10 Sexy Moves…


…that turn your guy on!

Now there’s a headline that’ll catch your eye when you’re menopausal! 

Of course, I had to read it just to see if there was anything that could make me less, you know, mom like and more the wild cougar I know that’s been screaming to be set free for the past decade.

Hell…I know I’ve been slipping, and so have a few other things, but that’s a story for a different story.

I perused the article top to bottom, because hell, I can use all the help I can get. Now don’t get me wrong here. I’ve tried plenty of tricks in my day and I’m sure I’ve still got a few up my sleeve………somewhere–Lurking. Up. By. My. Flabby. Upper. Arm.

A few years back I switched from old-fashioned granny panties to a thong thinking this was uber-sexy. Wrong! Hubby said to me one day, if I want to floss I’ll go into the bathroom and….you get my drift? Turns out he likes a little more coverage. Or, does it mean that there’s more to see than I think there is? Mmm………

I tried installing a stripper pole in the bedroom once but hubby said it was screwing up his direct view of the television. So, being the handy woman I am, I sawed it in two and installed it in my closet so I could hang more clothes, and I have to admit, my clothes actually do look a lot more sexy now. The pole thing really is the bomb!

Mmm……………

Okay, so RULE #1 Talks about makeup, or rather the lack of it.

“Oh, I love how she looks when she wakes up in the morning, fresh, clean, natural…..”

OH. KISS. MY. ASS!

How old are these people they’re talking to, twelve?

At my age, the first thing I usually have to do when I wake up is to pry my top lip off my teeth, because I’ve apparently snored all the moisture out of my body. Or better yet, if I’ve somehow managed to retain a little moisture and managed a drool or two, I have to scrape the 900 count egyptian cotton pillowcase off my cheek because, as far as I can tell, drool contains some kind of secret glue.

Worse case scenario, if I’ve had a few (or a hundred) hot flashes before the ‘rem’ cycle kicks in, which is what brings on the snoring, (no it has nothing to do with pre-bedtime tequila consumption), there’s a good chance that that bottom fitted sheet is going to leave the bed with me when I try to disengage from it because it’s gotten caught up in the crack of my ass like a menopausal wedgie.

The no make up thing?

I don’t think so!

I usually make it a point to sleep with my make-up on in order to prevent any accidental viewings of what I look like before the smoke and mirrors come out.

I remember a couple of years back, I woke up just as it was getting light, and I was feeling a little frisky. I rolled over towards the hubby and ran my hand across his back. This always get’s him going. A moment later he rolls over and slowly opens his eyes. I layed there quietly anticipating some soft sexy whimper to leave his lips telling me how much he wanted me. I think I even batted my eyelashes once or twice trying to build some steam. Instead, he raised himself up on one elbow and looked me directly in the eye with such concern it scared me a little.

He said, ‘What’s the matter, are you sick?”

That’s when I remembered  that I’d showered right before I went to bed and Washed. My. Fucking. Face!


Rule #1 got tossed immediately.

RULE #2 Talks about how men like a woman’s belly to be soft, not skinny and boney. How love handles were just that–love handles!

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN…..WE HAVE A WINNER HERE!!!!!!!

I won’t even pontificate about this rule because I happen to have a soft round belly like most women my age!

RULE #3 States that men like our quirky habits.

REALLY?

One of my quirky habits is that I like to renovate, remodel, and rearrange.

I can rip a room down to its studs single-handedly in a couple of hours. This might fall under the premise of insanity rather that just quirky so I’m on the fence about this one really being a quirk. However, it is something I do on a fairly regular basis. My family has learned over time that they should not leave me at home alone longer that two days at a stretch because, on at least one occasion many years ago, I had a very intimate date with my sledgehammer. They were all away and I was trying to get used to some new ‘lose twenty pounds in 24 hours diet pills’ I bought from a middle of the night infomercial. I don’t know what was in said pills but I was bouncing off the wall. Literally!  They came home to an empty kitchen. As in the kitchen was gone…down to the studs, and, I only had to get one tetanus shot.

I think it would be fair to say that hubby definitely does not like my quirks, nor does our bank account!

RULE#4 Says that our significant others like it when we wear our hair natural.

I spend plenty of time trying to tame my long brunette lockes. When left on their own, they form what I call a ‘white afro’, more commonly known as Rosanna Dana Banana (SNL) hair. It’s not curly, yet it’s not straight. It falls into the frizz category. Or what some might call the ‘Medusa Syndrome’. This is where, on my lazy days, my collection of baseball hats comes in handy. You tuck that shit up, or ponytail it under that cap, throw some eyeliner on and a splash of lip gloss, well now you’re talking. I look like any other celebrity trying to dodge the paparazzi. (Remember I live in Hollywood!)

RULE# 5 Goes on about our eyelashes.

How we women use our ‘batting’ ability to drive our men wild. Now, the one thing I am not an expert on is applying false eyelashes. No-siree! This I suck at. I remember one event I was attending where everyone had to look pretty glamorous. I decided that I’d don the falsies just to give my eyes a little zing, you know, that extra little thing so people would notice my gorgeous green eyes. Like all the other women, I pranced around, flaunting my secret little wisps of beauty. I posed for photos. I felt like everyone’s eyes were on me. Some people were actually staring at me, and I thought to myself, all the extra care I took getting ready had been worth it. You know, I looked special! Well the next morning, I couldn’t wait to look on Facebook as there would be a gazillion pictures posted from the event. Sure enough there was post after post, and oddly enough there were several very close up shots of ‘ME’, which was thrilling. at. first. I have pretty bad eyesight so I had to click and enlarge each photo. I felt my heart sink as picture after picture revealed that I had inadvertently attached the false eyelashes on backwards making me look quite cross-eyed. I didn’t even have the heart to read the comments because I knew what it was going to say. The lovely Jacqui Brown, doesn’t she look “SPECIAL”! I think that was the last time I ever wore false eyelashes. If I’m going to bat anything now there’d better be a freaking baseball involved.

RULE #6 Glorifies the smooth leg. Well, whooped-de-do!

Do men actually understand what it takes to keep these legs of ours smooth? How much time we spend wielding a sharp tool against our delicate skin, or how many strips of hot wax we must endure for their silky pleasure?

Personally, this is one of those dastardly tasks I hate because my hair grows in so quickly. The good news for me is that I never wear shorts. Never. Ever! The bad news is I love, love, love linen pants, but linen happens to be one of those materials that can get caught up on things pretty easy. I recall one time walking around, thinking I looked spectacular, when by chance I happened to glance down towards my feet. Sure enough, I’d forgotten to shave that morning and my pant leg was stuck half-way up my shin on some unsightly stubble. Crap! 

RULE #7 Expands on how men like their women’s style.

I most certainly have my own style.

Actually, style might be pushing it.

I’m more like a uniform wearer. Black on top and bottom, black on top with jeans…that’s pretty much it. Only during the summer time does this vary. Then I’m apt to throw on the white linen pants (yes, the same ones that stick to my hairy legs) topped by a black tank top, and often times I cover that with a little vest type garment that allows me to not have to suck in my stomach all the time. As for my hair, it’s pretty much been the same style for thirty-some years. Long and straight, or long with a touch of Rosanna Danna Banana frizz. I usually get it trimmed once a year by a real professional, then I snip and clip it once a month between my yearly visit. This last trim was so that I could look like the menopausal version of Kim Kardashian. I knew this would turn on the hubby so long as his focus stayed above the waist. That bitch has got me so beat in the ass department. But hey, you can’t all!

RULE #8 Your Scent.

I’ve got this one covered now that I’ve stopped taking testosterone.

Who knew the side effects could make you smell like a trucker that’s been on the road too long.

After a few weeks of smelling like a skanky old man, I decided that my libido was going to have to find some other means of returning.

RULE #9 Asking For What You Want

After thirty two years of marriage I don’t ask any more. I blaze my own trail. I do what I want. I go when I want to go. I go where I want to go. I see who I want to see. Of course, since I’m a stay-at-home-mom, the only thing I ask for is enough money to do all the above.

RULE# 10 Your Job  

I can’t actually bust this one since I don’t have a ‘real’ job.

All I do every day, seven days a week is scrub floors, polish & dust, wash windows, wash clothes, iron, grocery shop, vacuum, garden, fix whatever needs to be fixed, cook all the meals, do dishes, referee family debates, placate everyone into happiness, apply medical attention to the accident prone, home school my son, drive and chaperone said son on dates, do the banking, pay the bills on time, renovate anything if I can get away with it,  throw in a blow-job here and there to keep the tension at it’s lowest possible level, and if there’s any time left–I write another book. 

This not working thing is really working for me! So there you have it. 10 rules their way, and ten mine. If you have any other rules you’d like to include, feel free to leave them in the comments and I will take them into consideration. 

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Sexual Napalm…


…is the latest catch phrase according to a new report.

Leave it to the Gen-X crowd to come up with that one. Obviously they have yet to be medicated, and secondly, they haven’t got a fucking clue about life yet.

Guys revealing their inner most desires when it comes to what turns them on is nothing new. Selfish bastards!

They say they like girls who go down on them because that doesn’t happen that often…

Excuse me while I puke?

Hello!

I call Bullshit on this one! Just ask the Hubby!

In my limited experience with dating, the first thing out of a guys mouth was definitely not my ‘gina’.

Maybe I missed the class in semaphore they offered in high school that said go here not there!

Another biggie that came to ‘light’ in this report is that guys like girls who like having sex with the lights on. Some said they’d like to do it under a spot light so they could see every inch of whom they were about to do.

AT MY AGE…

FUCK THAT!

Not only would this make me uncomfortable, I don’t know that I could suck my stomach in that long. My biggest complaint is that this ‘revelation time’ could add an extra hour to what should take under ten minutes.

Romantic Interlude under the SPOTLIGHT:

Me: “Are you done yet?”

Him: “I think you’re going to have to roll over one more time, I think I missed a spot. Can you move the light closer?”

I begrudgingly move the freaking light.

Me: “Why is this taking so long, are you fucking blind?”

Him: “I didn’t know it was going to take this long, okay?”

Me:“What are you saying?”

Him: “Ah…absolutely nothing!”

I begrudgingly roll over.

Him:Hmmmm…!”

Me: “What?”

Him: “Nothing!”

Me: “Then what was the hmmmm for?”

Him: “Do you want to walk in the morning?”

Me: “WHAT?……Why do you ask?”

Him: “I don’t know, just thought we could use some exercise.”

Me: “Bastard!”

Him: “What, I’m just sayin…”

Me: “I’ve got a suggestion too! Why don’t you just roll  yourself over and get some sleep.”

Him: “But?”

Me: “Nite, nite!”

Spotlight…my ass!

If hubby had to take that extra time to scan every part of me we’d probably end up not having sex.  With two kids still living at home our time’s limited to stolen moments so there will never be a spotlight in the bedroom. Besides that, I don’t want to always wonder whether this is another one of those obviously un-obvious fat checks?

At this juncture of my life the words ‘sexual napalm’ bring to mind my ever constant problem…my mid-life gas tank.

Now there’s sexual napalm I can relate to.

I’ve learned over the years to keep a spare pack of GasX in my bedside table in case I see that glint in hubby’s eyes. There’s a lot of things we let slide in our long time marriage but the passing of gas during a romantic interlude is not something we can let go. There has to be rules and this falls into the top ten.

This theory has been tested here and there, when on rare occasion we’d pull out ‘the book’ and try on a few Karma Sutra positions. Most of the time I’d just stare at the pictures completely dumbfounded. I’d sit there wondering whether, if even in my twenties I could ever accomplish some of these positions!

This is where you double up on the GasX!

I know last time we tried one of those convoluted twisted up, twirling, crazy ass positions it wasn’t exactly what I’d  call fun. Shortly after the paramedics left claiming that our dilemma did not constitute what they’d call an actual emergency…I put that book away.

If I want to look that ridiculous I’ll just dust off our Twister game so everyone can laugh their ass off!

I’ll tell you what sexual napalm is.

It’s when your guy takes out the garbage without you having to ask ten times. It’s when they don’t drop their clothes on the floor in their normal heap because they know you’ll go into  maid mode as soon as you get out of bed. It’s when they look at you ‘that’ way without you wondering if there’s something wrong with your hair/makeup/clothes/size. It’s when they see that little bit of cottage cheese hanging down at the bottom of your butt but they hold their tongue. It’s when they hold your hand when you least expect it. It’s when……………

Part 2…(Libido boosters)


…PLEASE REFER TO PART ONE  FIRST…


“Libido Steel…make you…” he finishes by gesturing with his groin moving in that humping motion.

Holy crap. This guy suddenly looks like he’s ready to go right then and there. I immediately scan his crotch in search of a spontaneous boner, my bad,  but it’s as flat as a pancake.

“You’re sure I’m gonna wanna…” I finish by gesturing the same humping motion because, at this point, I figure I’ve got nothing to lose here.

His eyebrows go up and down as though he’s trying to dislodge something from his forehead and he grins at me.  He sets the bottle into my sweaty palm and I wrap my fingers around it like it’s some kind of treasure.

But wait, out of the corner of my eye I see his other hand reaching towards my right breast.

WTF?

Did this mean I still had it? Did he get all worked up by my push, push, groin thrust? Was I hot to him? Were my girls turning him on?

OMG!

I instantly react with the speed of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun. I intercept his approaching paw with my best jiu-jitsu move and my do-jo cry–Keyah. I give him the evil eye!

He steps back and rubs his wrist. As close as we’re standing I can see a red welt rise where I’d just smacked him.

He stands there in complete shock, complete disbelief! His eyes fill with fear.

He takes two more steps back from me then raises his shaking hand and points at my right breast.

I look down and see there is a rather large ball of white thread sticking to my black sweater. It probably came loose from the coat I’d been wearing earlier.

“You got shit on your shirt lady,” he says in his defense.

“OMG…I’m so sorry!” I say as I pull the straggler off and toss it to the ground.

“Maybe you need hormone too bitch…help brain relax,” he says making his move towards the cash register.

I’m thinking this guy must be fucking telepathic because I had run out of estrogen. I’d been out of it, and out of my mind, for nearly a week because I’d forgotten to order it.

I try to hand him my credit card.

“No lady, you set card on counter, I pick up myself.”

I try to gather what’s left of my brain and defend my action but the second I try to speak his shushes me.

“You pay me, get out,” he hisses at me.  “You no come back.”

He rips my card a new asshole through his machine and tosses it back on the counter, then sets the sales slip down so I can sign it. As I reach for the pen he steps back as though he knows what my arm span is.

“Can I have a bag?”

“No.”

“Okie dokey then.”

I hang my head in embarrassment and do as I’m told. As I head towards my car I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. I know he’s watching through the slats of the window blinds to make sure I’m really leaving and I’m pretty sure I hear the clank of a lock being engaged.

But then I thought to myself, who cares, I’m about to get my horny on. I’m about to get my mojo back. I’m going to be that sex machine I once was. The boner goddess. The MILF! I may actually find that spontaneous orgasm. Whehaw!!!!!

I get in my car and nearly have to pry my fingers off the bottle so I can read the label.

I look at the main ingredient and burst out laughing.

‘Horny Goat Weed.’

It’s then I realize I probably could have just as easily gone to the local feed store to get this shit.

No one’s home when I get there so I crack the bottle, tip it towards the light so I can inspect the pills inside.

WTF?

Was I supposed to swallow these things or were the suppositories? I have panic attacks when I have to take those little Advil tablets, how was I possibly going to manage these? I look at the label and read the instructions.

Take one daily for maintenance and up to four two hours before sexual activity. I could feel the sweat breaking out on my brow.

OMG! Now I was going to have to get anxiety medicine just to be able to swallow these suckers.

But I was on a mission. I’d just have to bite the bullet, literally, and down these horny goat weed suckers any way I could.

Flash forward one week.

I wasn’t feeling the sex thing yet but one thing I did notice immediately was that whenever I was driving, my attention kept wandering towards the long tall grass that runs parallel to the freeway. I’d start to feel hunger pangs followed shortly thereafter by the urge to pull over and graze.

I even started noticing barn yard animals in the most odd places. In Los Angeles proper it’s pretty rare to see anything other than a cat or dog.

I found myself wanting to visit a friend of mine’s ranch up in the Santa Monica mountains because I’d recently attended a woman’s horse retreat there and had a vague recollection of a very handsome billy goat wandering about.

I started answering questions and responding to statements in an odd way.

My son came bursting through the door after school one day so he could tell me a joke he’d heard that day. It was one of those really sick jokes if you know what I mean.

All I could say was “Eweeeeeeeeee,” followed shortly by a few “Bah, bah, bah’s” as his warped humor wrapped around my brain.

I’d catch myself late at night staring down at my front lawn from my bedroom balcony.

I ordered every version of “Grazin In The Grass Is A Gas” from iTunes.

One day my husband came home and I was laying face down in the tall cool green grass.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Mowing the lawn,” I said.

“Why is your hand down your pants?”

“I got an itch.” I respond.

What? Wait a minute!

Maybe it was starting to happen. Maybe it wasn’t just an itch. Maybe, just maybe, my vagina was finally getting the message.

BINGO!

I looked up at him staring down at me and cocked my eyebrow.

“Kids aren’t home yet. Would you like to step into my office?”

Oh yes, the world we live in, the world I live in, is a far better place when we can chemically alter it!

Does This Make…


…my ass/gut/back/neck/face/thigh/calves/ankles look fat?  We’ve probably all been guilty of asking this stupid ass question once or twice. What possess’ us to ask it in the first place is beyond me because, point in fact, there is ONLY ONE ANSWER we want to hear–NO, NO, and NO! Any other answer could lead to, let’s just say–a good bit of damage control from the questionee.

There can be so many repercussions to this answer.

Of course this also explains why my husband never wants to shop with me I guess. Maybe he’s smarter than I think. The second he hears the words ‘does this make’…he’s up and out of the room faster than a Daytona race car. God bless him! That man has a survival instinct like no one else I know.

The first thing they teach you in school, if you can remember that far back is…

if you already know the answer, don’t ask the question’

…unless of course you really want to put someone in the hot seat. If you, after giving this some thought, still ask the question–well–you’re dumber than you look!

We’re not complete idiots about our body image. We know when all of the above looks good or not. We have mirrors! We can see as plain as day when our boobs have fluctuated in size and our cups runneth over, or the dry cleaners have shrunk our pants (AGAIN)!

At this age, most of us are in denial about what’s happening to our, for lack of a better word, flesh host. Yes, sometimes we put the blinders on for self-preservation, but we know. We feel “IT” move when we walk. This is why I don’t run anymore. I do not want my back-fat or ass gyrating and screaming “look at me–whoo-hoo” in public places. I figure the slower I move the better I can hide it.

I think the first inkling that change is upon us is when you start to lose those little hollows in your cheeks. You know exactly what I’m talking about. It that thing that makes your face look like you have those glorious cheek bones and can often make you appear thinner than you really are. It’s flattering and it’s youthful. Unfortunately, when the tides of youth start slipping into middle age things tend to get lost or buried in the shuffle. That’s right!  When that hollow fills, it means that extra weight is secretly being added while you sleep. (This has nothing at all to do with the second helping of cheesecake, or the loaf of bread you ate with last nights dinner.)

This is not good because it also means that jowls are right around the corner. Yeah! It seems cruel that the face is usually the first place this shows. I’ll admit, both my dimples have become buried amid the debris of the passing years. Well actually, the truth is, I just noticed that they’re not really gone, they just relocated to my ass. Traitors!

A lot of people judge what’s going on with their body by how their clothes fit. This I believe is a really good way to judge your GIRTH because, if they still fit you, it’s a win-win situation. No gain, no pain!  This falls under the category of reverse-reverse psychology. Think of all the money you’ll save not having to shop for skinny clothes or larger (fat) clothes.

I’ve learned my lesson over the years as my weight fluctuated up and down. I’ve come to the conclusion that after twenty-three years of yo-yo dieting, trainers, boot camps, and starvation, I am never going to lose my baby (pregnancy) fat. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I can actually use that term anymore when it comes to those little pudgy spots. The truth of the matter is that this is plain and simple fat-fat now. Yep. This is finally the time in our lives when we have to suck up and admit to ourself that our MILF (Mother I’d Like To F@#k) days are a thing of the past. CRAP!

I threw my scale out a long time ago because it always betrayed me. I’d strip down to nothing, stand on its hard cold surface, and the little hands would just start spinning out of control as it determined how much it was going to punish me. Well I’ll bet it really spun out of control as it descended towards the cold hard pavement after I threw it out the second story bathroom window. Bastard!

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not hideous, BUT, everything is relative isn’t it? When your waist expands it becomes more relative with your hips and your rib cage, as in–if they’re the same size, you actually can no longer refer to it as your waist. It is now considered part of your torso, or as I like to call it my boy shape, my masculine side. This isn’t always a bad thing because if you happen to have a little more junk in the trunk it will no longer stand out on its own. There will be no references to pears or any other fruit. This can be a good thing.

What I wonder is why don’t men ask this question? I mean, mid-life does the same thing to them so why do they remain silent? How are they able to maintain their calm, cool, and collected demeanor when their belly crosses the border before they do? What is their secret? Could it be that age changes us in different ways? Do they lose their peripheral vision first? Do they see only what they want to see? Or are they simply perfectionists at tom-foolery?

Maybe we should just rip that page out of their book and stick it in ours!

Oh well, I have to run. I just heard the timer go off. I think my chocolate cake is done!