SAM SHARPE

**Too much of a good thing isn’t a better thing. I mentioned this around these parts recently. And it’s true. Don’t believe me? Or perhaps you don’t fully understand what that saying means. Well, let’s take a trip down memory lane in this week’s instalment of Vintage Frog Lore.**

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When I first started dating Sara, I thought that I had hit the jackpot. Sexy? Check. Sense of humour? Bingo. Interest in the arts? Hell, Sara was a journalist and published author. But above all these things, Sara absolutely, positively, undeniably liked to f**k. Make that loved to f**k.

See, as far back as I could remember, I’d always wanted to date a woman whose sex drive was as strong as my own. I had dated a series of women, whoclaimed to love having sex as often as possible, but that always ended up being big talk. After the initial bloom was off the rose, these relationships settled into a familiar pattern. Me wanting more sex, them feeling like we were having more than enough (For the record ladies, twice a week is not a lot of sex. In fact, many of you reading this don’t even floss twice a week) and ultimately neither party being satisfied.

Well that all changed with Sara. We spent every waking, breathing moment having sex. No location or situation was off limits. At her parents’ house after a surprise party for her dad? That would be yes. In her best friend’s bed when we were house sitting? Affirmative. In the parking garage? Uhhmmm, yes. In the snow? Cold, but well worth it.  I mean, I would barely  walk through the door and she’d be yanking at my belt.

I was in heaven. It was bliss, unadulterated bliss. Sara had given me what I  always wanted. I couldn’t help but brag to my friends. And man, were they ever bitter, especially the married ones. My married friends would listen to my stories with awe. The expressions on their faces were priceless; it was a mix of pride, appreciation, and envy.

But things started to change a little when I changed jobs. My schedule became a little more hectic, and Sara and I could no longer connect as much as we liked. So now, instead of having sex multiple times each day, we were down to just one or twice a day. Yes folks, you heard that right. Even twice a day was often not enough for Sara.

It seemed that the minute the cock crowed Sara wanted a little morning wood, which was fine by me because I couldn’t think of a better way to start my day. However, regardless what time I got home from work, how busy I was or how tired I was feeling, Sara expected me to break her off at night too—fully knowing that first thing in the morning she was going to be looking for and getting more dick.

It might have been a little different if Sara would be satisfied with any old kind of sex. But no. Sara wanted, nay, demanded my A game. Every time. There was no room for a little 5 or 10-minute slam. Sara wanted to be f***ed long, hard and often. This led to fights. We started to argue as much as we had sex. This did add a little spice to the make up sex, but it eventually became oppressive.

I mean after a marathon session of steady kissing, licking, sucking and thrusting, every man needs some rest. But Sara wasn’t having it. I would barely have enough time to wipe the sweat out of my eye before she would start asking about round two or three. (As an aside, can I tell you that all that sex was good for my physical appearance? The steady pumping did a number on my midsection. Once, in the middle of the diddle, Sara actually remarked that my abs were getting more defined.) Exhausted after one of our sessions, I told Sara, “I’m a man, not a machine.” Sara responded by informing me that “You better stop that shit and start telling yourself you are a machine…you know, mind over matter.”

Everything came to a head on her birthday. Because I’m a man who pays attention to his woman, I made arrangements for us to catch a show I knew that she wanted to see. We met up with some of our friends for drinks after the show and then made our way back to her place. (Folks, let me tell you I was prepared. I had taken the day off from work to ensure that I was well rested. All week I made sure to exercise and eat well. After all, it was her birthday. I needed to be in A+ shape).

We got down to business immediately. I spent the better part of the next couple of hours trying to knock…her…the fuck out. After round one, she said “I’m taking a little break, but you better be ready to give me what I want.” After round two I was breathless, fatigued and sore. After round three, I told Sara that I had to pee.

I stood in the bathroom naked. Exhausted. I splashed water on my face, leaned over the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. The man gazing back at me looked pathetic. Defeated. Broken. There was also something else written on that face—fear. I needed help. So I did what mankind had been doing for generations in times of trouble—I prayed. Listen folks, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to church, but I prayed. I asked God for help. I prayed that when I got back into that room, by some miracle, some divine act, Sara would not want to have sex with me. At least not right away.

I steadied myself, and started to make the long trek back towards the bedroom. I was mumbling to myself, psyching myself up, getting ready to perform if asked. When I entered the dimly lit room, the only thing I could tell was that Sara was lying naked on her back, head turned to one side.

“Sara?” I called out to her as I inched my way toward the bed. “Sara?”

I called her name twice more. When I got closer I realized that she was sleeping. A wave of relief washed over me. I would’ve shouted in celebration if I hadn’t been worried about waking her up and having to get busy again. I lay myself down on the bed beside her and privately thanked God for delivering me. I had rest. I had peace. Dare I say in that moment I had actually found nirvana?

A few minutes later Sara rolled over, threw her right leg over me, and started to rub my belly.

‘Goodnight you sex machine,’ she whispered, ‘Better rest up. I can’t wait to fuck you again in the morning.’

People, be careful what you ask for.