Category Archives: Over 40

“LADY CHEEKY’S SEX SATORI” from THE RUMPUS

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Photo by Gene Reed

Photo by Gene Reed

BY   4/5/13

Orginally appeared on TheRumpus.net  

Tweet sex sites are a many splendored thing, opening doors to fluid identities that are both sexy and risk-free while erecting an emotional firewall to avoid real, personal rejection. My hackles go up whenever I think about technology replacing human touch, but when I met Lady Cheeky and heard her story of seeking and finding passion via tweet sex, I witnessed a brave new world where one woman’s sexuality was accessed in an accelerated way that involved wooing, teasing, and palpable passion.

“Lady Cheeky” is her Anglophile cybersex identity name, where she is a servant/vessel/wench. We met on the floor at Marilyn Friedman’s essay writing workshop, which I signed up for during a dark time. After dozens of agent rejections flooded my inbox for over a year, I longed to sit in a room with other writers again, hoping to inject my writing with joy by learning new literary tricks from veteran journalist, Taffy Brodesser-Akner. Our assignment was to tell the group what our essay was about and then say one more line declaring what our essay was “really” about.

Lady Cheeky’s wavy, Lucille Ball hair matched her bright red lips. Her curves punched out of her ’40s frock, as she told a hilarious topsy-turvy tale about role-playing on a True Blood-themed, Twitter-based direct message and tweet stream, which led her to start her smart and sexy websites where she met “Lord Byron,” hired a P.I. to check another lover out, and divorced her husband. She also overcame a rare sexual disorder; started a popular sensual images blog; began writing and publishing real-life erotica based on her new, passion-filled experiences; is in the process of working on a memoir; has a new story in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s upcoming erotica anthology, The Big Book of Orgasm; and is currently speaking about body image and sensuality, as well as integrative sensuality.

Lady Cheeky’s story beneath the story was flesh and bone ache deriving from a phantom limb that was pummeled awake by HBO’s True Blood series. I wanted to know more about how True Blood was the springboard to becoming a sexually actualized woman, capable and deserving of passion.

… To read the rest of the interview, CLICK HERE:logo-sm

Melissa McCarthy, Rex Reed and Identity Thief’s “Hippogate”

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Photo: Mary Rozzi

Photo: Mary Rozzi

By Elle “Lady Cheeky” Chase

I shook my head recently when I read about New York Observer film critic, Rex Reed’s personal insult toward actress Melissa McCarthy.   In a review of her latest offering, Identity Thief  he called her “tractor-sized” and as big as a “hippo.”  Isn’t it interesting, I thought, that a man, who himself is part of a marginalized and often supressed segment of society wields his pejoratives so freely when directed toward another similarly ill-regarded community; the “un-thin” or “un-commercial.” The part of our population that still hides in a closet of self-hatred.   The part of our population, fearful that they won’t be accepted or seen for anything other than their physical appearance. You don’t have to be overweight to be part of our collective; you just have to have a self-loathing of some physical feature you feel you possess.  Surely, this is something that everyone can relate to at some point in their lives and certainly, unless he was blessed to have grown up amongst royalty, Rex Reed himself must have had to deal with.

And that’s when I realized that Mr. Reed‘s subjugation of Ms. McCarthy could only rex_reed.JPG.728x520_q85come from his own self-hatred.  Think of the little boy who is constantly bullied in the schoolyard.  Done often enough and without appropriate correction, that bullied little boy internalizes the hateful words spewed toward himself and those words becomes part of what I call his “life tape;” subconscious lessons we learn about ourselves from the outside world.  Negative, untrue messages like these, left unchecked become the villains to our self worth.   Sometimes making us strike out against others in order to ease the pain of our own misperceived failings.

This gave me some compassion toward Mr. Reed, for it must be monumental self-loathing that gave him license to personally attack another based on her appearance.  And to do it in a such a public forum.  Only another person who had not processed the misfortune of being so inelegantly treated himself would have the capacity to do the same thing in such a righteous and flagrant a manner.  But this incident brings up a deeper issue. Those of us with self-esteem or body issues.  Those of us who have been through years of therapy, read the latest self-help books and prayed for self acceptance at the local house of worship.  Are we ever really free from the self-judgement?  Does the “life tape” ever get erased or does the sound, though faint and scratchy, still remain buried in our psyche?

Andre MalrauxQuote

Recently, I went out to breakfast with my good friend Evan. It was a cloudy and cold L.A. day and I was feeling emotional and depressed. PMS had reared its ugly head and I was using all my emotional energy to keep the hateful thoughts in my brain from permeating my day and my time with Evan.

Evan and I dated briefly and soon decided that we made better friends than lovers (well, friends that occasionally kiss with tongue). Since then, he has been a trusted confidant and steadfast supporter … everything you want in a buddy.  Even though we were platonic, Evan always treated me like a sexy, desirable and smart woman.  It felt good to go out with Evan. We’d do movie nights and dinners and though we were chaste, he always made it known that he thought I was hot. What girl wouldn’t love that?

By the time our eggs arrived, we were engaging in silly and entertaining conversation.  Pop culture trivia, favorite movies, cool hangouts, teenage angst, and then Evan posed this question to me: “Who would you want to play you in the movie of your life?”  Hmmm, I’d never thought about it.  Evan thought for a minute and then an almost visible light bulb appeared over his head, “I got it! That chick from Bridesmaids!”

“Awww, bless his heart” I thought, “He thinks Kristen Wiig should play me.”  I was flattered. Kristin Wiig was one of my favorites on Saturday Night Live and I loved her in Bridesmaids. She was funny, talented and cute.  My heart warmed.  Evan added, “You know … that woman on Mike & Molly“

My heart sank.  He, in fact, did NOT mean Kristen Wiig, he meant the very plus-sized Melissa McCarthy. In a nano-second the realization that the man across from me who has seen me naked, has equated me with a “fat girl.”  I started to cry.

Photo: Mary Rozzi

Photo: Mary Rozzi

Now let me be clear, Melissa McCarthy is every bit as cute, talented and funny as Kristen Wiig, however Melissa McCarthy happens to be a woman of size.  I was angry with myself for being so upset. I was a self-proclaimed, body & sex-positive advocate.  One of my biggest causes has been for women of all shapes and sizes to integrate self-esteem and realize their inherent sexuality (and worth) regardless of shape or weight.  Yet, here I was, apparently feeling slighted that Evan viewed me as a “fat chick.”  He immediately felt horrible that he made me cry and I was more than ok with that.  I was offended and hurt and my ego was bruised.  Evan back-pedaled, and in an effort to stop my tears he grabbed my hands across the table and said he thought of her because she’s so “funny and sexy and pretty.”  “Oh you did not,” I snapped.  “You thought of her because she’s big. I’m not as big as that!”  Evan was speechless. I groaned and excused myself to go to the bathroom to gather my fat self.

I stood in front of the streaky diner mirror and reviewed myself in vile self-loathing.  I felt ugly.  I felt worthless and I felt like a fraud.  I was embarrassed that I had automatically reacted this way when being compared to an extremely talented woman who happens to be fat.  Closing my eyes and holding onto the sides of the sink with my head hung low I took some deep breaths and started to do some quick inner self-examination.  “What are you really feeling? Where is it coming from?  And is it true?” I asked myself.

The first thing that entered my mind was that I was feeling shame … Indignant, unlovable, undesirable and unworthy.  I immediately remembered all the boys is elementary and middle school that commented on my big butt and preferred to date the tanned, athletic surfer girls to the pale, soft theatre-nerd that was me … ahhhh, that’s where it was coming from.  I lifted my head and looked in the mirror again.  “Is it true?” I asked myself.  I squinted and took a long breath.  From deep within my self I heard a tiny, barely audible voice say “No. It’s not.”  It surprised me that even after many years of criticism from the opposite sex and myself,  that this little voice could even be heard.  I guess the 20 years of therapy had sunk in.

I could feel the truth of the little voice.  I could understand her intention.  The reality is that I really am beautiful regardless of the size of my hips.  I have had proof of this on a subjective level from ex-lovers and boyfriends but more importantly I’ve had proof of this by what I saw in myself.  For in that bathroom, looking into my mascara-stained reflection, I realized that even though my ego had a flashback to old feelings and modalities that I had identified with for so long  … that in this diner bathroom feeling pre-menstrual, emotionally taxed and having just had a surprising crying-jag, I came to more fully understand in that moment that as bad as I felt at the time, I still felt sexy.  I did!  I couldn’t believe it.  It was possible to be healing an old wound while at the same time recognize a newly realized truth.

I re-joined Evan at the table, refreshed and much more cogent than when I left.  He was a puppy with his tail between his legs until I explained the catharsis I just had.  Evan’s body un-tensed and he became energized, jubilant and seemed oddly proud that he had something to do with this “satori.”  Nothing had changed.  To Evan, I was always smart, funny, sexy … no matter what size I was, that’s how he saw me (subjective) because that’s how I saw myself (objective).  I saw myself that way because of a lot of good therapy, hard work and self-inventory that proved to me that those features were indisputable.

Nothing’s perfect, there will always be people (and sometimes even myself) who don’t see that in me (subjective) and that’s fine, it doesn’t mean it’s less true (objective).  And there will always be times when something someone says or does will trigger old wounds with a repeat reaction.  But, the point is, it is just a reaction from times long gone and just like when Craig Michaels called me a “lard-ass” (subjective) it has nothing to do with who I really am (objective).  Who I really am is a woman with flaws, but those flaws don’t make me any less worthy or any less lovable or any less beautiful or in Ms. McCarthy’s case any less talented.  It’s those flaws that make me the special package that (at least when I’m not PMS-ing) I realize I am.

Which brings me back to shaking my head as I read Rex Reed’s review of Melissa McCarthy’s physique.  I’m human, I can’t say I don’t harbor some displeasure toward Mr. Reed, but it’s more like the exasperation you feel toward a child when they throw their Spaghettios across the room for the third time. You can’t dislike a child for his actions because – he’s just a child … he’s not working with fully developed facilities. I feel the same way toward Mr. Reed. After reading his review I just click to another screen and remind myself of a quote by French writer Andre Malraux “The attempt to force human beings to despise themselves is what I call hell.” In my perception, this must be the place that Mr. Reed wrote his review from. I just hope that in the future he might move to a brighter location.

Photo by Gene Reed

Photo by Gene Reed

As a writer, Elle Chase (Lady Cheeky) has been featured on Fleshbot and is a regular contributor to the online magazine EvolvedWorld.com. Elle will soon have an erotic short story appear in the upcoming Rachel Kramer Bussel anthology The Big Book of Orgasm (Cleis Press, Sept 2013) and an article in next month’s issue of Corset Magazine on pornography vs. erotica. She has also won the Domi Dollz True Tales of Erotica competition, and will be seen in the upcoming CBC documentary Women and Porn. Elle will be speaking as part of a panel of women on Sex and Body Image at CatalystCon: Sparking Communication in Sexuality, Activism and Acceptance in Washington DC, March 17, 2013.
Twitter: @Lady_Cheeky | Facebook: The Lady Cheeky Fan Page |  Website: www.LadyCheeky.com  | LinkedIn: Elle “Lady Cheeky” Chase

ROOM 205

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BY ANTONIA CRANE

PHOTO BY SHEILA HIBER

I’m staying in a dark Motel 6 in room 205 off Highway 111.The shades are drawn. It’s a dark and warm desert night. Someone is rolling their luggage on plastic wheels back and forth in front of the door as if they’re determining which room they should bury the fingertips of their dead. I hope not room 205. In places like this, bad things happen.

I’m applying bright turquoise eye shadow on my lids the color of striped mini-skirts I wore in 7th grade. Turquoise reminds me of Love’s Baby soft and Breck shampoo. I curled my hair and burned my ear those mornings in Mom’s pink bathroom waiting for “99 Luftballoons” to play on the radio again before school. Mom was a big believer in baths and I inherited her soaker gene. She filled glass vases with red and silver bath beads. She could build a robot out of erotic oil and bath salts clumped together in pink chalky balls. She morphed our DNA with her bubble bath, soaking and soaking while she assessed. The steam from that room was so epic I expected tendrils to slip through the crack under the door.

But this eye shadow would not sit on the shelf next to her incandescent body powder. This desert shadow was from Target down the road. I smear the lid with a cheap blue film. I know there’s a really good chance they won’t hire me but at least my eyes will sparkle nice.

I’m supposed to have a teaching job. I’m supposed to be happily married. I’m supposed to have a book. I’m supposed to have a full time gig. I’m supposed to be self-supporting. I’m supposed to have kids. I’m supposed to own something.
I’m supposed to know how to do this mainstream work thing. I don’t.

It’s been exactly one year since I’ve stripped. In that time, I’ve played a stripper in two movies and worked as a technical consultant for Jill Soloway’s dark comedic stripper film “Afternoon Delight,” but I have not danced for dough. I’ve not spread a man’s feet apart so I can squeeze in between them. I’ve not been on the pole.

I’m nervous. One look at my ID and they’ll turn me away. On tough girls, terror of rejection is dressed up like an over-smiling prom queen candidate, but never believe that. In my turquoise and pink spandex glory— I’m skinless. A part of me hopes this Motel 6 will be the end of the line but even the fart smells of our broccoli and hummus dinner on counter charms me. I focus on the task at hand: Eyelash glue.
$1.99 Sugar body spray also from Target.
My tax bill to the IRS=$337.00

Desert Showgirls is less than a mile away from our luxurious digs and like many places I’ve worked before, the parking lot is not full of cars—a bad sign.

We walk in the door like we’re really grateful to own the place and a cute blonde chick with rugged lines on her eyes puts her arms around my shoulders. “How old are you?” she asks. (I lie and tell her 40.)
“I’m forty-two,” she admits (three seconds from my age). I feel like Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler when he knows better but does it anyway.

A big black guy younger than my nephew hands me a job application even though I just told him I worked here a year ago.

The blonde is taking her break with me. She looks older than forty-two but who am I to say.

“I made $250 on Thanksgiving just playing pool,” she crosses her arms. She must have kids and some dogs she rescued from the pound. I thought of all of the Thanksgivings, Valentine’s Days and Christmases I spent on the laps of strangers in clubs in San Francisco and that specific lonely ache of holiday sex work. Chasing the holiday spenders hoping for a big mint, but it never once was what I hoped for. It was always just a little more lonely than was reasonable.

And now. It’s Thanksgiving weekend and I’m dancing at a titty bar in the middle of the desert that attracts military guys from the base in 29 Palms and prehistoric golphers—completely in my element.

The black body builder dude did look at my ID and at me. Back at my ID. Back to me but he just shook his head and said I didn’t look my age at all.

The man returned my ID and took my filled out application while I watched the women dance on stage.

I have missed women’s bodies. How they uncoil and sashay on stage climbing the pole like savage hunters after blood in the ceiling. And customers are a place to mine stories, a place to fall into.

I sat with a woman who was so pretty like Heidi Klum. She had the word “Warrior” tattooed on her forearm so I got curious about it and waited for the story. Her boyfriend was short and charismatic with silver hair and had a gadget fixing business and he told me that I was exactly like him because I never give up and probably I had a bad childhood.

“I know you. You’re just like me,” he said. He sat very close to her and held her one free hand.

I wanted to tell him I’m not competitive, just hungry, but maybe that was his point. After all, I glanced at the strippers’ dances and made sure that I had more pen marked “X’s” than the other girls on the chart. The ones who had lots of “X’s” I studied hard for gesture and technique. Once we were are all little girls just doing our best, then things got ugly.

I didn’t want to hear about the man’s childhood or mine. I wanted to know about the “Warrior” on his Heidi Klum’s forearm. She got up to find the bathroom.

So when she was gone I asked him. The boyfriend swirled the gold liquid in his glass and leaned over so he was speaking directly into my ear and breathed jack and coke in my face. He told me a serial rapist guy who had killed 7 women abducted her when she was 19 and she was the only one who escaped. He told me that she had a daughter named August who didn’t know. I thought again about all of the little girls doing their best and things getting ugly like knives and projectile vomit and rape ugly.

She appeared again and sat down and crossed her Heidi Klum legs that were sweetly draped in a flow-y pant that looked more like a skirt. Maybe those things are called “skorts.” I wanted to hear the story from her, but I didn’t ask. She grinned the familiar sad girl grin and held her drink too tightly and I knew it was true. And when I danced for her I kissed her neck so softly that it’s possible she never even noticed she was kissed.

ANTONIA CRANE is the only person from Humboldt County who doesn’t smoke weed. She teaches creative writing to incarcerated teenagers in Los Angeles. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Salon, The Heroin Chronicles (edited by Jerry Stahl), The Rumpus, The Los Angeles Review, Black Clock, Slake, PANK, ZYZZYVA and other places. She wrote a memoir about the sex industry and her mother’s cancer called “SPENT” and hopes to find a home for it soon.

You can follow Antonia on:

TWITTER | FACEBOOK | WWW.ANTONIACRANE.COM | THE CITRON REVIEW

 

Five Sex Tips for Women about Men

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What she needs to know to make him happy in bed and change the power struggle

Published on October 27, 2012 in Psychology Today by Laurie J. Watson, LMFT, LPC  

1)       Men want to be desired too. As women we are socialized to be the objects of desire not the owners of desire.  We grow up thinking that sex is something that happens to us, not something we make happen. Seldom do we feel as agents of our own sexual lives.  Bombarded with messages from the media about impossible physical standards we are often wracked with insecurity of our attractiveness.  We may struggle to reveal our erotic imagination lest we raise suspicion or resentment (for not saying so sooner!) in our partner. Childhood training and adult anxiety leave us weak in reaching out in this powerful way to reassure our partner of our commitment to him. A commitment to grow strong in our erotic core, fulfills our pledge of fidelity – away from others.. yes…

but more importantly onto an exciting sexual relationship.  Our husbands don’t just want sex; they want us to want them.  It’s ever so slightly different but there’s almost a spiritualdifference.  Wanting confirms our love and reveals our vulnerability to our primitive bond with each other. For many men, sex IS love, sex IS connection and a woman’s sexual initiation, compliments, and “winks across the party” offer deep feelings of both excitement and security.

The media is increasingly adding pressure to men about their appearance and even guys who have never been vain, can succumb.  Working 60 hours a week to help provide for the family takes a toll on that athletic physique; aging can bring baldness, failing erections, wrinkles which subtract from his sex appeal (for the record- baldness can mean higher testosterone!!) or even his promotionability! It’s a rough, critical world out there and we need all need the affirming physical love of our partner.  More deeply though, in a monogamous relationship, sexual desire is what sets our lover apart as our unique.  Expressing our desire says – I want you – we belong together.

2)      Stop, drop and roll every once in a while.  Women need lots of time to get into the mood and even more time to reach orgasm, but every time?  Even once in a blue moon, should you get yourself in the mood and ready, blow his mind (and anything else that comes to mind.) Unleashed aggression.  Be hungry.  Devour.  Forget Saran Wrap and babydoll nighties – dress up in DESIRE.

Women tell me every day in therapy, “I can’t do it if I don’t feel connected.” But it can’t always be one directional.  If your partner bonds sexually, needs sex to feel relaxed and talkative, initiate toward your mutual goal of being connected.Every healthy marriage goes through three stages: fall in, fall out and fall back in love.  Falling out of love strips away our oft distorted projections of who are partner is – offering us the first clear sight of a real “other,”  usually not the prince or the toad but a real human being with warts.

The commitment necessary to fall back in love is simple.  Simple and hard.  Love your partner the waythey like to be loved.   This opens the space for true reciprocity.  The risk is he will take all your love and use it up without giving back.  With ordinary good people, a one spouse-only, six month commitment of loving your partnertheir way, will radically change the marriage.  It’s my goal in marital therapy with superstuck couples – to convince, support, cajole, wheedle, and move one partner to risk first.  Over and over, I witness how quickly their partner responds to the untallied, uncalculated gift of unconditional love. Save the therapy money – try it.  If you’re a woman, who needs erotic development to really take this chance; even if you lose the marriage; you will become a more whole woman in the process.  It’s difficult to risk when you already feel empty, yet usually your partner has a mirror experience of your feelings. He feels empty too.  Change the marriage – change the family climate – change the divorce rate – change your children’s lives – change the world.

3)      Grab him.  Yeah, there.  If you are going to initiate – go for broke.  The most common complaint I hear from men whose wives claim they did initiate is “I didn’t get the signal.”  One wife asked her husband if he was tired.  He would have never imagined that sex was on her mind, so he replied, yes.  She concluded that he didn’t want sex because she didn’t want sex when tired. Another wife in treatment told me she sat down next to her husband while watching TV.  Did she touch him? No.  Did she sit in his lap? No.  Did she snuggle? No, she was waiting on him to start the touching.  She really thought she had initiated. Maybe your guy needs some connection first; some men don’t want to drop their briefcase and roll in the foyer.  For him, feel free to offer wine, cheese, crackers and a backrub. You probably don’t like him to initiate by grabbing your breast or vulva; but men often try this because it’s how they fantasize being approached.  So to reiterate – try it his way.4)      Offer up a sexy debrief the next morning.  Men love to hear what you think of the last experience. Talking about sex is almost like having sex.  Women think if they start talking about it; he’ll start thinking about it and be disappointed that she doesn’t want to start all over again. Probably true. Double header?  If you’re really opposed to doing it again in the morning, wait and text him the debrief.  He’ll swagger into his meeting with the boss.

But in the morning over coffee, you will have his full attention to suggest ways that will make it better for you.  He won’t be lost in his own overpowering lust.  Do a high-low-high analysis.  “I loved it when you did x; next time, it would really be better for me if you did y; but I thought thus and so about your great z.”  Anytime we offer criticism, it is better to wrap it in velvet and reassure our partner that we think he’s sexy and good in bed.

5)      Make it a game changer.  Let’s say you are the sexual distancerand emotional pursuer and he’s the opposite.  You want him to ask about your feelings and he wants you to remember his sexual needs.  The goal is to make your patterns more flexible not to change you into the eternal sexual pursuer.  Women are afraid that as soon as they enter the sexual relationship more fully, their husbands will raise the bar and expect more.  One woman in my practice got excited about telling her husband on the vacation car ride that she was fully prepared to rip his clothes off when they got to the hotel.  He asked for sex before they left the house.  She heard herself sigh and ask if they could just get on the road.  He encroached on her space and in her mind ruined her great plans to surprise him with initiating sex.

Not all men want sex more than their partners, about 15-20% of my couple-clients have the wife wanting more sex – those husbands could take this advice and just change the pronouns.  But taking sex out of the power struggle no matter who wants it more means this: prioritize your partner’s sexual needs with time, energy and money, fantasize about your partner in ways that ignite your own body,  say no when you don’t want it and offer an inviolable raincheck that you remember and bring up on that day, cultivate receptive desire to say yes sometimes when you’re not in the mood and let arousal spark desire.  Coming forward with both initiating and receptive desire with lower his anxiety about not getting it again helping him feel relaxed and loved and reducing the pressure on the bedroom.  For more help: read her book Wanting Sex Again – How to Rediscover Desire and Heal a Sexless Marriage due out THIS December 4th!!! Or follow Laurie Watson on Facebook and Twitter!

Sex Talk Begins with What We Say to Ourselves

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October 22, 2012

by Mary Jo Rapini and blogged by barbdepree for MiddlesexMD Blog

One of the advantages of having an advisory board is the different perspectives we bring to the same set of problems. In our last conversation with Mary Jo Rapini, the issue of body image came up: the fact that we women are sometimes our own worst enemies when it comes to nurturing our sexuality. The topic clearly hit a chord with Mary Jo–she’d also been coming across examples of it–and she offered to write this blog post.  

I was recently at a meeting that explored the literature and dealt with issues of sexuality, dysfunction, and relationships. The most popular theme in each educator’s presentation, no matter what their field of study, was the importance of body image in influencing women’s libido. Although many of the diagrams and graphs were complicated, the message was not. How women feel about their bodies influences their libido.

It makes sense, especially if you are a woman yourself or are close to one. You know how it feels when you feel bloated or fat and your partner wants to get naked. There is a sense of dread and duty; either you acquiesce or you find an excuse. It doesn’t matter how beautiful your partner tells you they believe you are, or what you’re wearing; if you don’t feel good about your body you don’t look forward to being vulnerable or wanting pleasure. Both of these are important when making love.

When I see women who are struggling with their body image I find myself reciting things I have heard or read that help. For example, experts tell women to focus on an area they like and to appreciate and dress in to flatter that feature. For many women, this may be helpful, but my practice is full of women who can only admit to liking a very small limited area. Let’s face it; if you tell me your favorite area is your eyebrows, I’m going to struggle with how to help you build a better body image using your eyebrows–any expert would.

Body image can include areas that aren’t exactly body related. For example, many professional women boast a high body image and self esteem due to their careers. They may not like their body or parts of it, but they don’t let it hold them back sexually.

What we say to ourselves is much more important than what others say. A recent report I read said that women routinely say over twenty derogatory things about their bodies each day. These same women suffer from how they view their body emotionally, physically, and sexually. It doesn’t matter if their husbands love their bodies, comment on the beauty of their bodies, or tell them how attractive they are: These women are destroying their concept of themselves from within. Media is an easy target to blame, but media is not the entire problem. What we say to ourselves is the problem. What we think to ourselves is the problem. What we say to our friends about our inadequacies is a problem. All sex talk begins with what we say to ourselves. No sex talk will make women feel sexier, hotter, or more desired if they have destroyed their sense of sexiness from within. Hormone therapy can make you feel more like having sex, but if you don’t feel good about your body, you will be reluctant to act on your feelings.

Since this is an inside job we do to ourselves, the work to stop perpetuating a poor body image is also up to us. It means you have to take a stance and begin by advocating for yourself, for your intimacy/sex life with your partner. That means sitting down with your partner and directly addressing what happens to you when you talk to yourself. Usually loving men will do anything to help their partner if they understand the mission.

  1. If you are highly suggestive and seeing a photo of a taut, scantily dressed woman with sex appeal makes you feel and talk badly about yourself, then rid your home of these types of magazines, TV shows, or whatever you are currently seeing.
  2. Movement is linked to many sensory areas of our brains. Movement makes our mood better, our affect more animated, and our sense of sexuality healthier. You don’t need to run marathons to feel and be sexy, but you do need to exercise each day. Ten minutes is better than no minutes. An hour a day split up any way you want is best!
  3. Begin a journal to yourself listing derogatory comments you remember being said to you prior to the age of eight. These comments may have been made as “jokes” by warped people, but they weren’t jokes. They are wired into your brain, and you may be repeating these to yourself as part of your negative mantra.
  4. Catch yourself. Whenever you make a derogatory comment about some part of your body, picture a stop sign and say aloud, “No.” Ask yourself, “What right do you have to abuse anyone including yourself?” Then think of who in your life made you think this was okay. Sometimes you will remember things your dad said, but more likely your mom used to insult herself as well.
  5. If anyone in your life right now insults your body, that is a huge red flag. Tell them they are waving a red flag, and abusing you with negative comments is not okay. If your kids hear this message, they will begin early protecting their body image.
  6. Women are much more critical of their bodies than men are. Part of this is due to the fact that women are more sensitive and do not abuse men’s bodies with negative comments to the degree men do with women. One way men will learn how to treat women is if a woman stands up to them when they make a derogatory comment instead of joining them in their taunts.

Couples will spend money to enhance their sex life with products, medications, and exotic vacations. However, the least expensive and perhaps most effective is to begin changing how we talk to ourselves. The first sex talk you get is not the one you get from mom or dad during a formal birds and bees lecture. It’s the mini body image lectures we give ourselves when we are children. These mini body image insults we say each day to our bodies are more potent than any sex product, medication, or exotic vacation we could ever afford.

Mary Jo Rapini, MEd, LPC

Mary Jo Rapini, MEd, LPC is a psychotherapist specializing in intimacy, sex and relationships. She lives in Houston, Texas. Mary Jo maintains a private practice and is the Intimacy/Sex Psychotherapist for the Methodist Hospital Pelvic Restorative Center and The Methodist Hospital Weight Management Center. Additionally, she is a renowned lecturer, author and television personality.