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!

“Roni, which one do you want?” Kevin asked.

I could tell by my husband’s tone that he was growing weary of waiting for the action to start. The two of us were sitting inside of one of Miami’s hottest strip clubs, enjoying the sights for Christmas. This year we hadn’t exactly been feeling being at anyone’s house, family or friend, and he thought it would be sexy to spend the holiday doing something that we wanted to do for a change.

I took a long sip of my drink and then turned to look up at the object of my desire, on the stage. “I want her.”

“Do you think you can handle her?”

“Mmmmm… Yeah, I know I can.”

–

Kevin and I have been swingers for the duration of our three-year marriage, and as a matter of course, every so often we travel to different locales to indulge our insatiable carnal desires. We’ve visited resorts like Hedonism down in Jamaica and travelled to virtually every major city in the US, to revel in all the pleasure we can handle. We always come away from our sex adventures feeling completely fulfilled and more connected than ever: which is why we were determined to do the one thing on our list we had yet to…

Fulfill my long time fantasy of being seduced by an exotic dancer in one of the VIP rooms of a strip club.

It was a fantasy of mine that had almost become an obsession; the desire for which I couldn’t quite put into words. I’ve had  a  bi-curious streak for as long as I can remember, and while I’ve crossed paths with plenty of women that have more than matched the vision in my head of the woman I wanted to “pop my bi cherry”, none of them had ever inspired me to act on my curiosity until that night.

Until her.

From the moment we arrived I’d been scanning the whole place, soaking up the beauty and unbridled sexual energy of all the women working in the club. But none of them commanded my attention the way she did.

She got my attention when she sent a drink to our table. When I looked up at the waitress in surprise as she placed the drink down in front of me, she pointed towards the stage, straight at her. “Legacy is her name.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I watched her working the pole as if it were her lover – one she knew intimately well – just a few feet away from us. Legacy. That’s a fitting name for the woman I want to take my bi virginity. She was perfect. She had curves – in all the right places and her light caramel brown skin seemed to cast a radiant glow throughout the dimly lit club.

When our eyes met she blew me a kiss, and as I blew one back, I felt my pussy begin to moisten. My body was on fire. I had to have her. Legacy was exactly what I wanted and it seemed she knew it. She winked and then looked at me knowingly, as if she could clearly see all that my body was trying to tell her, everything I so desperately wanted to show her.

My eyes trailed her hips as she grinded against the pole, and I imagined myself positioned between her legs while she pressed her sweet slit into my face. My expression must have changed as I sat there thinking about how good she would taste, because it was right then that Kevin reached over and placed a stack of bills in my hand. When I turned to look at him he pressed his lips against mine hungrily.

“Show her how much you want her,” he said, slipping a hand between my legs to spread them wide. He glided his thick fingers into my wet pussy effortlessly, as I’d opted to wear a short skirt with no panties for our Christmas night on the prowl.

I leaned forward and whipped the wad of cash in my hand in Legacy’s direction, the bills cascading around her like a slow summer rain. Her eyes flashed as she watched them fall to the floor, and the slick smile she shot my way made it abundantly clear that she would be joining us at our table once her set was over.

I leaned back in my seat feeling confident that I was going to get exactly what I wanted for Christmas – despite the club rules that stated that no sex was allowed in the VIP rooms – before the night was over.

–

“You wanted me to see your hot pussy while I was up there dancing, didn’t you?” Legacy asked, leveling me with a long hard stare the minute she reached our table.

She had slipped her dress back on as she left the stage, denying my eyes access to the wonders of her curvaceous form. But the look of lust in her eyes and her hardened nipples, let me know that I’d have a chance to see and touch all of her soon enough.

“Yes, I did. You really turned me on just now,” I replied, licking my lips as I watched her taking me in. I squeezed Kevin’s hand to keep myself grounded; for a few moments, it felt as if we were the only ones in the club. “And now that I’m so horny and wet I was hoping you could help me out by giving me some personal attention?”

Without another word, Legacy slid into the booth next to me and thrust her fingers deep inside me, stroking my G-spot expertly. I started to moan, but she pressed the fingers of her free hand against my lips.

“We wouldn’t want anyone to get thrown out now would we, luscious?” she said, flashing her sexy smile at Kevin. He grinned at her and then swept his eyes across the room, silently accepting his role as lookout.

“I noticed the two of you as soon as you walked in, and if you play by the rules, the three of us are going to have a real good time together,” Legacy told me, her soft full lips pressed against my ear.

I could only nod as she kept stroking my G-spot with her fingers, while her thumb circled my clit. Every time a moan threatened to escape me I bit my lip, in hopes that the pain would keep me from crying out. As I struggled to keep quiet, I thrust my pussy down over her fingers, my hands on the table in front of me to brace myself as she fucked me. All the while she gazed into my eyes intently, as if daring me to scream while she teased me mercilessly. When my pussy started clenching hard around her fingers, she smiled at me mischievously and pulled her hand away from my cunt.

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.” I heard Kevin sigh, and then felt his hand slip under my blouse to fondle my breasts. I had to stifle another moan when he tugged at one of my rock hard nipple.

“How badly do you want it?”

“Please…fuck me, Legacy,” I begged.

“Oooh, good girl. Now, follow me,” she said, rising to her feet. “I promise you both that this is going to be a Christmas night you won’t soon forget.”

“So, where do we go from here?”

Words I never thought I’d hear from her. Spoken in our living room, well, what was once our living room. It is empty now. She moved her things out yesterday, now I’m finishing with mine. It is never fun to break up, never fun to move – especially on New Year’s Eve. The friends who came to help have already left, heading over to my new place to help me start over. They are lucky enough to not have to witness this.

“Look, I just came over to see if I forgot anything, but I guess if I did, you’ve packed it?”

Her tone is even and calm. She’s trying to use the argument techniques the therapist recommended. I can still sense some emotion though. You don’t live with someone for a decade without learning her triggers. As much as she wanted out, she is having a hard time seeing the place empty. I’m having a hard time feeling empty.

“If I come across anything, I’ll let you know. I’ll email you.” My voice isn’t calm, it is icy cold. Part of me wants to freeze her out forever because this is not what I wanted. She gave up. She chose this. She had the affair.

Despite feeling so hard and angry, I still love her. At better times I tell myself that I want her to be happy, to move on and have a good life. I plan to. I plan to have fun, regain some of my lost spirit, put all of this in the past. But in the here and now I am not optimistic, I am not thinking of moving on. Sadness overcomes me and manifests in silent hostility.

She knows. And despite all of her talk of boundaries and needs and personal space, she knows she hurt me. A small measure of regret and empathy comes from her at times of vulnerability, but it always disappears quickly. We are not meant to be together anymore – she is just better able to make the adjustment, to move forward.

She leans back against the far wall. We are as far apart as you can possibly be in this room. The sunlight is fading and neither of us moves to turn on the interior lights. Why bother, we’ll be leaving shortly. But she surprises me by sliding down to sit on the floor. She is wearing a skirt and looks a little awkward as she tries to stretch her long, stocking-clad legs out.

“I always thought we’d be more adventuresome,” she murmurs. “I thought we would do more.”

I let the words sit heavily in the middle of the room. Part of me wants to rage, part of me wants to cry.

“I thought we’d try new things all the time. I thought we’d challenge each other…Why didn’t we?”

I slide to the floor now too. These thoughts never came out in counseling. Should I even speak? Nothing good will come out of my mouth. Just another fight. These walls aren’t ours to abuse with drama anymore. I want to storm out and never see her or this place again, but I can’t. I just sit in shock. And stare at her.

She sighs and something changes. She softens. Others wouldn’t have sensed it, but I do. Her posture loosens slightly and her legs part a bit. She raises her arms, stretching them, so that her hands are against the wall, high above her head.

“Challenge me. Challenge me…”

I continue my stony glare as she repeats the words, over and over. Her eyes close, but I know that she feels me. Ever so slightly, her body moves in a small, rhythmic motion as if a low beat plays in her head. Her voice grows quieter, but ever more persistent.

“Challenge me…challenge me…”

“Undo your top.”

The sharp bass of my voice as I uttered the command startles both of us. I am surprised that I spoke what I was thinking and she opens her eyes, pulled from her trance. But we both quickly regain ourselves. I return to my glaring and she resumes swaying as she lowers her hands to her blouse. Normally a t-shirt and jeans type, she does look great. I noticed when she walked in, but other thoughts took over. Now, watching her slowly unbutton her top, I take in her new look. Once she reaches the final button, her eyes return my gaze.

“Take your bra off.”

This is something I’ve never done. Giving orders is not my way. I like sex to flow naturally with both of us acting as equal partners. She slips her arms out and back into her shirt, pulling her bra through.

Did she want this all along?

She throws the bra out into the room and cups her breasts in her hands. She looks directly at me.

Who is being challenged here?

“Show me.”

Her hands slide away from her tits revealing hard, erect nipples: her heaving chest a clear sign that she is nervous. She rests her hands in her lap, fingers spread wide across the tops of her thighs. Her thumbs cover her mound and rub gently over her skirt.

Even though I am turned on by what she’s doing, I take it all in without changing my demeanour. I want to look the part of the angry, jilted lover. My cock strains against my jeans. I shift my position slightly, trying to hide the bulge from her, not wanting to give away my arousal.

“Slide your hands into your skirt.”

She watches at me intently as she reaches down and pulls her short skirt up. With one quick motion, both hands dip into her panties. The exposed skin above her stockings glows, in the darkening room. She is no longer just watching me, she is pleading with me. She wants to be told, she wants me to tell her to get off.

“Slowly.”

Through the darkness, I can see a slight smile on her face as her finger connects with her clit. Her legs spread further. The sound of her wetness, of fingers sliding in and out of her cunt, permeates the quiet of the room. She pulls one hand out of her underwear and places it on her breast, tracing her areola.

“Slow down.”

Despite the tremendous urge, I fight the desire to pull my cock out. I want to focus on her, not just this visual, but this act. I want to see if she’ll continue to listen or if her passions will overwhelm her.

“Stop.”

Her eyes pop open, shocked, and I know she is wondering “why?” I can’t tell if she actually has, her hands remain in place on breast and cunt respectively. I leave her hanging for many minutes. The two of us are locked in a steady stare. She may have initiated this, but I’m in control now. I will decide when it ends.

“Go.”

She exhales and I hear her fingers start again. Low moans and whispers slip from her lips. Her hand grips her tit tighter, fingertips finding her always sensitive nipples. Again she rocks and sways to the beat she alone can hear.

“Stop.”

She does as I ask but does not look pleased. I spoke while she was mid-moan and her lips remain slightly parted. With fire in her eyes she quietly demands that I let her start again. Those words that sat so heavily in the room, filling the space between us, have been swept aside by a new connection. Those words that crowded and confused still had love attached to them, still had the weight and meaning of something lost. But I’ve found something new: release.

“Go.”

She wastes no time now and furiously fingers her clit. Her hand works vigorously between her legs while the other squeezes her breast hard. Her back arches off the wall and her head is bent back as far as it will go. She pants and cries and builds it. She pulls it, she implores it, she coaxes it.

Could I stop her at this point?

No.

Just as I am about to open my lips, my cock throbbing painfully in my pants, she explodes in a frenzied orgasm. Her body spasms and shakes. She screamed out as it hit, but now her open mouth is the only sign of her silent ecstasy. Her hands are unmoving, one still grasping her breast, the other laying lightly on her mound. Her body finally starts to relax and her glazed eyes find mine. Eyes I willed not to change throughout this entire experience.

“It is a brand new year in a few hours,” she whispers. “Where do we go from here?”

I hold her gaze for a few more seconds and then drop my eyes.

“Stop.” I turn, and look up and out of the window. “Go.”

So, it’s Christmas day and the three of us are busy getting ready to indulge of all the joy of the season with our near and dear ones over the next couple of days. Unfortunately that means we won’t be around to whip up a brand spanking new post for a bit.

But don’t fret!

We would never leave you, our online near and dear ones, without anything to read. (How rude would that be during the season of giving?) So, while we’re away, check out…

* How you can win a FREE We-Vibe 3.

* Our most popular posts for the month: here, here and here.

*Me and Sam shootin’ the sh*t in our latest podcast.

* The video for one of my fave new songs that has absolutely nothing to do with the holidays, but should make you smile nonetheless.

Okay. I’m off to get my fill of food, folks and fun for the holidays. Until next we meet (FYI: we’ll be back with a brand, spanking new post for you on Tuesday night) on behalf of the Met Another Frog team I’d like to wish you all very happy, peaceful and delightfully naughty holidays.

See you on the other side,

SB

It would be impossible for me to begin this edition of Gettin’ Around in any other place than the grimy southbound platform of Spadina subway station. Not exactly the sexiest place in Toronto, but apparently it was good enough for one impatient, intoxicated couple.

But who of us haven’t been there? You’re out for a good time, knockin’ back some bevvies and you pick up someone sweet to bring home. You’re all responsible, taking public transit and getting a little antsy. Maybe he’s got his arm around you, rubbing your shoulders. Maybe she’s got her hand on your thigh, inching closer and closer to your crotch. Or maybe you have your tongues down each others throats, hands pulling clothes off, panting like rabid dogs. Whatever the situation, this is where most of us stop.

But no, these two kept at it. Maybe they are sexual pioneers, trying to blaze a trail for public affections and sex. Really, is it so wrong if two consenting adults want to enjoy each other in a public setting? Maybe this is what they were thinking?

Not bloody likely. First, they weren’t banging on the subway late at night anticipating more good times. It was in the middle of the afternoon. On a Sunday. Second, they were fucked out of their minds and had to be taken to hospital because of their level of inebriation (I admit, I do kind of admire that for a Sunday afternoon).

So, what can we take away from their misadventure? Don’t fuck on the subway, you’ll get busted. Really, there’s not much more to it.

–

Finally, proof of what I always suspected, or at least hoped, was true.

Given that I spend an inordinate amount of time looking at naked bodies – I swear at least 50% of the time it’s for research – I often wonder why I haven’t spontaneously combusted into sticky, gooey mess due to porn overload. But as it turns out, according to a study in Finland all of that “research” has, in fact, made me smarter.

Researchers at the University of Tampere and Aalto University endeavoured to find out how people’s brains react when exposed to fully-clothed models, bodies in swimsuits, fully nude models. Their results make me think that I’m lucky I’ve been looking at porno since my teens because I’m really not all that quick.

These researchers found that when participants looked at naked models, the grey matter in their brains reacted more quickly than when they looked at dressed models. This heightened response time results in faster comprehension of the image, and more rapid understanding of subsequent images.

And their findings have given me a fantastic business idea! Who are the horniest of us all? Students! Who needs to quickly process information, including images? Students! So, if you want to top grades at school forget the Coles notes, ditch those study guides, and get your hands on Jon’s Learnin’ and Pornin’ series…soon!

–

Remember when you were either single or taken? Remember when you were either getting’ some or not? Remember when chocolate bars were a nickel and moving picture shows were a dime? Okay, I’m not going back to ancient times, I just mean a before a relationship classification system was needed to know just what type of casual sex you’re having?

Jocelyn Wentland, PhD psychology student of the University of Ottawa suggests that there are many different types of casual sex that all get thrown under the same umbrella.

Let’s break them down:

One night stand: two (likely) strangers having a sexual experience and then not seeing each other again.

Friends with benefits: friends who engage in sexual experiences when the mood strikes.

Booty call: having sexual experiences with someone known but who wouldn’t be at the same level of a friend.

Wentland contends that establishing these differences in important for individuals to learn, as well as counselors and sex educators. People need to know what situation they are getting into in order to handle it emotionally. Professionals need to be able to help them when they, inevitably, get it wrong.

–

What gives, Canucks?

I’ve always thought Canadians were a pretty lusty bunch. We are fairly progressive in our sexual politics, we have some gorgeous sexual icons and despite our pleasant and polite demeanour, we actually do talk about sex fairly openly.

So why aren’t we fucking very often?

According to a recent global survey, Canadian folks between the ages of 46-60 are only having sex 1.35 times per week (what constitutes 0.35 times is cause for much debate in my household). Now I know as we get older, we supposedly slow down, but that doesn’t have to be the case.

The study also revealed that Canadians are unlikely to jump into the sack quickly, with only 79% of us having spontaneous sex.

But you know what the study’s worst finding of all is? We make excuses as to why we don’t want to. The ‘I have a headache’ or ‘I’m too distracted’ line are used by 40% of us to avoid nookie.

Remember those Subway Sexers? Maybe they have the right idea after all.

My fingers take their time finding her clit

Not that it’s hard to find because her mini dick is hard as shit

But I like to make her beg so I touch everywhere but there

Occasionally grazing it, so she knows I’m still here

She moans softly in my ear,

Don’t make me beg…please

I don’t need to be teased.

a bitch

a cunt