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.

–

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.

Women of the World, if I may have your attention for just one moment.

Do I have your attention? Excellent.

::Ahem::

Don’t fear the rimjob.

Seriously. Don’t.

Because you know me. And you know I’m going to ask eventually. Sure, I can make with the witty banter over dinner. The obligatory reference to the latest Tyler Perry movie. The questions about your Aunt Netty – I sure hope she’s doing okay. But make no mistake. While I’m droning on and on about how much American Idol misses Paula Abdul and how totally awesome your hair looks, I’m really thinking about rimming you.

If I have only one pet peeve in the bedroom, and it is women who will not even entertain the thought of a guy’s face anywhere near their derrieres. And those women are out there. And it seems unfair to lambaste them for not liking what they don’t like. After all, if I met a chick who was really into setting her boypal’s testicles on fire and kicking him repeatedly in the shins, I’d have to let her down. But I say if you’re gonna show it off in those two hundred dollar jeans or that leather skirt, shaking it mercilessly as I follow you up the stairs, into the parking lot, or out of the bowling alley, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that at some point, I’m going to ask if I can wear your ass like a catcher’s mask.

“But it doesn’t seem right,” you might think. “Certainly not very hygienic.” To that, I say fuck hygiene. You’ve got a great ass. I’d like to become ridiculously intimate with that ass. And I’ve been eating female ass long enough to know there is very little a woman can do — short of swinging a knife at my genitals — that will dissuade me from finishing the job once I’ve undertaken it. If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of a guy’s tongue up your ass, just hear me out. Listen to my credentials. Let me offer up my action plan (complete with PowerPoint presentation), which will inevitably involve letting my tongue stray from your ass crack to your holiest of holies (after a good swig of Cepacol Antibacterial Mouthwash, which I always keep on hand for such occasions), whereupon I will deliver cunnilingus that you might swear is being delivered by Jesus Christ himself. Or at least that guy who used to play “The Fonz.”

It could open up a whole new world of enjoyment for you. Hell, next time we go out, you might ask me to rim you. You might even suggest bypassing dinner entirely and just straddling my face upon my arrival at your flat. These are good things, and I hate to have you miss out on them simply because the thought of a stern rimming “doesn’t seem right.”

So relax. Take a chance. Drop those inhibitions. And those pants.

Also, understand two things: Every step will be taken to ensure your maximum enjoyment of said rimming. And I never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever look for reciprocation in this arena. I am strictly about rimming unto others. Never the other way around.

Like, never.

Thanks for your time. And, oh, can I rim you?

For further perversion, feel free to visit me at my blog, LustMongers.

I’m going to interrupt this weeks regular programming and share with you a few links I stumbled upon that may keep you entertained. Or informed. Either way, enjoy.

1. Battle of the sexes anyone?
2. Oh, Tiger Woods. Look what you’ve wrought.
3. Ladies, looking for a big dong? Head to the Big Easy.
4. Apparently, nature likes ‘em short and fat.
5. Girls, follow these tips if your goal is celibacy and/or spinsterhood.
6. Ewww.
7. Seriously. Is this now an official part of a philanderer’s playbook.
8. This one’s for the fellas. I’m starting my own old chick I’d like to “get to know” hall of fame (50 and over). See the charter class here, here, here , here and here.
9. Speaking of Raquel Welch, this just goes to show you ladies that you shouldn’t let the media dictate who or what is sexy.
10. Ewww. Pt. 2

“I’ve never shied away from a good fart joke.” – Eugene Levy

Bodily functions are pretty funny. I’m English so I find toilet humour amusing even though I left high school behind long ago.

But…

There are certain instances where it isn’t big, it isn’t clever and it isn’t funny. Generally this is true for any professional situation, but in my case it is also true for my lovers. If you pass wind – why on earth do you think I’d want to put my face down there? So yes – farting directly leads to a reduction in frequency and/or duration of blowjobs.

Flatulence isn’t the only bodily function I take issue with. Spitting – it’s disgusting. Why show me you have an excess of saliva? It’s going to put me off kissing you. (Not to mention being seen with you in public.)

No one needs to be reminded of the downside to poor hygiene – just because I’ve put it in my mouth before, doesn’t mean I don’t expect it to be clean, pristine and well groomed. So why do some lovers get so damn lazy?!?

A dear friend of mine has been complaining bitterly in recent days about her boyfriend’s very lax bedroom presentation. This man farts in front of her, picks his nose without shame, and even pisses with the door open. Then he whines about her lack of libido. Seriously?!

What I find hilarious about all of this is that while she is complaining about his disgusting habits, she bemoans the loss of her sex drive in the same breath. It amazes me that the rather obvious link hasn’t been identified by either of them.

For the record ’sharing’ bodily functions with your love isn’t indicative of having an easy comfort with each other. It’s a sign of being taken for granted and isn’t something I hold much truck with. So dear gents – if you are ever fortunate enough to be a regular on my bedroom roster, please keep that magic alive!

• Don’t fart;
• Don’t pick your nose;
• Close the door to the bathroom;
• Wash it first;
• Keep the forestry in check; and
• Never engage me in a conversation about your health or lack of it.

Can you name any one thing that ratchets up the pressure, intensity and sense of expectation in a relationship more than the first time you fuck make love? I sure can’t. In fact, hindsight suggests that in some of my relationships the anticipation that bubbled and seethed before consummation may have been the highlight. Either way, nothing gets you humming like the first time you…

-

But the first time is also rife with danger. It is a key point in the relationship. It can make you or break you. If you’ve gotten far enough to believe you’ll be gettin’ some you’ve probably successfully passed the first kiss test, which means you didn’t treat her face and mouth like a popsicle. (That said, if you happen to have a really sloppy kissing technique and you’ve got a girl, you’re either: 1.super hot, 2.super wealthy or 3. she’s super desperate). So the first time in the sack could determine the longevity of your relationship.

My first time with a girl we’ll call Kim was particularly memorable. That’s not a good thing. I’m not going to get into the particulars but let’s just say that as we lay there in the afterglow of what was (by my standards at least) a mediocre session, Kim decided to start talking about past lovers and how I measured up both in terms of endowment and performance. Most of what Kim said would be construed by a lot of men as flattering, but I was horrified. Since we weren’t facing each other, I guess she couldn’t see the distress and shock written on my face. Needless to say I didn’t see any long term potential in Kim. (Between Kim, Christine and Simone I’m starting to think I really have piss poor taste in women).

Here are a few other things to consider when stepping up to the plate for the first time:

1. Being selfish isn’t a good look. You’d think this goes without saying, but I’ve heard too many of my female friends (I’m looking at you Skye and Elizabeth Rose) bitch and moan about men whose short and long game were shabby the first time out. The first time is like a job interview. Gentlemen, best foot forward please.

2. Ladies, you’re not getting off the hook though either. When dating someone new PLEASE LEAVE THE BIG PANTIES AT HOME. In the laundry basket. Where they belong. Full coverage is for sun tan lotion, insurance and acne cream. Not panties.

3. The first time out is not the time to be experimenting. The vag and the mouth are the only orifices that are guaranteed to be on the table. No stray fingers please. Think about it this way. If you were paying an escort for their services you would have to negotiate ahead of time and determine what was on the menu. So why would you treat a potential mate with any less courtesy? So all the rimming and pegging that we talked about during fringe month is not acceptable without prior consent.

4. Safe sex please. Nuff said.

5. If you have control over the mood music, say NO to Kenny G and YES to Al Green (Check ‘Simply Beautiful’. It’s a stone cold winner. ).

6. Personal hygiene is a must – that’s all I’m going to say. However, if you need further clarification check out Basic Sex Etiquette Vol. 2

If done right the first time can lay the groundwork for the creation of an amazing relationship. If done poorly, you just might get written about on a blog.

So folks, I’ve offered up my best suggestions for making the first time you hit the sheets with your new love successful. Any of you out there have ideas you can share for ensuring a smooth and memorable first time?

“All good things are wild and free.” – Henry David Thoreau

I have already confessed how much I delight in a bit of outdoor frolicking. (I assume I will find myself followed around Toronto parks by wannabe filmmakers in very near future.) Lately, I’ve had trouble indulging my desire for an outdoor romp, as there are few places in city centres these days which aren’t already on camera. (Big Brother is watching you…)

That said, here are a few tips for you enthusiasts.

1. Start small. Don’t go full fling in a crowded park straight away. Try doing it up against the windows of your house, on your balcony or in a parked car.
2. Dress the part. Ladies, this means forgoing the underwear and putting on a skirt. If you are thinking about a sneak event in the office, I recommend flimsy knickers that can be pushed to one side allowing entry without removal and a pair of stockings.
3. Scout ahead and do your homework! Don’t just whip it out and get it on, or you may find your antics wind up on YouTube via a nearby security camera or that you end up in jail for public nudity.
4. Play safe. Beyond avoiding STDs, also make sure you aren’t going to injure yourselves. I am no longer as flexible as I once was and will not be climbing trees (again) anytime soon for a quickie.

I must have been 17 or 18 the first time I’d even heard the term. Carl, a college friend of my brother, was talking about rimming. Apparently, it was all the rage on their campus. Rimming, for those of you who don’t know is a form of oral sex whereby the anus/perineum of one partner is serviced by the other’s mouth. At that stage of my life I was mortified by the concept. This seemed an unacceptable practice to me.

My friend Michael was the second person I can remember discussing rimming. It might be more accurate to say Michael was extolling the virtues of the act. According to Michael it was the pinnacle of oral sexual pleasure. The interesting thing though was that Michael claimed it was something he would only allow his “side thing” to do to him—He’d never let a woman he really cared about “lick the bowl”.

This idea seems to persist, as it is a common theme amongst men in my social circle. Rimming, if practiced at all is done in specific circumstances. Interestingly, though it was something my friends wouldn’t allow their “main squeeze” to do to them, and those who were “Rimmers” would only do it to their main squeeze. As Michael put it

“My tongue isn’t going to lick up any old girl’s ass”.

Make of that what you will.

Personally, I believe that as long as both partners are consenting, I don’t see any sexual behaviour as dirty or wrong. It may not be my cup of tea, but not everyone is drinking with me.

So what about you, dear friends? How do you feel about playing above (below?) the rim?

“As she has planted, so does she harvest; such is the field of karma.”  – Sri Guru Granth Sahib

Readers, I am concerned. I am perplexed, worried and even somewhat fraught. I was being self reflective this weekend past - (okay I was hung over and watching reruns of CSI – the Vegas one, not Miami) and I realised that my recent run of luck with male specimens has been less than favourable.

I’m not going to recruit you into my belief system (beyond the creed of “One more for the road”) but I do believe the world is intrinsically fair and in a form of karma. So on that basis – why am I having such a terrible run of cock? Let’s review the evidence…

1. I ran out – the entire city of London and apparently I was running into past rejects.
2. I was in a drought and drove up the price of batteries for the province of Ontario.
3. I wasn’t allowed to view his member – popular opinion that he was too small.
4. I was terrified on Halloween by one so small and so very cheesy.
5. I was surprised by an encounter with a hairy shaft (though otherwise excellent, but still gave me pause).
6. And this weekend, I didn’t even get to review as I was shockingly abandoned for a meat pie!

Where has this ill favour come from? Based on the core pillars of karma and neatly outlined by Sri Guru Granth Sahib above (I don’t know who this is either, but it sounded good) I would be deserving of this harvest through my own actions.

Readers, I appeal to you as witnesses and as a jury of my peers! I am very nice to every cock I get my hands (or lips) on. Even a cheese encrusted minature – I take on risk of infection to complete the task ‘in hand’.

So why is my knob karma currently so poor?

What have I done to bring this upon myself?

How can I remedy this to return to the smooth, girthy perfection that I dream of?

Perhaps an exorcism is in order – but how would one perform such a feat? I can’t even begin to imagine – if it is necessary for me to behave differently than I have been in recent weeks to reverse this fortune, should I be seeking out anal? Or is it required for me to strap one on and ‘peg’ the next owner of a VSD I come across?

I am hurt that some force in the Universe has chosen to single me out for such treatment by the male member, based on the benevolence I bestow upon those who seek me out I should be crowned their Queen.

There must be something else.

I did begin to wonder if perhaps my disclosures are breaking some unspoken masonic code not to tell on their secrets, but I hope that isn’t true as I would be forced to either abandon my post here or leave cock behind altogether and write to you on my lesbian experiences. Since I enjoy telling my chronicles of cock almost as much as I enjoy the organ itself, I don’t wish to give up either of these things.

(And I really, really like cock)

But, what if this isn’t a punishment? What if I am being conditioned by these universal forces by being offered comparative data? I have had a run of bad luck beyond a normal statistical spread. I am considering this may be to encourage me to truly appreciate the value in a man’s nether regions. So that when I am offered the opportunity of truly excellent penis, I will grasp it (the opportunity and the penis) with both hands.

Dear readers, I’ve got two words for you – perseverance and ‘LOW-Giene’.

I’m going to assume that you all know what the first word means, and quickly move on to the second. LOW-Giene is a term one of my closest friends (shout out to the Night Nurse) came up with to describe all manner of uncleanly bodily sins some human beings inflict upon the rest of mankind. For those of you who are still not sure what I’m talking about, let me break it down for you. Wikipedia defines hygiene as the…

“set of practices associated with the preservation of health and healthy living. Hygiene is a concept related to medicine, as well as to personal and professional care practices related to most aspects of living, although it is most often associated with cleanliness and preventative measures.”

My friends, LOW-Giene is the exact opposite.

—

WARNING: Reading the following story may induce vomiting.

The laughter was loud, uproarious. Eddie’s story about pulling his hands out of an ex’s pants only to find that his fingers were covered in blood blood – much like strawberry flavoured Pocky Sticks – may have been exaggerated, but it brought down the house nonetheless. Not to be outdone, I waded into the conversation and told the story of The Funk, which was also met with spastic fits of laughter.

By this time in the evening our group had been drinking for a few hours and spirits were high. The group consisted of Eddie, myself, Anthony and Walter, his best friend from college. At Anthony’s urging, Walter reluctantly agreed to share his very own LOW-Giene story.

Before I proceed, I have to let you know that Walter has a reputation for being the most cunning of linguists. There is not a clitoris in creation he wouldn’t hold a conversation with and he’s always quick to boast about how much he enjoys “taking the express train downtown”.

Anyway, Walter took a swig of his scotch, exhaled deeply and began his tale.

“So, I’m in Chicago on a business. At the end of my second night in town I end the evening at the hotel bar sharing drinks with Anna, a colleague of mine. After a little conversation about work and family we grease the wheels with several martinis—next thing I know we’re in her room for a little bada boom bada bing.”

Walter paused, to take another sip of his scotch and a pull on his cigarette.

“There I am, taking off her panties—they had bears or bunnies or some shit on ‘em—and about to engage in a little lips to lip action, when I see these white, stringy, thread like things, kinda like layering the lips of her pussy and sticking to her pubic hair. I’m thinking to myself, ‘What the FUCK is this shit?’ But I’m also like ‘This girl is hot and I don’t know what the fuck to do’.

Eddie and I were spellbound.

“Dude, What did you do?” I asked.

“The only thing I know how to do…I ate her”.

That was not the answer I was expecting. I stared blankly at him for a few minutes, hoping that the wave of nausea that hit me would pass. When it finally did I asked Walter the following questions:

SS: What did this stringy stuff feel like?

Walter: It felt rubbery.

SS: WTF? And you still took it in your mouth? This dude has a death wish. Why did you still eat her out?

Walter: I love eating pussy.

SS: Okay?!? But so do a lot of people! What did it taste like?

Walter: Salty, sour. She definitely had a little bit of odour going on down there too.

SS: Yet, you finished the job. You’re a better man than me. Did you slam it?

Walter: Yup.

SS: You actually put your dude in that mess? WOW! Would you do it again?

Walter: Hell yeah. I already have – a few times. Haven’t seen that stringy shit again, but I did find some pieces of tissue paper down the last time I ate her out.

SS: You’re a fuckin’ soldier. A soldier who should take his dirty crotch eating ass to the doctor for a thorough checkup, but a soldier nonetheless.

—

I’m not sure if there’s any moral or lesson to be learned from this story. In my perfect world, Walter would have been grossed out by the unidentified substance fused to that chick’s genitalia and refused to engage in further acts of pleasure with her. But not only did he persevere for that evening, Walter went back for seconds (and thirds and fourths apparently). Though his actions definitely reinforce a point I’ve made several times on this site – that men are often willing to do anything to get some action – I really believe (hope, pray?) that Walter is an isolated case.

People, just keep your shit clean.

“Yeah, kind of. Like these jeans are a few days old, but the top is probably fresh because it gets to the point where even I can’t stand the air around me. I don’t know, my personal hygiene – it’s so disgusting! Really it’s just that I have very few clothes that I like and I’m travelling all the time, so I can’t really get any more.” – New Moon‘s Robert Pattinson

On a recent trip to NYC, a young almost -starving artist and I caught up for drinks. Tess and I are friends from Toronto. She is a talented singer and songwriter, as well as a pint-sized femme fatale. Tess is also a serial dater in New York. The men there buy dinner, and she provides her smile and good conversation. This is how she manages to stay in fine wines and martinis.

So when Tess and I headed out onto the streets of the Big Apple for the evening, it was her intent that all our drinks be purchased by a willing male.

(Without deviating from the plot line, I do have to interject that Elizabeth Rose always stands her round. The desire to spend one’s time talking with horny morons for the cost of a house spirit and mixer is a part of Canadian culture that I have yet to embrace.)

During our evening out in the cocktail bar of the W hotel, we were joined at our table by a succession of would be suitors at varying levels of intoxication. As the morning drew near, one such gentleman became less than gentle in his attentions towards Tess, so we decided to take our leave and head off for eggs. While Tess tried to remove herself from the clingy gentleman who had closed out her tab, I made conversation with a handsome enough chap by the elevators. Beyond being handsome, he was charming, well spoken and I found myself enjoying his company.

As Tess approached, her stalker followed. My elevator hunk offered an escape route – the three of us could head up in the hotel lift to avoid Tess’ pursuer and share another drink in his suite.

There is always safety in numbers and neither Tess nor I have ever been known to turn down a glass of champagne, so off the three of us went. Our rescuer introduced himself as George, and he said he was in town on business from Washington.

When we got upstairs we realized that George had exaggerated about his “suite” when we were ushered into the standard W hotel room. There were clothes on the floor and the bed was unmade. We stood back and allowed George to straighten his room and order champagne from room service. Tess and I sat down on the chaise and accepted our glasses of champagne from George after it arrived. As we clinked our glasses he informed us that he had bought us Krystal because we deserved “Nothing but the best”. This was a boast similar to his previous “suite” statement, as our ‘Krystal’ was a bottle of VC Gold Label. A pleasant brand of bubbles that I prefer to Krystal, but apparently missing the stature he was hoping to impose.

At this point, George excused himself and went to the washroom. For those of you who haven’t stayed in a W hotel, the chaise faces the bed and provides an unobstructed view of the bathroom wall, which is made of opaque glass. This meant that when George entered the bathroom and switched on the lights – due to the most basic laws of physics – Tess and I were greeted by a clear image of him dropping his trousers and briefs before he settled onto the throne.

As Tess and I were sitting in the darker, “romantic” lighting of the bedroom, we could see George clearly in the brightly lit bathroom. Picture yourself standing in the dark, outside the window of a well lit room and you’ll get the picture.  I for one, have always enjoyed moments of voyeurism.

So while George was on the toilet, we sat, drank our champagne and looked on, amused.

When George had completed his business, he wiped, and then shuffled over to the sink with his trousers still down. We watched as he washed his hands, and then soaped up again to wash his cock rather thoroughly. To Tess and I this was a humourous enough spectacle, even though he was being a little presumptive in thinking that he could score with one or both of us based on a dirty hotel room and a bottle of VC.

George then went a step further than either of us expected. He picked up a flannel, soaped it up, and then turned away from the sink.

Tess and I sat aghast as we watched him bend forward and thoroughly scrub down his crack and asshole.

In retrospect, I have to give the man kudos – he performed a more thorough preparation than most women could ever expect. However, being a witness to the proceedings meant that I was certainly not likely to want to make a closer inspection.

As for George, when he had finished his ablutions, he pulled up his pants and came back into the bedroom. His face was hopeful as he looked across at Tess and I. He was clean, he was horny and he was hoping for a threesome. “Which of you girls is the better kisser?”

All I can do is sigh at this point in the story and urge any of my readers who are looking to instigate some group nudity to come up with a better opener than that!

I poured the last bit of my champagne down my throat and then stood up, ready to leave. Had the evening been different I might have been tempted to indulge just for some holiday fun – but while I was sure George was clean, I felt I knew a little too much.

However, the night didn’t end badly for our soapy stud. Tess’ stomach was made of sterner stuff than mine and she wasn’t put off by the earlier show. So while I headed back to my hotel room alone with the image of George mooning us through the bathroom wall stubbornly remaining in my head, Tess stayed behind to check his handiwork.

So gents – take heart! Even if you accidently allow your “aspiration” to watch you defecate, wash yourself thoroughly and the fact that you cleaned up will be enough to seal the deal 50% of the time.