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?

Way back in February I went out to brunch with Max and Sam, and as always happens when we get together the topic of conversation ended up being primarily about sex.  Well, on this particular day the focus of our discussion was the lack of action in my life.

‘You need to get horizontal with someone soon. I mean how long has it since you got some? ’ Sam asked, after I lamented the fact that my field hadn’t been ploughed in a long time.

Max seconded his opinion, stating, ‘You’ve got needs girl, just find a man who wants to help you take care of them.’

While the discussion ensued I didn’t let on that they were making me think long and hard about all that I was missing, or that all the sex talk had my now percolating coochy telling me,

‘Girl, hurry up and find us some dick.  The tumbleweeds blowin’ up in here are killing me.’

But as we left the restaurant that day I knew something had to give.

Luckily, I am nothing if not efficient. Within 24 hours of parting ways with  Mr. Sharpe and Ms. Max I had found a perfect candidate to practice with – enter Afternoon Delight. Now, Afternoon Delight lived a few blocks away from me; didn’t move in my social circle; was self-employed and had a flexible schedule (meaning he had time to fuck during the day – hence the moniker); wasn’t somebody I would ever want to date (for a host of reasons I won’t get into here), but was attractive for me to get down with; and was totally into doing me (I knew this because of a full court press he had run on me a few months prior). So when I called him that same night and asked, “Is the offer you made a few months ago still on the table?”, Afternoon Delight quickly pinned me down to a ‘meeting’ two days later.

Now people, when Afternoon Delight and I finally ‘connected’ it was beyond sublime.  We enjoyed ourselves so much the first time, we ended up hooking up five more times that week, once twice in the same day. Afternoon Delight laid pipe like nobody’s business and I was happy to be his for the taking.

As a direct result of my midday romps with him, I had sex on the brain all the time over the following weeks and I blew up his phone daily with texts asking when we could hook up again. Generally, unless work obligations didn’t permit Afternoon Delight always accomodated me. People, I had my very own dial-a-dick. I was  living the mutha f’in dream.

For a while there things were going real good. My coochy was singing my praises and Afternoon Delight was positively ecstatic every time we got together. But as we all know, all good things come to an end. And the end came for us one night after he turned me out in grand style.

I don’t know what it was about how we connected the last time we were together, but the shit was so good I got positively stupid.  In the middle of what was an extraordinarily fantastic diddle ( my coochy was stompin’, shoutin’ and AMEN-ing like she was in church) I started envisioning my future with Afternoon Delight. I saw our wedding on a beach under a clear blue Caribbean sky, our beautiful sepia babies taking their first steps and a house with a white picket fence to boot. That’s right folks, Afternoon Delight, the man whom I had specifically chosen because I knew I’d NEVER want him for anything other than his dick, put it on me so good that I started dreaming about settling down with him.

What. The. Fuck?

Needless to say I was shook. Within minutes of our final and very mutual happy ending, I was out the door and on my way home.  Once I was safely inside my apartment I sat down on my couch to process what I was feeling.  “Do you actually REALLY like and want to be with Afternoon Delight?” I asked myself. The answer, a resounding NO, came swiftly. So what was my mid-sex reverie about?  Well, as far as I can tell, all the other-worldly stroking Afternoon Delight put on me that afternoon brought up my long suppressed instincts to nest and multiply (who knew?).

Thankfully, once I made that connection my sanity kicked back in and started shouting,

“SKYE, BACK AWAY FROM THAT COCK! ABORT MISSION! BACK AWAY FROM THAT COCK!!”

and then quickly propelled me into action.  Before I knew it I was off my couch and at my desk firing off a Dear John email to Afternoon Delight that read something like this…

Afternoon Delight,

As much as I’ve enjoyed each and every one of our mid-day sex sessions and I know that my coochy is going to kick my ass for doing this, I have to call it quits.  While you were putting it on me this afternoon I was picturing our wedding day and hearing the first cries of our newborn child – ridiculous, I know! As the visions that were swirling through my brain as we communed today are not what either of us signed up for when we agreed to ‘practice’ together, I think it’s best that from here on out I keep my sweet-dick-induced brand of crazy away from you.

I hope you understand,

Skye

His response came through later that evening…

Skye,

As much as I’m going to miss ‘practicing’ with you (still can’t believe we had sex almost every day for the last month) I appreciate the fact that you recognize your limits and that you’re pulling out before things get messy.

Hoping we’ll catch up again in the future,

Afternoon Delight

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Hoping indeed. People, as much as I’d love to ride his cosmic cock again (all praises due to his magic stick) there’s not a chance in hell that I’ll ever go there again with that man. This clear-thinking chick has officially learned her lesson about the powers of good pipe layin’.  As Sam alluded to in Monday’s post, just a few good down strokes from the right cocksman – even if you’ve decided he’s not boyfriend/husband material – can turn virtually any woman (even a sane one) into a rock-coveting-baby-crazed-wannabe-nester. And I’m so not going out like that.

You heard it here first folks. Skye Blue, will NEVER EVER allow herself to descend into the depths of madness for some extra good wood and a smile. I pride myself on knowing my limits and knowing when to back away from a (super) cock.

Fact.

Exhibit A. (Slut Love)

If having sex on the first (or second) date makes a woman a slut, I guess that means I love sluts. And I don’t mean that in the “I love when a girl gives it up too easy, so I’ll just sleep with her and never consider dating her because why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” way. I mean it in the “only women I’ve ever been in love with (gasp! Sam Sharpe has been in love!) are women I’ve slept with shortly after meeting them or very early in our relationship” way. Very early. I’m talking about “she just broke up with her man and is going down on me in the bed they used to share” early.

And when I say love, I’m talking about bringing her home to meet my mother, taking vacations together, thinking about honeymoons, choosing baby names, and devastating break ups.

Exhibit B. (A little dating philosophy)

It shouldn’t matter whether you save it or you don’t. It is your body. Do with it what you like. If it’s your first date and you’re both feeling the feeling, that’s fine. If not, that’s cool too. But I’ll never understand why some ladies still think that men will take them less seriously if you f*** too soon. Actually, that’s not true. I understand it, but I recognize it for the bullshit that it is. Ladies, you have just as much agency, just as much (if not more) currency in this mating/dating game as we men do. Don’t give away your personal power. When you buy into this line of thinking you are surrendering that power.

Look, if a man loses respect for you after you’ve “given it up too soon”, then he didn’t really respect you in the first place. When men (or women) say these kinds of things or accept these ideas, they are really claiming the last vestiges of some bullshit societal construct whereby someone else controls your body and your sexuality. And to my mind this demeans you all. And I’m not sure why women worry about what these types of men think. ‘Cause really, if a man truly believes you are his equal, then he should lose as much respect for himself for whipping it out too soon. No?

Addendum 1 to Exhibit B. (Or what you should know in the event you’re on a date with me)

I don’t have these kind of dating hang ups. As long as the chemistry and the mood is right, we can definitely f***. On the first date. I might even respect you more. Seriously people. It’s a date. We’ve already decided that we like each other (at least a little bit). If something more happens, it happens. What’s the big deal?

Addendum 2 to Exhibit B.  (Conversations men don’t have)

MAN 1: “Dude, what happened to Sarah?”

MAN 2: “I dunno man. I let her blow me on the first date and I even let her talk me into doing it doggy-style. She hasn’t called me back. Maybe she doesn’t respect me?”

Exhibit C. (The Anecdote)

Sonja and I had tea on our first rendezvous. We talked for a couple of hours and then went our separate ways. Two weeks later, we had our first real “date”. I met her at Osgoode Station. Sonja was wearing a pair of fitted designer jeans and a fitted blouse that clung to her body in all the ways I wanted to and had me asking questions like:

Look at those thighs. I wonder if she used to run track?

Why don’t more women dress like this?

Have I ever seen an ass as gorgeous as this one?

Can she tell I’m undressing her with my eyes?

I wonder if she likes how I look?

Our trip to an art gallery was followed by dinner that was then followed by drinks. Several gin and tonics (her) and Glenlivets (me) later, we were in my bed. I put my tongue in all the places that her outfit suggested would be worth a visit. She returned the favour. We spent the balance of the night doing the sort of things that would make my God-fearing mother reach for her bible and pray for my salvation.

Sonja and I ended up dating for a while, but decided to end the relationship when we realized we had different priorities. It was an amicable split. For that (and the great sex) I’m forever thankful.

I once asked Sonja if she ever worried that I would think less of her because she gave it up so easy. She looked at me as if I had three heads and replied, “Why? Would you?”

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First and foremost dear readers, apologies for my absence.  Although I’d like to say it was due to some muscled stud keeping me bedded and dehydrated for the past week, it wasn’t. But the truth behind my absence is a story for another day.

Today’s subject matter is close to my heart.

SEX

I hear you muttering, ‘That’s hardly surprising for you at metanotherfrog.’

But I’m speaking of a particular type of sex – first date sex. The fumbling, bumbling, and misdirected exploration of first date sex. This is a new and shiney beast for me over the last few years, and it’s not because I have recently become mores slutty than before ( if anything I might have mellowed a tad). You see, I  only really started “dating” once I arrived in Toronto. My life in London didn’t include dating. Very few of my friends ever went on dates, and none of my flings, fuck buddies or one night stands were the result of dating. (I have supplied a diagram and further explanation.)

First dates can range from the sublime to the surreal, but regardless I am hoping to get laid at the end of it all. If there’s a bit of a spark or I have a bit of an itch, then we are finishing the evening post-coital.

To me first dates have become a form of extended foreplay – something a bit more verbal, but foreplay nonetheless. I find it difficult to actually focus on what he’s saying when I am trying to work out what he looks like naked or how skilled he might be at cunnilingus. Therefore it might actually be best if we shagged on arrival and then went out for dinner (having worked up an appetite too) so I could be slightly more attentive.

To be honest, it doesn’t bother me what the chap thinks of “how slutty” I might be to put out on a first date. The truth is I am slutty, I love sex and I have slept with a lot of people. So why pretend otherwise?

Oh actually – there have been occasions when I have pretended otherwise. This is the “please be gentle” or “I think I might be out of practice” pretence. (Often begun with the statement “I really don’t do this sort of thing often.”)

Why you ask? Why would such a self proclaimed activist of a slut as Miss Rose try to hide her true colours? Surely not from shame?

You are quite right – not from shame. It’s just role play. In my extensive field research I have noticed there is a certain kind of guy who is a lot more attentive during foreplay (i.e. he actually bothers with some) if he feels you need “warming up”. Whereas if he knows naked is your default setting and sex your specialist subject he doesn’t always lay the groundwork. For this special kind of chap…

I lie.

Blatantly.

Just to make sure he puts some effort in.

“I’ve been really tryin’, baby

Tryin’ to hold back this feelin’ for so long

And if you feel like I feel, baby

Then come on, oh, come on

Whoo, let’s get it on

Ah, babe, let’s get it on

Let’s love, baby

Let’s get it on, sugar

Let’s get it on”

Marvin Gaye, Let’s Get It On

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In preparing for a lover there are many things “a lady” will attend to. Personal hygiene should be top of the list – FYI. A lesser priority is the choice of music. Music sets the mood for the evening, it can impact the pace and style of your performance as well as the actual sex acts indulged in.

So don’t just drop your iPod into the speakers with your running playlist on. Take the time and prep a few different playlists according to your sexual mood or partners.

I have a number of sex-lists on my digital music device. It varies from the lazy morning sex themes, to the spank-frenzy of a long awaiting reunion with my oftentimes lover the Adonis with the perfect penis. (Yes – I am just being smug now…)

A benefit to a good soundtrack can be in spicing up the event itself. You ever thought about a lap dance? Why not try it to a tune you know and feel comfortable with? I have some recommendations:

1. Dirty. NIN – Closer: the chorus says it all, “I want to fuck you like an animal, I want to feel you from the inside”. Perfect for hot, rough, dirty sex when you are feeling like a throw down.
2. Funny. Five – Cold Sweat: A ridiculous British boyband provided me with the perfect comedy sex-track. Allows you to ham it up to no end for a spot of comedy sex with lots of laughter and throwing of clothes; good choice for a cheer up lap dance after a tough week for your man.
3. Sexy. Desperado – Los Lobos: Get the version from the movie soundtrack and get your sultry on to the dulcet tones of Antonio Banderes.
4. Cute. Divinyls – I touch myself: If Austin Powers can manage a sexy dance to this one, everyone can. Think kitsch and cutesy underwear when you want to be treated like a lady.

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Obviously, choose music to suit your mood / personal tastes, but do be aware of the ramifications of your actions. For example, if you choose a favourite song the memory just may be soured by a negative fallout with the man involved (i.e. The song makes you think about fucking him and then he is a total douche bag). If this happens you may find covering your ears and  running from the room whenever the track is played, for months if not years to come. (Rose family tip is to “get back on the horse” – find a new penis to take on ownership of the soundtrack as soon as possible!)

Another implication is more frightening; music as a romantic trap. This may not sound like the terrifying situation it is, but fear it.

A good reason to plan your sex playlists is to avoid the potential for a “slow dance” in the bedroom. Few women are equipped to deal with the soul searching stare of a man as he moves slowly inside you and tenderly kisses your lips and neck without falling ever such a little bit in love with him. (You all know it’s true – even I have been got in the past.)

So for your own sake and to avoid ruining some good casual sex, check the playlist and learn from my tragic “This Year’s Love” affair.

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

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I used to date men. I am not one of those lesbians who realized from birth that she was all about women. I discovered my sexuality slowly as I came to terms with the fact that my girl crushes and sexual fantasies were way more than just that. When I finally decided to date a girl for the first time, I thought I had struck sexual gold. It was so different. With girls I always felt turned on and ready to be naughty. Girl on girl action was f’in hot and always blew me away. It also made me perplexed as to why, all of a sudden (or so it seemed to me) I was forever horny and wet with excitement throughout the day. I went from being a hetero girl who was chronically telling her lovers ‘I have a headache’ to a ‘I can’t wait to get home and get fucked’ lesbian. I almost felt like I had developed the libido of a guy, thinking about sex non-stop during the day, to the point where I often seriously considered heading to the bathroom at my place of employment to ‘rub one out’. I decided I needed to figure out what was going on, why my pussy was always ready and hungry for a release.

In an effort to discern how and why the change in my sexual appetite had come about I started to pay attention to the differences between relationship with my lesbian lover and the straight liaisons I had had in the past. What I noticed was that from the moment my girl and I woke up there were: soft smiles, random acts of kindness, coy looks, the little kisses, funny texts, quick conversations and playful yet slightly sexual hugs. Then it hit me. All our ‘play’ packaged together was really the gift of all day foreplay. She and I were engaging in very subtle yet consistent flirtation and physical contact that kept us both happy and ready to dish out the pie. You see being female, my partner and I both understood how a woman would want to be treated. As a result we were able to easily give each other what was necessary to keep the sexual tension in our relationship high.

So, men listen up. Like we lesbians, my het sisters know how they want to be treated. Assuming you’re interested in finding out what it would take to keep your girl ‘revved up’ for you all day, you can ask her what she wants, but more importantly…pay attention to what she does for you. People have a habit of doing onto others as they would have done onto them. So, if your girl is texting you to tell you how much she misses you during the day there’s a good chance that if you do the same for her, she’ll be one happy and horny gal, anxious to demonstrate her gratitude in the bedroom by the time you two connect at night.  I know that’s how it works for me.

When my girlfriend has spent much of the day telling me how beautiful my eyes are or that I have the best hips and ass, you know how I say thank you? This is how. When night falls (or even before that on some days), I let her know that it’s her foreplay (that incidentally didn’t start 15 minutes before, but eight hours earlier) that got us there. I lay her down on her back and slither up her body, kissing everything along the way (very important), our legs making “scissors” – yummy. With my senses working overtime, I thrust myself into her, to say thank you for loving me so good. Then, I turn myself around and hover my pussy over her mouth, so I can use my tongue, my chin and my fingers on her. If we’re lucky sometimes our perfectly timed and mutual orgasms are the big firework THANK YOUS we give each other that say…

“Thank you for reminding me during the day that I have an admirer. Thank you for always letting me know that you love me. Thank you for showing me that you have my back each and every day. Honey, your efforts to show me how much you care didn’t go unnoticed.”

So, if you’re looking to have your woman thank you the way my girlfriend and I thank each other virtually every night, I say up the ante on your foreplay by putting in work all day, because…

A little foreplay sprinkled here and there throughout the day all but guarantees an amazing roll in the hay.

I have been told more than once that a hook-up is a hook-up; that we should never try and make it into more than it was, a sweaty night of delicious passion. But from my experience this is more fiction than fact. I have on occasion turned the one night stand into a meaningful relationship.

Now, I don’t want anyone (i.e. Elizabeth Rose) to go thinking that I’ve lost my card to the slut club, as I’ve said before – I am a proud, card carrying member. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve never been in a relationship. I do (at times) enter into a relationship with extreme prejudice – obviously this is only done with the sexiest of the sexy. Some of these relationships were born of hook-ups, evenings I thought would never result in anything more than a happy night of mutual passion and pleasure. Which leads me to believe that thinking a one night stand can never become more is pure myth.

Where does this myth come from? I like to think it is the result of the social stigma that is still, despite our best efforts, attached to sex. If a woman succumbs to her desires and dares to sleep with a man on the first date or after meeting at the bar than she is a slut (and not the good kind of slut, either) – she clearly does this all the time and men should beware of her black-widow type ways.

What do I believe? Sometimes, desire is so great, the connection so immediate, the lust so strong that we feel we have to succumb to those needs – we cannot let this man walk out of our lives without having been with him and thus the one night stand is born.

Recently I found myself in the throws of an evening that was so hot I’m afraid to put the words on the screen, so I’ll dial it down for you.  All I’ll say is that one of the foxiest men I’ve ever seen walked into my bar for a couple of drinks and left with memories to last a lifetime – because as I’ve said before, I’m just that good. Now my problem isn’t that I want to see him again it’s that I’m desperate to see him again, and not just because of his oh-so-skillful oral technique (although I wouldn’t say no to doing THAT again either). I want to see him again because of the conversation – because this orally gifted, Italian fox provided me with more stimulating and intelligent banter than I’ve had since my last boyfriend walked out the door a year ago.

So is it possible to have an exceptional one night stand grow into something more? From my experience, yes. But I’ll let you know if he calls – cause this time he’s going to have to buy me dinner first… that is if I can make it through apps without dragging him into the bathroom for a quickie.

At the end of yesterday’s post Nights in Boracay, Part 1, I was about to embark on my second night in the tropical paradise in Boracay…

–

Within the first hour of arriving at our chosen night spot, I broke one of our cardinal rules; I drank a little too much. Even so, after the events of the previous night, I wasn’t about to drop my guard – oh no! In my drunken state I set my sights on an elusive, slightly shy, and soft handed 5’2” Filipina. And as luck would have it, she seemed to have set her sights on one very lucky big guy (6′4″ and 17 stone to be exact) – namely, me. As we danced and flirted I started to get the feeling that someone was watching me. When I turned to look, I noticed that all the guys’ eyes were fixed on me.

Why are they watching my every move? She’s quite clearly a ‘real’ girl. Very cute, soft silky skin, pretty short. What can they see that I can’t?

Nervous that I might be missing something, I asked my lovely new friend to join me and the boys, who were seated by the bar, for a drink. She kindly agreed and then she stepped down from the stage she was standing on.  And in that moment it all became clear.

My delightful dance partner was no taller than a metre (that’s about 3’3” for the Americans), and I as I said before I’m a pretty big guy. The boys were all transfixed because  she was half my size – literally.

When she and I sat down at the table the entire group was speechless. Not one of them was able to stop gawking at her long enough to say a thing. As I talked to her, they just watched, jaws grazing the table. Quite rude, really, but I knew they were all in awe, thinking the same thing I was: What the hell was I going to do? I quickly realized that my new quandary had blown last night’s encounter with the man-hunting ladyboys out of the water. As I chatted with my new acquaintance the same three thoughts kept swirling around in my head…

We’ve been flirting like mad here, have we passed the point of no return?

If so, how the hell is this going to work?

Is it even physically possible?

Although, I started to feel something akin to panic, I somehow managed to blurt the words, “Would you like to go back to my hotel room?”

She smiled broadly and then shot up out of her seat. Now all their jaws dropped to the floor.

I’m happy to report that despite the marked size disparity and my colleagues’ doubts, my elfin friend and I managed just fine. Very well indeed. For the better part of my vacation.

I always knew there was a very good reason why I have a soft spot for spinners petite women.

I have to shake my head when I think about all the sexual encounters I’ve had in my time. I’ve done things that make R. Kelly look like Regis Philbin and I own a sex tape collection that would make Kim Kardashian jealous. I’ve done the dirty in some of the most inappropriate places and participated in acts that would’ve made Rick James real nervous. Some of the sex was fantastic, what wet dreams are made of. And other times were so bad I tried to erase the memories of them from my mind by sitting down with my good friend Jack Daniels. Unfortunately for me, there are some things that even hard liquor can’t make you forget…

Many women don’t seem to realize that cleaning themselves and their lower region is very, very important. Nothing turns me off more than a woman who doesn’t handle her business right and then has the audacity to expect me to get hard and get all up in it, when she smells like the Bahamian Fishery.

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During my university years, I had a good female friend who was cute as hell who I wanted to get with real bad, but every time we were about ‘connect’ she’d say the timing just wasn’t right. Well, after months of flirting and many nights of blue balls, I finally convinced my lady friend to give it up. On the night she came over to do the deed she was looking fine in her tight light blue jeans, matching denim sandals, and white baby tee.  From the moment she walked into my apartment I started grinning like a pedophile at recess and the stiffie in my pants threatened to bust straight through my zipper. She sat down on my couch and gave me a look that said “You want some of this player?” to which my lust-filled eyes replied, “Yes please!!!”

Anyway, we got right down to it and before she knew what hit her I had her face down and ass up, as I drilled it home from behind. It was all going well. She was lovin’ it and I was just about to start to praise God for his many tender mercies when her crotch rot started to overtake me. At first it was real subtle, but it quickly became overwhelming. Man, her cooch smelt so bad I actually started gagging and came very close to throwing up, but I was determined to see it through ‘til the end. So I hunkered down with my hand covering my nose and kept laying the pipe on her until she came. As soon as she was done, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom to take a loooong hot shower. Then after I reluctantly let her use my bathroom to wash her dirty behind, I hustled her right out the front door. Once she left I lit every candle and piece of incense I could find, but even that didn’t kill the smell of her crotch rot. It was that ugly.

Since that night folks, I can say without a doubt that crotch rot is my biggest sexual pet peeve. But I’ve got a few others that I’d like to get off my chest. Ladies pay attention…

Talking Too Much During Sex – Sometimes you women can talk to much in the bedroom. If you’ve asked me “Do you like that?” three times and I answered yes each time, stop asking me already. As a matter of fact just stop talking. Period.

Being Selfish – Nothing grinds my gears more than a girl who is selfish in bed. If on a consistent basis I put in work, make you cum with the quickness  and you roll over mumbling some shit about “That was real good baby, I’m through” don’t act all confused and come round asking me “Why don’t you want to get with me no more?” when I stop calling you.

Just Laying There – Now why would anyone come out to play and then turn around and play dead fish? Women who don’t move or actively participate in sex make me feel like they don’t really want to be there. I like a female who is real playful, assertive even. FYI: Any woman who chooses to lie still in my bed will very quickly be faced with a limp dick attached to a sleeping man.

Nuff said.