Saturday, October 25, 2014

The number one enemy of sex

Want the know what the number one enemy to having a great sex life is? This is going to sound simple, I know, but it’s a truth that everyone needs to hear. I made this unbelievable discovery a couple of years ago and it changed my life. It can change yours too, if you’ll just pay attention. It’s easy, quick, and can turn everything around in your bedroom. What is it, you ask?

White cotton underwear.

Before you start laughing, or tell me I’m an idiot, or think to yourself, This woman’s mental, or try to refute or belittle or argue, just let me make my case and I think you’ll see what I mean.

Three years ago, I wore a size 22. Today, I wear a six. Okay, sometimes an eight when there’s been pasta around, or it’s the holidays, or I just fell face-first into a carton of praline ice cream. But usually, I wear a six.

Anyway, it was hard work, very hard work. While I was going through this transformation, things were very hard. They were hard for me, trying to change my lifestyle, trying to stay on track, and they were also very hard on my bank account. You see, when you go through that many different sizes in eight months, you have to buy A LOT of clothes. Tons. So many, in fact, that I was packing pants off to consignment that had only been worn once or twice before they were too big for me. I went through a lot of stuff that year, and know what the worst was?

Underwear. I went through FIVE SIZES OF UNDERWEAR. Not kidding. I’d no sooner get a pack of panties broken in than they were too big and I had to start again. I kept Hanes in business. Oddly, too, my bra size changed, and in a weird way: I got smaller around, but the cups got bigger. Don’t ask; I have no idea. But that’s what happened. So I was buying, buying, buying.

What was I buying? Hanes cotton panties in the eight-pack. The same Vanity Fair bras that I’d always bought, just a little lace and nothing more. And one day I had a blinding flash of insight.

Why wasn’t I buying sexy underclothes? Why was I still hanging onto those cotton nightmares I’d worn when I didn’t feel well, was depressed, didn’t feel sexy, didn’t want sex or need sex or even think about sex? I was certainly feeling better about myself. Dropping the pounds and working out several times a week had alleviated the depression and made me look pretty damn good, but underneath it all, literally, I was still dressing like my grandma. So I decided to do something about it.

Yes, I know you already know, but the clerks at Victoria’s Secret now take notice when I walk in. I opened the drawer with my bras in it while my daughter was here and her eyes bugged out. Yes, that drawer is full. Yes, I know it looks like a box of 64 Crayolas. Yes, they’re fancy. (And before you say it, they DO make beautiful underclothes for big, beautiful girls. I’ve seen 3X panties and some very, very sexy teddies and such. Look for it; it’s out there.)

But, you know what? When I wear fancy underthings, I feel fancy too. Very fancy. And very, very sexy. I had no idea that would happen, but when I turn and look in the mirror and find myself there in something that’s pretty and shapely and fun, I feel better about myself.

Need I tell you what it does for my partner? Let’s just say the girls at VS see him almost as much as they see me. He likes it; he likes it a lot. And I love the reaction I get from him when I put on something new and exciting and he gets a gander at it. Yeah. After all these years, who knew a simple triangle of acetate nylon was so important to the libido?

And he’s not the only one. So let me just say this . . .

Guys, those baggy boxers? No. Just no. Take any cover model on any romance novel and put him in a pair of those baggy boxers. See what happens. You want readers to buy the books, not recoil in horror. I know some of those guys could wear ruffled rhumba panties and still look hot, but the baggy boxers aren’t on the agenda.

So when my honey decided he wanted to go sexy, he went to Kmart (of all places) and got some bikini briefs. That made me laugh. Does he look silly in them? Kinda. But also kinda hot. Even at the very least, he ditched the baggy boxers and got boxer briefs. Now those are hot. They show off everything – and I do mean everything – and still fit nicely and are comfortable. I especially like the black ones. And they’re not expensive. Even tighty whities are better than those baggy boxers.

Of course, I could get him some Andrew Christian underwear. If you haven’t seen those, well, you owe it to yourself to look them up. I thought about it, and then I thought better of it. I’m all for sexy.

But when it comes to most of the men I know, sometimes you can just go too far.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

My Reads: Chain of Title by Robyn Roze

I was going through my Kindle app on my iPad, wondering what to read, and I found Chain of Title there waiting for me. A post for it had drifted past my eyes just an hour or so before on Facebook, and I felt like it was a sign. I'm definitetly happy I yielded to that sign, because I got several hours of entertaining reading from what turned out to be a great book.

I was sucked into Shayna Montgomery Edwards Chastain's world almost immediately. She's a woman who's worked hard to look good in her prime, and it's a good thing, too, because her ex-husband, Frank, threw her over for a girl about their daughter's age. In their bed. And she walked in on it. Her first trip to the attorney's office culminates in a solo trip to a little Italian restaurant in the same district, and there she meets the owner, Sean Parker.

The attraction is instantaneous, but there's no acting on it, and through the course of the long, drawn-out divorce (as divorces between rich people often are), they spend time getting to know each other as she frequents the restaurant, but they never act on the feelings growing between them. Why? Because Sean has no intention of getting involved with someone who runs back to her ex when things get rocky. Can't blame a guy for that.

But the day she comes into Gaetano's to celebrate the finalization of her divorce, things heat up instantly, and I do mean instantly. It's obvious that Sean's just been biding his time, but no more. He makes his intentions perfectly clear, and Shayna rises to the occasion. Their time together is wild and hot, and they both fall hard and fast.

Frank doesn't give up easily. A powerful and wealthy man, he threatens Sean, first privately and then publicly, and Sean Parker isn't one to back down. Threats are made and favors are called in, and Shayna finds out three important things: Sean is much more than meets the eye; he's capable of doing things, good and bad, that she never thought he would or could do; and that, just like some of the most important people in her life, she's once again been left behind.

But her brother, Scott, has other ideas for her, and when he introduces her to the owner of a vineyard in Italy, her world changes again. And that's as much of a spoiler as you're going to ever get from me.

Chain of Title is one of the most colorful reads I've picked up in a long time. Robyn has the ability to take you into a scene and hold you there, giving you wonderful, intimate details that leave you feeling the touch of silk under your skin, tasting the sparkling citrus water, and inhaling the scent of star jasmine. The sex scenes are roasty-toasty and I could feel the emotion rolling off the players. A few times I thought Shayna was being overly harsh, but looking at the big picture, I don't think she could've been any other way and survived it all.

The one thing that we never hear about is Sean's past relationships, and I'd love to hear about those. Just curiosity on my part, I guess, but everyone has a history.

The absolute best part? We're left with something that I would't call a cliffhanger; rather, I'd call it a promise of things to come. I'd really like to know what they are. I don't know when the next book in this series is coming out, but you can bet I'll be reading it. So get yourself a copy of Chain of Title and join me in waiting to see what happens next.