’t it amazing how women like to rant and rave about how men never want to stop and ask for directions, but turn around and expect us to just know what turns them on. As if all of you are the same and the exact same things that worked on Betty Sue are going to work on you. Actually ladies think about it like this. Speak up, or I’ll fuck you the same way I fucked the last girl I had in my bed. Speaking up doesn’t seem so hard now does it?). I am not the Mighty Kreskin. A closed mouth won’t get fed.

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There you have it, five of my sexual pet peeves. I had more, but I figured I should take my time for those of you who are a little slow on the uptake.

*I cannot verify that Mark Twain actually said this. But he was a pretty perceptive fellow and I’m sure he would agree that spitters are quitters.