some like it hot

Lately I've been having these dreams.

Hot sweaty bodies. Arms clinging onto each other's backs. Breathing heavily into ears. Legs intertwined. Hips connecting. Gasps and names filling the air. Exotic music in the background. Smoke filling the room. Hard to see. Maybe a pool table in the background? Or an ashtray by the bed.

Ahhhh steamy sex. What we all dream of.

Do people regularly have this kind of sex? I mean, there's not a doubt in my mind that says most people have been in a similar situation before... but has it ever become regular?

Do couples manage to have this hot and heavy sex constantly? Or is it inevitable that sex eventually becomes like all things regular: clock-work?

Why is it that whenever I imagine these sexy scenarios it's always with someone new... someone mysterious?

Passionate sex: can it survive the pattern?

Two way street?

It's funny how characteristics that we often proclaim being unique to females are often considered negatives in the males we date.

I was dating Andrew for close to 4 weeks when I noticed he embodied several flaws that drove me up the wall.

Too "texty."

Too concerned.

Too aiding.

Too needy.

These characteristics seemed too womanly for my liking and I had to end things before I found myself a clinger.

I got to thinking about gender characteristics and how this topic may be a one-sided street.

I mean, Andrew wasn't doing anything wrong in particular, but his feminine attributes made me gag. However, when women project themselves with more masculine traits in relationships, they seem more admirable; "stronger" if you will.

A woman who puts her foot down or seemingly has the upper-hand in the relationship seems to have it all.

Just a thought. Something I won't be giving Andrew a second time.

comin atcha!

Did it seriously take one drunken girl to start the whole women love "freaky shit" movement?

I mean, I've heard of "pearl necklaces" and other odd scenarios that I thought only existed on late night pornos or myths from Southern America, but never did I actually expect to be put in one of these situations myself.

When a complete stranger asked me if I would help him achieve an orgasm on my back, let's just say that leaving the local bar and immediately showering when I got home weren't enough to get this creep out of my mind.

How the hell did this happen?

How did men end up thinking we were up to participating in this?

I mean, I'm all for new and exciting things to do in bed... but ejaculation on the back? Is this what the 21st century has come to instead of turning to good ol' fashioned kama sutra?

Please ladies, help a sister out and the next time one of you decides to participate in this kind of behaviour, inform the man you're with that it is just you who enjoys this kind of pleasure.

Or else we might all have it coming at us.

morning sex

At the beginning of a relationship? ... Sure.

On vacation at a fancy resort? ... Fine by me!

A 7 am quickie before you go to work? ... This is where I draw the line.

I can sympathize with men's situations in the morning. Waking up with the morning fairy tickling away at their Jonsons must be a bit of a bother but for goodness sakes... women do not want to be the deposit box in this scenario!

For us, morning sex is too early and too unflattering. I mean, can we take a moment to think over the issues of morning "relief"?

We've got the bad breath, lip crusties, smudged make-up, bed head... and let's not forget the fact that morning sex is usually anywhere from 6:00 - 7:00 am... we're tired. We're also perfectly comfortable and warm in the nook we've been dreaming in all night.

So men, remember: us women need our beauty sleep... so let us have it.

Don't get me wrong, I do love a surprise afternoon delight as much as the next girl, but I can surely say that anytime after dinner (or a drunken night out) is most preferred.

women and the male genitalia

It is no secret that many men are easily aroused. From their girlfriend wearing a sexy outfit, to an extra long kiss... their Junior Sir has no problem with rising to the occasion.

Some girls muster up the courage to say, "hey, can't we just kiss for a bit?" or "easy there slugger, I was just trying to squeeze by to get to the bar." This can leave men feeling humiliated. Flustered. How'd they let themselves get so excited so easily... so fast?

This is where I ask the question: can penises be to sex as women are to relationships?

Women tend to over analyse. Yes, yes they do. Through over-analysis and reading into every single text/touch/gesture/sentence women find themselves getting all hopped up on relationship fever.

Soon after just meeting a guy, women instantly imagine relationships, cuddles, late night phone calls... the future! Suddenly, however they are splashed with the reality that perhaps this guy is just looking for a good ol' time... "nothing serious."

The fall. What was once a rash climb to relationship arousal is now slowly deflating. Damn.

Blue ball hell.

Blind Date

I sat in his apartment awkwardly on a dark brown leather sofa. This was something I’d never done before: a blind-date. Call me crazy but I’d always imagined blind-dates at bars, restaurants, bike-riding... something involving a little bit of space, a little bit of give in case your unknown date is... is... well, is a freak.

Of course with my luck, my mystery man had offered to make a delicious dinner at his place. Excellent. I couldn’t complain because once hitting a particular age, a woman’s nitpicking could lead her to the awful, unimaginable... “single and forty zone.”

My friends at work had raved about this Phil guy. “Phil this... Phil that... Phil works out... Phil is so sweet...” Now, being the only single friend left of theirs, I had no choice but to meet their amazingly fabulous Phil.

I imagine all individuals are nervous before a blind date. I was no exception. I tried on three tops, two pairs of pants, four bras, and la grande finale: seven pairs of shoes. With the phone in my hand, about to cancel on him, in barged three of my coworkers with combs, make-up kits, tights, curling-irons... the works. Their mission: to adorn me until I was suitable for Fantastic Phil.

Like moths to a flame (or flies to a poop) they swarmed me until I was perfecto. Phil picked me up twenty minutes later, while the girls rambunctiously hid behind the curtains to spy.

The very beginning of the car ride wasn’t bad. Explaining a bit about ourselves gave a few things to chat about. Then we approached the first red light. It seemed like eons had gone by since one of us had talked.

Finally we approached his apartment. Great – at least we’d have something to talk about. Surely his apartment would have some interesting piece to speak of. I was already creating conversation starters. “Oh, whoa! What an amazing painting, Phil! Where did you find this?” “What a nice, big fridge! I tell you, that mini fridge of mine has got to go!” “No! So, it’s a couch and a bed?” Perfect; I was ready for the fascinating topics to begin.

Swipe of the card; key in the lock; opens the door and BAM. Right in front of me is the most utterly plain and boring room I have ever seen. White walls, a small TV (with rabbit-ears might I add), a stove, one couch and a fish tank ever so randomly placed on a coffee table.

He explained he needed to use the washroom. At that very moment I felt an anxiety attack come along faster than a bolt of lightning. I sat myself onto his sofa only to cause an inky black cat to leap meters away and dart into what I can only assume was a bedroom.

So there I sat: amid in an apartment I hated, with a man I’d known for thirteen minutes and forty-five seconds too long. I’d have been crazy to sit there a second longer. I quietly crept towards the door and let myself out.

The next Monday I explained to the girls that I just couldn’t see myself with Phi. Sure, I may wind up a single, forty-something-year-old-woman, but if it meant being married to a “Phil” I’d settle for the single life.

My only regret: I left my coat on his couch.