Welcome. My name is Mistress Skye. I am an arrogant, cruel, intelligent, sexy, kinky, witty, mind-blowingly addictive and strict Ebony Domme. My Domination skills are unparalleled, and I NEVER EVER let my subjects forget their place. To reign supreme over the minds, souls and even the wallets of the men who beg to serve me is what I live for.

At times the sheer perfection of my beautiful body black body will incite your desire and have you down on your knees worshipping me. Yet, there will be also moments when you will quiver with fear when we meet, because I’ll use your lust against you and leave you moaning in agony, as you realize that you can never truly have me.

I am black woman, a Goddess who was born to Dominate. It is my birthright to practice Female Domination and Supremacy. My male servants are subject to my every whim and I use them solely for MY gratification and amusement. Should you be granted the privilege of being one of my many subjects, you too will live to pamper me and cater to my every need.

–

The content above is not on my dating profile, but you’d think it was based on some of the attention I’ve been getting online these past few months. You see, messages from male subs keep popping up in my inbox. I wrote about one such fellow a few months back in My Submissive Cyberstalker. Since then I’ve encountered a few others like him. It seems that by virtue of the fact that I am of a darker hue I’m taken to be a DOM-inant woman by some men. Enter the latest wannabe sub whose D/s dreams I feature in, a man I’ll call G.

Now G isn’t nearly as cute (he’s tall with hazel eyes, bald and gangly, and his olive skin seams to sag off his gaunt frame – oh I know you’re all jealous now!), aggressive or crazy (as far as I can tell) as Mr. I-Worship-Black-Women, but he’s just as persistent, albeit in a much more subtle and mature way. (FYI: To be honest, I’m not sure if it’s really persistence that keeps G coming back. Each message he sends appears to be written as if he’s contacting me for the first time, with no reference to previous messages. So maybe he thinks I’m a new candidate each time?) You see, G is a 50 year old man, who seems to have his life together. All he needs is the ‘perfection’ that is a ‘dominant’ black woman to enter his life, so he can happily serve her for the rest of his days on this earth – as evidenced by his lastest message…

.

Subject: You seem Wonderful!!!

Decent enough start. Show me a woman who doesn’t like a little flattery.

I think every man has a type of woman which is his ideal woman and you are definitely mine.

Question folks: How can he be so sure when he’s never met me and only seen a head shot? SMH

I know you are a very beautiful woman but to me you are perfection.

No pressure here.

I don’t think there is anything more desirable than a beautiful black woman.

Oh, now I get it. I’m beautiful and black! Lucky me, I’m his phenotypic ideal.

But then I read your ad and amazingly you seem just as beautiful on the inside as the outside.

Readers, what can I say but don’t hate me ‘cause I ‘m beautiful…inside and out.

I definitely prefer black women…

Yes I know, you already mentioned that. We’re the most desirable women on the planet. I get it.

and not merely because I find you women so much more beautiful than other women but just as importantly because of your beautiful strong confident personalities.

Hmm… all black women have ‘beautiful strong confident personalities’. Don’t you just love  sweeping generalizations? I know I do.

Okay kids, have you all guessed what the word of the day is?…That’s right, say it with me…BEAUTIFUL. And can you tell me which type of women are the most beautiful inside and out…Yes that’s right. Shout it loud – BLACK WOMEN…Wait a minute…why aren’t you all taking notes?

I really respect that. I feel other women seem to have such bland personalities in comparison. To me you ladies are Queens and should be treated as such.

This guy clearly hasn’t met the likes of SSDated, Man-Shopper, Shans, Jami or Elizabeth Rose. But he sure knows how to make a girl feel special, with the whole build her and ‘her kind’ up thing he has going on – über sexy. I’m kicking myself HARD now for not responding to his last nine messages.

I am very confident in public and at work but in relationships it feels natural for me to be submissive to my partner’s needs and demands and I do prefer a dominant woman.

Did you all catch his pitch? No? I told you he was subtle. Please, allow me translate this one for you for you. What he’s really saying is,

“I AM A SUBMISSIVE WHO LIKES TO SERVE.”

Re the dominant woman bit, that’d be me and every other black woman, because we’re naturally dominant; the perfect match for his ‘natural’ submissive tendencies. But you knew that already didn’t you?

I put my woman on a pedestal and welcome one who demands I put her needs first.

Again, absolutely no pressure to be a near perfect, pedestal-worthy, ball-grindin’ (in six inch stilettos no doubt) b*tch. But I’m a ‘beautiful black woman, with a’ beautiful strong confident personality’. So being demanding should be easy for me right?

I love to pamper and cater to a woman and am very attentive. I definitely know how to treat a strong willed black woman.

Why do I get the feeling that his version of attentive would be clingy and obsessive? Could it be the steady run of creepy messages?

I am not desperate just hopeful and if you think I am someone who could be special to you I hope you will get back to me.

G, only desperate people say they’re not desperate, and besides, this is 10^th time you’ve contacted me, right? But who’s counting?

As far as you being special to me – again we’ve never met, much less engaged in an email exchange. May I suggest, you cool your jets boss?

And G, I’m NEVER EVER going to get back to you. In fact, I’m going to go ahead and block you right now.

.

Hopefully, G

.

P.S. I am one of those people who can’t take a good photo, I’m really not that dorky looking but I bet all dorky looking people say that.

Look a funny. He saved the best part of his message for last – awesome!

–

Although I’m not in the market for a male servant and I hope to God I’ll stop receiving messages from sub men someday soon (I’m more than fed up with being DOM-inant by default), I do recognize that a whole lot of people love black FemDoms. So as a public service to all the men and women who may be in the market for their very own Dominant Ebony Goddess, I’ve compiled a list of professionals (see below) who I’m sure are all ready and willing to serve you – for a  fee, of course.

And G, if you’re out there just in case my silence (and this post) hasn’t made it completely clear I’m not interested in being the pedestal sitting mistress of your submissive dreams,  I just want to say for the record that…

I’m so NOT the one.

.

Skye’s PSA: A List of Truly Dom-inant Black Woman:

Mistress Treasure

Goddess Sonya

Ebony Goddess Amber

Mistress Dionne

Spoiled Black Princess

Mistress Tatyana

Nothing sets the tone for a relationship like the first date. Maybe you believe in love at first sight. Maybe you’re an online dater. Perhaps you were introduced to the love of your life through a mutual friend. Regardless, it means nothing until you have that first date. The first date is like the first game of the World Series. You are in a position to win the championship and this is the first step to victory. And everyone wants to win Game 1.

Personally, I’ve never had a first date that I would call a total disaster. I’ve had funny. I’ve had boring. I’ve had a quick dinner. I’ve had a full day. I’ve had sex. I’ve done all these things on a first date and more. What I’ve never had is a crappy date turn into a good relationship.

I don’t want to bore you with a list of dos and don’ts, but I will share a few good signs and bad signs.

GOOD SIGN: Laughter. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Nothing is sweeter than the sound of a woman laughing. Get a woman (or man) laughing and even if you look like Quasimodo or dress like Steve Urkel you’ve got a chance. It may not guarantee you a second date or a relationship, but it probably means your date is relaxed (Please note: This is null and void if you actually look like Quasimodo AND dress like Urkel. In that case  your date is laughing AT you).

BAD SIGN: Poor table manners. Nothing says loser or brought up by wolves more than poor table manners. I’m not saying you’ve got to rise every time the lady gets up to go to the loo, nor am I saying you need to know which spoon to use and when. But a little basic etiquette goes a long way. I once went on a date with a girl who belched throughout the evening. And didn’t say excuse me. Not even once. It was disgusting. I did sleep with her though. She didn’t know how to cover her mouth or say excuse me, but let’s just say her open mouth policy had some advantages.

GOOD SIGN: Balanced conversation. I think this one explains itself.

BAD SIGN: She’s not eating. There is nothing worse than being out to dinner with a woman who won’t eat. Or only orders the salad from the starter menu. Are you fuckin’ kidding me? What, are you trying to show some restraint? On a diet? Eat godamnit! A healthy appetite is a good thing ladies.

VERY BAD SIGN: A friend of mine went on a date with a woman who was going through a divorce. Bad enough she talked all night about her dead relationship. But she started sobbing uncontrollably. FYI: Weeping on a first date is a clear indication that you’re not headed for everlasting love. But you might have some good rebound sex (who doesn’t like rebound sex?).

GOOD SIGN: A little mystery. I’m not saying you need to vamp it up. Or you need to play games. Games suck. But a little mystery goes a long way. Not too long ago I went on my first date with Annik (who I mentioned in Simone: Overzealous Nympho or Pseudo-Stalker?). After a pleasant dinner we visited a cute little bookstore. Conversation was nice and easy. I was smitten. I knew I wanted to see her again.

I hailed a cab, opened the door and thanked her for a wonderful evening.

“Can I see you again?” I asked.

Annik sat down in the cab, looked up at me, and said dryly, “It’s possible”.

With that, she shut the door and the cab pulled away. I was a tiny bit flummoxed. But I was definitely intrigued. I thought about Annik nonstop for the next few days. I even cancelled a rendezvous I had planned with this sweet, sweet piece of ass young lady.

Four or five days after our date I received an email from Annik whose subject line read:

Possibility?

The message said:

Thanks again for a lovely time last week. I had said that it was possible for us to go out again, so here I am extending that possibility… what do you say?

We’ve been seeing each other on a semi regular basis ever since. She’s out of town a lot for work, I’m really busy and there’s no conversation about commitment or exclusivity (yet) so there are no immediate plans to get serious. But I have thought about it and I’ve even deleted a few names from my “contact list”. I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.

Score! Mission accomplished. The phone number of the girl or guy whose wit, charm, good looks and/or hot body has your pulse racing and loins throbbing has been saved on your mobile phone. ‘It was great meeting you, I’ll be in touch soon,’ you say as the two of you part ways. As you walk away you congratulate yourself for having the courage to ask for and skill to get what you wanted. Now all I have to do is decide when to call… Shit. And that’s when your mind shift into high gear.

Should I call today to show him I’m really interested?

Would calling her right away make me seem too eager?

I’ll wait a few days to call so he doesn’t think he’s all that. Besides I don’t want to put myself out there too much.

I should make her sweat for a few days before I call.

Wait for him to call first. You need to find out if he’s really interested.

Fuck it, she has my number. I’ll just sit tight ‘til she calls me.

As silly as all this seems most of us have been there. The fact is the initial stages of any connection can be a little crazy-making as you attempt to determine if the level of interest of the object of your desire matches your own. But whether you call the very same day, days later or wait patiently for them to call you, without question, having a good first phone call will almost guarantee you a first date (and a chance to score an even bigger prize). Which begs the question – what makes the first phone call really great?

Although there are a ton of things that I could list for the makings of a great first phone call (i.e. having common interests, positive vibes, some good jokes, etc.), I’m going to come at this from a different angle and share a few snippets from some really bad first phone calls I’ve had in the past. In essence, I’m going to show you just what it takes to have a really bad first phone call…

Call #1

Man: Are you religious?

Skye: Not particularly, though I do meditate and I’m interested in Buddhism.

Man: Hmmm…You know Christianity is the only true path to salvation don’t you?

Skye: Right. Oh my goodness. I didn’t realize how late it was.  It’s way past my bedtime.  Gotta go. Bye.

FYI: Generally it’s not a good idea to conduct religious conversions on the first phone call – if ever.

Call #2

Man: What kind of music are you into?

Skye: Jazz mostly, but I also like electronica, rock, and a little hip hop.

Man: You didn’t mention reggae, you sure you’re Jamaican?

Skye:  Right. Oops, I’m getting a long distance beep. It’s probably one of my relatives calling from Jamaica to update me on the latest Dancehall tunes. I’d better take the call or I might lose my Jamaican status altogether, you know? Later.

Questioning someone’s heritage and cultural affiliations based on trivial shit like the music they listen to, is also a bad idea.

Call #3

Skye: So what do you like to do in your spare time?

Man:  Not much really. Just play video games and watch TV.  Oh yeah, when I’m really bored I surf the internet for some free porn.

Skye: Silence.

Man: Hey, you still there?

Skye: Uh yeah, but my phone is on the fritz and I’m having trouble hearing you. I hope you can still hear me… You there?… Oh shit, I can’t hear anything now. Anyway, if you can still hear me I think the battery in my cordless is dying. I’ll call you back when it’s charged. Bye.

At least pretend to have a life during the first phone call…or ten.

Call #4

Man: What’s your favourite TV show?

Skye: Actually, I don’t own a TV so I don’t wat—

Man: (in a tone that suggests horror and disbelief) What do you mean you don’t have a TV? Who doesn’t have a TV?

Skye: Uhhmm…I guess people like me?

Man: If we start hanging out, what the hell am I supposed to do when I come over to your house?

Skye: Like you’d ever get an invitation. Well, assuming we get that far you could talk to me, listen to music or in a pinch read.

Man: Man, I can’t believe you don’t have a TV. That’s just crazy. Blah, blah blah (harping on issue for far too long).

Skye: Okay, well this has been real fun, but I have to go.

Man: Yeah cool, but I still can’t believe you don’t have a TV. Enjoy your night of uhh…reading (laughing at his own joke, if we can call it a joke). I’ll be here watching _____________ (insert the name of the stupidest reality show you can think of here) on my 50” HD TV. Ha ha!

Skye: (rolling eyes) Uh huh. Knock yourself out. Goodnight.

Word to the wise. Making fun of the person you’re talking to because their  lifestyle is different from yours is not a good look.

That’s all I got folks. Until next time best of luck to all of you out there expecting to make or receive that first phone call in the near future. I hope a really good ‘prize’ comes out of it.

Readers, I want to let you in on a secret. I have a cyberstalker.  He’s a cute and clean cut brunette, with lovely blue eyes and a warm smile. He’s been following me for years, from one online dating site to another, trying to get my attention. I’ve never responded to his IMs, and have even gone as far as blocking him so he can’t send me messages on more than one occasion. When I do, he just regroups and comes back at me with a new profile and name (talk about persistence).

It is clear he’s obsessed with me (though I’m sure I’m not the only woman who is so lucky), but it’s not because I’m particularly beautiful or due to the fact that he thinks we are compatible based on any commonalities in our interests. My cyberstalker keeps coming back for one reason and one reason only – because I am a black woman.

Now, before you get your knickers in a knot let me explain. My cyberstalker has a fetish. He’s a Caucasian male submissive who wishes to be dominated by ‘ball-breakin’ Black woman. How do I know this for sure? Well folks, one of his  profile pictures displays the large tattoo on his right shoulder of a woman in thigh high boots holding a whip encircled by the words “I worship black women” (I kid you not!).  Although there is never anything on my profile indicates that I would be interested in such a dynamic (whips and leather just aren’t my thing), he seems determined to have me.

Unfortunately, for my would-be sub, my fantasy life does not include any type of domination. The thought of whipping, humiliating or barking orders at anyone simply doesn’t turn me on. Furthermore, the pleading tone of his messages:

“Please give me a chance, I’m begging you.”

“Why don’t you like me?”

“If you go out with me I promise to be a good boy.”

makes my skin crawl. Perhaps I’m strange, but to me there’s nothing sexy about a groveling man.

Readers your thoughts: Have any of you ever had a cyberstalker? Been pursued by someone with a fetish you weren’t into? How many men out there like being dominated by their female partners once in a while or frequently? Are some of you ladies into submissive men? Finally, any Black female doms out there looking for a brunette male sub? I’ve got a cute one I can send your way.

We here at metanotherfrog.com are happy to announce that we will be adding a new monthly feature to our blog. Starting January 31^st our Ask The Expert column, featuring Owen Williams, Relationship Coach, and Leesa Gaspari, comedienne as guest contributors, will be posted on the site on the last Sunday of every month. 

So readers don’t miss your chance to get the answers to all the questions you’ve ever had about romance, love, mating, dating and everything in between. Send your questions in by visiting our Contact Us page, and then check out the Ask The Expert post on the last Sunday of each month.

The Ask The Expert Contributors:

Owen Williams, Relationship Coach

Owen Williams is a Relationship Coach with nearly two decades of experience and the founder of Inner Directions – The Centre for Relationship Excellence. Owen is dedicated to the mastery that comes from self-awareness and believes that our work is to discover how we get in our own way, stay in the tension of the experience we create and transform instead of change.

In addition to running a successful counselling and coaching practice in Toronto, Owen is the author of The Relationship Revolution, a much sought after public speaker, and has been featured as a regular contributor on CBC Radio and Television.

Leesa Gaspari, comedienne

Leesa has been improvising since 1997 and making people laugh… or hate her since 1969.  She’s starred in the Second City ’s Production of Tony n’ Tina’s Wedding and went ‘All Russian’ as the housemaid in Bollywood/Hollywood.  She’s currently on Facebook 24/7 and performing around town with her improv troupe Face for Radio.

She has a fondness for the following, including but not limited to: Boys in tight black pants with tattoos, bunny wabbits, Super Mario anything, people watching, people judging, people mocking, having stellar sexual experiences, olives & feta.

She has an aversion to the following, including but not limited to:  Twitter, baby corns, fiddleheads, fusion jazz, bad penmanship and skinny bitches.

The information above is subject to change without notice.

The Met Another Frog Team

If you’ve been paying attention over the last few months, you’ll know that the regular contributors to this blog, Elizabeth Rose, Sam Sharpe and yours truly, Skye Blue, know absolutely nothing of consequence about relationships. Despite this we (that’s one, two or all three of us) will be offering up our own advice and words of wisdom to all your questions as well. Comforting thought isn’t it?

It’s 2009 all, and by now most of you know that choosing to date online is fraught with risks. Some of these risks are the same ones you’d face were you to meet a random stranger in at the local pub, and others are more specific to the medium. In either case using good ol’ common sense will generally keep you out of trouble, right? Well, as they say, common sense really ain’t so common and keeping your wits about you may get a little tricky when you’re swept away by L-O-V-E.

‘Skye, God is so good,’ Khai, my devoutly Christian friend, announced as she slid into the booth across from me. ‘I’ve finally met the man I’ve been praying for all my life.’

‘I could tell something was up from the moment I saw you – you’re beaming. Where’d you meet him at church?’ I said, sipping my water.

‘No. Online about two weeks ago.’ Khai shimmied out of her jacket and picked up a menu. ‘Trina, told me to go on one of those Christian matching sites and I met him almost as soon as I got online. His name is Chris, but he likes to be called Kofi.’

My spidey sense started to tingle, but I didn’t want to rain on her parade just yet so I set about asking questions. ‘Oh, is he from Toronto? Have you met him yet?’

‘I wish. He’s from DC, and he’s an engineer. He has his own business. Right now he’s working out in Nigeria. He’s been there for six months.’

RED ALERT! RED ALERT! Proceed with caution. ‘I see.’

Now, just so you know folks, Khai is someone I’ve known all my life. We grew up on the same street and for a while there our parents were even friends. Although, she and I don’t have much in common anymore, except a whole lot of history, I’ve kept in touch with her because I worry about her. She has a tendency to make what I’ll call ‘interesting’ choices when it comes to men, based on her naïveté, and belief that everyone that says they’re a believer has the same moral compass she does. This was why I was so nervous as she started to discuss her new ‘American’ love interest, who just happened to be in Nigeria – Internet romance fraud capital of the world.

I forced a smile. ‘Really, when is he heading back home?’ I asked, fanning the waitress away so she wouldn’t interrupt our conversation.

‘You’re not going to believe this Skye. We met at the perfect time. His contract is almost up and he’ll be coming to Toronto to see me in two weeks, if everything goes well with the final shipment he has to get to his client.’

‘What did you say he did again?’

‘He’s a mechanical engineer by trade, but he’s in some kind of supervisory role. He has to get a shipment of parts for some project they’re working on out there.’

‘Really. Tell me more.’

As Khai rambled on about her new found ‘soul mate’ I learned among other things, that the only thing standing between their meeting in two weeks was the shipment of some much needed parts that were being held on a dock somewhere in Egypt until he could raise the ‘$4000 US’ to have it sent to Lagos. I also learned that he had yet to ask her for money (Thank God), and that he’d asked her to pray that he’d get the money in time. She also told me that she was sure that Kofi was the answer to all her prayers for a good man had. God had sent her perfect match, a man who loved her, was a good Christian and who wanted to be married and have a family as much as she did.

‘You should hear the things he says to me on the phone, he’s so romantic.’ Khai smiled whistfully. ‘If you told me even the day before I met him that I would find the man of my dreams on the internet, I would’ve laughed – but here I am in love.’

Wow. In love. I chose to ignore her comments about being in love and instead focused my attention on what I could handle – their phone chats. ‘You’ve spoken to him on the phone?  What does he sound like?’

‘It’s funny, you should ask me that, Skye. He’s been there so long he starting to sound African,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘It’s a good thing, they probably respond better to him when he’s conducting business because of it.’

HUH?!?!?!? Isn’t that a clear sign he’s not actually an American? I wanted to bang my head against the table. ‘Really? It’s pretty hard to pick up an African accent, Khai and he has only been there for six months. You sure this guy’s really American?’

She shook her head and laughed again. ‘Oh Skye, you’ve always been so suspicious.  He’s sent me pictures of him and his family in the States. Plus on his website his company has an American address and phone number.’ She paused and smiled. ‘Don’t worry this is a good thing. Chris is an honourable man – I can feel it.’

Damn right I’m suspicious. That night when I got home, I looked up the website address Khai had given me for his business. I called the number and there was no answer, not even a machine. Furthermore, the site itself was a wreck – a two-pager with a few pictures of engines and some blurbs of text that were definitely not written by a native English speaker. I have confirmed my doubts, now to convince Khai that I was right.

I called her back the next day and every day for the next week, but failed to get a hold of her. My spidey sense was going nuts. Something was up and I knew it was big. She was dodging me for a reason. Realizing there was nothing I could do, I waited to hear from her, knowing that she would call when she was ready to.

I didn’t have to very wait long. She called about 10 days after we had last seen each other, and she wasn’t quite as cheery.

‘Khai, what’s wrong?’ I asked, knowing from her voice that bad news was coming.

‘Skye, it turns out Chris wasn’t so honourable after all.’ She paused and I braced myself. ‘He asked me to lend him $2500 US, because he couldn’t raise all the money he needed himself. I stupidly sent it, and now he’s gone. He hasn’t called me in days, and I haven’t gotten any emails. I’ve think been duped.’

Three weeks of romancing a woman online and he made $2500. I need a new gig. ‘Oh Khai, why did you send money to a man you’ve never even laid eyes on?’

‘Skye, he told me told me that he loved me so many times,’ she whispered, into the phone, ‘and he prayed with me every time we spoke. There was never a reason to doubt him.’

Right.

A word to the wise: When it comes to love y’all – God, money and the internet don’t mix.

So yesterday I hit you with my truth regarding women and causal sex. After wracking my brain about what I could share today, I decided to tell you all about one of my ‘bestest’ first dates (I hope you caught the sarcasm there). All I can say is life occasionally gets real rough in the dating jungle.

Mr. Not Too Swift and I met online a while ago. We clicked during our first few marathon phone conversations. He told me he was trying to get back into DJ-ing, and that he worked as a sales rep at his day job. When I informed him that I was currently working on what I hoped would be a screenplay, while making a living as Shiatsu therapist and yoga instructor, he cheered me on. Our conversations generally centred on our mutual passion for music. Although he was into old school hip hop and I was more of a jazz aficionado, we both shared the love of beats, breaks and horns.

After a number of telephone chats we decided to meet for lunch at little Chinese restaurant about halfway between our homes. The morning of our meeting I called him to ask him if we could shift our meeting time back 30 minutes, as I wanted to squeeze one more client in before I came to meet him. He readily agreed to the time switch and asked me if I had to go into work to see my client. I explained that a few clients were coming to my home to see me before I headed out to see him. Then we finalized the details regarding where we would meet and ended the call.

Hours later, when I met him face to face I have to admit I wasn’t blown away. He was reasonable looking, but I wasn’t so sure there was any chemistry. Anyway, we settled into a easy first meeting chat, firing off the tried and true questions…

Do I look like you expected?

How do you find the site?

Etc.

Our conversation was flowing really well and I was just starting to relax when Mr. Not Too Swift got real quiet and fidgety.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘I need to ask you something,’ he said, looking real serious.

Did I say or do something off-putting? I wracked my brain trying to figure out what could have caused such a quick shift in his mood. ‘Okay. Shoot.’

‘Well, uh, when you called me this morning you said you needed to push back the time to fit in another client, right?’

He couldn’t be mad because I changed the time on him could he? ‘Yes.’ Now I was really confused.

‘Uhhh…and that client was at your house.’

What was this dude getting at? ‘Yeah.’ I could tell that my eyebrow was grazing my hairline, but I couldn’t help it.

‘What kind of massage did you say you do again?’

Lord, don’t let this man say what I think he’s going to say. ‘Shiatsu,’ I said flatly.

‘Legit shiatsu massage or the other kind?’

This mo’ fo’ can’t be serious. All I could do was just stare at him, I had no words. 

‘Are you going to answer me?’ he said, eyeing me suspiciously.

I took a deep breath and said very slowly so he would understand…

‘Are you asking me if I’m a SEX WORKER?’

Mr. Not Too Swift’s eyes popped for a minute, but he tried to play it like he hadn’t put his foot in his mouth. ‘Nah, I’m just asking you if you are really a Shiatsu therapist.’

‘No, no I don’t think so. If you were asking me that, you would start by asking me if I went to school to study Shiatsu, which for the record I did,’ I countered looking him dead in his now shifting eyes.

Mr. Not Too Swift wasn’t about to back down and admit his mistake. ‘Well, either way you haven’t answered the question. Are you going to?’

Still pushing for an answer huh? Strong and wrong to the end, wow! ‘If you were concerned that I wasn’t a ‘legit’ therapist as you put it, why did you agree to meet me? Do you usually date prostitutes?’

Mr. Not Too Swift cleared his throat hard and looked down at his half-eaten plate of chicken lo mein. ‘It was just a question. Why you getting so upset?’

‘You ask me a question that implies that you believe I rub men’s genitalia for a living and can’t see how that might be upsetting? Really?’

His response? Dead silence.

After a minute or two of watching him squirm, I glared at him one last time, threw some money down on the table, and made tracks out of there.

A few days later I got an email from Mr. Not Too Swift that read:

Skye

I told my sister what happened and her reaction was worse than yours. I’m sorry about what I said. I know we probably won’t meet again so I just want to wish you all the best in your future.

Peace

Now, tell me people – was I wrong not to call the man back for a second date?

The debate was passionate, intense and explosive. The subject was crass, juvenile, superficial and trivial. We, specifically James, Randy, Louis and I, were debating whether or not we would rather sleep with a woman who was really obese or one who was a bone rack. It all started because I’d joked that I was the United Nations of romantic hookups, a veritable Lady Liberty of sex—“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…” I’ve been with short ones, tall ones, old ones, young ones, ESLers, multilinguals (in more ways than one!) hot ones, lukewarm ones and frigid ones. I’ve done it all. Or so I thought. While we were falling over ourselves laughing at my foolishness, mi compadre Louis chimed in and said:

“I bet none of you have ever fucked a fat chick?”

It soon became clear that we each had different definitions of what it meant to be “fat”, “big” or “obese”. Women who I might describe as thick or solid (and attractive as hell) were considered too fat by some. Randy loved his women really skinny, stating that he loved when women bared their midriff and wore low rise slacks so that he could see the hipbones jutting out. He also told us that he tried his best not to sleep with women whose thighs actually touch (to this day I try to tell myself that he was exaggerating). James nodded in agreement and threw in an “Amen Brother” while Randy was pontificating.

Anyway, Louis proceeded to tell us a story about Anne, a woman he met online who turned out to be a lot larger in person than her photos suggested. According to Louis, he went ahead and slept with her anyway (they were both looking for a casual encounter). Now Louis is a big guy—he’s 6’2 and about 200lbs—and he said that Anne was a lot bigger than him.

How big?

“Man, she was so big that when I was on top of her I could barely get my hands down on the bed. It was like riding a wave.”

Now I haven’t been with a woman that large, but I have spent some time with a few thicker ladies and I’ve spent some time with several skinny girls. So if forced to choose, I think I would take the lady with the extra pounds. Here are a few reasons why:

1. At the risk of sounding silly, but just like a barbecue or a couch, a little extra meat/cushion is always better.
2. Bones are good for flavouring soup, and not much else…
3. They fill out tight jeans (I know you can’t tell, but I was smiling as I wrote that).

If there is anything that my Judeo-Christian programming upbringing, has taught me, it’s that woman is the root of all evil. Whether we’re talking about Jezebel, Delilah or the grandmamma of them all, Eve, the desire and lust for the fairer sex has led men to commit all manner of atrocities. The great King David had one of his very best generals placed in harm’s way in order to get closer to Bathsheba – the object of his lust. And because we all know that the Bible is a Holy book that couldn’t possibly be biased, fabricated or otherwise skewed, anything found within its pages is gospel, right? (Or should I say The Gospel?)

What was that you say? What could my impromptu, irreverent (and incontrovertible?) biblical chat-up have to do with the otherwise hedonistic subject matter usually covered here at Met Another Frog? Why, I’m glad you asked. Well, after swallowing (pun intended) the tripe Skye had to endure on her date with Shelby, I thought it was my duty to inform women of the world that you are largely responsible for all the Shelby’s that cross your path. Allow me to explain.

As I’ve already covered in I Feel Like F***ing, The Funk and The Power of Five – Part 1 and Part 2, straight men will do almost anything to get a young (or old) chippy into their bed. And when we’ve found a successful tactic, we recognize that there is no need to reinvent the wheel, so we tend to use the same moves over and over again.

In my case, I’ve found that being honest and straightforward works best. When I meet a woman I like, I ask her questions about herself. If interested, I continue to ask questions. If not interested, I feign interest in what she has to say (For the record more often than not, I am interested in what a woman I’m trying to chat-up has to say, but sometimes…not so much) and in most cases I take the ‘revolutionary’ step of telling the truth about myself.

If for example, my girlfriend is out of town, I’m in the club and I meet a young lady who wants to know why they call me the F’in Man I don’t pretend I’m single. I fearlessly proclaim that I have a girlfriend who just happens to be away for the weekend. Most women react with horror that I would be so bold to proposition them and go on their merry way. However, a significant minority of women have no problem bedding a man who’s spoken for, as long as the woman doing the speaking isn’t within earshot. Well, these women are my target market. My approach is designed and engineered to weed out the ‘yes I wills’ from the ‘no I wonts’.

Why do I continue to make use of this tactic? Because it works. It gets me the action when, where and how I want it, which brings us back to Shelby. After reading about Skye’s experience I’m sure that most of you were mortified, and found yourself wondering why any man would think asking a woman if she swallows on a first date was an appropriate course of action. The answer is simple. Experience taught Shelby that it is indeed an appropriate course of action. Not experience hanging out with his boys (and seeing that he’d rather watch YouTube than meet people I’m guessing he doesn’t have many boys to hang with), but experience interacting with women.

If every woman Shelby encountered treated his tactics with the scorn, derision and disdain they deserve he would quickly find a new approach. But because many women engage him or worse yet are flattered by his awkward, mongoose-like approach Shelby will continue asking women about their favourite position instead of asking them about their favourite author. Ladies, if you don’t want a Shelby in your life, what you need to do is stop letting men like him get anywhere near your privates.

Let me be clear about something. I consider myself to be a gentleman, and I am personally offended by Shelby’s manoeuvres. Don’t think for a second that am I absolving him of any of the responsibility for his odious behaviour. However, I also recognize that he is a pathetic and poor excuse for a man, who has been conditioned to behave the way he does.

We all can’t be like King David and eliminate our romantic rivals. We all aren’t as (un)fortunate as Adam to have Eve all to ourselves and thereby not have to employ tactics (be they honourable or dishonourable) to snare a woman. But we all do what works. Please ladies, for the benefit of us all, show the Shelby’s of the world that you can’t get ass, by being an ass.

‘So what do you like?’ Shelby said, shooting me a toothy smile.

He can’t possibly be going there. I put my fork down. ‘Are you referring to sex?’

Shelby nodded, not skipping a beat, as he sipped his aphrodisiac shake. (Perhaps I should’ve seen this coming?).

This man actually thinks he is going to get laid tonight. ‘Don’t you think that question is a bit much on a first date?’

‘Come on, we’re just talking. You afraid to talk about it?’

A challenge? Bring it on dude.  I smiled. ‘No. I just don’t think discussing that in a crowded restaurant is appropriate.’ I glanced at the couple sitting only four inches away from our table. ‘So why don’t we keep it light until we finish eating and take this discussion outside?’

Shelby grinned. ‘Ooooo. I like that. You must have something real interesting to share.’ Then in what I can only assume was his effort to keep it ‘light’, he launched into a monologue about his acting career. As I listened to him drone on I thought back to how thrilled I’d been when he first contacted me.

Shelby and I first connected six days earlier on an online dating site, when he sent me a message that read, “Girl, you look good. Keep on doing what you are doing.” The image attached to Mr. Supafly77’s message was of a man who was blazin’ hot, so I clicked on his screen name. He had dark bedroom eyes, full lips, caramel coloured skin and a perfectly chiseled 6’2” physique. As I pointed and clicked my way through the dozen or so shots on his page, it seemed that each picture was better than the one before. So, I hurriedly responded with, “I hope you aren’t just going to compliment me and disappear.” To my surprise his answer, “I never flirt and run,” came back seconds later.

Within a couple of hours we were on the phone quizzing each other. During our discussion Shelby (Mr. Supafly77’s real name) informed me that he had ambitions becoming an actor. I also learned that like me, he was a fitness buff and a vegetarian. We had a lot in common, and our phone chats in the days before we met were good. Having said that, if I’m completely honest with myself there were a few times when I ignored the sirens that went off in my head when he said things like…

“Keeping friends is a waste of time. I’d rather stay at home by myself and catch jokes on YouTube.”

Now, sitting across the table from Shelby, I was kicking myself for letting lust override my better judgment – yet again.

Within a few minutes of meeting him at Fresh on Queen, I discerned that he was not the brightest star in the night sky, and the roaring flames of my desire quickly waned to dim, cool embers. After studying the menu for upwards of ten minutes Shelby declared, ‘This is all like French to me.’

‘Did you look at their burgers?’ I said, wondering if he was really a vegetarian.

Ignoring my suggestion, Shelby called our waitress over. ‘I can’t figure this menu out. Can you suggest something?’

Our waitress, with a heart of gold and the patience of a kindergarten teacher, talked him through virtually every entrée on the menu, before he finally ordered a burger with yam fries. I ordered a salad and sat back in my chair waiting to see what he would do next.

For a few moments he was silent, turning in his chair to look around the busy restaurant. Then as he turned back toward me he said, ‘It’s really artsy in here.’

Wow. This guy is so not an actor. ‘We’re on Queen West in a vegetarian restaurant.’

‘Yeah, maybe I don’t get out as much as I should.’ He smiled at me and leaned back in his chair.

Just then our waitress came hustling towards us with our food. As soon as she put his plate down in front of him Shelby dug in, and he didn’t bother to look up again until he had finished more than half of his meal – a mere 3 minutes later. He stopped eating just long enough to call our waitress over so he could order another burger. Then he went right back to gorging himself with what little of his food remained. As I watched him I was struck by the fact that the only thing more off-putting than watching a man inhaling a large burger and heap of yam fries, was the prospect of having to watch him do it twice (sigh).

Thirty minutes later when he had finished his second plate of food he wiped his hands on his crumpled napkin and said, ‘You done eating?’

I looked down at my nearly full bowl of salad. ‘I guess.’

‘Let’s go then.’ He got up and put some money down on the table. ‘I’m anxious to hear what you have to say.’

When we got outside I pointed towards the park. ‘Do you want to walk and talk?’

‘Sure,’ Shelby said, matching my stride. ‘So, what you got to say that’s so hot you couldn’t tell me inside?’

God, he thinks he’s slick. ‘You’re not going to let that one go are you?’

Shelby looked at me and shook his head vigorously. ‘I’m waiting.’

‘Hmmm…’ I said, trying to figure out a way to deflect his B.S., as we entered the park. ‘Isn’t what a person enjoys sexually partially dependent on the partner they have?’

Shelby hissed his teeth. ‘Come on, there must be something you really like no matter who you’re with.’ He paused for a moment, then his eyes lit up and he blurted, ‘What about doggie style? Do you like that?’

I can’t believe that I’m having this conversation. ‘No.’

For a moment, he looked deflated and I could almost smell the rubber burning as he searched his mind for what to say next.

‘That’s too bad, it’s one of my favourite positions.’

Hooray for you. I kept my eyes fixed on my feet as we walked along the path. Shelby regrouped and tried again.

‘Well, I like it, because I can go for a long time that way and women seem to enjoy that. But sometimes they get upset because, I don’t… you know.’

‘You don’t what?’ My interest was piqued, despite myself.

‘Let’s just say, some women have cried because they haven’t been able to satisfy me. Shelby nodded at me and winked. ‘Even after three hours.’

Wait! Did I miss my cue to start begging you for the opportunity to show you that I can please you? ‘Really?’ I said, fighting to stifle my laughter.

‘Yeah. I feel real bad when it happens.’ Shelby raised a sympathetic eyebrow. ‘So what do you like to do to please a man?’

Come on dude, give it up. ‘Like I said before I think it depends on the person you’re dealing with.’

Shelby frowned at me in what I can only assume was exasperation. ‘Girl, stop holding out on me. There must be something you really like doing for men.’

Okay, try this one for size. I stopped walking, turned to face him, and then bit my bottom lip. ‘Well Shelby, I really love giving BJs.’

Shelby stared at me for a long while, and then cleared his throat. ‘Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. That’s definitely a good way to make your man happy.’ He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shifted his weight on his feet.

‘So, do you…swallow?’

No one is ever going to believe this story! ‘No, and before you ask why, it’s because I don’t like it.’ I turned away from him and continued along the path.

‘Oh. Well, maybe you shou-’ Shelby’s voice trailed off.

‘What should I do?’ This is going to be good.

‘You should try swallowing a vegetarian. I’m sure you’d like it then.’

This time I couldn’t contain my laughter. Can he really be this dense?

‘Why are you laughing?’ Shelby glared at me, nostrils flaring. ‘What is so damn funny?’

But I couldn’t answer him. I was laughing so hard I had to sit down on a park bench. I laughed until my sides ached, until it hurt to breathe. Apparently, my laughter was too much for Shelby to take, because he quickly conceded defeat.

‘Whatever. I’m out,’ he said flatly, as he turned on his heel and walked away.

Strangely enough dear readers, Shelby and I never had a second date.