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

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

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

Sam Sharpe (aka The F’in Man)

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

The Meet Cute

The First Phone Call

The First Date

The First Kiss

The First Time

A Perfect Night

On The Wings of Love? (The First Trip)

For You, Just Because

Sex + Experimenting = Fun

Meeting the Fam

First Office Party Survival Tips

Guest Post: Love – A Choice

I LOVE YOU

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

Planning: The Beginning of the End?

Living Together

Upgrade You

Many Sexless Nights

Hello Granny Panties, Goodbye Morning Wood

Intolerable Defects

4 Tips to Keep You Communicating

Noticing His Friends

Sharing Bodily Functions

Away From Her

IT’S OVER

“You can’t handle the truth!” – Jack Nicholson, A Few Good Men

Long ago, in a far away land, Elizabeth Rose was very much in love. She lived with a man who made her laugh, had a cock she dreamed of at night and could make her smile with the simplest glance or the lightest touch.

He was an eccentric man, but as our heroine was an eccentric girl, they lived happily in their eccentric life. They worked peacefully together through the week (once the scandal had died down – he was her boss once upon a time…), and on the weekend she would go shopping while he ate cake for lunch. (As I said, he was an eccentric man, and he had a very sweet tooth.)

And they were happy for a time.

Then fate interfered and their workplace relocated to a distant kingdom. Our Knight Gallant chose to follow his job, and our Elizabeth was offered treasure by a rival firm located in London.

In the weeks that followed they had many long and intense conversationg about what choices they should make. In the end they decided that they would both follow their own path, and that a long distance relationship was to be attempted.

“If it’s meant to be…” was the refrain and the escape route for each to make their own selfish choices without compromise.

Weeks, if not months would pass between their visits, when the young lovers would be reunited for only a few days. Those times spent together were bittersweet, both blissful and heart breaking. With so little time to be together, neither wished to discuss the doubts or horrors plaguing their minds. So each visit would commence in joy, only to end with tear filled and downcast eyes.

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“If it’s meant to be…”

Both had given the other freedom from any moral bounds allowing the other to take refuge in pleasures of the flesh where they are offered. The price for this freedom was silence. Conversation became strained, each wondering what it was the other was not telling. Both taking what refuge could be found in the words “if it’s meant to be”.

The relationship eventually cracked under the weight of what might be unsaid. Neither daring to ask the other for the truth; jealousy leading to insecurity leading to the end of all that could have been.

“If it’s meant to be…”

So under the shadow of all those mights, perhaps and maybes; our Lady and her Knight parted ways. Tears and regrets echoing amidst the silence of a truth unspoken.

Our Elizabeth’s truth was a perverse irony. No man had ever matched her distant Knight, and so she had waited faithfully between each of their visits, not wanting the freedom she had been granted. Never daring to break the promises made. Never attempting to take back the freedoms she had given or reject those granted to her. Never choosing to share her truth.

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If it was meant to be…

“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.

“Adultery is the application of democracy to love” – Henry Louis Mencken

We continue Man Month here at metanotherfrog.com discussing the misconceptions about men and cheating.

• Does he cheat because he’s unhappy?
• Will he only cheat if she is prettier than me? Younger than me?
• Does he cheat just because he can?

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As so often is the case, I have a take on this outside of the cultural norm. Instead of obsessing over the why or the if around cheating – why not take it out of the equation all together? Is a polyamorous relationship possible for you?

When either the male or female in a given relationship consider “cheating”, it is likely due to the fact that they feel something missing in their union. For example a man’s decision to partake in an extra marital romp while on a business trip, is most likely due to his missing your warm body to wrap himself around at a moment when he was drunk, horny and/or feeling lonely.

Is there so much betrayal in the sharing of bodily fluids that it warrants all the angst and pain that has spawned a subculture of the “wronged”? There are songs, movies, support groups – I’ll bet there is even a T-shirt.

If a true polyamorous arrangement can be discussed and implemented up front – then there is no betrayal, no hurt. Of course, there needs to be a clear understanding of why you might need something (or a lot of things) on the side, and there will definitely be bumps in the road. But if you and your mate can truly be together in a caring relationship with wider boundaries than ‘normal’, then polyamory may be a very effective way to stay together – happily.

Obviously, it is not a option for everyone. Many of you out there are committed to finding that one penis or vagina to  be with – forever. Good for you. I and many of my fellow sluts have chosen a path that does not end in a single set of genitals. While I do not state that I will never fall in love or decide to spend the rest of my life with one man – I do know that I will never want to give up the odd addition to my partner.

So – I say this, instead of worrying about why or if one or both of you might cheat, make an arrangement with your mate for a mutual ‘time out’. Say one week a year, no questions asked.

Or buy him a whore for his landmark birthdays, believe me, that would make an awesome present.

Lyrics from “Forever“  by Ben Harper

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Although some liars people in relationships boldly declare that their feelings of love for a special someone will last until they feel like trading you in and upgrading to a new model forever, the sad truth is that every relationship comes to an end – even the ‘til death do us part’ variety.

Unfortunately when the end comes it is often painful. Especially when the triflin’ SOB dumps you by sending a text that reads:

IT’S OVER!!!!

And then, to add insult to injury he proceeds to not answer your calls.

What can I say except shit happens and I ain’t mad y’all.

Really I ain’t.

SKYE BLUE

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I still don’t see the problem with breaking up over text – so long as I am the one sending it. Besides since most of my “relationships” finish before breakfast I have little more to add in the way of commentary on this one.  Though I do suggest getting in one last fuck before breaking the news. I find men take these things better directly after a blow job (or at least I assume they do, since I send the text as my taxi pulls away from their house).

ELIZABETH ROSE

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She was perfect. I could spend hours in her company and never run out of things to say. Her sense of humour matched mine. She understood my sarcasm. Knew not to take my teasing seriously. She was university educated. She was an artist, a professional artist. A real life, make her living through creativity artist. You’ve probably seen her work in a gallery or space here in Toronto. Maybe you’ve even bought a print. She supported my creative ambitions. Encouraged me to write more. Seemed genuinely moved by my poetry.

I was smitten. She taught me how to appreciate sunsets. I made her feel safe. I could ease her tensions with a kiss to the forehead. I gave her my time. I listened when no one else would. I talked when she wanted to listen. I understood that sometimes life scared her. I knew she wanted my support. I knew she didn’t really need it. You probably saw us kissing outside of Osgoode station. “Get a room,” you thought to yourself. I saw all of her victories in my dreams. I counted a personal triumph every time she kissed me. Or said she loved me. I lost count somewhere around 1,798.

We shared our secrets. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We would lie in bed until we couldn’t take it anymore. We would make meals together. We couldn’t wait to get back into bed. We laughed when people said “You guys make love look so easy”. We did. We didn’t. We traveled. We sat on the church steps. We cried when we left the movie theatre. You probably saw us slogging through a fog on Queen Street. “Why are they crying?” you probably thought to yourself. We had nothing left to do together. We loved so fast. We loved so hard. We still do.

But…

She knew it was over.

I knew it was over.

We knew it was over.

It’s over, but I’m still not over her.

SAM SHARPE

True story. It’s New Year’s Eve. My crew and me were not only ringing in the New Year, we were also celebrating my cousin T’s birthday. His girlfriend and my girlfriend were like batty an’ bench (that’s like fric and frac  for the non-Jamaican massive). We gathered at my boy Charles’ place for our big bashment. Liquor? Check. Food? Well, there was stew peas, rice and peas, fried chicken, jerk chicken, fried fish, bammy, festival; it was a full on celebration of all things Jamaican. Music? The sound system was heavyweight. Girlfriends? Nowhere to be seen.

For most of our relationship, N and I were inseparable. But for some inexplicable reason things started to change. I don’t know if it was the arguing, the lack of intimacy, the insecurity (hers and mine), our inexperience, or if those things were just symptoms of a greater issue. All I know is that by the time that particular New Year’s Eve rolled around, a night that almost every man wants to spend with the woman he loves, I wanted to be as far away from N as possible. I chose instead to spend it with my boys. Girlfriends not welcome. I didn’t say women weren’t welcome though.

Fast forward a few years and me and T are sitting in my apartment, both single, celebrating his birthday by getting drunk on some Wray & Nephew.

“Yo guy, you remember that New Year’s a few years back,” T said.

“Yeah” I replied.

“Look at us now man, sitting here. Drinking. I wonder what they’re doing now,” he added.

What I didn’t mention earlier, is that on the night of our big New Year’s Eve bash at Charles’ house, while we were celebrating, Vanessa and N were at home – not celebrating.

Although T quickly changed the topic, our memories of the night seemed to linger in the air, mixing with the slightly medicinal aroma of the over proof rum.

We sat there remembering without reminiscing. Though I didn’t know it at the time, the fact that N and I spent that night apart was a clear indicator that my relationship with her was teetering on the brink of collapse, if not already dead. Our relationship limped along aimlessly for another year and a half. By the end it was a corpse and I was a dead man walking.

Now both N and Vanessa are married. They both married the guys they dated right after me and T. I don’t know about you, but I don’t believe in coincidences.

“A degree of lying – you know, white lies – seems to be inherent in all languages and all forms of communication.” – Matthew Lesko

So here we are… we’ve met, we’ve said those three little words – and unless you’re one of the lucky few it’s all going pear shaped:

• The sex has become less frequent, even stopped;
• Her knickers could be used as tents by Boy Scouts; and
• Their idiosyncrasies make you want to stab them with a chop stick.

You would think that most sane people at this point would think it was a good time to talk, that now is the moment to discuss the drift with an eye to fixing it, or to break up.

How wrong they all are!

At this point in many relationships – communication breaks down. You have planted your head in the sand and it’s hard to have a conversation in that position. So now we have:

…No discussion – just fact based statements (often ignored by your erstwhile love).

…Texts instead of calls to prevent too much interaction.

…Days of silence replacing texts – where once a “just thinking of you” would appear, now there is nothing to say.

You and your love are becoming into strangers, and if unlike me you don’t run a “stable” of willing stallions to make parting such sweet sorrow, you may not yet be ready to walk away.

Based on my observations of other people’s failing relationships I have noticed there are four main coping strategies that I would like to share with you. So here are my four tips to keep the lines of communication open with your partner.

1. Occupy Mouth – This technique is used by couples who start to eat compulsively and therefore become the size of a house; or by couples who decide to fuck their way through the silence and suddenly become lithe athletes (if somewhat constantly dehydrated).
2. Propose - I may be a cynic but it does seem to me that a marriage proposal is just a means of creating a topic of conversation for the next 6 to 18 months. Following the wedding is a nice honeymoon and then thank you letters, present unwrapping etc – it can keep you chatting away without saying anything of importance for the next two years.
3. Redecorate – Another way to create conversation, you’re married and all the fall out has been discussed ad nausea. So you either move or redecorate the house. Either way you are creating another common topic of conversation. Excellent – that will give you about another 3 to 6 months of not having any real communication filling the silence. Just white noise.
4. Breed – The final option. The house is immaculate, you’ve tried the fucking plan again but to be honest both of you have let yourself go over the last few years and it’s just not that much fun any more. So you bite the bullet and create one or more miniature versions of yourselves. This will supply you with 18 years of focus and other people to talk to.

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So there you are – over twenty years of conversation topics to keep your relationship whole. On the other hand, you could just man up, talk to each other and if necessary walk away instead of continuing to fill up all my weekends in June with expensive celebrations of your love and over populating the planet.

I was young. So was she. But my relationship with Joanne was the first ‘grown up’ connection I’d ever had with a woman. By grown up, I refer not only to our respective ages, but also to our respective life circumstance. I had recently graduated and was living on my own in Toronto for the first time. Joanne was still in school, but had also recently escaped the clutches of her parents.We did everything together. Groceries. Made meals. Went dancing. Played music. Entertained friends. Fucked like there was no tomorrow. Her family loved me. My family adored her. She was the first woman who really took a piece of my heart. She was also the first woman I dated who loved to swallow (or at least pretended she did).  It was love indeed.

Then things changed. It wasn’t any one thing, just an accumulation of little things. She started showing up at my place in track pants. What you have to understand is that Joanne was usually immaculately dressed. If I happened to catch her after class, or drop by the retail outlet where she worked, she looked as put together as ever. But we increasingly spent more and more time in my living room, me in my uniform (jeans and a t-shirt) and Joanne in bleach stained sweat pants and a “comfy” t-shirt or sweatshirt with more holes than O.J. Simpson’s alibi.

The blowjob routine also changed. When the going was good, she often woke me in the morning with a little slurp ‘n burp. After a while I started to receive a kiss on the cheek and a mumbled “have a good day”. Where she once used to reach for my junk with gusto, she now made only perfunctory gestures and complained of sore wrists and tired fingers. But the love was still there.

Then it happened. Like many women, Joanne had different underwear for different occasions. She had panties to squeeze her petite frame into that were for her, that made her feel sexy. She had panties to seduce me, reduce me to testosterone infused mush. She had underwear for working out. And she had specific panties for when Aunt Flo came calling.

I think you all know where I’m going here. Soon, the Aunt Flo panties started to come out even when Aunt Flo was nowhere to be found. Soon she saved the “seduce me, reduce me” models for anniversaries and such. And though we all know how infrequently anniversaries come, they were coming more often than me.

You might be thinking to yourself that I was overreacting, but you really have no idea how huuuuuge these panties were. See, Joanne had what would generously be called an ample backside. And these period panties seemed to wash over her, it was like she was wearing a diaper (which may have been cool had I been into diaper play. We should have covered that during Fringe month). It was a huge bummer.

Our relationship eventually petered out and we decided to go our separate ways. The break up was amicable, maybe even inevitable. I know I wasn’t faultless. In hindsight I realize that I probably neglected a lot of things in our relationship. But I can’t help but think what if.

What if her track pants only came out when she was running? What if I had stopped to think about what I was doing or not doing that contributed to our malaise? What if the early morning head continued to be a regular feature of our life? What if the granny panties were seen only when necessary?

What if?

Partner let me upgrade you
Audemars Piguet you
Switch your neck ties to purple labels
Upgrade you
I can (up), can I (up)
Lemme upgrade you
Partner let me upgrade you
Partner let me upgrade you
Flip a new page
Introduce you to some new things &
Upgrade you

Beyonce Knowles

‘Mind if we stop in at Get Outside for a minute?’ Elle asked, moving towards the door of the busy Queen West shoe store without waiting for my response. ‘I want to see it they have anything to help Nick with the  image makeover kick he’s on.’

I followed her through the crowded shop. ‘You meant to say the makeover my man kick that you’re on right?’

‘Whatever Skye,’ she said, waving her hand at me as she headed for the back of the shop. Once there she picked up one of the pricey looking leather boots and added ‘Trust me, Nick loves his new look, and all the compliments he’s been getting.  Besides, ain’t nothing wrong with upgrading your man right?’

I nodded but I wasn’t so sure.

You see, from the minute my mother picked up on the fact that her teenage daughter was noticing boys she’s started telling me:

‘Skye, when you meet a man you like assume that he’s at his peak physically, mentally and emotionally. So, if you don’t like what he’s offering you in that moment, you’d best walk away because chances are it’s all downhill from there. And take it from me baby girl, the last thing you need to do is waste time dating a man’s potential.’

As I got older, and really grasped what she was saying I added my own corollary to her sage advice, which states:

If I meet a man and feel I have to change him to make him good enough or better to date, he and I simply are aren’t meant to be.

But my girl Elle and I weren’t on the same page on that one, because from the moment she started dating Nick (whom she affectionately called her diamond in the rough) she’d been slowly molding, shaping and remodeling him into her so called ‘ideal man’. To hear Elle tell it, just a little tweaking of his wardrobe and hair, in addition to taking the few courses he needed finish his degree was all she needed to get him to do to make him the man of her dreams. And tweak she did. Over the course of the 10 months she and Nick had been together, he had transformed from a simple jeans and t-shirt cutie, to a hottie worthy of a GQ spread.

Now although I can’t argue that the metamorphosis Nick went through didn’t make him look better, to my mind part of loving someone is accepting them just the way they are – dated wardrobe, bad hair, unfinished post-secondary education and all. I can’t imagine how vexed and disrespected I’d feel if some dude tried to upgrade me (Idris Elba, Daniel Craig, Marcus Patrick and Clive Owen being notable exceptions, as I’d be too busy drooling to argue with any of them), so I’m so not trying to do that any man I date.

But then again, maybe I’m over thinking it (I’ve been known to do that a time or two).

Based on what Elle’s been telling me Nick is perfectly happy being upgraded (though it did take her about four months to get him to agree to buy clothing more to her liking and there were many, many battles between them along the way). So maybe I’m among the minority of people who balk at the thought of being ‘upgraded’ to meet their partner’s standards?

Readers I’d love to hear your thoughts.

• Would any of you be okay with being upgraded?
• How would you feel if your partner tried to upgrade you by getting you to: change your style of dress, wear your hair differently, go back to school, etc.?
• Have you ever tried to upgrade someone and have them push back (i.e say no)?
• Is there ever a time when trying to upgrade your mate is okay?

“In the old days, one married a wife; now one forms a company with a female partner, or moves in to live with a friend. And then one seduces the partner, or defiles the friend.” – J. August Strindberg

This may come as a surprise to my readers, but I have moved in with a previous lover. I am actually all in favour of moving in together (possibly as I travel for work such a lot it doesn’t necessarily limit my polyamorous opportunities).

It was great. The benefits of a live in lover were more than I ever expected. Besides the convenience of sex on tap there is the wonder of a shared income. Suddenly you can afford those new Manolo pumps or to splurge out on a custom made dancing pole / sex swing for the bedroom.

Then there is the bliss of domesticity. If you didn’t already have a housekeeper, with a little bit of training you will soon! I found rewarding successful completion of chores with sexual favours meant my ironing was done to a professional standard, the bathroom cleaned almost daily and the fridge always stocked hummus and a wide selection of British cheese.

It’s also more practical – I saved a considerable amount of time not having to pack overnight bags, or completing “the walk of shame” late on a Sunday. If I had social plans for an evening, I still got to see both him and his ever accommodating hard-on at the end of the night.

However, there was, is and always shall be a downside to all these wondrous facets of living together; setting up a home.

If you are moving in after having made the life time mistake commitment of marriage, chances are you will have a pile of  wedding gifts, which will include household goods and furniture. If you are living in sin – you’re on your own.

Unfortunately this translates as shopping together. Trying to combine both your tastes and existing possessions into something chic and demonstrative as your style as a couple. This means arguing, this means storming off in car parks, this means assembling flat pack furniture. This means IKEA on a Saturday.

Hell hath no place I fear as much as a Saturday in a furniture shop. A petty fight over the number of Billy bookshelves or the need for a leather recliner will see my will to live exiting out the nearest open window.

He will never be as attractive again after he has revealed his poor taste in crockery / soft furnishings / hotel lobby style artwork. All that sex on demand wasted on you now you know what a cretin he is following “Stereo-gate”. (Inevitably he wants a ridiculously overpriced home entertainment system – it’s genetically programmed in them to waste money on ways to watch porn with surround sound and in HD)

So my advice is simple – live together and enjoy it, but for the sake of your sex life get him to move in with you and avoid any form of household shopping together. And I do mean any – not just furniture. Even food shopping should be performed as a solo activity. Otherwise you will find yourself in a canned goods aisle repeatedly removing alphabetti spaghetti tins from the shopping cart. This will be accompanied by a soundtrack of expletives that would make a sailor blush.