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The Pink Panther & Deep Purple: Remembering Your Sensual Self

orangeblossomcandleDeep purple. The Pink Panther. Randall.

You know what I”m talking about ladies – your BOB’s.

For those of you not in the 90’s know, BOB is a dirty acronym. Battery. Operated.  Boyfriend.

If you deny having one, either you’re missing out, or  you’re lying.

Recently I had the occasion to invite another BOB into my life. Not because I was jonesing for a new part-time lover, but for other personal reasons. And we shall leave it at that.

At mid-life sexuality is interesting. Just like everything else; our careers, our relationships, and our perspective on how-in-the-hell-did-we-end-up-here.

At this stage, when it comes to sex you’ve either giddy-uped, gotten-down and satisfied your every whim, or you’re spent shell of a person wondering how you missed out on it all. At this age, whether you really  ever need to see anyone else your age naked is a question you start to consider seriously.

Naked and sex are often poor substitutes for sensuality, when really, they are the pleasurable end-result.

Sensuality is Marc Broussard singing Do Right Woman.

You may think that BOB is going to make you feel sexual. For a while, and for a purpose, but more than BOB, you need to remember how to make love to yourself.

Too often the synchronicity of making time for our significant others feels like another obligation, rather than the joy of connection that it should be. Sensuality gets discouraged, because after all, wouldn’t it be nice to always end a hot bath or beautiful snack with some lovemaking? Alas, we are too often left alone feeling like a cog in a relationship wheel, unappreciated as a sensual being.

This is where your imagination comes in. Start with BOB if you must, but try to remember what it’s like to soak in a luxurious bath surrounded by the scents that make you exhale…orange blossom, vanilla, cinnamon. You need to remember how good it feels to pass the razor over your tired legs, and to massage your favourite shampoo into your scalp.

bath

Perhaps like me, you enjoy the cool, salty sensation of fresh oysters and creamy champagne, or a pungent blue cheese accompanied with port by candlelight on a crisp fall evening.

BOB may help you remember the end game, but it won’t love you the way you can love you baby.

Indulge in the sensual sights, smells and sensations that remind your body of just how sexy it is.  Trust me, someone will notice.

 

 

 

 

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That’s a Mighty Fine Driver You Have There Sir: The Un-fore-seen Benefits of Golfing with Your GF

basket-of-golf-ballsToday was a first. The left side of my mid-back is whispering caution to me. It’s rather insistent that tomorrow I may be in some pain. The right side is nodding in agreement.

My sweetie finally took me to the driving range. Brave? Yes. But not brave enough to take me out on a for-real golf course, and who can blame him?

About midway through the ‘jumbo’ bucket of balls, I thought that I had hit him in the back. You see, I made contact with the little white devil, but it took off toward my baby on a trajectory akin to tiles blowing off a space-shuttle. I must have missed his left ear by an inch. For a full two hours, he patiently took me through a range of clubs and tried teaching me the basics, and he didn’t swear once…out loud.

bad golfer

As you all know, I’m incredibly patient. Ok, maybe a teensy-tiny-eensy-weensy-bit patient. Or not. By the time we were chipping,  I held out my hand and let him know I was already an expert and his blathering was unnecessary. My chipping as it turns out, sucks.

My putting is slightly better if I have my arms over my voluptuous breasts, which means the damn club sticks out perpendicular to the ground and I have to bend over like some weirdo with a metal detector on the beach to ‘pendulum’ like my sexy instructor was trying to demonstrate. You see, his breasts are significantly smaller than mine, and penduluming is not such a challenge for him.

I made contact with the ball (most of the time), and if I were aiming 120 degrees to my right, I was dead on target. By the time I finished with the driver, I could really appreciate my man’s talent.

And maybe that’s why I think I’m going to love the game. A woman like me likes a challenge, and some fun. I can’t wait to go again.  Perhaps when my man buys a helmet he’ll take me on another hot driving-range date.

Laugh as you may, it was a great way to spend the afternoon. I’m a strong, confident, capable woman. There are very few things that a man can do that impresses me to the point I’m actually attracted to him because of it.

But today was the day for my man. He was good at it. Like, crazy good. He made it look easy, and I was struggling to even connect.  It made me kinda hot for him, in that grrrrr, you’re a manly-man kind of way.

He doesn’t know it yet, but his patience may just pay off for him two-fold. He may have a willing partner to hit the links with every chance we get, and he may also have a lady who needs to go immediately home for some good lovin’s when we come off the course. All of a sudden, I can appreciate his driver just a little bit more.

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Three Little Birds: In My Head

There have been a few things rolling around in my mind lately.

What would the new year be if we  weren’t inundated with media pimping health and wellness gimmicks?

squatI’ve never been a skinny chick, and I don’t know that I’d be that comfortable being all angles and bones, but I don’t really dwell on it. I haven’t always loved my curves, or my height . As a young woman I struggled against the unrealistic messages that bombarded me via the media.

But I grew into my body, and I learned to love it and rollick in sensuality.

With a partner who finds it necessary to grab my love handles while asking, ” Are you going to the gym?”, the last thing I need is to second guess my own chutzpah. So this brings me to the first thing on my mind; why do people obsess over fitness and diet instead of trying to incorporate healthy habits?

bruce-trailPersonally I find it hard to seek support because people go overboard with it all. I need a workout buddy who can make being active fun. I also, like most women need less housework, a shorter commute, and a thyroid that works.

I need a workout buddy like the person who came up with this quote; I found out today that you can’t get a gym membership, ‘Just to watch’.
I don’t do well with being uncomfortable taking my clothes off in front of a man. My solution: be good to myself. Not to feel sorry for myself, but to rejoice in my over-the-top voluptuousness, sense of humour, joie de vivre and to get my groove back. I’m even going to try some reading material; The Self Esteem Coach, and the classic, The Art of Seduction. 

I honestly hope that something fun and delicious interrupts me so I don’t actually have to do the work and I can cop out, but I likely should do the work.

Honestly, I’m over 40, and I’m convinced that at this age women ought to be comfortable in their own skin and totally owning their goddess.

So that was my first one.

The second thing on my mind has been the take over of mocking Donald Trump in social media. Satire (and this is proven) does not change politics. Humour makes it funnier in a sad and apathetic way, but it’s ineffective as a tool to use against change.

It took a man with true leadership skills to cut the bullshit;

If you’re tired of arguing with strangers on the internet, try talking with them in real life. If something needs fixing, lace up your shoes and do some organizing. If you’re disappointed by your elected officials, grab a clipboard, get some signatures, and run for office yourself.  Show up.  Dive in.  Persevere.

protestQuit whining and gather in the streets. Don’t just bitch there darling, do something about it. If you’re not willing to do something about it, please shutupinski.

The third thing that’s been on my mind is the incredibly fast pace of doing absolutely nothing meaningful. Go to work, pay the bills, eat what you’re supposed to, take as many steps as the latest gadget deems healthy, measure every single aspect of your life until you’re too tired to enjoy it. Oh my gawd! What a wonderful life! Pass the lorazapam and tuck me in for the next decade. This sucks.

moomooUm, no thanks. Burn my bras and send me a moo-moo. I don’t really buy in, and I never have. I do find it incredibly more exhausting to be surrounded by people who do.

So, I beg of you. Get off your ass and have some fun. Call me (please!!!) so I can do that with you. When we’re having fun, being creative, laughing and working together toward a kinder, more gentle society, I believe that changing ourselves and the world will happen, just a little more organically and way more joyfully.

P.S. Seriously, I need this moo-moo.

 

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Pillowtalk – When Anything Less Leaves you Starving

Sensual
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.         ~Pablo Neruda~
I’ve been accused of being many things, but never frigid.

Like many of my close pals, I admit to ranking the physical among some of the most important aspects of a romantic relationship. Like top three..two, maybe…you get the picture.

I’m tactile, and sensual, and love everything about physical intimacy. Everything. Don’t roll your eyes. Physical intimacy can be something powerful, beyond language or the mundane acts that bind lovers to one another. That’s why it’s called intimacy.

Sexual intimacy is a sacred bond between lover and beloved, with no accurate interpretation outside of that relationship. It’s alchemy  unique to each interaction.

Vulnerability, trust and honesty are the foundation of this intimacy, and can be damn hard to cultivate. Fear has no place in this arena of affection, but it tries to muscle it’s way in. It whispers things like; be quiet, be modest, be ashamed.

My advice is to take a big ole’ paddle to Fear’s behind, and kick it out of your sexual psyche.

If you find someone you can be naked with regarding your desires, fears and insecurities, don’t ever lose them.  Cherish the hell out of them and let them know.  Get to know the dark and light corners of their soul and let that joy radiate from your smile. That’s what sensuality and loving someone’s body is about. This is the deep intimacy of loving that we all crave; lover and beloved, beyond logic or language.

Wishing all of you the kind of intimacy that would make a sailor blush and your granny proud…xo

 

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Get it While You Can: Valentine’s Advice for Cynics

tacky undiesIt’s all bullshit.

That’s what you want me to say isn’t it? That the flowers and jewellery and lingerie and night(s) of hot sweaty sex are romantic hypocrisy akin to people who only go to church on Christmas eve.

Well, I’m not going to say it.

No. I’m going to suggest that you suck it up and get it while you can darlings. I’m going to tell you that life is short, and you’d best just damn well lighten up and enjoy it.  I’m going to tell you to quit denying your decadent desire to ooze sensuality.

 

Splurge. Buy the panties or whatever other ridiculously tacky, dirty and would-embarrass-you-to-death-if-anyone-you-knew-walked-in-here-and-saw-you-buying that.

If you’re going to do it, do it right. If it’s love, be bold. If it’s not love and it’s just a bow-down to the great gods and goddesses of sensuality, don’t insult them. Go all the way. Sacrifice up something hot and steamy. Make them blush.

Trust me, you’ll have many, many opportunities to be self-conscious, be disappointed, feel insecure or give in to fear and cynicism. You’ll have other days to be realistic about your relationship, lack of relationship, ‘it’s complicated’ status, or other such nonsense.

Get it while you can darlings, and for the love of all that’s pink, give it a good squeeze when you do get it.

 

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Starting Fresh at Christmas: Relationship Advice

kissingmeistletoeThis afternoon I had a lovely surprise. A rather handsome man whom I’ve known since once-upon-a-time popped in to say hello at the little coffee shop where I was writing .

I wanted to give him a long, slow, deep, wet kiss right there on the spot.

I wanted to tell him that planning to be disappointed during one of the most magical and romantic times of year was a really stupid thing to do.

I wanted to make wild, dirty, love to him underneath his yet-to-be erected Christmas tree.  It was all I could do not to give in to my desire to erect things….

But that wouldn’t do.

No. I’ll tell you why. He’s torturing himself with the slow and painful ending of a bad relationship.

We’ve all done it. We’ve all put ourselves through the agony because we’re afraid of pulling the pin. Like much of life, we’re afraid of endings when we don’t know for sure what comes next.

While deployed in the trenches of love, I learned  that swift and complete is the only way to end something that’s dying a painful death.  I still kinda suck at it though.

Anyway, Mr. Slice-of-juicy-man-steak and I had a little chat. I rambled as I often do when I can’t focus and I’m visualizing my sweater being ripped off, breasts heaving, and tumbling naked into a candlelit bed. But I digress….

The crux of his matter is hinging on a do-or-die-show-up-or-no-show performance on Christmas day.

For everyone out there in relationship purgatory, please consider another perspective.

Why hang another expectation on an otherwise emotionally stretched holiday? It is THE holiday of the year. It’s a time to gather together with  the people we love, and share our lives.

Why not count-down to something a little more magical and heart-warming than, ‘if he/she doesn’t do this’, I’m ending it?

Why not shift the negative, I-dont’-want-to-feel-unloved-and-miserable, to an, I-can’t-wait-to-be-happy-focus?

Maybe I see the world differently because I’m surrounded by loss; people who didn’t get a chance to do the things they wanted to, or say the things they wanted to say.

The man who sat beside me this afternoon has a strong, protective side that I admire and respect. He still has a playful side that I miss seeing, and that I’d love to spend time with.

For everyone out there with a partner who doesn’t treat you like you are amazing,  who does not choose to adore you every day, who doesn’t make you laugh until you’re breathless, I beseech you to stop wasting everyone’s time.

If my sexy, juicy, delightfully sensual friend is out there reading this, know that I hope to see you soon. This time at home, laughing, with a little too much champagne, and a giant heap of  clothing on the floor.

There is mistletoe hanging at my door just waiting to fulfill it’s destiny.