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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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Sensuality; The Elixer of Life

stephanie-sarley
This is an image by Stephanie Sarley; Fruit for Feminism.

At this age, we’ve all had lovers. To be considered  a lover, one must be sensual, and as such, must be able to arouse and sate the sensuality in their beloved. Lovers are rare.

This post is about not letting your self-worth and sensuality get lost.  Don’t. Also, don’t confuse sensuality with sexuality. They are two different things, although they have a strong bond.

Enjoying and cultivating our own sensuality is something that I truly believe enhances our overall health; physical, mental, emotional and social.

Waking up alone this morning  I indulged in just-a-few-more-minutes. I spent some time thinking about neuroplasticity, and what I’ve been thinking lately.  I have spent a lot of time wondering whether I’m good enough or not; a good enough mother, a good enough partner, a good enough friend, a good enough professional…

But I always managed to make time to indulge in my own senses. After all, who doesn’t enjoy a long, slow meal at a table with friends with wine and succulent flavours? What about the smell of vanilla candles burning and a bubble bath accompanied by the dulcet tones of your favourite crooner? How about your true love reading Pablo Neruda poems to you while stretched out with your morning coffee? Perhaps it’s just the simple pleasure of being fireside with a good book, wrapped in a blanket with your fur baby curled up beside you.

I am by nature a sensual being. I believe we all are. Even Baptists. I’m not talking sexual here folks, although sensuality sure the hell does raise the bar when it comes to physical intimacy. I enjoy tastes, scents, sounds and tactile pleasure that the world has to offer. By nature I’m a kinesthetic learner.  I’m ‘touchy feely’. In relationship my need for physical contact is great.

I enjoy my wine, my bourbon, and my body. I find comfort in a soft blanket and a cool pillow. I love hugs. Not creepy-old-man-copping-a-feel-hugs, but hugs from my friends, colleagues and my kiddo. I love the strong taste of a good blue cheese, and the sweetness of a candy apple. Yesterday I stepped out the front door of my workplace just after the rain and for a few seconds was overcome by the delicious scent of the earth after an autumn rain.

This morning, I remembered how much I enjoy so many things. How I’ve let lazy lovers fool me into believing something is wrong with me; I’m too fat, I’m too needy, I’m too smart, I’m too fiery, I’m too nice, I’m too harsh, I’m too sexual. I’m not too anything, and neither are you my dear one. Today I vowed to turn my back on these judgments and re-awaken my sensuality; long, slow baths, indulgent fantasies, lingering over wine-rich meals with my friends, music, lingerie and most importantly, allowing myself to want.

 

 

Andshelaughs · andshelaughs writing

The Don’t Let the Bastards Get in Your Bedroom

snoring.jpgHow often have you lied awake in the darkness, with something on your mind and remained still and silent?

How often have you shed tears that only your pillow has known? Or perhaps craved your lover but been unable to touch them?

We’ve all held sadness throughout the day, only to release it when we’re alone; in the bathtub, shower, on a long run, or in bed.

But have you had great joy, and great love you were too timid to share as well? Well, last night was one of those nights for me.  I had both, and damn it, I was going to enjoy it.

You see, I’ve had many, many nights where loneliness and sadness were my bedfellows. They’re not nearly as sexy as a man, and they’re worse at keeping you awake. I’ve cried a river of tears in my bathtub and in my bed. Quite frankly, I think I’ve used up my lifetime quota, so I fully intend on enjoying every second of joy when the mood strikes.

We all know the torturous sounds of partners that snore like lumberjacks after a night of swilling whiskey. Ah yes, the torture of sharing space with someone who makes a lot of noise. When you’re tired, the sound of someone else indulging in sleep is almost too much to take.

Last night I was curled up in my sweetie’s arms, wide awake as he drifted off to sleep. If you’ve ever been smitten, you know how lovely that sounds is; your loved one cozy and warm and safe, drifting off with long, relaxed, deep breathing. He was dead to the world, but I was awake. As in, awake-awake. As in, I had some bedtime-energy to burn, and damn it, I was going to set a match to it.

Too often I hear my gal-pals tell me how terribly lacking their relationships are when it comes to physical intimacy. I know it can be inconvenient, time consuming, hair-mussing, and laundry producing. But really, what the hell?!

Intimacy is one of two great things about being an adult. The other one is booze.

But I digress….

What I’m getting at is the one, single element of our ‘intimate’ relationships that we let slip is the intimacy itself; physical and emotional. Day-to-day tasks take over, and before you know it, you’re sleeping with someone you no longer en’joy’. One of you sleeps, the other one is horny and resentful. It’s great when you’re on the same  Exhausted/Exhausted schedule and Horny/Horny schedule, but let’s face it, that rarely happens.

So, last night, curled around each other with my dozing sweetheart , instead of letting another moment be sequestered by the fatigue of our day-to-day-pooh-ha, I seized the moment. Well, his moment.

Just a little suggestion if your bedtime routine is more like a sleep lab and crash pad than a flamboyant boudoir; roll over and do something about it. Maybe even splurge on a candle or two.

 

 

 

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Priorities of the Heart

leobuscagliaTender moments are rare and beautiful.

They are moments we increasingly hide behind closed doors and sneak in during the scarce moments leftover for real life  and authentic, emotionally intimate interaction.

These are the moments we stroke our lovers sleeping face, pull their arms around our half-sleeping body and rest our head on their relaxed, rising and falling chest.

This morning, a young man, barely 25, stood in the haze of a muggy late spring morning and tenderly placed his right hand on the small of his girlfriend’s back as he reached gently for her face and kissed her good-bye.

With the advent of six and seven-day weeks combined with twelve and fifteen hour days, it was easy to forget leaving moments like those behind.

As I watched this couple complete their morning good-bye ritual in the private space of the shaded parking lot, I was taken back to my reverie   about how very quickly time slips away from us. Business takes away from the joy of making a life. There is little time or energy left over for all of the essential relationships we work so hard and blindly to sustain.

It wasn’t the tender touch of young love that made the breath catch in the back of my throat this morning. It was the timeless nature of true love and connection that stopped me in my tracks.

You see, after almost fifteen years of waking and sleeping alone, I’ve recently been reminded of the deep contentment that comes with emotional commitment.

Regardless of age, those moments when we expose our human frailty to our beloved are the moments that give our days meaning. These are the moments that crack open our consciousness and breathe life into our clock-work days.

This morning, as I paused for a moment to witness this act of tenderness, I was reminded that these moments are precious and few.

It was a reminder to receive the blessing of intimacy with grace, to prioritize according to what my spirit has been whispering to me about, for what seems like forever.

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Selling Yourself Short One Glass of Bourbon at a Time

whiskeyJust so I make myself absolutely clear, this one is for the men out there.

Last night I met a sexy beast of a friend of mine for bourbon.

“Did you get new glasses? New look?” He said, as he stood up to give me a hug.

I was confused. My glasses are over a year old, and well, I’ve been rockin’ the same look since I refused to wear leotards to grade-school. In other words, I was a bit concerned about his perception of time. Hadn’t it just been a few months since we’d last met to discuss writing over a few shots of bourbon?

No. In fact, it had been almost two years. Two. Yeeeeaaaars.

Time flies darlings. Faster than you know, and much faster when you’re having trouble keeping your head above sea level.

So, we sat and chatted as we always do about life, writing, and bourbon.

Neither of us are aficionados, but could be if we put our minds to it. Bourbon has just been an excuse to get together every once in a while.

I also have a confession. I’ve thought this guy was hot since the day I met him and my existence barely registered on his mid-40’s radar.

I met this gentleman about 14 years ago in his backyard. He was rushing off to play tennis, and I was the third wheel in a conversation with his then wife. I’m not sure if she was his first wife, or second wife, but one thing was clear even to my somewhat naïve and cynical divorced-at-25 eye; the marriage was not best described as blissful.

Fast forward to last night. He’s divorced and I’m a champion at remaining single. We have never, ever, not-even-once known what I’m sure would be the mutual delight in one-another’s flesh.

After a beer a few glasses of good-for-what-ails you, he confessed that he was in a sexless relationship.

bourbonglassTake that in; Sexless.

Time flies.

“We don’t’ have sex, we don’t share a bed. What is that?”

“Fucked up,” I said, swallowing the last delicious caramel nosed swig of my Woodford.

We talked about his age, his relationship (great companionship other than the sex – which, if you didn’t know, is called friendship). Don’t get me wrong, friendship is amazing, but let’s face it, relationships come down to one more thing than friendship; heart-stopping, sweaty, messy, endorphin-releasing, sex.

Being able to drink alcohol, walk around naked in my own place, and thoroughly enjoy a long, luxurious boink are a few things that I appreciate about being an adult. No matter how my finances are, my perspective, or my schedule, I always make time for each of those things.

So, to hear this man confess his lack of sexual engagement was heart-breaking for me. Heart breaking as in; I, more than most, know how fleeting and precious life is.

womaninlingerieWhat I wanted to do, was to lean over, and give him a soft, slow, very wet and deliberate kiss on the mouth, and have him take me home for a thorough and proper ….

But I didn’t…because he’s clearly a lovely man who doesn’t want to hurt the woman whom he is remaining in this friendship with.

Gentlemen, it doesn’t matter if you’re 26 or 76. Life is what you make it. If you are still a nostril-flaring stallion at 65, get it on and praise the universe that you still have it.  Because you do. And we still want it. Every, single delicious drop of it.

Don’t sell yourself short with a glass of bourbon and a fantasy.

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The Reveal: Who What Where When & Why

gladimetyouIt doesn’t matter whether you’re trying to impress a new colleague or lover. What you choose to reveal about yourself is carefully meted out and how you do it is often just as important.

In the age of social media, choosing how and what you reveal about yourself is tricky business. It’s a classic example of the uncomfortable overlap of persona; professional, personal and intimate.

Sometimes it feels akin to  panties twisted under your well-fitted jeans when you stand up to leave the table; you know it doesn’t look right, but there’s just not a damn thing you can do about it now.

I must admit that revealing myself in the professional arena is something that I find relatively easy. At a certain age your need to be respected by your peers over-rides your need for camaraderie outside the office. In other words; you’ve got all the friends you need, so why muddy the professional water?

Friends, well, friendship at a certain age become easy and more frightening all at the same time. Spending time with a new group of people doesn’t feel much different from when you were the new kid on the playground. You tend to revert; class clown, shy kid, or leader.

Lovers and intimate relationships on the other hand require more savvy, and are likely the most manipulated of all.

Good lovers are hard to find, and if you have the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with one, two, or even a handful (don’t judge me) from your past, it’s a sticky web to navigate without getting your signals crossed. That is, if you can figure out what signal it is you’re hoping to be received on the other end in the first place. This may take some time and hard self-analysis.

Years pass with all of the sunshine and storms life dishes out. Sometimes what once were smooth waters now require careful consideration as the landscape has changed and hard edges hide just beneath the surface. It takes a bloodied up scrape or two before you learn you don’t know what you thought you did, and that the person you once knew so well has changed. It’s odd how shocking the obvious can be.

Then there are other relationships. The keepers, the head-over-heels-make-me-feel-like-a-teenager-again fresh, new and yet uncharted.  That’s where we all lose our minds a little bit. In these cases, you should always, without fail or hesitation be yourself, be vulnerable, and allow yourself to be loved. Trust me, I know from experience, it’s easy to say and hard to do.

Vulnerability. Hmm…it’s something I struggle with, and in the past had great disdain for. But more and more now, I’m recognizing it for the treasure that it is. To be vulnerable with another human being is to open yourself up to the possibility of deep and lasting fulfillment.

It may or may not have been a personal experience that I had the good fortune of re-connecting (and I do mean reconnecting) with someone I’ve known for a long time but haven’t connected with for a couple of years. Our last little tryst wasn’t what either of us would refer to as a success.

This time, as we toasted our grand wisdom of planning some private time together with champagne, I noticed that his hand shook just the tiniest bit, betraying a confident exterior. A very sexy, confident exterior.

In the past I would have been turned off. There are very few things I can sexualize more than a confident man. But I guess I’ve changed too, because this time, I thought it was sweet and vulnerable, and facing your fears  a-la-mode in the boudoir, takes guts.

Just remember, whatever type of relationship you’re navigating, we all just want to be accepted. It’s not only you in the relationship, it’s the other, and they’re as terrified as you about earning their sea-legs on this ship of love. Take your time revealing yourselves to one another so you can enjoy the many faceted beauty of being beloved and lover.