Your Sexy Self

Sexy Cape

Posted by on Nov 8, 2015

I’ve written about the sexiness of Feng Shui before. It’s a concept that merits revisiting because clutter breeds like bunnies and stifles the sensual flow of your life.  It must be eradicated! I took on my closet last week determined to clear out summer clothes, move in the winter ones and purge.  Crammed in the back between a seldom worn fleece jacket (now in the castaway pile) and a sleeping bag (they have to be hung) I found one of the sexiest things I own. My wedding cape. It was the perfect accessory for a September bride dressed in a floor length lingerie dress riding side saddle on a horse.  It came in handy when I dressed as Sacagawea for a Halloween party. I wrapped it around me for courage during my first erotic photo shoot. But living as I do at 9,000 feet in a ranching community where dressing up means wearing your boots without manure on them, I don’t have many occasions to wear it. But a beautiful sensual thing such as this should be worn. So I pulled it out and draped it over my meditation cushion. My meditation practice just got sexier. Sexy Prompt: What fabulous thing that you own is tucked away waiting for a special occasion?  Pull it out.  Wear it.  Tell me about it in the comments....

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Sexy Switch

Posted by on Sep 11, 2015

What turns you on?  What turns you off? No doubt, these are great sexy questions to ponder. I recently watched a TED talk by sex therapist and bestselling author Esther Perel about the complexities of sustaining passion in long term relationships.  It’s packed with great information but what jumped out at me was her twist on the above questions.  Instead, Perel asks: How do you turn yourself on?  How do you turn yourself off? Brava Esther! Way to encourage us to find our sexy switch and reclaim responsibility for our sensual selves. Of course I started making a list as soon as the video ended and I encourage you to do the same.  It’s been enlightening and empowering as hell. This blog aims to blow the lid off the definition of sexy. So I invite you to expand your thinking beyond a purely sexual context.  How do you turn yourself on to life? Because that energy is ultimately sexy. I’ll share a few things from my list to get you started: How I turn myself on: Doing yoga with the river shopping for lingerie; wearing that new lingerie while I’m making coffee in bed for me and my man; backcountry skiing; time alone at my cabin; writing erotica; studying craniosacral therapy; and dancing wildly to live music with my man. How I turn myself off: Over exercising, over working, over eating, over socializing. I find it fascinating that some of the ways that I turn myself on, if done in excess, have the effect of turning myself off.  Moderation has never been my forte. It feels like I’m putting a lid on my passionate fire but now I can see how my manic tendencies are actually the ones smothering my sensuality. What about you? How do you turn yourself on? How do you turn yourself off? I really want to know. Tell me in the comments. Sexy Links: Esther Perel’s...

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Sexy Lining

Posted by on Jun 24, 2015

I try to find the sexy lining in every cloud. But I am having a really hard time with this one: stomach cancer is raging like a deadly hurricane through my father’s body, reducing the robust 200- pound man of my childhood to a mere 130 pounds.  As soon as I arrive to my parent’s home in Michigan and see him convalescing in his Lazy boy chair, I notice how the weight reduction has made his smile that much bigger, despite the fact that he is being racked with hiccups that have been plaguing him for over a week, making it impossible for him and my mother to sleep at night. I drop to my knees and take his feet in my hands hoping that if ever my craniosacral training is going to help someone, it is now.  We end up transitioning him to the couch so I can get my hands around his diaphragm.   As I work, my gaze is drawn backwards towards the fireplace mantle.  There, partially hidden behind stacks of paperbacks, get well cards and photos is a statue of the Virgin Mary, standing like she had in every house we ever lived, her arms open and extended downward, small pink flowers decorating the inside of her robe. The pull is so powerful that I actually stop working on my father, walk over and get her. “She wanted to be closer,” I say in explanation as I set her on the table next to the couch. My father gives me a half smile and nods before he goes back to concentrating on the yogic breathing technique I just taught him.  I cradle his ribcage back between my hands, dust off my Hail Mary and silently chant it.  Eventually the hiccups stop and he drifts off to sleep. The next morning I am down the road at my sister’s treehouse of a home that is all windows and tucked into a forest of towering hardwoods.  Before she left to take her son to school, my 11- year-old nephew programed her I-pad to a pop music station that is blasting through their sound system.  As soon as they pull out of the driveway, I turn down the volume and try to crack the I-pad’s four digit security code to access some music more suited to my mood, the mood of a woman who must come to terms with the fact that her father is dying no matter how hard she wishes she could heal him. I try every numeral sequence that I think my sister would think of with no luck.  The only time I’ve subjected myself to pop music was when I was living in Oregon and I would wake up at 5:30 am and pedal through the winter rain to a Zumba class, the best antidepressant I could find for the Seasonal Affect Disorder that plagued me there. My hips remember the pop vibe and before I know it I am cranking the volume back up and dancing to that long ago choreography that had the ability to sweat my sadness right through my pores. There is nothing sexy about cancer, not one single thing but I find myself shaking my bootie and twerking with everything I’ve got. When I shimmy my breasts, I shake everything loose from my heart.  I am dripping with sweat and tears as I reach up to the trees. They grab my hand and spin me once, twice, three times and I am dizzy with the absurdity/necessity of dirty dancing at a time like this. The music stops.  So do I.  And in...

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Two Kinds of Ecstasy

Posted by on Oct 7, 2014

  I am suspended in hot water beneath a moonlit sky. The diameter of our cedar, wood- fired hot tub is such that I can rest the back of my neck on one side and my feet on the other, so only my breasts and pubis and are exposed to the October night air The waxing moon has already started it’s decent towards the mountains to the west and is perfectly framed between the branches of two bare aspen trees.  Golden leaves still cling to the trees beside the hot tub, their gentle percussive in the intermittent breeze sounds like a thousand delicate hands clapping, as If I’m being applauded for slipping out here at 2:30 a.m. I stoked the fire before bed, anticipating a sunrise soak so the water is too hot, making me crave the cool caress of the moon on every inch of my skin. I stand and take a bow like I’m standing on the center stage of my life…which I am… and celebrate the leaves right back, knowing they will be gone by week’s end until spring. I stand on one leg, press the foot of the other into my inner thigh, and lift my arms overhead for tree pose.  My skin contracts in one of those full-body orgasmic chills and I catch a glimpse of my moon shadow on the earth, my trunk blending in with all the aspens. I lie back in the hot water and hear a pack of coyotes going off to the north, sounding like the spirits of Ute warriors preparing for the hunt.  Orion hovers above me.  I lift my hand and trace the shiny stars of his belt and sword. This is one kind of ecstasy. My hunter will be home in three days from a month of field work in the Tetons. I will remove his belt, unsheathe his sword and experience another kind of ecstasy altogether. Sexy Prod: I’ve told you mine.  Your turn. Tell me about your kind of ecstasy in the comments.  ...

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Sexy Thrift

Posted by on Jul 11, 2014

I went shopping for some lingerie the other day. True, I have a drawerful (that probably needs some fung shui-ing again) but I wanted something different, something summery and sexy for a rendezvous with my man who has been off flirting with one of his favorite rivers for the past two weeks. Did I shop at Agent Provacateur? I wish. Victoria Secret? Uh no. I went here:   This wasn’t my first foray into thrifty lingerie. And it won’t be my last because I scored a coral-colored silk Victoria Secret gown for $2.50 (It was marked $4.99 but it was Half Off Saturday).  For that price I can spill red wine all over it or let my man rip it off of me but it’s so gorgeous (this picture doesn’t do it justice) that I don’t want to ruin it.  It screams Book Launch Seattle Erotic Arts Festival.   I know from experience that writing down what you want is a powerful manifestation tool.  I’m curious to see if having the perfect lingerie dress hanging in my closet will land me on a stage in Seattle reading excerpts from my published memoir. It certainly can’t hurt. Sexy Tip: Lingerie doesn’t need to be brand new and expensive to be sexy.  It just needs to be different.  Have a lingerie exchange party with your women friends.  Hit a thrift store.  Change it up.  But most importantly, WEAR IT… for your lover or for your own sexy self.  ...

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