September 27, 2010

SAM SHARPE

One whole year. One whole year of the process self-stimulation. Of procrastination. Of tomfoolery. Of guerilla dating. I think they call it blogging. Or more specifically sex, dating and relationship blogging. It’s been a trip, literally and figuratively. And over the course of this year I’ve learned several valuable nuggets. I learned that picking a dick is quite an involved process. I learned that lots, if not all women have something to say about dicks. I also learned that for some people, hygiene is optional.

However, above and beyond all of this the most important things I realized are:

Size does matter…until it doesn’t: Even newbies know that our culture seems to place a large phallus on a pedestal. But it is also abundantly clear that many of the folks (women especially) out there talking about what’s big from what’s not, what’s ideal from what’s not, don’t know what the f*** they’re talking about.

I’m a slut: Over the course of the past year I’ve talked to tons of women who appeared to approach sex with the focus and discipline of Olympic athletes. Women who had sex when, where, how and with whom they wanted. Women who did not need the sanction provided by a relationship to have sex. Women who had sex like…men. Still, double standards persist and women are still being called whores, easy and sluts (even more sadly, often by other women). I would not call myself a feminist. Nor would I claim this is about feminism, though maybe it is. But I cannot accept this. So, until women’s sexual habits and predilections are afforded the same level of (dis)respect as men’s, until Elizabeth Rose, Skye Blue and any willing woman is revered as the player or stud she is for bedding as many men as she wants, I, Sam Sharpe will refer to myself as a slut. Not a gigolo, not a man-whore, not a player, not a stud. Nothing of the sort. Just a slut. Plain and simple.

People really, really dig anal play: Several women have asked if I would let them enter me from the back. Not with a finger, not with a tongue but with a dildo. Now, I’m all about openness, I fully support being sex positive (whatever that means to you) and I can be gung-ho about broadening sexual horizons but…this is not my cup of tea. I’m not going to judge anyone for letting someone in through the out door but I don’t think I understood (and probably still don’t) just how popular this pegging phenomenon is.

Being a bachelor can be fun: Read this, this, and this. This is just a sample. Enough said.

Being a bachelor is not so fun: Read this, this and this. I’ve often envisioned the last two years of my life, two years of pleasure for pleasure’s sake, two years of self interested behaviour, as an 800 metre race. Well you know what folks? I think I’m somewhere around the 700 metre mark. I don’t know when (or if I’m being honest, if) this race will end but thanks to this lady, I think I can see a finish line. Will I “settle down”? Will I give up the single life? If I do, will she be the one? Who knows? My mother always said that the race wasn’t for the swift but for the steadfast. Sadly, I’m not sure how that applies in this context. Whatever. I’ll keep you posted.

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