As Nikki so eloquently said in her post this past Wednesday in reference to picking the four best Met Another Frog posts of 2011…

“was hard mothafucka.”

But after over thinking if for a long while, I finally made the wise decision to allow my funny bone – with a bit of help from my soft, mushy side – to decide for me. Here’s what they came up with…

Elizabeth Rose: Secrets From The Goody Drawer, Vol. 23

My choice here was based on nostalgia for the heady early days of this blog, when we were hustling to pen the funniest, most outrageous and best dating and sex stories in our respective arsenals. Things have changed quite a bit since then, for the better I think. Still, it was great to laugh till I snorted (no joke) imagining my girl Elizabeth mid-spin.

Sam Sharpe: Secrets From The Goody Drawer, Vol. 15 – Male Sex Toy Review

You all know I couldn’t resist picking this one. If you’ve listened to virtually any of our podcasts, you’re likely well aware of how much I loooooove to take the piss out of the site’s one and only cocksman, by telling the world what a big bad trouser snake he’s hauling around in his pants. And when he put…

“The Tenga is broken; I repeat the Tenga is broken. My penis punched a hole in it.”

in print, I hit the mother lode. Now I have all the fuel – and proof – I’ll ever need to keep spreading the gospel of Sam’s man parts…for years to come.

Yours Truly: Men Rock…Who Knew?

If I’ve only learned one thing since I started blogging it’s this. Men get shit on a lot. (And that’s not a comparative analysis, so please don’t rush in to tell me that women are treated worse on many fronts. I am well aware of all the mess that women have to put up with.) As one of the last remaining groups most people think it’s safe to shit on publicly, men are depicted as stupid, unthinking and unfeeling beings all the time – like e’ry day. So, this post, was in part, my attempt to go against the grain and give men a little bit of much deserved love.

Guest Post: Ken’s I Was a Real Dick to Jane

More nostalgia here, ‘cause I so miss my boy Ken (where in the world are you guy?). But more than that, when this gem of a post landed in my inbox I was floored. My hi-larious e-homeboy Ken had written one the most moving, honest and real guest posts we had ever received. And I was introduced to whole new side of Tenacious “I’m-a-perv-who-loves-asses-and-will-do-anything-for-you-if-you-promise-to-sit-on-my-face” Ken after reading it.

Crossing my fingers that we’ll be able to bring at least as much funny, real and touching to you, our dear readers in 2012 and beyond.

Cheers,

S

If you’re at all like me, at this time of year you can’t help but reassess the state of your life. It’s as if the rolling in of a New Year flips a reset button in my brain and I start thinking about all the things I’d like to improve upon, learn or straight up get rid of over the 365 days and beyond.

Well, this year, among the many things on my reassessment list (as I told you before I’m not into making resolutions) is trimming my waist line, much like millions of people all over the world (and trust me, I realize that I’m not special).  And as luck would have it, I recently discovered a company that will help me do just that…

The Fresh Diet.

It’s an absolutely amazing gourmet diet delivery service that brings fresh, healthy, nutritionally balanced, and calorie controlled meals, right to your doorstep. Meals that you choose (from the four choices for each meal and six choices for two sides and two snacks they offer each day) based on your own dietary needs and taste. What’s more The Fresh Diet will create a menu for you with your food likes and dislikes and allow you to rollover days so you’ll never have food being delivered when you don’t need it. It’s like having your own personal chef (and what more could a busy single girl ask for)!

Since starting with TFD, each day I’ve indulged in sinfully delicious low-calorie food – three meals and two snacks (including the most delectable desserts) delivered fresh each day – without having to spend time or energy on…

• Carting groceries home from my local grocer
• Cooking
• Calorie counting
• Clean up

All as I lose weight (BONUS)! And lucky for you The Fresh Diet is offering single ladies a great deal for the month of January… Start today for $29.99 per day and get 3 days free with the purchase of a 31 day plan. And as a bonus – The Fresh Diet will give you a six day supply of Hint Premium Essence Water and a fitness DVD from Jessica Smith to help kick your weight loss plan up a notch. Now you have no excuse not to do all you can to tip the dating scales in your favour! So take advantage of this chance to get FRESH, FREE and SEXY in 2012. Visit The Fresh Diet to take advantage of this special offer or call 866-FRESH-50 (866-373-7450) and use Promo code:  singlejan3.

For Auld Lang Syne and all that…

It seems a long time since New Years, but it has been even longer since we all delved into the archives of MetAnotherFrog. So the three of us will be cranking out our favourites for the year gone by this week.

Yes, I want it all. And till I'm thesaurus too.

From our many fabulous guests it was tough to choose a single post, as we have been really lucky in the great contributions department. But for my taste the piece Fuck Me Till I’m Thesaurus, by Something She Dated, is a grand place to start any ‘look back’ post with.

I always enjoy learning a little bit more about my peeps here, so Sam’s confessions in March were worth highlighting.

Skye was on a rant in May with her points on post wedding weight gains. (Nothing happy about that happiness weight!) I enjoy a good rant and it was a nice break after all the chat about Pippa Middleton’s rear.

Finally a moment of self indulgence and a particular piece I entertained myself with, when in June I offered up the true answers to those questions you shouldn’t really ask on a date anyway…

Enjoy!

This is it folks. Our last post for 2011. The next time we meet a new year, chock full of all kinds of amazing possibilities, will have begun. With that in mind, we’ve decided to share a submission by a guest writer that landed (very unexpectedly – THANK you, Julie) in our inbox a few days ago.

Tonight’s story is one that I’m sure many of you will relate to (perhaps not it’s finer points, but definitely it’s overall theme), as it highlights how hard facing the truth about what’s best for us can be – especially when you want what you want real bad.

Anyhoo, I won’t ramble on forever. So, on behalf of Sam, Elizabeth Rose and me…

Happy New Year everybody!

We’ll catch you all on the other side.

Have fun & play safe this Old Year’s Night,

SB

–

The Whole Package

by Julie Robinson

The first time Aaron tells me he loves me I have sex with him. The second time he tells me he loves me I beg him to stop—why can’t he continue loving me the morning after instead of denying it? The emboldened, heavy drinking Aaron and the distant, hung over Aaron have an equally strong magnetic pull.  Both need me in their own way.  There’s something very intoxicating about a lover who drinks with you.

This truism, tweeted my none other than the lovely Miss Taylor Cast a few months ago, is the first thing that came to mind as I read this story.

AARON: You know you will never be my girlfriend.

ME: I hate to break it to you—but I already am. We have a really nice bond, Aaron. Why keep fighting it?

AARON: I just don’t see you in that way, Julie. I could never take you around my friends. And my family?  Forget about it.

My poker buddy Aaron towers over me even when I’m in heels. He’s unemployed the spring we meet and I’m underemployed, so we show up at a local dive bar to play cards three nights a week. I like how he always brings me a beer without asking if I want one when he comes back to the table with his own fresh PBR. Night after night I listen intently to how much Aaron loves his ex-girlfriend, how hopeless he feels, how damaged he’s become, and how badly he wants her back. Instead of being put-off by these (and other) confessions, I convince myself that Aaron’s passion makes him a terrific prospect. Everything he says proves to me that this man loves boldly and that soon he will be directing that real, passionate love toward me.

When he tells me he’s ready for a girlfriend I’m skeptical and enthusiastic all at once. Then he asks me for a favor, and I agree to help my new lover write his online dating profile.

ME: (settling in at his computer) I definitely think you should mention something about having season tickets to the theater. Chicks love that.

AARON: I want to come off as passionate without being a pervert. We should mention that I’m a trained chef.

ME: Yes. I think your stint in the Caribbean is a good one too.

Writing—even something as short as an online profile—takes time if you want to get it right. Aaron grows bored as I tweak his profile. He leaves to buy a twelve pack of beer. We drink most of it and fall into bed together forgetting all about our mission for the evening.

When I awake early to put the finishing touches on Aaron’s profile, I don’t plan on learning his password. I don’t root around looking for it. I don’t have to. It’s just there in his open email smack dab in front of my face: bra**en1

The silly women he writes to regularly on Match.com don’t worry me in the slightest. He seems to enjoy flirting with one cowgirl about writing a screenplay together, but somehow her email responses get deleted before he reads them and she disappears. Another pretty little blonde receives an email from Aaron saying he’s met someone else. Funny how things like that happen.

My obsession begins to scare me, so I put limits on it. Instead of checking Aaron’s Match.com email account every time I think of it (it has a sneaky way of inching back into my head again, and again, and again), I promise myself only one time a day. I am very careful during our conversations not to mention the women I know about through my cyber spying. We are drinking buddies—shitfaced beyond standing—but I never slip. Not once. Instinctively, I know that if he ever finds out about my secret our affair, our friendship, our deepening bond, my drug of choice will be shot to hell.

AARON: Hey! I think I may have met someone. Thanks again for helping me with my online profile. It made all of the difference.

ME: Really? How did that happen?

AARON: I met her on Match. She’s really exotic and sexy. I can’t wait for you to meet her. I think you’ll really like her.

ME: (trying to ignore his lack of reception as I lean in for a kiss) I’m sure I will.

Racking my brain, I cannot figure out which one she is. Exotic? Sexy? They all seem like bimbos to me. I’m torn between stumbling back to my apartment so I can fall into Aaron’s arms and telling him to head on home alone so I can sort through his emails and figure out who this woman is. How did I miss this?

Aaron begins to fade away from my life as he spends more and more time with Exotic Girl, and the cloudy fuzz in my mind starts to clear. I go get professional help. My therapist tells me the same things my friends have for months, and it’s a relief that I can finally begin to listen. Why do I want to be with a man who only loves me when he’s drunk? Can I truly be happy with a man who is actively pursuing another woman while using me for sex? What do I really want to put my energy into?

Six months after Aaron moves on I invite him to join me for a game of poker at our old haunt. Surprisingly, he accepts.The room has a festive beehive hum, the PBR is plentiful and cold, and our sexual chemistry takes hold like a wrench pulling us closer and closer to one another. We both get knocked out of the poker game quickly so we can move to the patio and flirt shamelessly.

AARON: (putting his hand on my thigh) It is great seeing you again. I’ve missed you. You look great.

ME: Mmmm. So do you. It’s so much fun hanging out with you again.

AARON: I can’t wait to go home with you tonight. Get naked with you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

ME: (hesitating) I don’t think that’s going to happen, Aaron. . .

AARON: I know you want to. I know you can’t wait to rip off my clothes and get dirty with me. Like old times.

ME: I don’t want that—

AARON: (cutting me off) Yes, you do. . .

ME: No. I want the whole package.

I want the bow, the wrapping paper, and an introduction to your parents. I want the cherry on top. I want to be the woman you think about when you’re not really thinking about anything in particular. I want to be the woman on your arm who you are proud of introducing to your buddies and their wives. I want to wake up with you and not have an aching head. I want you to be the man you never will be. I want to be the woman of my dreams.

I’ve learned a lot from women through the years. Each and every girlfriend and ex-girlfriend has taught me something about myself or something about life. One night stands and more casual lovers have educated me about sex and love and shown me the difference between the two while female friends have illustrated in clear terms that men and women can enjoy platonic relationships with each other. So it kind of goes without saying that women have taught me a boat load of sh** through the years.

But all these women combined haven’t taught me nearly as much about relating to women as my mother has.

When I approach a woman I don’t know I think about how my mother would want to be approached.

When I take a woman out for the first time I treat her the way I would expect a man to treat my mother.

When I’m angry with a woman and I need to express my displeasure I try to manage the conflict in a manner that treats said woman with her fair share of respect. Y’know, the way I would expect a man to treat my mother.

This is all to say that my view of women, of femininity was largely shaped by mother’s example. My mother’s generosity, her sensitivity and her desire to nurture those around her left an imprint. Her devotion to the three kids she raised on her own gave me a lesson in sacrifice. And her ability to successfully navigate a world that often treats women as second class citizens showed me what knowledge of self was all about.

Move over Destiny’s Child. Unlike Beyonce, my mother didn’t need a song, a short skirt and an expensive music video to show the world she was an independent woman.

I could bore you to death with story after story of my mother asserting her personhood in a world that seemed determine to deny it. Instead, I’ll tell you this:

Any woman who has ever wanted to compliment me on my behaviour, or wished her man was more like me or thought I would make a great lover/boyfriend/husband has my mother to thank for setting a good example. Any woman who thinks I’m an a**hole/freak/punk or a poor excuse for a man should blame me for making a mess of everything my mother has ever taught me.

Now that I’ve accomplished the unique feat of boring you all to tears and announcing to the universe that I’m a mamma’s boy of the highest order I’m going to get back on track here. As you know, the MetAnotherFrog team decided that November is or was Family Values month. With the help of some of our favourite writers and bloggers we’ve spent the past 30 days or discussing how parents and/or families can or do impact our dating, relating and sexual lives. To cap off this month Skye and I sat down with MizzLoveLippz, a certified queen of online erotica, to talk Family Values and a couple of other topics along the way. Listen and enjoy. Cheers.

More Than Pillow Talk: Ep. 5

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’m a pretty progressive guy. I support same-sex marriage. I’ve happily worked with and socialized with gay men. I’ve done body shots with lesbians. And it goes without saying that I’ve got many straight identified male friends. What don’t I have? Well, I don’t have bisexual friends. Not boys at least. Oh, I know oodles of bisexual women. I’ve even dated a couple. But no male friend of mine has ever admitted they love cock (jerking off incessantly doesn’t count). It’s almost as if there’s a hole in my friendship/social circle. A whole that can only be filled by a certified p***y and p***s loving c*ck-sucker.

Anyway, discussions of male bisexuality can be controversial or problematic. So as is our wont, the team at MetAnotherFrog decided that we wanted to talk about some of the issues surrounding male bisexuality. The lovely Max from Max-Logic and the irrepressible Jon Pressick from Sex Life Canada joined Skye and I for a lovely chat about male bisexuality. Take a listen; what do you think, are bisexual men less masculine?

More Than Pillow Talk: Ep. 3

Hey CoCo,

I’ve recently started to really get to know a girl that’s been in my social scene for awhile. The more I get to know her the more I want to date her. She’s wicked funny, easy on the eyes and we’ve got a lot in common. Even better, from conversations we’ve had, I know she’s into me too. The problem: She’s got kind of a rep around the scene as a casual hookup. A couple of my friends have even been with her. I know this may make me sound like a dick but can I really date this girl seriously? Is there a way to do it without getting teased by my friends?

Bad Reputation

–

Hey BR!

Well first off I’d like to congratulate you for taking the time to get to know this girl as a person. The object of your desire may have a rep but the beautiful truth is that human beings are complex and multifaceted. Writing someone off as being one thing and one thing only is really short sighted, and while we all can be judgemental sometimes – or, uh, a lot of times– it’s still a dick move.

So congratulation on not being a dick…so far! The next move you make will be the determining factor. You ask, BR, whether you can seriously date a girl who’s gotten busy with your buds? My answer is YES. DO. IT. Why the hell not!? It would be more difficult if she had been in a serious long-term relationship with someone close to you. If that were the case there would be all sorts of feelings to consider, emotional fallout to deal with and just…an ungodly amount of bullshit, ok? You don’t have that problem. You have an awesome, funny girl who you like and who also likes you, and um bonus, she likes having sex too. Score!

Your friends may or may not give you a hard time about dating the ‘town ho’ but you shouldn’t let that stop you from doing what you want to do. Good friends will treat your sweetheart like the lady she is. Anyone who doesn’t is just pissed off that you had the balls to go against the hivemind and succeed where others feared to tread. You do sound young so let me give you some words of wisdom: People who don’t go after what they want never get it. What do you want more, a hot girlfriend that makes you laugh or the assurance that your friends can’t razz you about getting regularly laid? Right? I thought so.

.

.

BR, I know that it can be hard to go against the grain but let’s consider for a moment what a ridiculous double standard this is. Your lady is branded a S-L-U-T because she has casual sex and meanwhile all your guy friends are probably out every night trying to do the exact same thing. You don’t judge them for it and they don’t have the right to judge her. Humans need sex. We need more than that too but in the absence of a meaningful relationship a significant number of us will still try to get our basic needs met. It’s natural and it works both ways. The past is the past so let it rest. This lady’s got game and she’s got guts; if she didn’t you wouldn’t like her half as much. Go for it.

Love, CoCo

P.S. For you and anyone else looking to get further (old)schooled on this topic may I suggest you watch and LISTEN to the video above. I believe you’ll find it quite enlightening.

I walked Ricky outside, helped him into a cab and told him we’d catch up the next afternoon. Then I headed back inside. As I approached the bar Samantha was just ordering us another round of drinks. Vodka and cranberry for her, Appleton Estate V/X for me. I plopped down in the stool beside her. We sat silently for a few moments.

Her head was cocked ever so slightly, revealing a tattoo on her neck.

As the bartender placed our drinks before us the music suddenly changed.

“Oh my God, I LOVE this song” she exclaimed as Aretha Franklin’s voice filled the room.

“You have to dance with me,” she said, clasping my wrist, leading me to the small dance floor.

I put my hands on her waist.

“You’re a good dancer”, she said, “but you should probably hold me closer”

–

I could hear her brushing her teeth. This was my last chance. I could make up some excuse or feign illness. Or I could just tell her what was really on my mind. I knew I was about to cross a line I wasn’t sure I should cross. I knew I might regret this in the morning. I was just about to get up and leave when I looked up and saw her standing in the doorway.

“What you thinking about handsome?”

She looked even better now after she’d washed the night from her face and slipped into boy shorts and a tank top. Her nipples peeked through the fabric, suggesting I stay. Her wonderful chocolate skin did the same. She smiled at me then bit her lip. I could feel myself getting hard. I wanted to taste her flesh.

“Just thinking about how beautiful you look”

She flashed a devilish grin, walked toward me and straddled me.

“Oh. What’s this?” she said as she put her hand between our legs and rubbed my cock. “Looks like someone’s happy to see me”

Yes I was.

–

I knelt before her and put on the condom. She made space for me. I hovered above her, swept the hair from her face, caressed her cheek and asked her if she was sure she wanted to do this. She grabbed my ass and pulled me in.

–

My mouth was dry and cottony when I woke up in the morning. But I could still taste her too. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Samantha smiled at me all bright eyed and bushy tailed. She clearly was a morning person. I was sober now and could see everything else clearly. She looked more stunning in the morning than she had the night before.

“Good morning handsome” she said. “Any regrets”

I paused for a moment. I thought about dinner the night before. The drinks at the bar. The dancing. The kissing.

“Nope”

“Good” she said before she kissed me. “Let’s do it again”

–

It was one of those cool ass evenings that just kind of comes together casually, organically. Someone was out having dinner with someone else when they decided to go to someplace else for drinks and ran into friends coming from somewhere else. Drinks flowed as easily as conversation between lifelong friends. Knowing laughter punctuated heated debates and shopworn arguments.

It was the kind of evening they write books about. The kind of evening that inspires movies.

I sat across from Patrick, one of my closest friends and Elaine, his wife of six years. Naomi, Paul and Ricky were to my left. Janine sat beside Patrick diagonally across the table from me. I excused myself to go the bathroom.

When I returned a vaguely familiar young lady was sitting in my chair.

Before I could fill in the blanks Patrick said, “Hey, you remember my little sister Samantha don’t you? She was in the neighbourhood and decided to join us for a drink.”

–

The Night Before…A celebration, of the many splendid things one night can bring happens on Friday, August 19^th, 2011, at PÄAEEZ Lounge (569 College Street, Toronto). Featuring DJ Kariz.

Dress code casual. No cover. Doors open @ 10pm

It’s been said that strangers have the best candy…

There’s some truth in that phrase. There’s something exciting and dirty about picking up on a person at the bar. Not that I make it a frequent practice, especially since I’m spoken for and my girlfriend would kick my ass…

Speaking of my gal, we have a little bit of an activity that we like to engage in from time to time. If you guessed “sex” then give yourself a high-five, but don’t be too proud because that’s not exactly what I’m talking about. I’m talking about a little bit of…

Role-playing.

The role-playing we do isn’t necessarily the type where I put on my Pokémon outfit and she puts on our Slave girl Princess Leia outfit and just get it on. What we do is show up at a bar and treat each other as strangers…

That’s Vanilla to you? Maybe, but it isn’t vanilla to my gal and I.

You see, we’re able to play up an experience we both find exciting and exceptional: The One Night Stand! So what do we do? It’s ridiculously simple, although it does require some imagination and remembering some good ol’ fashioned flirting skills – the sort you might have used when you were single.

We pick a local watering hole and show up at different times. It’s best if we’re not together at our place before we go to the bar, because it helps us get mentally “prepped.” Then, it all goes down a little like this…

Who wouldn't want to meet a 'stranger' who looks like this?

One of us shows up to the chosen venue, soon followed by the other person. I’ll spot my gal at the bar, but she’s not my gal, you see. I’ll give her a good once over while she’s sitting there, sipping on a drink. Then I make eye contact with her and we exchange a few glances. And if we get lucky, other men start hitting on her, I know we’re guaranteed a real good time that night. (FYI: I’ll admit, when we first started playing this game, seeing men hit on my woman kind of pissed me off. But as I soon discovered it always made for way hotter sex later on, I got over it.)

So a guy might talk to her, flirt with her and she’ll flirt back. This sometimes gets her a couple of free drinks. After watching the action for a bit, I eventually wander over to her, or maybe I send her a drink. Then I position myself right next to her and strike up a conversation. Of course, we switch up the details as needed. My girlfriend is a school teacher; however, since we began role-playing she’s taken up a few different jobs. So far, among other things, she’s been a librarian, dominatrix, parking attendant and Hot Dog on a Stick Girl. The idea is to keep things fresh…obviously

The flirting and seduction aspect of the chase was always the thing I enjoyed most when courting a new lady. Sure, I know my girlfriend, but playing like I don’t makes it a fun challenge to flirt with and engage her in new ways. A few drinks later, some innuendos get tossed around, a bit of touching happens and then it’s on. Maybe we make it back to our place for some steamy lovin’. Or maybe we don’t. There have been times when we’ve taken the action to the car and even a seedy no-tell motel. It’s always fun and always, always dirty.

Needless to say, a little dirt and some imagination can make for some good times and…

rashes.

One of the more unfortunate side effects of choosing a seedy motel that’s just a little too seedy.