July 4, 2011

SAM SHARPE

Let’s see. Exotic locales, copious amounts of free time mixed liberally with copious amounts of alcohol with a sprig of lowered inhibitions on top. Who doesn’t love vacation sex? I’m willing to say that if you don’t like vacation sex you probably don’t like sex. Period.

How could you not have a good time jamming in Jamaica or slamming in Spain when miles away from home while in the company of fellow travelers, beautiful locals, in and around potentially glamorous surroundings.

**Programming note: The travel bug bit me a little later than many. As a result I refuse to do hostels. I won’t judge anyone else who does it but I’m too old for that shit. See, I wasn’t gallivanting across Asia or backpacking through Europe at 19. Nope, I waited until my late 20s and chose to pay for quality accommodations. So no hostels and cramped rooms. No shared space with drunk, horny, 21-year-old Swedish and Australian chicks marveling at my chocolate complexion and funny accent while rubbing up on me and trying to climb into my bed. Wait, on second thought…**

Whenever friends come back from vacation feeling “recharged” I know that often means “I let a Portuguese waiter f*ck me in the ass”. I’ve heard countless stories through the years about “best sex ever” with some stranger on a beach. But as someone who has had intercontinental sex I can honestly say the actual sex isn’t better, it’s the context, the situation that gives the charge. There is just something about vacay-play that makes her cooch a little tighter, his dick a little bigger and the ride a little sweeter.

As always, there’s a lesson here. If we approached our every day sexual encounters with the same gusto, brio and joie de vivre with which we approached Sally from Switzerland standing by the banks of the river Seine we might get bigger bang for our f*ck. Not sure how to do it? Let Sam Sharpe show you how…

Ho-tel, Mo-tel, Holiday Inn…

I’ve already spilled ink glorifying the joys of hotel sex, so I won’t beat a dead horse. But I will share a nugget that a wise old player once shared with me:

Hotel bars are great places to meet people who are, ahem, looking for a good time. Or at least some stress relief. Maybe she’s traveling for business. Maybe he’s taking a road trip across the country. Regardless, hotel bars are a relatively untapped resource for the intrepid hedonist looking for a bit of carefree (yet careful, we at Met AnotherFrog promote safe sex) fun. I mean, they already have a hotel room booked for crying out loud. This is a no lose situation.

And for those of you already in relationships? Booking a room for a night or a weekend and meeting in the hotel bar for a little role-play never killed anyone’s erection.

When in Rome…

Know what’s worse than a partner that doesn’t want to have sex? A partner who only ever wants things their way. Sometimes ya gotta change it up.

I once dated a girl who was tense and quieter than a church mouse during coitus. I mean she looked like she was holding in a fart instead of being pleasured by my glorious penis (look, if a female blogger I love who shall remain nameless–actually, her name is max–can repeatedly claim that her p**** stays yankin’ then I can occasionally boast that my cock is like crack. Or a Klondike bar. Capiche). Far too often she wore the expression of someone trying to memorize lines or teleport into the next room.

Then we went on vacation.

She went from pianissimo to fortissimo before our clothes were off. Before I knew it she  was doing a full Minnie Riperton. Part of me was rejoicing, her inner freak was unleashed and I was there to bear witness and to testify. The other part of me wanted to tie her up, put a sock in her mouth then punish her for making so much noise by riding her seven ways to Sunday before we got kicked out of the hotel.

What happened when we returned home? The screamer was gone and the mute was back. If she could only allow herself to relax like she did when we were on our trip, perhaps our sex life would have been consistently explosive instead of consistently humdrum. Oh well, we’ll always have that vacation.

One moment on your lips, forever on your hips…

Know what else happens to people on vacation? They become friendlier. They smile at each other. They talk to strangers. They are open to people. And for a Toronto boy like me this is particularly significant. Our fair city has a reputation of being the screw face capital of the world. I thought this reputation was overblown until I went away to school. And then traveled. And then realized that Torontonians appear to have a unique ability to give other human beings the cold shoulder.

And if you haven’t noticed, giving other people the cold shoulder is not a recipe for having a warm body in your bed. I’m not suggesting you go home with total strangers. Nor am I saying you lower all your defenses. What I’m saying is if you part your lips ever so slightly more often (other wise known as a smile) you might get to part your legs and move your hips a little more often.

I don’t know about you but I feel like going on vacation. Who’s coming?

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