In 1670 an act of parliament was passed in England that stated the following:

“Be it resolved that all women, of whatever age, rank, profession, or degree; whether virgin maids or widows; that shall after the passing of this act, impose upon and betray into matrimony any of His Majesty’s male subjects, by scents, paints, cosmetics, washes, artificial teeth, false hair, Spanish wool, iron stays, hoops, high-heeled shoes, or bolstered hips, shall incur the penalty of the laws now in force against witchcraft, sorcery, and such like misdemeanours, and that marriage, upon conviction, shall stand null and void.”

Beware gentlemen. Apparently not all witches are this easy to spot.

This brings up a number of items for further discussion…

Has this law ever been taken off the books? Or are perfume, make-up and Jimmy Choos still considered witchcraft?

What on earth happened to the chap who actually proposed this law? Was his first view of his new bride in the sunlight on the morn of his honeymoon so horrifying? Was the trauma he experienced so severe that it inspired him to start a crusade to prevent any other man falling prey to such “betrayal”? Was this a key part of his campaign for election to parliament? Did the last general election feature his slogan “She can change“?

If such things as perfume and make-up are such terrible devices, what would 17th century English politicians have made of a Wonderbra? Or Spanx? Would the wearing of such items been grounds to tie the offending woman to a stake and burn her.

What exactly is a bolstered hip?

The inclusion of “washes” concerns me. Is cleanliness not really next to godliness at all, but in fact a form of sorcery?

And finally, could this outdated English law be in any way applied to past colonies and rid me of shows like Jersey Shore, The Hills, Real Wives of OC, and all the rest of that crap in one swoop with a good old fashioned witch hunt?

I apologise. I apologise for all those who escaped reading this story the first time round and are now faced with it’s gruesome reality; and I apologise to those who have already read it and thought the nightmares were finally laid to rest after a year. Except I don’t… not really. Having finally recovered myself, I find it far too amusing not to make it’s publication an annual treat for you all. I’ve even included the original comments to add “flavour”.

Happy Halloween, my darling Readers!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Poets have hitherto been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese” – G.K. Chesterton

O MY GOD! Most upsetting and horrifying experience on Saturday! I drunken stumbled home with a reasonably attractive young Canadian (being Slutty Mc Ho-Bag) and to start with his equipment was much smaller than his stature would have suggested (I should listen to my own advice as he had very clean shoes). Then to add insult to injury, I discovered his foreskin contained a truly gopping amount of crusty knob cheese.

Picture, if you will, my Halloween horrors– we have been drunkenly fumbling around and are just getting to the good stuff…

I slip his boxers down flinging them off into the corner of his room,…

I lean forward to enjoy one of my favourite pre-shag snacks…

My hand grips his shaft and slowly I pull back his foreskin…

My eyes are closed and my mouth inches away from his helmet..

…and then this hideous smell made me gag. I look down in alarm to see a cottage cheese like substance oozing out from under his foreskin complete with some greenish tinge I can only assume was mould.

Luckily he was drunk and easily pleased, so I got away with just jacking him off while holding my free hand over my face and leaning as far back as possible. I ran straight to the bathroom to wash my hands and legged it out of there before he had time to smoke a cigarette.

For Canadian readers not knowledgeable with my vernacular, knob cheese is what will form under the foreskin of an uncircumcised man if he doesn’t clean properly. It is a mixture of dried cum and sweat.

It is foul beyond measure.

The whole experience was so horrifying I thought I might be put off sex for a while. Fortunately, all was forgotten when I met my upstairs neighbour.

Now I know I should have learnt my lesson after my London troubles with a flat mate, but this is a really big building with no shared kitchens or anything like that. Besides, Andrew (the neighbour) is hot, smart and funny. I was introduced to his cock yesterday and I am already a little smitten with it. However I have learnt some lessons – least of all that Canadian men scare easy, so I haven’t emailed, called or texted him, or done any of the other insanities I am desperate to indulge in to gain repeat access to his nether regions. I have set myself a target for noon tomorrow for a quick “breezy” email.

Does this sound ok, dear readers? Or can I just drill a hole in my ceiling this afternoon, install some stairs and surprise him with a two bed duplex apartment after work? Complete with mirrored ceiling and a love swing?

Having said that, I did send an email to the owner of the cheesy knob today; I realised I still had his business card from when we were talking at the bar, so I dropped him a very polite little note to explain how to clean his penis correctly. I warned him that if he didn’t it may rot and fall off. So lovely Toronto ladies, I have done you all a favour. Assuming he will learn the error of his ways, his next victim will have an altogether fresher, if still ‘sizably’ disappointing, experience.

What have I learned after one full year of blogging?  Well, for starters that I really love this blog and my wonderful co-bloggers, Elizabeth Rose and The F’in Man aka Sam Sharpe; that sharing my thoughts and telling stories through writing makes me gloriously happy; and that I could talk about dating and mating all day, every day and never get bored. Really. But, for me the most enlightening lessons of the past year were that…

1. Being a sex blogger isn’t always easy.
2. Without a doubt I’m not the only one facing challenges in the dating jungle, because in addition to  shit and zero chemistry happening, there are times when its a struggle just to hold on to your pride.
3. Crazy can show up anywhere, like here, here and especially here.
4. When you’ve been ‘dickmatized’ the best thing you can do is back away from that c***.
5. Some people will do just about (WARNING: do not click the following link if you’re eating, thinking about eating soon or have just finished eating. Trust me on this one) anything or anyone – even after a full moon in their quest for some hot(?) horizontal action.

.

Still scratching my head at the last one, but looking forward to soaking up even more knowledge in the year ahead,

S

One whole year. One whole year of the process self-stimulation. Of procrastination. Of tomfoolery. Of guerilla dating. I think they call it blogging. Or more specifically sex, dating and relationship blogging. It’s been a trip, literally and figuratively. And over the course of this year I’ve learned several valuable nuggets. I learned that picking a dick is quite an involved process. I learned that lots, if not all women have something to say about dicks. I also learned that for some people, hygiene is optional.

However, above and beyond all of this the most important things I realized are:

Size does matter…until it doesn’t: Even newbies know that our culture seems to place a large phallus on a pedestal. But it is also abundantly clear that many of the folks (women especially) out there talking about what’s big from what’s not, what’s ideal from what’s not, don’t know what the f*** they’re talking about.

I’m a slut: Over the course of the past year I’ve talked to tons of women who appeared to approach sex with the focus and discipline of Olympic athletes. Women who had sex when, where, how and with whom they wanted. Women who did not need the sanction provided by a relationship to have sex. Women who had sex like…men. Still, double standards persist and women are still being called whores, easy and sluts (even more sadly, often by other women). I cannot accept this. So, until women’s sexual habits and predilections are afforded the same level of (dis)respect as men’s, until Elizabeth Rose, Skye Blue and any willing woman is revered as the player or stud she is for bedding as many men as she wants, I, Sam Sharpe will refer to myself as a slut. Not a gigolo, not a man-whore, not a player, not a stud. Nothing of the sort. Just a slut. Plain and simple.

People really, really dig anal play: Several women have asked if I would let them enter me from the back. Not with a finger, not with a tongue but with a dildo. Now, it’s not my cup of tea and I’m not going to judge anyone for letting someone in through the out door but I don’t think I understood (and probably still don’t) just how popular this pegging phenomenon is.

Being a bachelor can be fun: Read this, this, and this. This is just a sample. Enough said.

Being a bachelor is not so fun: Read this, this and this. I’ve often envisioned the last two years of my life, two years of pleasure for pleasure’s sake, two years of self interested behaviour, as an 800 metre race. Well you know what folks? I think I’m somewhere around the 700 metre mark. I don’t know when (or if I’m being honest, if) this race will end but thanks to this lady, I think I can see a finish line. Will I “settle down”? Will I give up the single life? If I do, will she be the one? Who knows? My mother always said that the race wasn’t for the swift but for the steadfast. Sadly, I’m not sure how that applies in this context. Whatever. I’ll keep you posted.

I have to shake my head when I think about all the sexual encounters I’ve had in my time. I’ve done things that make R. Kelly look like Regis Philbin and I own a sex tape collection that would make Kim Kardashian jealous. I’ve done the dirty in some of the most inappropriate places and participated in acts that would’ve made Rick James real nervous. Some of the sex was fantastic, what wet dreams are made of. And other times were so bad I tried to erase the memories of them from my mind by sitting down with my good friend Jack Daniels. Unfortunately for me, there are some things that even hard liquor can’t make you forget…

Many women don’t seem to realize that cleaning themselves and their lower region is very, very important. Nothing turns me off more than a woman who doesn’t handle her business right and then has the audacity to expect me to get hard and get all up in it, when she smells like the Bahamian Fishery.

–

During my university years, I had a good female friend who was cute as hell who I wanted to get with real bad, but every time we were about ‘connect’ she’d say the timing just wasn’t right. Well, after months of flirting and many nights of blue balls, I finally convinced my lady friend to give it up. On the night she came over to do the deed she was looking fine in her tight light blue jeans, matching denim sandals, and white baby tee.  From the moment she walked into my apartment I started grinning like a pedophile at recess and the stiffie in my pants threatened to bust straight through my zipper. She sat down on my couch and gave me a look that said “You want some of this player?” to which my lust-filled eyes replied, “Yes please!!!”

Anyway, we got right down to it and before she knew what hit her I had her face down and ass up, as I drilled it home from behind. It was all going well. She was lovin’ it and I was just about to start to praise God for his many tender mercies when her crotch rot started to overtake me. At first it was real subtle, but it quickly became overwhelming. Man, her cooch smelt so bad I actually started gagging and came very close to throwing up, but I was determined to see it through ‘til the end. So I hunkered down with my hand covering my nose and kept laying the pipe on her until she came. As soon as she was done, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom to take a loooong hot shower. Then after I reluctantly let her use my bathroom to wash her dirty behind, I hustled her right out the front door. Once she left I lit every candle and piece of incense I could find, but even that didn’t kill the smell of her crotch rot. It was that ugly.

Since that night folks, I can say without a doubt that crotch rot is my biggest sexual pet peeve. But I’ve got a few others that I’d like to get off my chest. Ladies pay attention…

Talking Too Much During Sex – Sometimes you women can talk to much in the bedroom. If you’ve asked me “Do you like that?” three times and I answered yes each time, stop asking me already. As a matter of fact just stop talking. Period.

Being Selfish – Nothing grinds my gears more than a girl who is selfish in bed. If on a consistent basis I put in work, make you cum with the quickness  and you roll over mumbling some shit about “That was real good baby, I’m through” don’t act all confused and come round asking me “Why don’t you want to get with me no more?” when I stop calling you.

Just Laying There – Now why would anyone come out to play and then turn around and play dead fish? Women who don’t move or actively participate in sex make me feel like they don’t really want to be there. I like a female who is real playful, assertive even. FYI: Any woman who chooses to lie still in my bed will very quickly be faced with a limp dick attached to a sleeping man.

Nuff said.

Women of the World, if I may have your attention for just one moment.

Do I have your attention? Excellent.

::Ahem::

Don’t fear the rimjob.

Seriously. Don’t.

Because you know me. And you know I’m going to ask eventually. Sure, I can make with the witty banter over dinner. The obligatory reference to the latest Tyler Perry movie. The questions about your Aunt Netty – I sure hope she’s doing okay. But make no mistake. While I’m droning on and on about how much American Idol misses Paula Abdul and how totally awesome your hair looks, I’m really thinking about rimming you.

If I have only one pet peeve in the bedroom, and it is women who will not even entertain the thought of a guy’s face anywhere near their derrieres. And those women are out there. And it seems unfair to lambaste them for not liking what they don’t like. After all, if I met a chick who was really into setting her boypal’s testicles on fire and kicking him repeatedly in the shins, I’d have to let her down. But I say if you’re gonna show it off in those two hundred dollar jeans or that leather skirt, shaking it mercilessly as I follow you up the stairs, into the parking lot, or out of the bowling alley, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that at some point, I’m going to ask if I can wear your ass like a catcher’s mask.

“But it doesn’t seem right,” you might think. “Certainly not very hygienic.” To that, I say fuck hygiene. You’ve got a great ass. I’d like to become ridiculously intimate with that ass. And I’ve been eating female ass long enough to know there is very little a woman can do — short of swinging a knife at my genitals — that will dissuade me from finishing the job once I’ve undertaken it. If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of a guy’s tongue up your ass, just hear me out. Listen to my credentials. Let me offer up my action plan (complete with PowerPoint presentation), which will inevitably involve letting my tongue stray from your ass crack to your holiest of holies (after a good swig of Cepacol Antibacterial Mouthwash, which I always keep on hand for such occasions), whereupon I will deliver cunnilingus that you might swear is being delivered by Jesus Christ himself. Or at least that guy who used to play “The Fonz.”

It could open up a whole new world of enjoyment for you. Hell, next time we go out, you might ask me to rim you. You might even suggest bypassing dinner entirely and just straddling my face upon my arrival at your flat. These are good things, and I hate to have you miss out on them simply because the thought of a stern rimming “doesn’t seem right.”

So relax. Take a chance. Drop those inhibitions. And those pants.

Also, understand two things: Every step will be taken to ensure your maximum enjoyment of said rimming. And I never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever look for reciprocation in this arena. I am strictly about rimming unto others. Never the other way around.

Like, never.

Thanks for your time. And, oh, can I rim you?

For further perversion, feel free to visit me at my blog, LustMongers.

I’m going to interrupt this weeks regular programming and share with you a few links I stumbled upon that may keep you entertained. Or informed. Either way, enjoy.

1. Battle of the sexes anyone?
2. Oh, Tiger Woods. Look what you’ve wrought.
3. Ladies, looking for a big dong? Head to the Big Easy.
4. Apparently, nature likes ‘em short and fat.
5. Girls, follow these tips if your goal is celibacy and/or spinsterhood.
6. Ewww.
7. Seriously. Is this now an official part of a philanderer’s playbook.
8. This one’s for the fellas. I’m starting my own old chick I’d like to “get to know” hall of fame (50 and over). See the charter class here, here, here , here and here.
9. Speaking of Raquel Welch, this just goes to show you ladies that you shouldn’t let the media dictate who or what is sexy.
10. Ewww. Pt. 2

“I’ve never shied away from a good fart joke.” – Eugene Levy

Bodily functions are pretty funny. I’m English so I find toilet humour amusing even though I left high school behind long ago.

But…

There are certain instances where it isn’t big, it isn’t clever and it isn’t funny. Generally this is true for any professional situation, but in my case it is also true for my lovers. If you pass wind – why on earth do you think I’d want to put my face down there? So yes – farting directly leads to a reduction in frequency and/or duration of blowjobs.

Flatulence isn’t the only bodily function I take issue with. Spitting – it’s disgusting. Why show me you have an excess of saliva? It’s going to put me off kissing you. (Not to mention being seen with you in public.)

No one needs to be reminded of the downside to poor hygiene – just because I’ve put it in my mouth before, doesn’t mean I don’t expect it to be clean, pristine and well groomed. So why do some lovers get so damn lazy?!?

A dear friend of mine has been complaining bitterly in recent days about her boyfriend’s very lax bedroom presentation. This man farts in front of her, picks his nose without shame, and even pisses with the door open. Then he whines about her lack of libido. Seriously?!

What I find hilarious about all of this is that while she is complaining about his disgusting habits, she bemoans the loss of her sex drive in the same breath. It amazes me that the rather obvious link hasn’t been identified by either of them.

For the record ‘sharing’ bodily functions with your love isn’t indicative of having an easy comfort with each other. It’s a sign of being taken for granted and isn’t something I hold much truck with. So dear gents – if you are ever fortunate enough to be a regular on my bedroom roster, please keep that magic alive!

• Don’t fart;
• Don’t pick your nose;
• Close the door to the bathroom;
• Wash it first;
• Keep the forestry in check; and
• Never engage me in a conversation about your health or lack of it.

Can you name any one thing that ratchets up the pressure, intensity and sense of expectation in a relationship more than the first time you fuck make love? I sure can’t. In fact, hindsight suggests that in some of my relationships the anticipation that bubbled and seethed before consummation may have been the highlight. Either way, nothing gets you humming like the first time you…

-

But the first time is also rife with danger. It is a key point in the relationship. It can make you or break you. If you’ve gotten far enough to believe you’ll be gettin’ some you’ve probably successfully passed the first kiss test, which means you didn’t treat her face and mouth like a popsicle. (That said, if you happen to have a really sloppy kissing technique and you’ve got a girl, you’re either: 1.super hot, 2.super wealthy or 3. she’s super desperate). So the first time in the sack could determine the longevity of your relationship.

My first time with a girl we’ll call Kim was particularly memorable. That’s not a good thing. I’m not going to get into the particulars but let’s just say that as we lay there in the afterglow of what was (by my standards at least) a mediocre session, Kim decided to start talking about past lovers and how I measured up both in terms of endowment and performance. Most of what Kim said would be construed by a lot of men as flattering, but I was horrified. Since we weren’t facing each other, I guess she couldn’t see the distress and shock written on my face. Needless to say I didn’t see any long term potential in Kim. (Between Kim, Christine and Simone I’m starting to think I really have piss poor taste in women).

Here are a few other things to consider when stepping up to the plate for the first time:

1. Being selfish isn’t a good look. You’d think this goes without saying, but I’ve heard too many of my female friends (I’m looking at you Skye and Elizabeth Rose) bitch and moan about men whose short and long game were shabby the first time out. The first time is like a job interview. Gentlemen, best foot forward please.

2. Ladies, you’re not getting off the hook though either. When dating someone new PLEASE LEAVE THE BIG PANTIES AT HOME. In the laundry basket. Where they belong. Full coverage is for sun tan lotion, insurance and acne cream. Not panties.

3. The first time out is not the time to be experimenting. The vag and the mouth are the only orifices that are guaranteed to be on the table. No stray fingers please. Think about it this way. If you were paying an escort for their services you would have to negotiate ahead of time and determine what was on the menu. So why would you treat a potential mate with any less courtesy? So all the rimming and pegging that we talked about during fringe month is not acceptable without prior consent.

4. Safe sex please. Nuff said.

5. If you have control over the mood music, say NO to Kenny G and YES to Al Green (Check ‘Simply Beautiful’. It’s a stone cold winner. ).

6. Personal hygiene is a must – that’s all I’m going to say. However, if you need further clarification check out Basic Sex Etiquette Vol. 2

If done right the first time can lay the groundwork for the creation of an amazing relationship. If done poorly, you just might get written about on a blog.

So folks, I’ve offered up my best suggestions for making the first time you hit the sheets with your new love successful. Any of you out there have ideas you can share for ensuring a smooth and memorable first time?

“All good things are wild and free.” – Henry David Thoreau

I have already confessed how much I delight in a bit of outdoor frolicking. (I assume I will find myself followed around Toronto parks by wannabe filmmakers in very near future.) Lately, I’ve had trouble indulging my desire for an outdoor romp, as there are few places in city centres these days which aren’t already on camera. (Big Brother is watching you…)

That said, here are a few tips for you enthusiasts.

1. Start small. Don’t go full fling in a crowded park straight away. Try doing it up against the windows of your house, on your balcony or in a parked car.
2. Dress the part. Ladies, this means forgoing the underwear and putting on a skirt. If you are thinking about a sneak event in the office, I recommend flimsy knickers that can be pushed to one side allowing entry without removal and a pair of stockings.
3. Scout ahead and do your homework! Don’t just whip it out and get it on, or you may find your antics wind up on YouTube via a nearby security camera or that you end up in jail for public nudity.
4. Play safe. Beyond avoiding STDs, also make sure you aren’t going to injure yourselves. I am no longer as flexible as I once was and will not be climbing trees (again) anytime soon for a quickie.