It seems my discussion with Claire, my suddenly judgmental colleague, who disparaged the sexual attitudes of others that do not reflect her own, has opened my eyes to my own tendency to judge people in similar ways. I mean, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t in the habit of judging others for time to time, particularly anyone with right wing political beliefs or really traditional value systems (but I’m sure you all could’ve guessed that as I write for this smut filled blog). However, after living through Claire’s anti-non-vanilla sex diatribe, I started to wonder if there were any categories of sexual behaviours, experiences, or perspectives that were so far removed from my reality that I too would be quick to dismiss them as strange and/or less than in any way. And as luck would have it that was right about the time I stumbled upon a choice post by Black Debutante.

You see, her post ‘You’re Still a What?!’ brought me face-to-face with my own close mindedness about other peoples’ sexual experiences/sexuality. For those of you who haven’t already read that post, in it BD opens up about how the fact that she’s still a virgin has negatively impacted her dating life. Why? Because for the most part, as soon as she tells a potential boyfriend (i.e a man she’s been dating) that she’s never been known (think biblically here folks) by a man he disappears.

Now, when I finished reading what she had to say on the issue, I immediately thought,

“Of course dudes would up and leave. I would too in the reverse situation. Anybody who wasn’t a virgin would.”

And that’s when it hit me. As BD mentioned in her post, if upon hearing the words “I’m a virgin” come out of a potential lover’s mouth my gut reaction is to turn tail and bolt for the door, I’m making a ton of assumptions (many of which would be entirely unfounded): kinda like my girl Claire (sigh). What’s more is I know that very few of my “I’ve got to have it” homies would react differently. I mean any time the subject of getting with a virgin comes up in discussion in my social circle (and trust me it rarely does, which may be a testament to just how unthinkable it is for us?), men and women alike quickly dismiss the idea as preposterous – unapologetically. I can’t say I’ve ever heard a “Well, maybe I would” or even “If I really liked him/her I’d be down”. My friends are all firmly in the “We grown and grown people fuck” camp (right JFB?).

That said, I’ve got a few questions (I hope will make you think) for all my down and dirty, freaky-deaky, kinky ‘til it hurts and “I’m-gonna-have-sex-where-and-whenever-I-can-get-it “ peeps out there.

I. Why is that no matter where we fall on “the hit it and quit it” to “love you long time in a LTR“ spectrum, we are so uniformly and vehemently against dating and eventually ‘knowing’ virgins?  And yes, I have heard all the standard answers (even from myself)…

“They ain’t got no experience” – men being put off by the idea of having to deal with a starfish and women cringing at the thought of a man losing his load after two down strokes.

“I don’t want to have to teach anybody anything” – Self-explanatory I hope.

“They must have some kind of issue with sex” – FYI: depending on who’s doing the talking, ‘issue’ could refer to emotional or psychological difficulties, physical conditions or limitations, and/or merely being religiously inclined.

“I don’t want the responsibility/weight of all that.” – I’ve only ever heard this one from men. It’s a refrain often offered up by men who are worried about damaging the virgin in question for life should the relationship end soon after they engage in intercourse and/or the possibility that she will get all kinds of bat shit crazy and clingy after they throw down because he was her first.

“Fuck that, it’s too much work” – Again, one I’ve only heard from men to date. Their reasoning? Well, to explain this one I’ll simply quote the words of the very eloquent Mr. Sam Sharpe: “There are actually limits to how tight a man wants his girl’s pum pum (fyi: that’s a Jamaicanism for vag) to be.”

So, please come with some new shit.

II. Good people, why do we quickly throw up the myriad reasons why being with someone who has yet to indulge in penetrative intercourse is something we are simply not interested in doing, without ever:

1. Making allowances for the fact that sex isn’t just about penetration and that may be, just may be the virgin we’d be dealing with might have well honed skills in other sexual arts? After all, they had to fill all the time they spend not boinking doing something else, right? Perhaps he/she got some continuing sex ed through books, videos and a whole lot of dry humping?
2. Admitting that the vast majority of us have had to teach/show/tell at least one of our current or past lovers how to please us?
3. Acknowledging that everybody we’ve ever been with – love it or hate it, prude or slut, bedroom bully or starfish, always gotta to have it or always got a headache – has some kind of issue with sex and/or their own sexuality?

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After all from closet freaks right through to confirmed exhibitionists, we were all carrying  V-cards at some point, right?

III. Assuming, that nothing I’ve said thus far has convinced you that you should reconsider your stance on this issue for even a nanosecond minute, at what age do you think being a virgin becomes a liability on the dating scene? And, do you think gender makes a difference?

Okay folks. Our month long drought is finally over and in honour of that fact we’ve decided to do a post about happy endings. Why? Because happy is exactly what you should be feeling at the end of a long drought, voluntary or otherwise should be, right?  Well, tonight we’re hitting you with a PSA. A list of our top tips to keep you from appearing too keen, too eager or just plain desperate when you finally decide to let someone hit it. Yes, we’ve got advice for ladies and gents alike. So to avoid embarrassment and any awkward moments, before you start shucking your undergarments to bare the crown jewels or the cookie in order to get out of the no sex zone, make sure you read the following…

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Ladies:

Dress For Sex-cess

If you have any body confidence nerves, be canny and get some confidence boosting lingerie or a little pampering at a spa to set you up for your late night treat. (And if you haven’t got money to burn on fripperies because you spent your last penny on sex toys, then even a bit of me time devoted to preening and relaxing will help.)

And while we’re on the topic of dressing for sex-cess, although it may be pragmatic under the circumstances – do not wear a freak’um dress with no bra or panties. We’re all for being clear about your intentions, but that may be sending too loud a message. Besides you may need something to stop your nipples from tearing through the fabric of your dress and sop up the moisture between your legs. Just sayin’.

Accoutrements

As much as you may want a ‘knock-it-right-out-of-the-park’ experience after the end of a long run of sexless-ness, don’t have every last one of the aforementioned sex toys charging on your night stand when your lover arrives. Furthermore, though we’re all for safe sex showing up at his with a year’s supply of condoms in your purse may be a bit much.

Use Discretion With Disclosure

DO NOT go on ad nauseum about how long it’s been since someone “tapped your ass” before the action starts. That means mentioning things like  the ‘coochy cobwebs’ or the tumbleweeds blowin’ through the barren waste land that your vajayjay has been for the last however long is absolutely out of the question.

That said, revealing your status to your future bedmate in a more ‘discreet’ way, like publishing your recent celibacy on the world wide web is a definite DO. It’s an effective way to let all would be suitors know about your sordid past and recent rest period, thereby removing any pressure you may feel to either hide or reveal. (Elizabeth Rose, Skye Blue and the lovely Something She Dated can all vouch for this approach.)

Appropriate Eye Contact

Go ahead. Give your bed mate an appreciative lingering glance as he/she undresses. However, an open mouthed stare that goes on so long a puddle of drool starts to form on the bed sheets is a real bad look. In fact, it may halt the proceedings before they really get started. After all, nobody wants to lie on a wet spot.

Practice Patience

Now we’ve said before that many of us girls need to up our enthusiasm, so we don’t go out like starfishes in the bedroom. That said, when you’re about to end a drought make sure all the pent up energy and anticipation you’re feeling doesn’t turn you into a selfish bedroom bully. As much, as seeing your mate in the nude may have you shouting “STICK IT IN RIGHT NOW”, do your best to stay calm and really savour the experience.

Remember The Power of the P****

Remember that no matter how long it’s been you are the one doing him a favour by deigning to sleep with him. Keep that mindset and you will keep it sexy rather than sad.

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Gents:

Fellas, I do not have hard and fast rules when approaching your first post celibacy f***. Well, except that it is good to be hard but not too fast. So don’t look at the following as a list of musts, but more a few areas of concentration.

Wardrobe

Whether or not your style skews thug or GQ there is one thing that all men need to consider: underwear. It must be clean, simple (no slogans, flowers, animal prints or team names. Save that ish for the long-term relationship) and comfortable. And for me comfortable means boxer briefs. Briefs remind me of old men and boxers don’t provide me with enough….uhhh…support. Let me put it this way, I’m pretty excitable and if I find myself in a dry spell a little stiff breeze is all it takes for me to achieve rigidity. Not a good look unless…

“God you’re so hot and I’m virtually a dog in heat we need to get naked right now or I might jizz in my pants”

is the vibe you’re going for.

Oral Presentation

This isn’t about facial hair. This isn’t about goatee vs. handlebar. You could be clean-shaven like a military man or you could have taken a Nazarite vow. But what you absolutely, positively must do is keep your mouth closed and the moisture to a minimum. Nobody likes a wet mouth. And nobody wants to see your tongue. She wants to feel your tongue. Not see your tongue.

Time Management

It’s your first time back in the saddle. You might be a little rusty. That will happen to the best of us (Think Michael Jordan’s first comeback). You may not have your A game. That’s fine. But what you should not do, and if you plan on having repeat sessions with your drought breaker, what you cannot do is cum too quickly. Now don’t pressure yourself into thinking that you have to be the “Stamina Daddy” (Free Buju..Free Buju…Free Buju…) your first time out. However being a two-pump chump or one stroke bloke is not going to win you any style points. This is important. I don’t care what you have to do. If you have to slow down your stroke rate, think of the Queen, apply toothpaste to your cocky (For numbing. Trust me I’ve heard of men doing this) or modulate your breath like a woman in labour, then do it.

Seasoning

Another important consideration. Especially if you run the risk of running afoul of the time management rules. You must ‘season’ the situation properly, you must prepare her for the good time she’s about to have. This means foreplay. This means unleashing your tongue, and using it to explore her body. This means taking your time to figure out what she wants, what she likes, what she desires. How does she want to be touched? Where does she want to be touched? Monitor her breath. Put in the work. Reap the reward. She probably won’t notice you’re having a hard time straightening out your time management game if you’re seasoning her properly. Plus, it eases the pressure on you so that you can manage your time effectively. You know what happens if you don’t season properly? You appear selfish, too eager and hungry. You don’t want that. Right?

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Ladies and Gents:

Finally, dear readers, remember that once you’ve “broken the seal” you may find your previous nymphomania or satyriasis returns with a vengeance – this is perfectly normal. The good news is, that this will be obvious to everyone and you will be fighting off amourous advances from all corners. (And don’t even bother to shake your head. We know as well as we do that you’ll be strutting /sashaying in your “I just got me some lovin’” way once the deed is done.)

FIN

Female desire, psychologists say, necessarily contains elements of narcissism. While men want women, women want to be wanted. As Professor Marta Meana told Daniel Bergner in the New York Times , for us, “being desired is the orgasm.” Art critic John Berger says something similar in his book Ways of Seeing: “Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at.”  -  Hephzibah Anderson, Chastened

I read Chastened while we were away of vacation, and though at times I struggled to finish it, when my eyes lighted on the passage above I took notice.  I remember reading the words over a few times, letting the weight of their meaning sink in. It was the last few lines that really got me, the idea that we as women could be so enamoured/caught with being looked at – by men. My next thought was what happens when that idea is taken to the extreme, when the desire to be desired turns into a need to be worshipped. How would such chronic yearning to be desired and obsession with seeking out the eyes of those who admire us impact our lives? In our quests to be the most beautiful, sexy and/or the most wanted what do we gain? And more importantly what do we lose?

Soon after I read that passage I fell into discussion with Sam and Elizbeth, and I shared my thoughts with them. Upon hearing my opinions on the issue Sam asked Elizabeth and I if we felt it applied to us. We admitted that yes it did apply to us to a limited degree, and that we both believed it applied to all women to some extent (how much being dependent on where you fell on the continuum of women’s/society’s obsession with beauty). Then he posed another question, asking us if we thought that issue comes into play in the bedroom, when ideally a woman would be more attuned to the passion/lust she is feeling and her partner’s needs/actions, than her desire to be beautiful.  Elizabeth Rose turned to him with an incredulous look in her eye.

“Of course it does Sam. I think there are some women out there who never stop thinking about how the men in their lives perceive them relative to other women – even when he’s clearly focused solely on her during sex. Just think about all the women who won’t let their boyfriends see them without make up and other silliness like that. Isn’t that proof enough?”

It is out of that discussion that the idea for this post was born. Just the thought that any woman is limiting her sexual pleasure because she is worried about how her partner perceives her (or any other extraneous B.S.) is totally distressing to me. It is my sincere hope that EVERY woman that chooses to engage in sexual activity with a man gains maximal enjoyment from it (for further evidence of this click here, here and here).

So I felt compelled to do my part and draw some attention to the negative effects the desire to be the desired and/or always seen as beautiful may have on a woman’s experience in the bedroom, when such longing hits overdrive.

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A) It Potentially Leads to Self-consciousness in the Bedroom.

Generally speaking, we women spend a fair bit of time thinking about who is observing us and how we are being perceived. Virtually every woman can attest to the fact that she is more than able to list all of her faults (in great detail) at any time, because she has the image of her very own version of the perfect woman – with her perfect body, visage, personality and way of being – locked in her mind to compare herself to every minute of every single day. Some of us are lucky enough to be able to push that haunting image out of our minds at times so we can get on with things – like living. But for those who have yet to learn how to block out our evil twin who tells us we’re not enough in some ways or are too much in others, our image of the perfect woman constantly irks us, and makes us self-conscious about ourselves; especially when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex.  And I would argue that those feelings of self-consciousness reach an all time high when a woman hits the sheets with her man.

To test my theory I had a round table discussion with a few of my male friends (men who as far as I can tell clearly indicate their interest and desire for the women they choose to date) if they thought any of women they’d been in relationships with were concerned about how they presented in the bedroom and how that might have impacted the sex they had.* Most of them gave me answers that confirmed my view, reporting that most of their past girlfriends – no matter how good-looking they told them they were and how much they communicated their desire for them – were concerned with how:

1. They were seen during sex and sought reassurance about this often.
2. Their responses while being pleasured by their man were being perceived (i.e. were they good/expressive enough).

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They also informed me that generally a woman’s focus on such issues resulted in her being:

1. More passive (think starfish here folks) in the bedroom.
2. Less willing to experiment or try new things.
3. Less convinced that her man was really enjoying being with her.

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This of course limited the pleasure experienced by both parties; which of course leads to my next point…

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Which we’ll get to tomorrow. Promise.

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*As I sat with my boys and listened to their comments on this issue I picked up on another key piece of information. Something that affirmed what I already knew.  All of my friends agreed on one thing. Confident (as in less self-conscious) women – regardless of their size or looks – tended to be more attuned to the nuances of each sexual encounter and more willing to let loose.

The past few weeks have been crazy interesting. At work, people have been getting laid off left, right and centre. A bit disconcerting to have job security issues when you have a big trip planned. I’ve had several random run ins and encounters with ex girlfriends and ex lovers. Plus, I ran into a dude with whom I used to play summer league basketball. Thing is, he was on the arm of a girl who used to ride me like my name was Flicka. He introduced us. Both the young lady and I played along as if we’d never met. Or tasted each other. But that’s a story for another day. Anyway, all these random encounters, and all this bad date/good date reminiscing we’ve been doing here got me thinking about my strangest “date” ever.

I was young(er), stupide(er) and miles away from home in a sleepy town not too unfamiliar with explicit demonstrations of racism, studying and living in a university residence/dormitory whose non-white population consisted of me, two Chinese guys, one black guy who wasn’t too right and a custodian of indeterminate background. Anyway, as any brotha who’s been in this kind of situation can tell you, white girls eat this shit up. Especially white girls who’ve only seen black guys on TV.

Now, I had never “dated” anyone of the Caucasian persuasion before, but I wasn’t about to let other people’s racial hang ups and biases stop me from getting my f*** on. So when Trista, this blonde haired, blue eyed representative of the Aryan nation called me up just before our final exam and asked if she could borrow my notes I wasn’t about to get all Nation of Islam on her. No, I was fairly certain that “borrow my notes” was her euphemism for “put it in my mouth”.

We met at a local bar. She didn’t inquire about any notes, which was good because I didn’t bring any. We had a few drinks, engaged in some idle banter and then made our way back to her room. I sat on her bed, took off my shoes and then there was a knock at her door. Trista said “come in” and some leggy brunette came through the door. They chatted and giggled quietly. Then the brunette left.

Then another girl came by and the scene was repeated. And then another and then another. At least seven or eight girls came by. Most ignored me. But a couple of them sheepishly introduced themselves to me. I thought it was strange, but I wasn’t about to let it prevent me from getting my swerve on. With all this traffic, Trista suggested we switch the action to my room and said that I should go first and that she’d meet me there. Cool by me.

Ten minutes later Trista is lying on my bed, wearing only her bra and panties. Just as I’m about to do the el removo she says “wait, I’ve got to tell you something”. So, I ease up and let her say her piece.

“All my friends want to know what it’s like, y’know and if it’s true”

“What, what is like?”

“You know, can all of you guys really fuck…do all black guys have big dicks?”

“So was that what that procession of girls in and out of your room was about”

“Yes” she replied nervously.

“Well, I don’t know about all black guys, but you’re about to find out about me” I said.

Anyway, I proceeded to complete the el removo and tried to get in where I fit in. Problem was, Trista was a starfish. She was lifeless. Actually that’s not true. She did make a lot of noise, and punctuated every third thrust with a “That’s it daddy!!!” (I’m not your daddy) and “Oh, yes big boy” (okay, I’ll leave that one alone) which I’d be able to ignore under normal circumstances but considering the relative stillness of her body and the lingering racial stereotyping of the evening, I was left a little cold.

When it was all said and done, Trista got dressed, grabbed her ‘coutrements and left. I wasn’t sure what to make of the whole evening and thought about calling her to talk about it but I just let it pass. I saw Trista briefly on the day of our final exam, but we didn’t talk. And since it was the end of term and I was going home for the summer, I didn’t really anticipate seeing her any time soon, if at all.

Fast forward six months or so. I had totally forgotten about all of it. Me and Charles, one of the few melanin enhanced dudes around and to this day one of my closest friends, are doing a little grocery shopping. We enter the cereal aisle or something when I see her. Trista. But she looks different. Her once flowing blonde locks are gone, replaced by a buzz cut. She was wearing torn jeans, a red flannel shirt and some heavy duty military style looking boots. Skinhead style. She carried a basket in one hand and held her partner’s hand with the other.

Trista’s eyes met mine as we approached. I saw the glint of recognition in them. She turned away and continued her conversation. I looked at her partner, an attractive, similarly coiffed and styled brunette as they passed. I couldn’t stop looking. I couldn’t stop wondering. Part of me hasn’t ever stopped looking, questioning and wondering.

To this day, Charles likes to jokingly remind me of the girl that I f***ed so horribly that I turned her into a racist lesbian. Oh well. You can’t win ‘em all.

“If everything seems under control, you’re just not going fast enough.” – Mario Andretti

I have control issues. I like to be in control of the schedule, the menu, the car, most everything in fact. So in the world of domination and submission, I should be a natural dominant. I like to be on top after all. And I am always ready to tell my lovers all about my wants and desires.

But, it is nice to have a switch around sometimes and there is still nothing sexier than a man who takes control. (I have a long standing sexual fantasy involving Howard Webb that attests to this.) I have a job that involves making decisions and bossing people about (I’m not a professional Dominatrix, I promise) so I don’t always want that in the bedroom. Sometimes, I know what I want and I make it happen, but other times it’s nice to have a bit of a passionate throw down. (Not unlike Sam, I do enjoy a bit of a tussle during foreplay.)

So, basically I like variety, with a hint of Vanilla. As long as the end result is a good variety and some fun, I can go with the flow. However, there are a few key things I would ask all my lovers; past, present and future to remember…

Being submissive with me is not:

1. Lying back to “be done unto” – that’s just lazy, men can be starfish too.
2. Constantly asking “What do you want me to do?” – have a bit of imagination! Do I have to tell you everything?
3. Asking for me to put on heels and then kick you – this actually happened once, it was a bit weird for me.
4. Never reciprocating – you should go down too sometimes. Yes, it is a very good thing.
5. Running into the bathroom to suit up into some lunacy gimp outfit and coming back looking like Smeagol.

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Being dominant with me is not:

1. Coming in your timeframe and then ignoring mine  – that’s just lazy.
2. Unexpected anal – permission and lube are ALWAYS prerequisites
3. Damaging my clothes or delicate skin – a firm grip and a bit of a spanking is great, but try not to leave marks. It upsets the next chap.
4. Never reciprocating – you should go down too sometimes. Yes, it is a very good thing.
5. Running into the bathroom to suit up into some lunacy gimp outfit and coming back looking like Smeagol.

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Whichever way you choose to take the power dynamic is all good with me. Just remember it’s always about giving and receiving of mutual pleasure, and NEVER about gimp suits.

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.

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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.

Picture it ladies. You’re in the middle of the diddle with your flavour of the moment or maybe even your beloved, when suddenly you find yourself thinking about how far behind you are on a project at work or the errand you forgot to run before you got home that night.

That’s right, despite your partner’s ‘other worldly’ skills and natural prowess in the bedroom, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your mind has pulled out of the action and you can no longer focus on what’s going on between your legs. So, what do you do to bring your mind back into the game?

a)      Ask your partner to hit it a little faster and harder.

b)      Try your best to appear interested and no got out like a starfish until he’s done.

c)      Squeeze your eyes shut and picture the sexiest thing you can think of.

d)      None of the above.

If you chose c, much like yours truly, you understand the lust inducing power of a really hot visual during sex…What’s that you say? You want to know what I picture when I’m having sex and my mind drifts away?

Uhmmm…well…I usually imagine that I’m being serviced by… uhmmm… I can’t believe I’m telling you this…two men – sometimes more if I’m really honest.

There I’ve said it. If I lose my ‘focus’ during sex (and depending on the skill of my partner, sometimes to increase my chances of having an orgasm – because I’m so not into faking), I envision myself with a few guys to get my mind right. And when I do, I picture it all as if I’m standing in the room, watching the action happening to me (further evidence of my voyeuristic tendencies).

I’m not sure why this works for me, as I’ve never participated in any kind of group sex, but I do get real excited when I watch porn (very rarely I assure you *ahem*) that features multiple guy on one girl action. Can you imagine how good it would feel to have a few pairs of hands and lips on your body girls? Personally, I think my head would explode from all the stimulation. (And yes, having a few extra cocks in the room would be cool too – as long as none of them are trying to access my back door. I’ve got a serious case of IBC).

Of course my being turned on by the thought of having more than one man in my bed begs the question, will I ever partake in group action? I doubt it, as I’m one who believes that not every fantasy we have needs to be fulfilled (after all there are times when the reality of things isn’t so hot right?) That said, I’ve learned that when it comes to sex, I should never say never, as I’ve done a lot of things in my boudoir that I once boldly declared I’d never ever do. In any case, I guess you’ll all have to keep reading this blog to find out if I ever partake in a little group action.

So readers, what thought/image brings out the “randy-ness” in you? Do you think your partner would be miffed if he/she knew your mind was elsewhere during sex? And would it bother to find out your partner’s ‘fantasies’ about being with someone else fueled their passion for you in the bedroom?

As we enter a new year and the end of the “naughts”, I’ve been reflecting on how the world has changed over the past 10 years or so. I’ve been thinking about the ubiquity of the Internet and social networking sites; the rise of the blog and the viral video phenomenon; and the sheer speed with which information can be disseminated. In this day and age news travels fast people.

Hand in hand with these developments is the rise of the sex tape. It seems like you can’t open the newspaper, turn on television, or use your favourite search engine without hearing about so and so’s sex tape. And thanks to folks like Perez Hilton (parasite) and sites like TMZ (seriously people, have you ever watched TMZ. I did. Once. It made my blood curdle. I just don’t get the obsession with hounding A, B, C, all the way to F list celebrities, and mocking them for trying to live their lives. Those people over at TMZ are bloodsuckers). Just today I overheard coworkers talking about the possible existence of a Tiger Woods sex tape. Last week, I think I read something about Rihanna having one.

All this talk bores me. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to criticize some C list celebrity who’s made a sex tape,  but I have to say, that the danger, the cachet of having a sex tape is lost. It’s no longer illicit. And thanks to sites like YouPorn and PornoTube celebrity porn has to compete with Regular Joe porn. And I don’t know about you, but I think I’d much rather watch the amateur stuff. (Important note here. Though celebrity sex tapes are ostensibly “amateur”, I don’t view them as such. Celebrity porn is professional porn as far as I’m concerned. Most of these people guard their images so carefully that when a sex tape comes out you have to assume it’s intentional. Seriously people, it’s easier for me to go on the internet and get a close up of Britney Spears’ cooch than it is to get on Ticketmaster’s website and get a ticket to her show – but I digress).

Anyone who’s seen the Ray J and Kim Kardashian sex tape knows what I’m talking about. As Skye discussed in The Rise of The Starfish Ms. Kardashian is pretty immobile. My coffee table moves more. She does make some nice sounds though. And she makes some pretty faces. Plus, I will give “eat the Jimmy Kimmy” points for doing an Akinyele and “putting it in her mouth”.

What must it be like to be a teenager growing up during this era? In my time, taping your sexual exploits was a different proposition. You would have to convince one (or more) of your boys to hide in the closet and film that shit on a stealth tip (not that I have any actual experience hiding behind a pile of Cross Color gear trying to focus a camcorder or anything). Now, it seems like people are making these tapes in the casual manner in which we used to go over to a friend’s house after school and play Super Nintendo. Man, if the Internet was running things when I was coming up, I can’t even imagine the kind of crap we would have done.

But maybe things haven’t changed that much. As long as people have had the means to record images, they’ve been recording images of people (themselves?) having sex. We all know someone, if not ourselves, who has done the old fuck it and film it. Maybe we all want to have our own close up, or live vicariously through those who have memorialized themselves on film or video.  As they say in showbiz: “Lights, Camera, Action!”

Your thoughts good people?

After reading Skye’s Top 10 Tall Tales Told in the Bedroom, I was struck by one thing – the fact that women out there are still worrying about ‘their number’ and working hard to keep the ever escalating tally under wraps.

Ladies, when a man asks you how many sexual partners you’ve had do you:

a)  Lie?

b) Tell the truth?

c) Refuse to answer?

Well, according to Skye, most of you would pick ‘a’ and falsify your numbers by ‘forgetting’ to count a few of your past bedmates. Personally, I can only ever remember asking the question after having been asked first, but I must confess that it is not a conversation that fills me with dread. I’m not afraid of learning that my partner has had countless lovers before me. Nor am I afraid of hearing that a potential lover has had more partners than me. To me it’s just a number.

There’s a scene in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral where Carrie (Andie MacDowell) reveals to Charles (Hugh Grant) that she’s had 30+ sexual partners in her life. Many men I know would be mortified to know their current or potential paramour had this much mileage on the old odometer. But Charles (who reveals he’s only had 9 partners) doesn’t seem all that disturbed. And you know what? I wouldn’t be either. In fact, if given a choice, I’d rather date the woman who’s had 50 partners than the woman who only had 5.

For numerous reasons (too numerous to expound upon here) upon hearing that a woman has had say, 50 partners, many men would assume some variation of the following:

“Damn, she’s been around the block.”

Or

“God, she must be a slut/whore.”

Apparently you women are quite aware of this. So, to avoid societal judgments and your beau deeming you to be a card carrying  ho for having slept with more than 10 guys, you choose to lie rather than face the crushing weight of someone else’s morality. To my mind however, this kind of logic and thinking on the part of men is really just coded language for, “man she has lots of experience, has seen many a phallus and how can I compete with that”? Whereas men like me (and presumably Charles) think:

“She’s experienced and should know how to handle her business. Sweet.”

That’s not to say that every woman who’s had many sexual partners automatically qualifies as a love goddess (as anyone who’s read A One Sided Conversation or Rise of the Starfish can attest). Nor does it mean that a relatively inexperienced partner doesn’t know how to “work the middle”. But, in my experience it’s easier to get a woman to throw down if she’s been in the ring before. It’s like knitting or macramé. Practice makes perfect.

Now, assuming that she is in the habit of practicing safe sex, I can see very little wrong with falling for or falling into bed with a woman who’s scored more than Pele (for all you number crunching fiends, that would be 1 087 goals between 1956 and 1974). In fact, the only real issue that I can pinpoint has nothing to do with the actual number per se, so much as the context of the numbers.

To illustrate, a friend of a friend was dating a girl who had only slept with six men before him. Well, the proverbial shit hit the fan when he found out that she had once worked at

…a local rub and tug

…several days a week

…for half a year.

Then there is that famous scene in the film Clerks where Dante finds out that his girlfriend, who had only slept with three guys before him, had conveniently forgotten to mention that she’d also given head to 36 guys – not including him.

These are the kinds of issues you potentially run into when you put too much emphasis on numbers.

Sex isn’t baseball, people. The stats don’t matter all that much. Many of us have grown up hearing the axiom “numbers don’t lie”, but what is also equally valid is that numbers don’t tell the truth either. They don’t make moral or ethical judgments. They may tell a story, but they certainly don’t tell the whole story.

My girl Skye is one of my closest friends, and she and I talk about everything under the sun—politics, relationships, sex. You name it, we’ve talked about it. We’ve developed a truly open and honest relationship. There is very little she could say or very few topics she could bring up that would truly shock me (and vice versa). That’s why I was genuinely taken aback when she reacted with a mixture of astonishment, horror and dismay when I told her about some of the more passive…ahem…encounters I’ve had in the boudoir.

Part of the reason I was so surprised by Skye’s reaction, is that I’ve always known that ‘starfishism’ is pretty common. Like many men out there, I’ve had my fair share of bad sex. But don’t get me wrong people. I’ve also had plenty of many mind blowing experiences and most of my sexual dalliances would be filed in the adequate or better category. Still an alarming number of my sexual experiences have lacked a certain… participatory element. And trust me, every man – not some, but every man – has a host of these stories to tell.

Take my evening with a woman we’ll call Sarah as an example. I met Sarah at a New Year’s Eve party. Soon after we were introduced by mutual friends, we ended up on the dance floor together. Now, this woman had moves. She could do things with her waistline that questioned, and then answered all the laws of physics. As the night wore on, I was sure that the fireworks we had created on the dance floor would translate into something explosive in the bedroom. I was wrong.

After fumbling our way through the dimly lit room like two circus clowns we undressed with the sheer hormonal enthusiasm of teenaged virgins at the prom after party. We eventually made our way to the bed and started getting busy. Or more correctly I (please note the emphasis) started getting busy. I’m not sure if Sarah was worried about messing up her hair or if she was engaging in a new form of Zen Buddhist sexual practice that required cemetery silence, but her stillness was startling. Perhaps she’d been taught that the missionary position only works if the female (non)participant lays still and remains quiet as if locked in prayer for the duration of the proceedings?

Now, I know what you are all thinking. Sam Sharpe, what did you expect? You didn’t even know her. It was a one night stand and there wasn’t any time to develop chemistry. Okay, I’ll give you all that, but then how do we explain Jules?

Now Jules was a sensuous looking woman. She wasn’t emaciated like a model or Hollywood starlet. She was curvy and solidly built. She was the kind of woman who oozed sex appeal, and who commanded a room upon entrance. Having said that, despite the fact that Jules and I dated on and off for about two years, I can count on one hand the number of times she kissed me below my neck.

As far as I can recall there were only a handful of times that she initiated any kind of action. After enduring a few months of this one-way traffic my frustration boiled over. I felt it was my duty as a man to speak up, so I did.

“Jules, is it too much for me to ask you to do a little something when we’re in bed? You know, like move, touch my body or do anything else that comes to mind.”

Do you want to know what she said to me people? Can any of you guess what her response was? Well, with a straight face, my sweet Jules said…

“Why, should I do anything? That’s your job.”

At first I laughed hysterically. I knew she had to be joking. I was so sure she was joking.  But when I wiped the sweat from my brow and stared into her eyes I could see that she was serious – dead serious.

And that’s the crux of the problem. Although Jules may be an extreme example, far too many women out there believe that sex isn’t something they do. Instead they think (and I have yet to figure out why) it’s something that’s done to them. Unfortunately, women who approach sex this way miss the best part of the action. Much like any group activity, sex is better when all parties involved take an active role.

No matter what size queens and the porn industry want you to believe, good sex isn’t about how big, how long or how much. It’s about how open you are to your partner. So if you’re tendency is to lie lifelessly on your back while your partner pounds you, you’re not really adding anything to the conversation.

And take it from me, The F’in Man, virtually no one (at least not anyone worth being around) enjoys a one sided conversation.