A friend has created a business around supporting women in finding their sexy. Sexy Soul Matrix is her baby, but I got a special invite to her birthday party (friendship perks). In full accordance with who she is, it’s a 50 Shades of Gray themed party.
We won’t look at the level of kink that has caused so many fantasies to expand with each book sold. Really, not everyone is meant for that exploration, but it became a doorway for exploration that many imagined as exit only or access denied before E.L. James made it look seductive. We won’t have to pretend that Anastasia finds her voice in the ways Christian silences her. We won’t discuss how her love (independent of his purging and cleansing his mommy issues) could heal him. It won’t matter that not just any man could seduce her in the way he did with his stuff. Sexual, extravagant gifts that made his stalking her seem like authority rather than control. Realistically, his initial distance would push anyone away. I don’t know about you, but anyone pushing me away is going to make me question how much I want to keep trying. At least at first. Once my attention has been grabbed, I can be forgiving. His extravagant need to spoil her may have offended her in some ways, but she was still seduced by freedom of the life he provided. And yes, this was a saga I’ve read a few times. I’ll leave that thought right there. I get to notice it. You get to laugh.
The point is finding sexy. I was on the fence last night about going to this party. I’m committed. I’m a person of my word. My friend wants me to show up. I don’t have my boys. I get to show up. I get to decide she is valuable enough for me to show up with a younger crowd and bring my sexy. I admit I was having commitment issues, and in a move for accountability, I chose to go live on Facebook before I could chicken out. And if you check it out, yes, I’m still nervous going live and being in front of a camera, alone, parked in my car. So not cut out for acting.
As a young woman, sexy was about how much flesh I could show off. It was about being so hot I could make a muscle car look good. (Never mind the fact that they didn’t need my ass prints on them or that it probably had the same effect as putting a spoiler on a 1969 Chevy Nova- don’t and no.) It was about being so weatherproof, it could be cold enough for goosebumps, but it didn’t matter because my legs looked good naked, and my cleavage was something to be envied and the boobs needed to be the visible pillows of sensuality they were. (And then breastfeeding happened.) I expect to be at this party with people that see sexy the way I used to, because youth is amazing in that way, and I don’t have that youth thing anymore. I like my old.
In 2000 I was in a car accident. It wasn’t life threatening. I did something dumb. After a night of drinking, I was a passenger in my friend’s car, and we went to Tommy’s for a double cheeseburger, no onions, extra chili and nacho cheese Doritos, a little paper tray with little peppers and Hawaiian Punch because sugar was friendly then. (My only order since I was a kid.) We got in an accident leaving the parking lot. The airbag left abrasions all over my face, and I had a gnarly concussion that made bright light painful for a few weeks. I got out the car in my Pure Playaz black mini skirt, covered in Tommy’s Chili. It was embarrassing. At the time, I was working as a t.v. extra and getting work based on being cute. I was often referred to as “cute.” I was proud of my lifeguard swim suit competition on the X Show. I loved what I did for work until looking in the mirror was hard to do. I didn’t feel cute anymore. This happened just after I met my ex, and looks became a non-issue. We got along better when I wasn’t noticed by other people.
This year there was a shift. A man just a touch older than me and going through a divorce made it a point to introduce himself to me a few times. I was feeling pretty with a gold and black dress on and my hair done in romantic old Hollywood waves at our office party. He was a person that made it a point to talk to me, and he made me feel special that night. There was something that shifted in his attention. In the days and following weeks, I ran into him a few times and he constantly had me feel like I was a bowl of cherry chip ice cream on his cheat day. In January I started walking like I wanted to be seen because I loved the way it felt when he saw me. I started blogging here at the end of February and you could read all about him if you care to. He ended up being my first crush since I met the man I married. Perks of being a faithful wife include being able to fall in love like it’s the first time because it’s been so long and I forgot the good and bad and the WTF?
Fast forward to now and what does sexy mean?
For me, sexiness begins within. It’s not about an inner being of light and beauty that is radiantly sexual, although it can be. It’s not about the clothes I wear or how something might wear me, although it can be. It’s not about the happy parts of me, and it’s not about the dark parts, but a combination of it all because I am not a dissected rabbit. I’m a complete and whole being. Even though there are parts of me that are broken and healing, I am still a complete being, with broken bits held together by all that makes me who I am. I love me in my beauty and in my pain, and in the ugly that looks like rain. Even the rain brings new life each spring.
I don’t necessarily mean book smart. I mean a person that can take what they’ve learned or experienced, add it to new information and come up with a new direction or perspective. I mean a person I can have a conversation with and their words shift my beliefs enough to see something bigger than I imagined on my own. Intelligence is sexy, but I might be part zombie.
I could look sexy in a pair of jeans and bare feet. It’s about an attitude and determination to feel sensual, and embrace the side of me that is sexual. It’s in my walk. It’s in my smile. It means when I’m complimented by a man, I’m not shying away or deflecting what he sees. It also means I don’t need to be told I’m sexy. It means I know it, independent of what others might think or believe they have ownership of. It means I can see a sexy woman that I’m not attracted to, appreciate and compliment her beauty, and not feel threatened. Yeah, it’s my brand of normal.
In men, I’m starting with the body because . . . Um, yum? But it’s not enough. Ever. I just got a private call from someone I blocked after I decided beauty wasn’t enough. Don’t do this. It was awkward. I owned up to my immaturity and apologized for ghosting him, but that wasn’t going to change my mind. Yes, a man that loves his body as much as he expects me to is always a win. It’s still never enough. It doesn’t have to be about abs and pectorals. Glutes are great, and a man that doesn’t skip leg day . . . It’s not just that. I’m not picky about hair. I like man buns and hair that I can run fingers through, but I also have a thing for bald heads. I love salt and peppered hair and laugh lines. I love the dip on a lower back, and various other dips and curves on a man’s body. I love a mature man’s body. I love natural hair and I just don’t get manscaping but I can go with it. And I love the smell of a man’s body. But at the end of the day, it’s not enough.
I’m not a fan of being ignored. Not many can do it and get away with it. I’m amused every time though. If you aren’t sure you’re into me, I’m definitely better off answering that question for us.
Connection is major. If I can meet a man and our vibe seems to match, I will want to share my words. If he can read my blog and not freak out, then I want to know if he can handle the unhappy parts that come with me. If we can connect, and we both want to see more of each other . . . Getting him out of my blood might take a while. Yes, a great man can be an infection. At least he’ll leave a mark.
There’s something so sexy about an engaged father, spending time with his kids, or a man that’s great with kids in general. It’s an opportunity to watch leadership and gentleness. It can awaken a dormant libido. So freaking hot. Yeah, my dumb is showing on this one. ‘Nuff said.
So, what to wear to this party? It might be jeans and a t-shirt. It might be a corset, hooker heels and pleather hot shorts. It might be a matching bra and panty set, but that’s not really likely. It might be something small with a trench coat over it. I like that idea. Either way, I get to show up and I know my sexy will be before and behind me, because it’s already within me.