I have a shoe box in my closet filled with poems, essays and short stories. All writings from years ago when I was earning my university degree. Now my email is brimming with drafts of anecdotes and ranting spiels. There are even flash drives with manuscripts and screenplays to boot somewhere. Until recently, I lacked the courage to share. The truth is,I am a story teller, a philosopher and a survivor who many look to for advice, opinion and insight.
I have decided not to let my insecurities about putting my words to print continue to be my accuse or deterrent not to share. Please enjoy.
Of course, it is juvenile and immature. Not talking to someone is no way to behave.
Is it?
Never go to bed angry?
Who said that? Clearly, they have never argued with me or anyone to whom I have ever disagreed. There would be no sleeping if we were to hash it out before going to bed. No, thank you.
I would consider my heated form of communication passionate, however, my husband would call it an ugly display of rage. Either way, when I finally do lose my temper, it can be verbally explosive. Please do not confuse this with being abusive. I have a double bladed tongue that mercilessly jabs back in quick concessions when provoked. Depending on how long I have been holding my tongue and how deep my teeth have had to sink in determines how relevant, ancient, and fair the blows are once I have unleashed my thoughts through words. It isn’t pretty and contrary to the belief of those in the path of my wrath, I am not proud of myself nor do I gain any satisfaction in winning an argument in this way. Once the dust settles, there is no way around it, I have said hurtful things to someone I love and care about. It does not matter if what I have said is true. The manner in which I have expressed these thoughts is inexcusable and unnecessary. What is said can never be taken back and is not easily forgiven.
Can your rage sometimes lead to a verbal backlash? If so, then you know what I am talking about. It is actually better to go to bed angry than to voice the words roiling in your head. Stepping back and taking a breath allows you time to calmly check your anger and frustration into a reasonable, respectful argument. This approach is better for everyone. It has taken many years, countless apologies, and some lost relationships for me to learn this lesson.
Do not knock the silent treatment. It has its own purpose, within reason. However, not talking to someone is the easy part. Breaking the silence once the treatment has been doled out, is the pride swallowing, ego crushing challenge. This is where I fail. When I am giving my husband the cold shoulder and I drag it out, everything begins to break down. We stop eating at the table and start sleeping separately. There is no disagreement from me when he takes a pillow and blanket to the couch to watch the game nor does he stop me from occupying the spare room during this award times. We actually convince ourselves that the kids are none the wiser when we blame the separate sleeping on daddy’s snoring.
silent treatment
When you wear your stubborn streaks like a coat of armor, don’t expect it to be comfortable.
Now, we know better.
When we are no longer sharing a table or bed our communication is severed and our marriage is ultimately in trouble.
Do not get me wrong, I am still a silent treatment kind of girl. To some, it makes no sense. It seems immature and a waste of time. It must be understood, that it is out of maturity and self-awareness that I stay silent. I know that my words can cut deep and leave marks that no apology can erase. It is out of kindness and necessary restraint that I use silence. I go to bed angry so that I can wake up clear headed and ready to communicate fairly without wavering topic or reaching back in time beyond reasonable limits. But now I know the sooner we meet the sooner we can talk, heal, learn, and grow with one another. The onus to break the silence is on me; the one whom initially cut off communication.
Ah, the apology without actually saying I’m sorry. Because it’s not really an apology, it’s a declaration of not being mad anymore. It doesn’t even mean that I am ready to talk about ‘it.’ Only willing to start from here.
silent treatment
I do this by pulling two wine glasses out of the cupboard and leaving them out with a bottle of Cabernet. I am not presumptuous enough to pour, for it is very likely that my husband is angry with me and not ready to sit and chat. So, it is up to him to fill the glasses and join me in a conversation. Then we can make up.
A wise man once said that a marriage needs only a table and a bed.
Where do you eat? Sleep? Revisit the table and bed to help restore your relationship.
marriage tools
Communication is key!
This we know. But how and when can we sit and talk?
Consider courting. Most new couples relish going for dinner. We have conditioned ourselves to have our most intimate conversations while dining or entangled in bed. Sharing meals and pillow talk are essential to a successful relationship. When one or both are not being met, it is usually a true indication of trouble.
It was during a wedding ceremony that I experienced this enlightenment. My husband was an usher, and I sat alone in the pew listening to the minister. He began by gently poking fun at the young couple’s blissful obliviousness to their future struggles. This, of course, earned a chuckle or two from the more mature members of the congregation. In fact, I remember my husband finding my eyes to share a knowing glance.
At the time, we were secretly seeing a marriage counselor. So, we were no strangers to the struggles of which the minister spoke. Somehow, we managed to squeeze a few kid-free hours out of our already hectic weeks to see a therapist. After a month and a half of faithful sessions, many tried exercises, and countless dollars, the one thing we could agree on was that the therapy was not working. Yet, fifteen minutes into a wedding, I learned all I needed to know to recognize the markers of a troubled relationship. Who knew that advice came at the cost of a pedicure and an appliance from the bride and groom’s registry? Little did the new couple know they had given us a greater gift.
Table – share a meal
I do not cook, and my second-hand table has been aching to be refurbished for years.
That aside, ever since I realized the importance of the table, I’ve considered it our meeting place as a family and as a couple. It is there that we share meals, talk about our day, play cards, drink wine, and pour over the weekly fliers.
At times, it is with great effort that we fight the urge to flop in front of the television with our plates on our laps. This we used to do all too often. Now, I understand that our meals are sacred. When we know beforehand that we will not be home for dinner, we try to outdo ourselves with brunch. And on those ‘eat in a hurry’ nights, my husband and I try to remain at the table and continue to connect while the kids rush to get ready for whatever extracurricular they have. This is just a simple concept made more difficult with the hustle and bustle of everyday life. But it is important to find the time, and worth it in the long run.
Table and bed – not TV
I seriously considered that minister’s words, and they all rang true. I do not regret divorcing my first husband, but I often reflect on how regularly we ate in front of the television and slept in separate beds. For the most part, we got along just fine. This happened because we had nothing to talk about. Perhaps, if I had understood the importance of the table and bed to communication – the cornerstone of any relationship – we never would have married.
Now, my greatest fault is that I am guilty of the silent treatment. When I am giving my husband the cold shoulder, everything breaks down. The first thing to go is sitting at the same table, which further fractures our connection. Then, one of us resigns to the couch or the spare bedroom, which physically severs our ability to communicate. By not sitting at the table or sharing a bed, we have annihilated any chance of coming together. Eventually, one of us will prepare dinner and purposefully set the table. When we meet there, we know not to discuss the tender issue at the crux of our argument. To sit at the table is a silent agreement to push past for the sake of a meal. There will be time enough to rehash the conflict once the dishwasher is on and the kids are in bed. Or not. Some arguments can pass without convincing the other person that you are right.
Pillow talk, however, needs no explanation. It is inherently intimate, and not only because of its simplistic correlation to sex. We are at our most vulnerable when in bed. It is where we sleep, retreat to when we are unwell, make love, lounge naked, or wear pajamas not suitable for public display. Nowhere else are you as truly yourself than in bed. There, couples share everything and bear it all. Meet there.
Let it be said, a marriage needs only a table and bed.
Still not convinced? Then, consider the most popular advice given to couples undergoing a rough patch. The two of you need a weekend getaway, or a vacation, a night out. This implies going out for dinner and getting a hotel room. Strip it down…
reconnect by sharing a meal and engaging in pillow talk.
First, make it happen. Be present. Turn off the television.
Even at the tender age of eleven, I could not climb the stairs from the basement to tell my parents what had happened. What is more upsetting is that I am uncertain to why. I may have been afraid of not being believed, although it is more likely that I feared being blamed. Instead of saying anything, I slipped soundlessly into a chair at the kitchen table to sit next to the middle brother, Wes. The only one in that house whom I trusted.
“Johnny tried to kiss you, didn’t he?”
Johnny was Wes’ older brother, and this omission was in the form of a question. This startled me, but I could only nod. Wes was doing his homework and I sat stunned, scared and unmoving. Until, of course, his dad came in. This wiry man was my mother’s best friend’s husband and he shooed me away to the basement again.
“Wes doesn’t need any distractions during his studies.” His father had said.
The meager smile the boy gave me was meant as an apology. Wes knew what the basement would hold for me and didn’t tell.
Victim Blaming
Slowly, I descended the stairs in my fuzzy pink pajamas with purple feet and mitten-shaped pockets. There, Johnny was with his littlest brother, setting up a board game. The safest place seemed to be on the floor at the opposite end of the coffee table. So, I masked my reluctance and joined. How could I have known that from beneath the table his leg crossed the distance? Every time he tried cramming his foot into my crotch, I smacked it away. On the third try, he sent his little brother upstairs.
“Don’t go” I plead but the words were stuck in my throat, the frights to big for two syllables. I scrambled to my feet in hope to make room for them to free from tongue.
Before I knew what was happening, he had me pinned down on the couch, and I still remember his crushing weight. In my panicked frenzy, I somehow managed to get away. Straight up two flights of stairs, I ran clutching the waist of my pajama bottoms. I hid under the covers of where I would be sleeping that night; except; I didn’t sleep. I sobbed quietly, gripped by the fear that Johnny would try again. Luckily, he did not.
Memory is a funny thing.
Somehow, for a while, I was able to get past
Victim Blaming
that night at my parent’s friend’s house. There were a few years of blissful forgetfulness and denial. Until one day that memory came crashing back fully loaded with the fear of an eleven-year-old child.
Never Buried Forever
In grade ten drama class, we were to perform self-written monologues. One of these performances was of an intimate account of a sexual assault from the point of view of the victim as if he were talking to his counsellor. Everything he said bore into a wound I hadn’t known was there. The memory of my attack resurfaced, and it distorted all that I knew and tainted every relationship I had. Resentment chewed away at me and left a predominate chip.
Mercifully, I never saw Johnny again. But even now, thirty years later, on those rare occasions his name is mentioned in casual conversation, I stiffen and my stomach twists. That night will play over in my head, and the agonizing self-deprecation begins.
I should have recognized the danger in the way he looked at me.
I should have declined the can of pop he offered me.
I should have kept my distance and not stood next to him when we were picking out a movie.
I should not have changed into my pyjamas.
I should have…
I should have…
I should have…
I should have told someone.
No one blames the victim more than the victim blames themselves.
This needs to change! Why did I feel the need the justify how old I was or what I was wearing? Would I have been lesser of a victim if I had been eighteen, full-figured and scantily dressed? The answer is NO! The end of victim blaming starts with victims and potential victims. Why didn’t I tell?
A victim is … a victim is… A VICTIM.
Johnny was fourteen when he attacked me. I worry that I may have encouraged his warped approach to women and sex by not telling. I may have been able to stop him. The truth is, I really don’t know. I bolted and did everything in my power to ignore and avoid him. There is no way of knowing how many girls and women he has victimized over the years. This thought haunts me.
Now I have a daughter of my own, and I struggle with how to protect her without having to tell her of the many threats that may surround her. I want her to be aware without being jaded. I want her to be safe without losing her innocence or free spirit. More importantly, I want her to always talk to me.
Victim blaming must end
I resent having to raise my daughter to be cautious of predators. Programming women to scrutinize their own actions as a way of preventing someone from wronging them is fundamentally backward and socially corrupt. The blame falls solely on the offender.
Terror robbed me of breath with nowhere to run, while on the subway.
It had only been moments earlier that I had was engrossed in a game on my phone and only mildly aware of the other passengers that had stepped on and off the surrounding subway. There are so many stops along my route that I just get used to the movement of the train. But on this Saturday afternoon, I happened to glance up and instantly began to shake. He was in full camouflage garb, and under his raised hood was a black mask. All of his features were indecipherable.
masked man in camouflage on the subway
But it was not just what he was wearing. His stance and behaviour caused me alarm. Although he was not a particularly big man, he stood with his back against one door while admiring himself in the reflection of the adjacent doorway. He shifted from one foot to the other, gyrating while tugging at the wrists of his black gloves. Every so often he would slip a hand into his jacket and begin the ritual all over. There is no other way to describe his behaviour other than that he appeared to be preparing to do something. He was amped up.
I froze, not knowing what to do. I slowly took in my surroundings and realized no one else noticed him, and I considered that I was gripped by paranoia. Then, I looked at the map above the door nearest me to assess how long until the next stop. We were halfway between the two stations that were the farthest apart. My ears began to burn and my eyes began to sting; all signs that I was not okay. This is my visceral response to the fear, helplessness, and doubt this stranger had provoked just by standing twenty feet from me. The train was slowing. We were nowhere near the next stations and my heart began to thunder in my chest.
choose vigilance
The thought that perhaps security had spotted this man on their cameras and had suspended the train as a way to organize a plan at the next platform not only calmed me a little, it twisted my fear into vigilance. It was still possible that I was being paranoid. Then, once the train made its complete, irregular stop, the man turned and started walking towards me. I had considered taking a video, but my shaking hands and his proximity botched that idea. What I saw next changed everything.
The panic and fear that prickled at my spine had been replaced with a burn. There was no camouflage on the back of his jacket. Except for his sleeves, it was all beige. Markings that I
W or guns?
could not identify with my limited knowledge of anything middle eastern were scrawled in black across his shoulders. What I was seeing appeared to be Islamic lettering with two symbols that resembled hands either using the thumb and fourth finger to make a broken ‘W’ or guns. Regardless of what it was, it terrified me.
He stopped at another doorway to watch himself rock back and forth while pulling at the cuffs of his gloves and touching inside his jacket. This time he threw tight little air punches. It was as if he were antagonizing us; begging for everyone to notice and daring someone to say or do something.
Where the hell were the drunken sports fans who often take this very train? Three burly guys with the bravado that came with being in an excited, energized group were exactly what we needed right then. No luck. Most of us were single passengers or paired up in couples or young shoppers. Some had noticed our troublemaker and were slowly processing what he was and what could be going on and decided to ignore it. The train jolted forward again and the man bolted back to his original spot two doors ahead of me. At this point, not only was I watching him, I was trying to figure out if he was alone and if anyone else around me was on alert. A few puzzled expressions looked his way but seemed disinterested. The voice came over the speaker system announcing the next stop and he turned and stalked by me before returning to his secondary position
fear on the subway
again. As the train turned slightly to the right, I lost sight of him and purposefully moved to the other side of my car. We turned again, this time to the left and I returned to my seat, all the while never taking my eyes off the man. Finally, my actions and, I can only assume, intense staring caught the attention of other passengers, who took notice of the man in full combat gear and mask taunting his own reflection.
The gentleman nearest me looked my way and said shakily, “Is that..?”
“Fucking suspicious?! Hell yes.”
I said without looking at him because at the same time the man started toward the front of the train. I got up and bolted towards him, refusing to let him out of my sight. As people stood for their nearing stop, he was more difficult to track. The train slowed, and l maneuvered my way through the crowd. When I caught him in my sights again, he was right at the very end of the train. He was nearing the conductor’s booth. I did not know what to do. The train stopped, and the man turned and stood strangely close to the last set of doors. When they opened, he swayed back and forth, as if playing with the decision to get off. I stepped onto the platform but was prepared to jump back on. The doors closed, and the man stayed on board. The subway began to move and accelerate past me. I ran to the stairway while looking for a train number. In doing so I looked right into the frightened face of the gentleman who had been sitting near me. I will never forget that face and expression of fearful confusion.
fear on public transit
Now, what do I do? Do I get on the next train? Was this worth being late for work? If I am over reacting and being paranoid, how do I explain that? How can I get on the next train with my suspicions? What if I am right? What good will I be to anyone if something happens? I will just be stuck on the next train, stuck underground. With that, I ran up the stairs and found the first uniform I could. It turned out to be a bus driver to whom I reported what I saw.
The sound of my own voice trembling was enough to convince myself that the threat was real. Even if it was not a terrorist attack in the making, what kind of ass-hole gets on a train to provoke terror? I was afraid for myself, for my children and for every single person on that train. I was angry at the way he made me feel in my own community and how defenseless I felt. I think that I am tough but doubted that I was tough enough to take him down. But what if I were wrong? That was the question that stirred the most inner commotion.
The bus driver did not waste any time. He ran to the subway booth operator, and after they exchanged words, both sprinted in opposite directions. I stood there all alone, not knowing what to do.
Finally, I reasoned that I had done all that I could and climbed into a cab once I reached street level. Traffic was terrible, and the cab driver looked at me strangely when I asked him to avoid routes that followed the subway. In all fairness, after everything, what sense did it make for me to remain in proximity of that train? It was a few minutes after my start time once I reached work. At first, my colleagues laughed at me for allowing my imagination to get the better of me. But after a few minutes of discussion, they all agreed that there is something just not right about wearing a mask and behaving so strangely on public transit. The agreement being; no organized terrorist group would be that obvious. I agreed but a wannabe terrorist could be just as dangerous. What if he was looking to be recruited, and this was his act of loyalty? What if he were just a punk trying to get a reaction? Well, he succeeded. I was afraid, and then I was angry. Hell, I am still angry. The general agreement was that no one would have blamed a soccer mom for getting up and kneeing a punk on the train who was clearly an idiot and potentially dangerous.
I spent the next few hours waiting for something on the news and was grateful that there wasn’t anything. Then, I spent the next two weeks scouring the internet looking for the lettering I saw and a general image of what he looked like. Two weeks later, there was another attack, this time in Brussels. My experience was terrifying and so insignificant in comparison to what all of those people felt and continue to feel. The images of people fleeing and victims struck down are devastating and heart wrenching. I refuse to let my fear outweigh my anger, but I will continue to be pissed off and vigilant.
And as soon as I can find an image that best depicts what I saw, what he was wearing and what was on the back of his jacket, I will post it. This person could very have well been a woman, so pardon the constant use of ‘he’.
Do you suffer from Thirty Something Someday Syndrome
Thirty is the new twenty! Who has not heard this, especially if the Big 3-0 is on the horizon or if you careened by it in the last fifteen years? Either way, this growing delusional trend allows us to prolong maturing, postpone responsibility, and provides us with an excuse to remain noncommittal about life decisions.
It is a welcome suspension of time and a 30-pound load of crap!’
When I first started dating my now husband, I asked him, “When do you see yourself as a dad?” At the ripe age of 33, his answer was, “Maybe in 3 to 5 years.” Easy for him to say, but that is another blog.
So, I let it go. A few years later, I managed to obtain a rock-solid commitment in the form of a diamond but not a date. Then, I waited and asked again. “When do you see yourself being a father?” What was his answer? Brace yourself. “Oh, I don’t know. In 3 to 5 years.”
I reminded him that he had given me that same answer 3 years ago. Did that mean he meant within the next 24 months? Or did the last 36 months not count? It’s not that I was in a hurry to have a baby. I was growing increasingly frustrated with…
“the wide spread aloofness among today’s young adults.”
Sadly, this is a group to which I was a member. This new relaxed attitude — that time no longer matters — irked the planner within me. It is what I started referring to as
…Thirty Something Someday Syndrome.
It is a right to put off big decisions and continue floundering around like an experienced teenager indefinitely. And to some extent, there are a lot of benefits.
Don’t rush to get out of school; once you start working, you will be working the rest of your life, and you are less likely to return to class if you take a break.
Hold off on marrying your high school sweetheart. If you are meant to be, then you will still be together in 5 years. If not, you won’t have to be the ugly half of that divorce statistic and save yourself a boatload of legal fees and heartache.
Travel before settling down. You don’t need money to see the world; you need youth and imagination.
These cautionary words that encourage the delay of life-altering choices are sound and make sense… for people under thirty.
To those over thirty, who have used this advice as…
a crutch to dodge having to make big decisions and put off growing up”
…that need to listen up.
Now, I have yet to figure out how one develops a case of Thirty-Something Someday Syndrome. It could be based solely on an acute juvenile immaturity that lingers like a drunken buzz from your twenties. It could also be a genuine unawareness of age-based expectations. If the latter is true, then maybe it was instilled within
us by our parents, who perhaps felt rushed to become adults by being thrown into careers, marriage, or parenting in their early twenties. Unfortunately, by not setting some age-related goals, ideals, and responsibility they have (in some cases) stunted the growth of their own children. The fact that the number of thirty-something children still living in their parent’s basement is on the increase kind of proves this point.
Gone are the days that one is expected to get married right out of high school. The term ‘cougar’ has replaced ‘spinster’, and a new mom at forty is more common than one at twenty-two. This is progress. Approaching forty without having to make one major decision in your life is not cutting-edge independence. You are simply dragging your feet.
Do you suffer from Thirty-Something Someday Syndrome?
If so, time to move out, put a ring on it, or start shopping for strollers. Do whatever it is that you are afraid of doing, and maybe, you might just become a real-life adult. Seize the day! Or, before you know it, you will be closer to fifty than thirty, and life will have passed you by.
Ladies, your body will deceive you. If pornography happens to offend, or even repulse you, the bitter truth is that your body will react to it involuntarily. This is within moderation, of course. If something is violent or disgusting, your ethical and moral compass will reject it, but if it is just bodies on bodies doing what natural human bodies were meant to do, you will become visually stimulated and physically aroused. Like it or not. We are, after-all, animals, and there is no greater reminder of this than the act of sex. The point is, you may be surprised by your body’s response to specific stimuli, to which you have no control over.
If you happen to be someone who is uncomfortable watching porn but still considers yourself a sexual being who is looking to spice up your intimacy without having to go all ‘Fifty Shades of Grey,’ you have come to the right place. There are ways to use your own senses to tap into your true erotic self. Sight is just one of the five senses. Many of the others are often overlooked, but are just as effective by means of seduction, stimulation, and reaching full sensory ecstasy.
Some senses have a duality. There is the act of giving and receiving. This is an important point to keep in mind. Sound for instance, not only is it erotic to hear the sounds of pleasure coming from your partner but it can be just as arousing making the noises and hearing yourself. Have you ever set out to fake an orgasm because you were too tired or too preoccupied to become too invested and then unexpectedly had one? My guess is that in your efforts to convince your partner of your participation and help them along, you inadvertently turned yourself on. What if you set out to do just that from the beginning?
Moms in particular, regardless if you are working or a domestic GM, tend to suppress their pleasure potential by measuring or silencing the sounds of passion for fear of little ears listening. This I understand and sympathize with. With the kids down the hall or just on the other side of the wall, not only do you try to be quiet, you have your hearing is on high alert for any sound beyond the bedroom door. This intense distraction is the primary obstacle in the way of your much needed, much deserved full body release. I urge you to find a way, place, or time to let yourself explore sound. You may not need to be loud, but you need the freedom to determine what volume is key to awaken your inner sex goddess. And we are talking about a few minutes. Again, you don’t need a partner. Have ‘them’ take the kids to the park or to gramma’s house. It is important that you reserve this time for yourself on a regular basis. And if you still cannot quiet the stream of thoughts when you are alone, this is where I would suggest a vice. I prefer cannabis, for a multitude of reasons and have an entire episode dedicated to this explanation.
On planned moments of romance, we often consider having something playing in the background. We put on our favorite collection of love songs or call upon the sounds of the babbling brook to engage our sense of sound as part of the ritual of seduction.
There is far more to sound than background noise when it comes to sex. Noises that we often try to mute or mask for fear that others will hear. Sex is noisy. It is physically exerting and should have the natural soundtrack to match the level of play and effort. And I am not just referring to heavy breathing.
Sounds of sex are natural. Don’t suppress sighs of pleasure, groans of wanting, or moans of exhilaration. Instead, let go and allow your hot panting to escalate into speaking your secret desires
Sounds Good
Self-seduce with sound
How to sound dirty or talk dirty without feeling dirty.
Talking or sounding dirty does not have to be crude or graphic. It is quite simply the combination of words and their timing. Just saying things that are swirling in your mind could bring your pleasure to a whole new level. Your body will react.
sound dirty
The thrill of saying things never before dared on your tongue, hearing the delicious sounds pass your lips and the response you will surely get from your partner, is too exhilarating not to try.
For the hesitant, blushing first-timers, I suggest you begin when your lips are close to your partner’s ear. That way, they can be whispered. If this is completely out of character for you, what you say does not have to sound as though you are suffering from Trouette’s sydrome. You could just moan. I kid you not. Making pleasurable sounds, just loud enough for you and your partner to hear, while cuddling and caressing will heighten arousal.
Many women will admit that…
…the act of faking an orgasm has itself triggered climax.
Why do you think that is? Because…
erotic sounds, especially your own erotic sounds, are stimulating.
Your body reacts to your own sounds and your partner’s response, whether audible or physical. When your body responds, it seeks pleasure. You will thrive and rock with a willingness to explore and be explored.
As the passion intensifies, so can your sounds. Describe what you like. Not in novel form, just a statement here and there. If the idea of speaking body parts makes you recoil, then don’t say them. Refer to them by ‘you’re’ and ‘I’m.’ Stick to adjectives. ‘You are so hard and smooth.’ See, you could be describing his back or arms. “Your touch drives me crazy.” Or, “I’m so hot for you.”
Sounds of Sex
These words should not be forced; just close your eyes and breathe them.
It is that simple. Nothing I have suggested is too risky.
It took me a long time to say extremely dirty things. The first time I did, my husband reacted so viscerally that I sent him over the edge before I had even warmed up. This only led to a very welcome ‘twice in one night’.
Good luck. Have fun and happy Valentine’s Day.
If what I have recommended is still outside of your comfort zone, consider reading erotica. To yourself is fine, and it may inspire your imagination to grab hold of things you are comfortable saying. But reading it aloud, to or with your partner, brings seduction to a whole new level.
I have an example of erotica tucked away on my website. Find it print out. It is one of our favorites. The pages are in an envelope marked Taxes in my husband’s night stand. Often, he reads it to me. Rarely do we make it all the way through before, well, you know. Or you will soon enough.
Ok, warning, it is cut to hard core. There is no pre amble it starts immediately. This is what I consider full blown smut. It is an example of how words, especially when said aloud, or heard can be arousing. Please do so in the privacy of your own home, alone or in the company of a willing partner.
Have fun.
That concludes ‘Sounds ,’ from the Sex, Drugs, & Working Moms series. Thanks for listening. I’m MLE. Stay tuned next week as I continue self-seduction using your senses. In the meantime, be sure to get yours.
What is pleasing to the touch may not be pleasing to the eye.
walking hanger
If you have allowed the image of the typical runway model to cloud your idea of beauty, I would like to remind you that they model clothing. They are essentially walking coat hangers.
Think about it. Most men love to touch, caress and sometimes squish together breasts. It does not matter if they are large or small, all breasts are soft, round and fleshy. This pleasurable sensation of touch is not limited to what fills the cups of a bra, it goes for all deliciously doughy parts; the derrière, hips, upper thighs, and stomach.
Touch your curves
Where do your fingers linger most?…
…when curled up in a comfortable embrace with your partner?
I’ll bet your fingers linger somewhere soft. Again, what is pleasing to the touch may not necessarily be pleasing to the eye. We can thank Cosmopolitan for that, but that is another blog all together.
I find myself threading my fingers through the soft patch of curls at the base of my husband’s back. Yep, he has a hairy back.
My fingers love it, my eyes – not so much.
You can use your own touch to seduce yourself.
Here’s how. If you harbour any insecurities regarding your body, they need to fall away. You are sexy, sensual and desirable. I can prove it.
Soft and Smooth
Before a night of romance, like Valentine’s day, shower or bathe by candle light. Do all the things that make you feel softest, feminine and beautiful. Lather, shave, moisturise, do your make up, hair or don’t do anything. This is about you and your seduction.
Touch
Then, slip on the prettiest panties set or negligee you own. While in the warm, candle lit bathroom consider how the fabric feels against your naked skin. Touch your freshly washed flesh. Feel what your partner will feel. Close your eyes if need be and fully tap into the sensation of touching and being touched. This sense is so important and your body will respond just take your time and linger.
Feel your loose hair at your neck. The curve of your shoulder. The shape of your arm. The lines of your lingerie. Outline your face with the side of your finger. Draw your thumb feather like over your mouth. Touch your fingers to your tongue.
It won’t take long before you feel like the most sensual woman alive.
Then, join your partner and prove it to yourself.
If you were tense waiting for me to suggest that you masturbate, than you need to relax and reread the last few paragraphs. Asking you to try and be something your not is called role-playing and doesn’t work for the less adventurous. On the other hand, if you are into that, by all means touch and play until your hearts content. In fact some shower heads work wonders.
It is a powerful sense that can trigger nostalgia or even déjà vu. I once told that if I wore a certain perfume on a romantic getaway or my honeymoon, then I could return to that memory easily later just by wearing that scent. I tried this. It worked, but I have since realized that specific smells are more difficult to place than generic ones. The cotton vanilla fragrance I put on while in Punta Cana five years ago doesn’t have nearly the effect that my suntan lotion has.
Last winter, I ran was out of body moisturiser and applied the aftersun lotion I use in the summer. Instantly, I was taken back to a time of sun and heat. On another occasion, I changed my shampoo. I had not realized that it was the brand I used when my husband and I first dated until he buried his nose in my hair and gave me ‘that look.’
Do not underestimate the power of scent.
Use it to your benefit.
While getting ready for a romantic evening, perhaps dab on that perfume at the back of the shelf collecting dust. Or ditch the perfume and rub on baby oil or suntan lotion. Close your eyes and breathe in its scent. Where does your mind take you? A place? A time? If you are reminded of fun, youth and freedom, you have found your scent for the night. Don’t overdo it by putting on too much or by applying it too often. It will lose its effect.
Whenever I smell aerosol hairspray, I am reminded of my early twenties and going out dancing. I feel like an episode of Sex and the City and I am instantly in the mood for a little fun. My husband is more than happy to hitch a ride on that little buzz of nostalgia.
Self-seduce with scent
While getting ready for a romantic evening, perhaps dab on that perfume at the back of the shelf collecting dust. Or ditch the perfume and rub on baby oil or suntan lotion. Close your eyes and breathe in its scent. Where does your mind take you? A place? A time? If you are reminded of fun, youth, and freedom, you have found your scent for the night. Don’t overdo it by putting on too much or by applying it too often. It will lose its effect.
Whenever I smell aerosol hairspray, I am reminded of my early twenties and going out dancing. I feel like an episode of Sex and the City and I am instantly in the mood for a little fun. My husband is more than happy to hitch a ride on that little buzz of nostalgia.
What I am saying is that smell is the unassuming sense that is easily forgotten until someone is cooking fish. Then see how quickly it is able to cripple a romantic mood. If used correctly, you can enhance your own arousal by tapping into past romantic moments to create new ones.
What did your first apartment smell like? Did you use pot-pourri, incense or candles? Did you use to wear baby oil, body spray or fruit-scented shampoo? It is that simple.
There are smells that turn you on. Find them.
Consider the most erotic time of your life. When you feel sexy, sensual and aroused. What did it smell like?
Beware of this power. Unpleasant odours can just as easily have an adverse effect.
Many nights I do respect his slumber and my need for efficiency and go it alone. I still rely on my sense of smell to heighten the experience. That same perfume, lotion, or candle works for my party of one and sometimes it is my hubby’s shirt on the top of the hamper. Ladies, do not be afraid of taking a scarf or handkerchief into the department store to spritz in with your favorite cologne or fragrance. I bet that old flame that served well carnally smelled great. There is no need to put that scent to waste, tap into it without the drama or commitment. Get lost in the power of scent to heighten your pleasure and reach the ultimate climax. Organs are best when they engage all your senses.
A soft tongue hides behind luscious lips and slick pearly whites. Our mouths are essential to the art of seduction and lovemaking. Kisses, after-all are at the heart of all human affection.
Beyond the physical.
There are two types of taste.
Self-seduce with taste
The first is the most recognized. It is why cooking can also be an art of seduction. Having exquisite flavours burst in your mouth is one of life’s most enjoyable sensations. Food itself can be an aphrodisiac.
I want to focus on the second type; the subconsciousness of taste. Just as scent has the power to trigger nostalgia,
taste has the little-known power to alter mood.
Tastes fun
I associate peanut butter with my childhood. As an adult, I very rarely eat it. However, when I find myself surly or sullen, I will scoop a spoonful right out of the jar into my mouth. To me, I no longer savour the thick buttery flavour but, within a half-hour, my mood is lighter. I barely notice the transformation; unlike scent, it is not instantaneous. It is more like taking an aspirin for a headache. After a few minutes, I notice that I feel better. It is as if my mind associates the taste of peanut butter with a calmer, less worrisome time and reverts to them.
Taste Nostalgia
This phenomenon can help set the tone for romance, too. Do pina coladas taste like paradise, barbecue taste like summer or hot cider taste like Christmas? It doesn’t have to be your favourite flavour; it just needs to be a taste you associate with a pleasurable mood. Chicken noodle soup may comfort you, and mint chocolate chip ice cream may leave you jubilant.
Not convinced? Consider tequila. If even the thought of this murky liquid causes your stomach to roil, that is because you probably had a drunken tequila night that ended badly. The brain remembers and has since rejected the taste of (and possibly the sound of the word) tequila. On the other hand, if you are grinning with the thought of licking, shooting, and sucking…well, then cheers. But I would bet you know someone who would groan or gag at the same thought.
Still not convinced? One word.
Chocolate.
Self-Seduce with taste
This heavenly creamy flavour has so many benefits and, for the purpose of this article, it is commonly associated with childhood, holidays and love. No wonder women (and men) crave it and indulge in it because it holds the power to alter your mood. Better than any drug.
Please practice moderation in the consumption of any mood-altering substance.
Tastes like childhood
Before a night of romance, especially if the weather has taken its toll, put your subconscious taste buds to the test. Even if your plans include an evening of strawberries, wine, lobster and stuffed chicken; consider sneaking in an abstract appetizer or cocktail. It could boost your mood and widen the gates to the path of romance, seduction, and passion.
This is an example of simple mind over matter. Allow your sense of taste to alter your mood to one of arousal.
I stash a tub of gummy bears in the car and a six-pack of Corona in the fridge just in case we happen upon a night with the unexpected promise of romance. I trust in the flavours to nudge my mood to ensure my ultimate pleasure.
I would like to shatter the manufactured shame associated with women’s natural curiosity to visually explore sex. If we were not socially conditioned to oppress our desires, then pornography and exotic dance clubs would not be so terribly unbalanced. Clearly, we are starved for it, hence the outrageous popularity of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey‘. Even then, we were resorted to reading; limiting our visual stimulation to the confines of our mind and imagination.
Why should we be embarrassed to look?
Men, do it all the time? Yes, it is juvenile and primal, but if anything should allow us to tap into our youthful, savage selves it should be sex. The innocence to parade naked and experiment with our bodies is not only natural it is a tonne of fun when done freely and safely. These dated starchy attitudes and social dichotomies regarding sex are not likely to fall away anytime soon. I will tell you, that even if you dare to deny it, women are visual beings. We have just conditioned ourselves not to be, however.
Peeking behind the curtain is forbidden.
Seeing what you normally cannot is insanely erotic, sensual and delicious.
The easy answer is to watch pornography. Not degrading, violent, ‘put it in my face’ porn, but soft porn that focuses on the beauty of joining bodies. Because this form or art is not easily found and time is of the essence, I would like to suggest a mirror. Not the plastered to the ceiling reflective glass, put in cheap hotels with mostly the male perspective in mind, but your ‘somewhere in your home’ mirror.
Sight mirror
It needs to be at least picture size if not, of full length. Place the mirror near the bed or prop it against the couch if you intend to be on the floor. Open the drawers of your dresser to create a ledge at the perfect height. If you have two mirrors, even better.
Light candles. You will need some illumination to see and…
everything looks better by candle light.
Make certain that from your vantage point, you will get a clear view.
sight blindfold
Are your cheeks red with the mere thought of this? Is that because the idea of your partner bearing witness to you watching makes you uncomfortable and insecure? Then blindfold them. They won’t mind. In fact, you may just be fulfilling one of their secret fantasies. This will also give them the opportunity to really focus on their other senses. Encourage them to fully appreciate sound, touch, and scent.
sight ; hide your eye
Then, allow yourself to watch and really see. You just might capture mental snapshots that you can rely on in the future to heighten arousal, seduction, and release.
Need some inspiration or courage? Find it in the second part of The Round on my website. A steamy bit of erotica where Scarlet and Joel pick up right where they left off: standing in front of a mirrored pillar in the empty nightclub after hours. Part one was an exercise for sounding good while being bad. The second part focuses on the visuals and helps guide you to what you may not dare to see. The key is ‘sight’.
Watching is not limited to needing a partner. I encourage women to seduce themselves in front of a mirror. Find a comfortable private place, use candle light, maybe even scented candles, play music, and put volume to your natural sounds of pleasure. Your mission is to engage all of your senses as you watch yourself touch, be touched, and explore. Don’t hold back. Breath, moan, include your mouth by biting your lips working your tongue. Fall in love with your body and the simple pleasure it provides for you by you. Celebrate your singular seduction and ecstasy.
Insights on life's little screts according to MLE Wright
I have a double bladed tongue that mercilessly jabs back in quick concessions when provoked. Depending on how long I have been holding my tongue and how deep my teeth have had to sink in determines how relevant, ancient, and fair the blows are once I have unleashed my thoughts through words. It isn’t pretty and contrary to the belief of those in the path of my wrath, I am not proud of myself nor do I gain any satisfaction in winning an argument in this way. Once the dust settles, there is no way around it, I have said hurtful things to someone I love and care about. It does not matter if what I have said is true. The manner in which I have expressed these thoughts is inexcusable and unnecessary. What is said can never be taken back and is not easily forgiven.
