What have we learned so far from Full Frontal Nerdity?

Just plenty!

But in case you needed some more factoids to amuse yourself with over the festive period, your resident nerd has compiled a list of very interesting ones for you…

There are approximately 100 million acts of sexual intercourse each day.

Men have THREE types of sperm

The smallest erect penis on record was just 1cm long

Three out of a thousand men (0.3%) are well endowed enough to fellate (blow) themselves to orgasm

According to recent surveys, in heterosexual couples the man is the most likely partner to be tied up during sex (lazy boys…)

Among primates, man has the largest and thickest penis

Studies show that, for some unknown reason, the higher the level of education, the more men tend to have wet dreams.

The male fetus is capable of attaining an erection during the last trimester.

The left testicle usually hangs lower than the right for right-handed men. The opposite is true for lefties.

Average number of times a man will ejaculate in his lifetime: 7 200. Average number of times he will ejaculate from masturbation: 2 000.

30% of women over the age of 80 still have sexual intercourse either with their spouse or boyfriends.

Women with a Ph.D. are twice as likely to be interested in a one-night stand than those with only a Bachelor’s degree. Smart ladies…

According to Penthouse magazine, more women complain about infrequent sex than men do. Forty percent of women report having had an orgasm while dreaming about sex. That number is 80% for men. And according to Playboy, more women talk dirty during sex than men.

Just a decade ago, only 25% of women reported experiencing orgasm as a result of intercourse. In recent years, this number has risen to about 45%. In contrast, over 80% of women report experiencing orgasm though oral sex.

One report states that 48% of women have faked an orgasm at least once in their life. Interestingly, an identical percentage of men (i.e. 48%) also report faking an orgasm at least once

Both men and women can be turned on by the aromas of wine. The scents of many wines are believed to replicate human pheromones, the chemical substances that cause behavioral responses in humans.

I was born in Jamaica. And though I came to Canada at a young age my mother has never let us forget where we came from. Regular visits to the island, coupled with regular reminders that living in Canada didn’t necessarily translate to being Canadian reinforced in my siblings and I an affinity for and acceptance of Jamaican cultural norms and values as superior to those of our adopted country. For my mother we may have become (eventually) Canadian citizens but my siblings and I were always Jamaicans. (My Jamaican cousins would beg to differ.)

Not surprisingly, acceptance of Jamaican cultural attitudes and norms significantly impacted my dating, love and sex lives. There are just some things that the average Jamaican doesn’t do or isn’t supposed to do. And some things we do that I’ve come to realize aren’t universal. For your edification, here is a small sampling:

Paper Men Need Not Apply: When a Jamaican single mother rules her house with an iron fist like my mother did there are a few things you can count on; there will be no back chat (the penalty is death, or something that feels suspiciously like what I imagine death feels like), education is a must, the lord Jesus Christ is your saviour (I was in Church on Sundays and secular music was forbidden on this day of rest) and even though you’re a male child you will have to help around the house with things like washing dishes, cleaning bathrooms and maybe even cooking.

While instructing the pre-pubescent version of Sam Sharpe on the finer issues of things like properly pressing clothes or seasoning meat my mother would let it be known that “these Canadian girls don’t know how to do anything” and that I couldn’t count on them to take care of me so I “better learn to do these things and stand on my own feet”. Plus, as my mom would put it, “no woman worth her salt wants a paper man and if you can’t press your pants and cook your own food and stand on your own, you’re a paper man”.

How did this play out in the dating world? Well, first and foremost I’m nobody’s pushover. In fact it’ll be a cold day in hell before you’ll hear about a woman putting me “under heavy manners”. Unless I get married or something. And second, though, I’m not Bobby Flay, Susur Lee or Rob Rainford I know my way around the kitchen. I’ve been known to say, fry fish, grill vegetables and serve a dessert plate with fresh fruit, pound cake and sorbet for the ladies. At her place. And do all the dishes when I’m done. On occasion I’ve also even laundered a woman’s clothes. I’m talking the full hundred: washing, folding and pressing. I’ve managed to wear the apron and the pants, to pamper women without being a pushover. Let me tell you, this not being a paper man thing has paid off handsomely with the ladies. Very handsomely.

Some Fruit Is Forbidden: Guess how many of my Jamaican friends have ever admitted to going downtown? If you guessed none, congratulations you’ve won the door prize. See, in Jamaican circles oral sex is frowned upon. At least publicly. I have one friend who swore up and down that he “never nyam the pussy”. This guy was adamant about the “duttiness” and “slackness” of the act. But he was like the Ted Haggard of anti-oral sex crusaders—railing against an evil by day but seeking it out by night. Little did he know that we knew that he was eating more pussy than cervical cancer Alf.

This message was NOT brought to you by Jamaica's Tourist Board

Why the big anti-oral stance in Jamaica? The answer is too complicated for me to discuss right now. All I know is that as long as I’ve known about sex I’ve known that oral sex was a no-no. Men shouldn’t “bow” and women shouldn’t “goggle”. It’s amazing how many dancehall reggae songs are devoted to admonishing anyone who practices such “nastiness”. (Sidebar: During my school years my friends and I used to smirk every time a convertible raced through the streets of Toronto with Mr. Vegas’ tune ‘Heads High’—sample lyric: “Mi wan fi hear yu scream, If yu mouth clean, No man never rope you in fi no ice cream”—pumping from the stereo system. See, that song is largely about women who are “clean”, aren’t freaks and don’t give head. But we knew first hand that all these Betsy’s from Brampton and Maritza’s from Markham were “bowing and blowing” like the Jamaican girls wouldn’t and we also knew they didn’t know what the hell the song was about. They just liked the beat).

Now informal research indicates that what is claimed publicly by many Jamaican men and women is different than what happens privately. And within my social circle it’s an unwritten rule that you save the oral action for the “special ones”. How said special one is determined is anyone’s guess and likely varies from man to man anyway. Regardless, you’ll be hard pressed to find a Jamaican man who publicly acknowledges he’s tasted the vagine or worse yet that he enjoys it. In fact, probably the only thing worse than being called a “bowcat” is being called a batty man. Which leads us to…

Homosexuality is an abomination unto the lord: It is said there are more houses of worship per capita in Jamaica than any other nation on this planet. Know what this means? Jamaicans love them some church. And nothing can get the devout whipped into a fervour like talk of homosexuality. Check this for a more complete discussion of homosexuality in Jamaica.

Remember when I said a surprising amount of dancehall reggae songs are devoted to anti –oral sex talk. Well, I could say the same thing about anti-gay songs too. When I was young(er), I didn’t even give the lyrical content of some of these songs a second thought. I sang them as casually as I would sing a church hymn or ‘Yellow Submarine’ or ‘One Love’. Thing is, I never took these songs with anti-gay lyrics too seriously. I never have hated gays. In fact, as far back as my early teens I did the cold hard math. More gay men meant more women for me. (Ahh, nothing like naked self interest to stimulate social change or awakening). So, on that front I didn’t give a crap whether a man was gay or straight. I mean, seriously, what did another man’s sexual orientation, tastes or predilections have to do with me? So I danced and sang along to these songs while not really connecting to the message.

But as my consciousness and awareness grew I re-examined my relationship to these songs, some of which are or were personal favourites. Though I still could or can appreciate an amazing turn of phrase, the clever construction of a given lyrical passage or the way a given artist “rides the riddim” I just have a hard time listening to some songs now, songs I had always adored. I just can’t promote that kind of message, a message that advocates discriminating against or acts of violence against someone because of their sexual orientation. (I meet Queer folk all the time these days and when informed that I’m Jamaican, I often sense or see a bit of apprehension flicker in their eyes. Of course it’s possible that I’m projecting my own thoughts and feelings).

All in all, I’m very proud of my Jamaican heritage. I still cherish and adhere to many of the cultural values and beliefs my mother and others instilled in me. But, when a boy becomes a man he must put away childish things and learn to make decisions on his own. Well, I am a man now, a decidedly un-paper man like one at that. And I’ve chosen my life. A life that loves freely and doesn’t judge others for the choices they make in theirs. It’s one love people. One love.

I do not remember much of my formative years’ sexual education. I know there were a few key moments in its history that have always stuck in mind:

Putting condoms onto bananas in Grade five sex ed.

Discovering her “bag o’toys and porn” and masturbating to the thought of them (no touching of each other of course), with a close friend. She had the red Crayola marker and I, the yellow.

If there was any sexual education in class, outside of the banana incident, it certainly did not stick in my memory. Perhaps it was the fact that I lived in quite small towns in Nova Scotia and Ontario during junior high and high school, but still; you would think there would have been something educational along the way.

I discovered my own personal sexuality quite early on. Getting my hands on anything I could touch myself with seemed to be the most logical path in life, though I never gave any thought to whether or not anyone else was doing the same thing. I lived in my own little bubble of self-amusement, keeping my thoughts very much to myself as I am sure now, many other kids were doing as well.

While I ended up being a late bloomer when it came to sharing this pleasure with other people, I would say I have done pretty well for myself now in the naked activities department. Through personal experiments and self teaching, I have learned many a trick to keep the boys and girls happy and feeling good between the sheets – and their legs – though I will not deny it would have been nice to get a heads up on some of these tips a few years prior.

What I really wish I had learned in Sex Ed though is quite simple. As I think of it now I am realizing that it has nothing to do with technique or the realities of sexually transmitted diseases, though those items are certainly extremely important.

I wish that I had learned that everything would be ok and sex and sexuality can be fun and healthy. I wish that we had been taught that no matter how much peer pressure you were feeling if you were not ready to do something it was ok to say no, and to talk to someone about it without feeling ashamed.

I wish someone had told me that it really was ok to masturbate; healthy even. The things you can learn about your body’s personal responses to pleasure by experimenting yourself are amazing! I wish I had been encouraged to learn more about bi and homosexuality from an earlier age. I wish I had been told that it was ok to be a late bloomer and that my worth was not directly connected to how many teenage boys cocks I sucked on the side of the road on my way to becoming a ‘lady’.

Knowing that my first kiss would only be important to me later in life, as a funny story to tell would have been nice. Having someone tell me that one night stands can be an absolute blast if you take the necessary precautions would have saved me some questioning of myself in college. Finding out before going into it that sometimes, a hand job under the table is simply a hand job under the table and there was no need for me to fret and worry if he was going to call? Well, that would have been a fast, easy and sexy fact to know as well.

What I am trying to say is that I really would have liked to have been told that my sexuality; whatever it was going to turn itself into over the years, was ok and nothing to be ashamed of. It might not have been the same identity as the kid sitting next to me in class. Hell, it might have been different than the sexuality of almost everyone in that banana condom Grade five class, but it was mine and I was allowed to own it then as I am now.

I wish we had been taught that talking about our sexuality doesn’t make us freaks and instead is something that should be encouraged by teachers, parents and the media. Having the freedom now to talk about it something I am positive my 10, 13, or 16 year old selves could have benefited from greatly.

So were I ever to teach a Sex Ed class myself, it would go a little something like this. We would put the condoms on the bananas and make sure that STD prevention and awareness was always at the top of the list. However, for the older students we would probably learn how to give the bananas a hand job first. Then we would talk about how the banana might represent a guy’s cock or someone else’s dildo in a strap on. We would say words like cisgendered and transsexual; non-monogamy and BDSM fantasy. Expressions like gender neutral would become regular language and people would stop giggling because they would end up feeling comfortable with these normally, healthy words.

People would learn the importance of self respect and would stop partaking in activities that made them feel less about themselves and only join in on things that made them feel good inside.

As I look around at society I can tell daily how many people would have benefited from these lessons and can only hope that one day everyone will learn that it is, in fact, simply ok.

We humans are subject to the eclectic variations of a vast array of external influences. We are the products of an ever changing assortment of external factors, and the formation of our characters is the result of our personalities being moulded by these outside forces.

I believe that through no fault of my own, I was unwittingly influenced, changed by one such force. The most terrifying, dangerous, beautiful, amazing and truly life changing event each of us will ever experience:

S-E-X.

It can really change a person. Unfortunately for me, no one ever stopped to tell me just how much my approach to sex could and would change my life…

When I was a wee lad at an all boys academy in England the only prior knowledge of sexuality that I was privy to was delivered to me by my father; an Irish Catholic, yet very liberal. For him my education on the birds and the bees was to place me in front of the television with a VHS of an old Bond movie in the recorder whilst he slouched back with a glass of whisky. Before long my life had become some what of a child’s fantasy (in essence I wanted to be James Bond) and I treated women with the same dismissive nature as Connery did whenever he would slap a girl on the arse and say “run along sweetheart, it’s time for some man talk.”

Perhaps it was the violent way in which my parents would treat each other, their smouldering glares, my father’s love of other women and scotch, or perhaps it may have been their divorce that sent me on this path. However, one thing was very clear to me from a very early age:

I had a deep distrust of love!

Thus when it came to my formal sexual education I found myself aloof throughout the deliverance of one long, rambling essay by our ill at ease and ever blushing school nurse. The most notable part of her cringe worthy monologue was the fact that it was liberally peppered with “you must behave like this,” or “that is bad and can lead to this.” Her decision to highlight only the most negative aspects and most dangerous ramifications a young man might face as he set upon his voyage of sexual exploration made it impossible for me to hear, much less digest, the few useful bits information she did share. One thing was for sure though, the more dangerous she made it sound the more eager I was to consummate the act; in my mind it was the key to me achieving the ever elusive concept of masculinity.

We weren’t told what to expect upon engaging in sexual activity or how our lives could eventually become consumed by our desire for sex. None of us were informed about what we might feel before, or how changed we may sense ourselves to be afterwards. Nobody bothered to tell me how pressured I’d feel to complete this rite of passage, or how competitive it would become between younger males to win the position of Alpha in the sexual realm.

Needless to say, twelve months after sitting through the unbearable lecture that was the beginning and end of my formal sex education, when I was about to have my very first sexual experience with a girl who lived just up the road, I was completely unprepared. So, I did the only thing I could think of to quell my mounting fear: turn to drink.

I wasn’t afraid of the act, instead I was quite astute in researching a woman’s body and its erogenous zones, but what I was unprepared for was how insecure I would feel the second I took off my clothes in front of a girl for the first time. How intimate and vulnerable I’d feel in giving myself completely to one person.

I lost my virginity to a girl called Michelle…and a bottle of Jack Daniels!

In my fear-filled and drunken state I paid little heed to my lover’s feelings. Instead I focused on making the event as cinematic as I could. In my mind I saw every love scene I’d ever witnessed on the screen and threw as much passion into it as my inebriated body could muster. However, regardless of any passion or skill the act itself was completely devoid of one thing: emotion. In the silence of the moment and in the dark of night I sensed her unease and vulnerability, but the only post coital phrase that I offered to her was a mumbled,

“Why are you putting your underwear back on?”

when I noticed she was hustling back into her clothes, giving me a clear and rather demoralising indication that she was not up for a second go. I’d allowed that deep distrust to creep back in, and in a moment that should have been about the fusing of two people into one I’d allowed my own narcissism and fear of intimacy ruin the first time of a girl that I haven’t seen since.

My sexual experience was a hasty and utterly un-emotive act that provided me with the earliest foreshadowing of the emotionally devoid young man that I would eventually become. Since that early age I have found myself struggling with three addictions:

The need to be the Alpha Male,

A problem with excessive drinking and

An insatiable need to fuck virtually everyone I meet.

However, I cannot help but feel that if someone had explained to me that sex was more than just a physical act, somehow impressed upon me how incredibly powerful and life altering an experience it would be, that I may have learnt to deal with its emotional aspects a little better. If someone had been wise enough to move me away from the misogyny of those sixties films and the influence of my father’s warped sense of masculinity then perhaps I’d be capable of love. Alas, we are all the products of those external forces aren’t we? Though it may only take a moment to plant a seed of thought it can take a lifetime to try and chop the tree of its influence down.

And there you have it ladies and gents; the thing I really wish they’d taught me in sexual education is the importance of exploring your feelings in connection to sex. That although it may be a rite of passage if you approach sex like it’s a race just might leave you a very different person than you ever imagined you would become.

Until next time…

Love and Only Love,

James.

People, I‘ve got extra good news.

First, More Than Pillow Talk, your new favourite (I hope) podcast is back.

Secondly, in this episode – our fourth – in addition to hearing Sam and I shoot the shit in grand style (as we always do), on this episode for the first time ever, you’ll also be hearing the voice of our lovely Brit’ mate…

Elizabeth Rose!

That’s right y’all, the three of us finally sat down to record one of our crazy chats. The type of chats we used to have on a regular basis way back when Elizabeth still lived on this side of the pond, and that eventually led to the creation of Met Another Frog.

Okay, I’m not going to waste time giving you a long preamble, as I’m sure you’re all anxious to hear the ‘special’ brand of foolishness we bring to the table when we’re all together. So, good people, without further ado, I give you Sam, Elizabeth and I, your Met Another Frog team.

Enjoy!

SB

More Than Pillow Talk: Ep. 4

A few years back my girlfriend, ‘Kathy’ and I decided to take a trip to Vegas. It was a trip that was going to be was a little different, because my girlfriend and I were meeting my family:  my aunt Norma and grandparents to be exact. My grandparents lived in the area, but luckily my aunt offered us the chance to stay – free of charge – in her hotel room. Savings aside, bunking with my aunt would mean…no sexy time. With my girlfriend and no sex? In Sin City?

To make matters worse, the timing of our trip was terrible. Kathy had just finished her period and we already hadn’t had sex for quite a bit. So, we were both itching to get freaky and hanging with my family in Vegas was going to be quite an obstacle.

Now, we could have gotten our own room, but my aunt was staying at The Mirage: which was hard to turn down, because it’s a really nice hotel. Plus the price was right; it wasn’t going to cost us a thing. So we decided to take her up on her offer. It was going to be difficult. But, like I always say when faced with difficult scenarios, “challenge accepted.”

When we finally arrived in Vegas, as expected the hotel was awesome; but first thing we saw was a bunch of hookers roaming the lobby, looking for clients. Only there five minutes and already, sex was creeping at us from every angle. I looked at Kathy and said, “We’re definitely going to make this happen.” She winked and gave me a knowing look. (It’s always nice to know your girlfriend is as horny as you are).

When we got up to the room, we found Aunt Norma in a very plush suite that had two very comfortable double beds: one for her and one for us. After a few minutes of making small talk, our exhaustion caught up with us and the two of us passed out.

The next day we woke up in each other’s arms and I was raging…

down there.

As was the case most mornings my hormones were on the alert: very high alert due to my sex deprived state. There was no way I was going to be able to make it to nightfall without doing a lil’ something something with my girl. But since it was still pretty early in the day, we got up, shook it off and headed to the pool with my aunt.

Just a taste of the type of scenery you're confronted with when you visit Bare...

Now, at The Mirage they have a separate adult section called Bare that is basically a topless pool. Kathy and I were intrigued by the idea, so we left Aunt Norma at the PG pool and decided to check the R rated action out. As soon as we walked in there were beautiful people all around us, and our hormones – especially mine – kicked right back into action. I knew I had to figure something fast. But, what the hell was I to do?

Then it hit me. The hotel room was EMPTY! Aunt Norma is still sunning herself in a lounge chair by the other pool – but she won’t be for long.

“WE NEED TO GO TO THE ROOM NOW!” I grabbed Kathy’s hand and dragged her back to the hotel.

Excited as we were, we could barely wait to get in the room and were all over each other in the elevator. The ride back to our room – which was on the 22^nd floor – seemed to take forever.

We love sex here at Met Another Frog. Sometimes, just sometimes, we can be a little lewd. And silly. And maybe, just maybe a little crude. I know, surprise, surprise. But really, it’s all a by-product of our light hearted approach to all things related to love, dating and sex. Because fun and games aside we do aim to broaden perspectives about these issues, to provide a little “edutainment” to go along with our smut. In a nutshell we try to be sex positive and we encourage all of our readers to do the same.

For my first interview here at Met Another Frog I sought out a woman who for my money exemplifies what it means to “edutain” and to be sex positive. I’m talking about none other than Camille Crimson. If you’re not familiar with her work, Camille Crimson is an award winning porn model and webmaster best known as the star of theartofblowjob.com, my nominee for most accurately named website in the history of the Internet. So read on dear readers as I lose my “interview virginity” at Camille Crimson’s capable hands.

SS: First off, Camille, thank you for taking the time out of your schedule to share a little time with us. Okay. So let’s start this interview the way many interviews start, with genesis questions: How long have you been making pornography? Who and what inspired you to start?

It’s been about 6 years.  We started just by posting some sexy pictures on our Mac fan site, but quickly that became more fun and lucrative than doing web work or photography/videography for other people, so we decided to do it for ourselves and explore our very satisfying sex life at the same time.

SS: Between your eponymous blog, theartofblowjob.com, iusemyfeet.com, dolorem.com and thebeautifulporn.com (am I missing anything?) you seem to have a lot going on. How do you find time to do it all and what can people expect from each of your ventures?

To be perfectly honest, The Art of Blowjob is the main focus at this point, updating weekly with new videos or photo sets of the most sensual blowjobs on the Internet.  Dolorem is an archival site featuring all the erotic photography we did from 2006 to 2009, but it’s no longer updated.  I Use My Feet is mostly a project, which is updated whenever foot-related inspiration strikes, featuring photos and videos of me exploring the sensuality of my legs and feet.  The Beautiful Porn is an à la carte site where people can buy individual photo sets or videos from all my sites.

SS: People make a lot of assumptions about women and porn. Conventional wisdom suggests that all pornography is exploitive and that women don’t enjoy porn, or that women involved in pornography are “damaged” in some way. What are your thoughts on these preconceptions? How do you combat them? How do people respond when they find out what you do for a living?

I think that these preconceptions exist because they are true in some cases, but they certainly don’t make up the majority of the women (or men, for that matter) in the porn world.  I try to combat these stereotypes by being very vocal through my blog and social media about my experience as a feminist in porn and how I not only reconcile the two, but how the two can exist harmoniously and inspire me!  When people find out what I do for a living, I get a variety of responses, but that’s to be expected.  I’m unwavering and unapologetic about what I do, so people generally come to realize that it’s not like whatever pre-conceived notions they have in their head.

SS: My sense is that almost anybody, assuming they are relatively sex positive, could find something to enjoy about your work. So as a follow up in some ways to the previous questions, who is your audience? Do you target specific demographics?

Everyone!  There are people of all ages, races, genders, sexualities and lifestyles who enjoy what I do!  For every single 18 year old saying that this is the first porn he’s every paid for, there’s a couple of senior citizens who are spicing up their lives after leaving the nest.  We don’t really target specific demographics, we just try to be ourselves and people flock to us because they all want to see real, beautiful sex.

SS: I’m a bit of a film geek and the one thing I’ve noticed and love about the photos and videos on your sites is the production value; the music, the photography/cinematography and editing are second to none. Can you talk a little about your creative process?

Well, we shoot with a few different DSLRS and use really good lighting and a few tripods and dollies.  Mike (my boyfriend) mostly operates the cameras while I’m giving him a blowjob, so his hand is often out of the frame manipulating something, or we’ll pause for a second to adjust.  We add the music in as we edit, just choosing whatever style feels right.  Asides from that, it’s just about trying to edit based on what the eye would naturally gravitate to in a blowjob, but in the most beautiful way possible.

SS: On the dolorem.com home page it says, “Redefining the meaning of pornography”. The caption at the end of an artofblowjob.com video I watched said “Did you like the gorgeous, natural sexuality of this video…we want to spread the message of the beautiful side of porn”. Why do you think our society defines pornography so narrowly and negatively? What does pornography mean to you and how would you like to redefine it? What is the beautiful side of porn?

Society defines porn so narrowly because porn has often been quite narrow.  More and more people are getting into porn because it’s more widely available, so the face of the industry is changing, but people’s views haven’t caught up because they’re still mostly being fed the same thing by the mainstream.  Pornography can be many things, but I want to make porn that’s beautiful aesthetically and ethically.  We should invest more time and energy into the filmmaking, but we should also care more about showing real and engaging sexuality.  I just feel that there’s so much to be gained from pornography if it were only framed in the right way and presented as something of real value.

SS: My favourite thing about your work is the sheer humanity of it. For example, the Morning Wood video on theartofblowjob.com follows you through what one presumes is a morning ritual—we watch you get out of bed, prepare an espresso and check your phone among other things before you get back into bed with your partner. For me it is a reminder that seemingly mundane and everyday things can be sensual and sexual, that being sexy really is often a matter of being open and sensitive to things around you, not to mention your partner(s). I think this is an important lesson. Do you think there are other lessons that people can learn about their own sexuality and sensuality through enjoying your work?

I hope that people take away more than “I should be giving/getting more/better blowjobs”…  I want them to think actively about being more intuitive to their partner’s needs and more creative with finding ways to fulfill them.  And that is absolutely a two way street, we just happen to focus on the blowjobs.

SS: Clearly I’m partial to theartofblowjob.com. I’ve shared my enthusiasm for it with several friends, both male and female. What are your keys for giving and receiving a great blowjob?

Without going into a huge diatribe, I’d say it’s all about creativity and communication.  Look at all the different parts of the penis/balls, all of the other sensitive spots in the body and all of the different parts of your mouth and the rest of your body.  Think of different sensations and speeds.  Now have fun combining them!  But be sure to be tuned to his reactions and even ask what feels best.  This goes for everything, really, not just blowjobs.

SS: You’ve clearly put a lot of time and energy into your work. So, what can we expect from Camille Crimson in the future?

Well, we just released a press release about our first DVD, which is being released by LFP/Hustler, so that’s pretty exciting!  Asides from that, onwards and upwards with more ways of showing and sharing beautiful porn.

SS: Any final thoughts?

I’m just hoping that there will be more beautiful porn in the coming years and more people who take it upon themselves to have the kind of sex we’re all fantasizing about!

Whenever the enticing Skye Blue comes calling with a chance to guest post for Met Another Frog, I’m all about it. Partly because I’m queer for this blog and partly because I’m still angling to get her to sit on my face.

But after I took on this latest assignment, I got the shakes. “Sexual mishaps and embarassing moments“? Folks, my entire sex life is a never-ending mishap–a veritable freight train of horror and embarassament careening off the rails. So where do I even begin?

Then I got to thinking of my brief forays into homemade porn, which reminded me of the following story. And while I may not be at the epicenter of its awkwardness, I feel it should stand as an excellent example of the old tenet, “Once you film it, you never know who will see it.”

The story begins in my senior year of college.

Susan had the t-shirt too.

During my senior year, I fucked. A lot. Because I was dating Susan Switzer [not her real last name, natch] and when you dated Susan Switzer, you fucked. Like mad. Because that’s what Susan Switzer liked to do, when she wasn’t taking Jaegermeister intravenously or threatening to lay some cop’s cheek open with a smashed beer bottle.

Yes, Susan was tits-up loony, but she liked her sex. And she enjoyed videotaping it as well. So we taped ourselves. Often. From angles that would have made Kubrick jealous. And then we’d watch them. Critique the camera work, the lighting, the way my ridiculous li’l Irish pecker always seemed to bring down the production values. Typical pillow talk.

Couple years later, I’m drinking at a buddy’s apartment where a bunch of us have gathered to get a bit stupid. I mention some of my homemade cinematic masterpieces, and I soak in the “oohs” and “aahs” from the crowd. Then our host, whom we’ll call Graber, says he’s got some stuff that’ll beat mine five days a week and twice on Sunday. In fact, he wants to show it to us. So he does.

Hours and hours of it. Him and his Vietnamese girlfriend, who can’t be a day over 21 and whose body can only be described as “fucking marvelous.”

I thought Susan and I had some good shit working. But these guys blew us away. Props. Costumes. Plotlines. Dialogue! In one video, she’s dressed as a Catholic school girl, snapping her bubble gum while Graber administers “stern punishment.” In another, she’s an alien visitor and Graber’s going all Captain Kirk on her impossibly round ass. Yet another has an “experimental” theme, including some slow-mo “money shots” with a Nine Inch Nails soundtrack and a bizarre segment in which his girlfriend attempts to sit on the camera lens.

And he’s got. More. Videos. And we watch all of them. Not because we enjoy watching Graber’s mealy white ass going to town, but because we’re all amazed at the time and effort that went into this stuff. And did I mention how hot the girlfriend is? Because she is.

Anyway, after a couple hours of this, Graber heads into his bedroom and pulls out a little something he “borrowed” from the company he works for. It’s a projector, normally used for presentations, but when appropriated by pervs like us, it’s used to showcase Graber’s handiwork on the largest flat surface in his apartment, which happens to be the cloth blinds that cover the sliding glass doors to his deck. So he closes the blinds tightly and it’s almost like watching it on a real movie screen, because the material the blinds are made from has that light “movie screen” look and feel to it. So off go the lights and on goes the projector and six feet by eight feet goes Graber’s cock. And we’re watching. For hours. And the girlfriend’s costumes include belly dancer garb, a ’50s diner waitress, a zookeeper and a scientist studying the effects of handjobs on security guards.

And this goes on and on and on. Until someone asks, “Hey, can you see through those blinds?”

“Huh?” we replied, collectively.

“I mean,” he asks again, “those blinds are kinda light. Could this projection be seen on the outside as well?”

So, in the name of science, we head outside. Into the courtyard. And we turn to look up at the sliding glass doors that lead to Graber’s deck. And sure enough, there’s Graber’s girlfriend’s mouth, working him over in a most impressive manner. The picture’s reversed, but it’s still shining as bright and clear as any drive-in movie you’d ever see.

And there are Graber’s neighbors. Taking it all in. Including a 65-year old dude across the way, pulling from a can of Schlitz and yelling, “Fucking awesome!”

And it was. So awesome, in fact, that some of us stayed outside to watch.

From that day on, Graber’s neighbor’s called him “The Man.” And I made a mental note to keep every frame of film featuring my white boy ass under wraps.

I am a good judge of character, and within a few minutes of meeting a guy I can usually tell if he’s telling me the truth or not. So the day I met the tall, dark, handsome stranger I was sure he was a good person. He came into the store where I worked at the time, looking to buy a pair of shoes. Another employee went into the back to get the shoes he requested and before I knew it we were exchanging phone numbers.  The guy was that smooth. As he walked out of the store I thought, I’m never going to hear from him again. Two days later he called and asked me out. He suggested we go out to a bar in Hollywood the following night.

Our date was grand. He picked me up, we went to the bar and as we sipped our drinks we talked about everything – including the things we’d both learned from our past relationships. The conversation was easy and I felt comfortable with him, so I invited him back to my place. Soon after arriving at my apartment we started kissing, which led to our clothes coming off. I quickly discovered that he looked even more amazing without his clothes on and that we had a great physical connection. Plus, to top it all off, he really knew how to please me.

After that first amazing night he came back for more – frequently – and I enjoyed every single minute I spent in his company. We always had fun when we were together, whether we were out at dinner or just spending a quiet night in; and he never once gave me any reason to think anything bad about him. So I totally didn’t see it coming when one day, completely out of the blue, he informed me that he’d have to stop seeing me. Apparently, he was a one-woman guy who had recently started seeing someone else he was getting serious with. I was hurt, but I respected his decision to end things with me.

After that we didn’t speak at all and I really didn’t expect to hear from him again. Then, one day his name popped up on my caller ID. At first I wasn’t even sure I should answer the phone, but when I convinced myself that there was no harm in just talking to him and that it would be good to catch up, I did. After we got through the cursory small talk, he explained that he and his girlfriend had broken up, and that he really wanted to see me again. Of course, I agreed got out with him and in short order we were hanging out again, just like old times. It was great being with him again. He made me smile. He was hot. We always had a good time together. And as I said before, he really knew how to please me.

His "I broke up with my girlfriend" line was really code for this. FML!

One night soon after we’d started in on our second time around, we decided to have a quiet night in. He had picked up some burgers on the way over to my place, which we munched on as we watched a movie. After the movie ended we talked for a bit, before we began to peel each other’s clothes off. We had the deliciously good sex I’d come to expect, and after we were done, as we lay next to each other on my bed, he said something no other man had ever said to me before…

“You know, you give a much better blow job than my girlfriend.”

Um…Excuse me?

At first I was speechless. I laid there in disbelief processing what he’d said and all that it meant; thinking back to the moment, just weeks before, when he told me he’d broken up with his girlfriend.

“But you told me you and your girlfriend broke up?”

He shrugged and said, “Well…”

That’s all he had the chance to say before I asked him to leave. I must’ve of looked really pissed, because he got up and got out – fast. Strangely enough I haven’t heard from him since.

.

Boys, here’s a word of advice. Never tell the woman you’ve just finished having sex with that she’s better at giving head or doing any of your other favorite sex acts than your current girlfriend is. It’s not likely to win you any brownie points and it’s totally unattractive…to say the least.

So far this month, among other things, we’ve seen how being an overly ambitious bedroom daredevil can bring an otherwise pleasant evening to a dramatic and painful end; discovered that our resident slut Elizabeth Rose was not always the shameless minx she is today; and learned that Sam used to run the car sex game. I’m sure the more observant among you have noticed that I have yet to weigh in on this month’s dignity demolishing theme, by sharing one of my own embarrassing moments or sexual mishaps in the bedroom. Well folks, tonight’s the night I throw my hat into the ring with my own story…

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FYI all: Most people don't find this sexy. So easy with the 'vomity' dirty talk.

Way back when, in a past life when I was a much younger version of myself, I met ‘Rohan’, a positively beautiful man, with a dazzling smile, smooth nut brown skin and a killer bod, toned by years and years of playing football – his sport of choice. I met him through a friend at a house party one night, and from the moment I laid eyes on him I was shook. My every day wise crackin’ and vocal self up and left as we were introduced, leaving my seemingly deaf and absolutely dumb alter ego to fend for itself. He was that magnificent. So, I was totally caught off guard when he turned to address me – the voiceless, unblinking and motionless lame ass standing amongst a gaggle of giddily flirting girls.

‘Hey, what’s your name again?’ he asked, his eyes resting on my face, ‘You’ve been so quiet all night. What’s up with that?’

Shocked to hear him speak my name, I just stood there looking up at him, praying my lips would eventually move and sound would come out. I heard someone beside me say, ‘Skye, aren’t you going to answer him?’ and what seemed like an eternity later, I finally said, ‘I don’t know. Just not much to say I guess.’

Apparently he found my lameness charming, because within minutes, he and I were sitting alone in a quiet-ish corner of the room doing the whole ‘getting to know you’ thing. That first chat led to a few dates, which of course led to the two of us getting horizontal.

Now, as luck would have it, Rohan was as magnificent in the bedroom as he was to look at. That is he was until the day he got comfortable enough with me to start dropping dirty talk…

A quick aside here folks: For the record, although back then I wasn’t the nasty girl I am today, I’ve always been game for some down and dirty discourse while bumping uglies. But here’s the thing with dirty talk, you need to know your audience. As I’d learned when I made my own very ‘un-cute’ commentary (for those of you who missed reading that story when Sam called me out on it – again – last week, you can read it here) years before meeting Rohan, an ill-timed word can stop the good times from rolling just like that. Unfortunately, my magnificent bedmate had not yet learned that lesson.

So there we were in his bedroom, him on his back and my mouth full of…ahem. Needless to say, he was soon in his happy place – his really, Really, REALLY happy place (what can I say I’m am enthusiastic giver). And that’s when the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard anyone – including my ‘greatest mistaking’ self – say in a bedroom. As he lay there, reveling in the joy of what I was doing to and for him, Rohan, my Mr. Magnificent, supaman lova of a bed mate up and said:

‘That’s right…Just like that…Make my dude throw up for you, girl.’

What. The. Fuck? Make your dude throw up? Really?

Poor Rohan. He didn’t know what hit him. From the moment he uttered those words my mojo – ALL of it – left the building. I was done. Game over. Instant buzz kill. From a hundred to zero in ten seconds flat.

And since he’d trounced my ‘I love sucking dick’ vibe in grand style (likening man milk to vomit has that effect on me don’t you know), I was in no mood to explain, so I just got up and left: a not so smart move (unfortunately for both Rohan and I, Sam wasn’t around to remind me to be an adult) that pretty much ended our connection.

Now good people, here’s my PSA on this one. Unless your partner is into emetophilia – something you should definitely check in with them about before dropping your prime vomit related dirty talk on them – as much as I’m all for you doing you in the bedroom, under NO circumstance is mentioning puke, upchuck, barf or whatever you want to call it a good idea in the bedroom. In essence, what I’m saying is this: for most people…

‘Vomity’ talk ≠ SEXY talk.

I can’t make that any clearer kids. Really. I’ve got nothing.

Anyone beg to differ?