Things We Don’t Do When You’re Gone

Earlier this weekend, I read this article from a usually reputable magazine; which is why I was left disappointed with the context. The article was one of those “Seven secret things she does when you’re not home” – and was obviously written by someone who has no clue as to what women do while the man in their life is not home.

Pretty much none of the things she mentioned in her piece were remotely close – with two exceptions: watching documentaries you’d never sit through with us, and masturbating.

Otherwise, it was way off base to even suggest that we do things like: check out our naked bodies in the mirror, walk around the house naked, pre-watch our favourite shows, watch bad talk shows/reality shows, shove copious amounts of junk food down our maws.

I’ll tell you why … unless you live in a permanently tropical climate with absolutely no chance of anyone ever spying on you, we’ll never “walk around naked” while you are not home. Add to that startling wake-up, most of North America (including the usually warm regions) spent the last several months in a daily state of “fucking cold!” Nor do we have the time to just “sit” around and watch TV. That is what a man gets to do; a woman has just as much work on her days off as she does her days at the office.

Laundry, cleaning (no, putting your coffee cup in the dishwasher once in 2009 does not equal ‘helping with the cleaning’), household financial maintenance (otherwise known as juggling the chequebook while cooking the books) … all these glorious tasks don’t do themselves. In fact, about the only casual thing we may get to do is connect with family, such as our Mom (because there is no way I’m talking to her like I talk to her when you’re around sitting around hanging on my every word).

Now, of course, a tremendous portion of my rant needs to be taken with the appropriate amount on tongue in cheek. I realize there are many couples who enjoy a lovely balance of equality when it comes to things like household chores and paying the bills … but we seriously have precious little time to play around in our Victoria’s Secret pajamas while you’re bringing home the bacon.

So, just in case you’re left wondering, “What the hell does she really do then?” Here are a few things the author probably meant to include, but didn’t:

• We call our “BFF” and invite her over for a pillow fight whereby we giggle and laugh like teenage girls until we end up in that awkward moment face-to-face only to surrender to our latent bisexual desires
• We lounge around on the couch in our perfectly matched bra and panties, chat and giggle on the phone with our BFF who is doing exactly the same thing
• We spill a little water on the floor in front of the dishwasher and then call the plumber to come and check our pipes
• We slip into our tiniest white bikini bottoms and tight crop-top white t-shirt and wash the car in the driveway, ensuring we get completely soaked just in time for the handsome neighbour to come home
• We lounge by the pool in the complete tiniest white bikini and seductively sip on a Long Island Ice Tea while staring intently at the sweaty muscles of the super-hot Spanish pool boy
• We lounge around in your dress shirt, waiting for you to come home so we can surprise you in it … oh wait, I actually did do that and it back-fired on me … (Andee’s POV Blowjob)

So, yes, about that masturbation thing … absolutely it’s something I do when I’m home alone. It’s also something I do when I have company 😉

Andee     xoxo

I Like A Man In Uniform

A few days ago, one of the bloggers I follow on Twitter and through his blog, Sex In Words, posted a daily sex discussion question about having “uniform fantasies.” I replied that I believe quite a few women hold the fantasy of a hot man in a hot uniform doing hot things with her … to which some of you agreed, while a couple others asked about my own – and more importantly, why.

In my own highly-unscientifically proven opinion, I think the idea of a uniform fantasy plays into the submissive side of a woman’s libido – perhaps touching on the evolutionary nature of our role in the history of human development, whereby man was the provider/protector and woman was the reproducer/nurturer. Now, we all know – so don’t trash me – that modern times have brought us a vast change in the gender roles, but some human conditions remain deeply entrenched in the psyche.

But, I believe there is a significant appeal to the idea of a man being in total control, not just of himself and the sexual encounter the fantasies are based around, but in a sense of confidence and unflappable determination to do what is right. The “ideal” of the hero, a man’s man with a delightfully perfect blend of cockiness and kindness; he opens the door for you, but never lets you catch his gaze follow the sway of your hips as you pass. He’s the man who will protect from the “bad boy” but devour you with his eyes (and his tongue) just as quickly.

Bluntly, a man in uniform is never the bad guy, but he is still very much the man.

And, as I read in someone else’s take on the “man in control” fantasy, if you don’t understand that, you’ll never understand why poorly-written drivel like 50 Shades of Grey became so popular. Trust me; it wasn’t for literary excellence and believable character development.

My own fantasies shift between a variety of stages, as I mentioned in an earlier blog about maturing. But for the most part, those uniform fantasies remain consistently steamy in nature, and typical. A man in uniform quickly attracts my attention, more times than not because a uniform makes a man look complete.

While I find this current pop culture state of hipsterism somewhat charming, a man in a cardigan, rolled cuff jeans and a knit-toque in July doesn’t look “put together.” He looks … like he reads GQ for fashion trends of the month.

A man who slips into his dress uniform, with shining buttons and crisply ironed creases in his pants looks dashing; regardless of what designer fad may be circulating among the millennials this week. He looks “put together” and in control of his image and his reputation. He’s slightly conformist, but holds an air of authority. Equally, a shirtless firefighter, with rippling muscles and wearing only the pants to his bunker suit, is a delightful mental image.

And then there’s the role-play ideals: absolutely, my firefighter fantasy involves the “damsel in distress” scenario, whereby I need some sort of gorgeous man to come to my rescue; while my police officer fantasy tends to be equally typical in its approach that I find myself in some sort of trouble and needing to be creative in how I make restitution for my actions.

In my mind, I can craft the ideal … and play the fantasy at the speed and degree of heat that I want; all in a submissive, “rescue me” state of orgasmic consciousness.

In real life, it’s the same for a man who can wear a tux with confidence. I see a lot of these men at weddings and certain gala events I’m privileged to attend and you can tell they’ve never mastered the “swagger” of wearing the ultimate in men’s style. A tux – unless it’s blue velvet – is a timeless, polished look. If you look awkward, it’s going to show more than you can ever imagine.

Or maybe, you’d relate better in these terms: a man who knows how to carry off a tux with confidence is more likely to get my panties to drop – and probably drop into his tux jacket pocket long before we ever leave for somewhere more intimate, like the coat-check.

But that, my sharp-dressed men, is a completely different fantasy!

Andee     xoxo

Too Old For What?!

First bit of advice: never take any article written that uses an unnamed “corporate spokesperson” as its primary source to be a very credible piece.

I said to my husband this morning, as I sipped on my coffee and scanned a few bits and pieces online before work that I felt a rant coming on over something published on Yahoo. OK, second piece of advice: never take anything published as “news” on Yahoo as credible. They make those bitter and self-indulgent Carrie Bradshaw wannabes at Cosmo look like they stand a chance at a Pulitzer for investigative journalism.

The article which raised my ire was entitled “You’re Too Old To Wear That.” Another fluffy piece that suggests women must adhere to specific style standards as they climb the chronological ladder. And the primary “expert” was someone from a company that specializes in anti-aging skin care.

Apparently, a study conducted by said “skin-care company” found one third of the 2,000 women they polled (all of whom were over 45) worried that some items in their wardrobe were age-inappropriate, and 80 per cent felt they “needed to abandon ‘younger’ styles as they grew older.”

“We think middle aged is supposed to be later, but women are saying that in the early 40s a lot of things need to be toned down,” the unnamed corporate source said.

Now, before you think the top of my head is going to blow off, there are some things that I do agree should be retired. Anything that can be mistaken for a sequined napkin being passed off as a miniskirt might be best saved for those “special club nights” and not the office. And I know you guys will all be disagreeing with me, saying a miniskirt is the perfect choice for work, but a lot of offices have these things called “policies” and they’re usually written by stuffy women with self-esteem and feminism issues who subscribe to articles such as this as “workplace attire gospel.”

If there is anything superficial that I get compliments on, it is my legs – and I am proud of the fact that I have the kind which will serve as pleasant distractions for many of you guys. Forgive my moment of vanity, but damn it, I enjoy the attention … particularly “at my age.”

Believe it or not, there are quite a few of us that are perfectly comfortable with our ability to provide a visual distraction. Looking sexy – and seeing that others are noticing you looking sexy – helps us feel sexy, which in turn fuels a lot of what goes on in our imaginations. It’s also a magnificent method of dealing with work-related stress.

Maybe that’s just because I love to flirt.

And, I am intelligent enough to match wits with the best, so this isn’t a habit of compensation or leverage to “get ahead” in a “man’s world.” It’s more in tune with having reached an age where my appreciation for playing the part has greater depth; and the fact that I couldn’t really care less what the majority of my female peers have to say about the length of my skirt or the height of my heels.

The disappointing aspect of articles like these – beyond being “sponsored” by corporations that market anti-aging products to women – is that they add to the societal confines already placed on women. The messages say “you’re too old to wear anything above the knee” and “you’re too old for that colour of lipstick.”

Women should be celebrating their confidence as they “get older.” I am in a much more comfortable place at 38 than I was at 28, and at 18. And as such, I get to enjoy the benefits of that confidence even more. To sit back and think that in three years I need to hide my miniskirts and start shopping for sensible shoes is ridiculous.

In fact, in three years I hope everyone around me will be staring in disbelief with “Damn she looks hot for her age.”

But even if they don’t, I won’t care. I’m not defined by silly notions concocted by the marketing departments and “corporate spokespeople” at companies which sell anti-aging products.

THE OTHER SUGGESTED SILLINESS

• knee-high boots should be retired by age 45
• tattoos start to look bad by the mid-50s
• ditch high heels by the time you are 59
• hair braids only in your 20s
• pants that say “pink,” or anything, for that matter, on the butt
• stop wearing light, short, flimsy dresses as the upper thighs…change…with age  

Andee     xoxo

Dancing Towards a New Career?

Some time ago, I wrote about how the laws had changed where I live regarding work visas for exotic dancers. The government clamped down on granting such visas to foreign women who come to Canada to earn a living as a stripper. The strip club owners, in turn, made a big splash about how this would limit the number of available dancers for their stages, and how they would now be forced to recruit young college-age women to fill the need.

On and off, the conversation around this has continued among some of my coworkers – surfacing recently when one went off on a rant about how her husband joined his friends for a few drinks at one. That rant is best saved for another day, but regardless, I always enjoy when these topics begin swirling around because I can occasionally shock the shit out of people by chiming in with an opinion they surely didn’t expect.

Well, you have to amuse yourself somehow …

All of this reminded me of an article I read a couple years ago about how in this economic struggle we are in, some women are turning to exotic dancing and adult entertainment as a way to make ends meet. The lure of a potential annual income of $100,000 to $300,000 annually in some of the premier men’s clubs – even in tough times – appears to be too much to resist.

I think I also shared way back then about how, given the right opportunity, blend of alcohol and distance from my home, I might be encouraged to get up for an amateur night. Now, far from being judgmental about it, I did find it interesting to read because it is something that tells what I see as a bigger reality out there. If you consider that this current recession is the first one to occur at a time when women are truly independent. Even some 20 years ago – when I was but a wee girl – the mentality wasn’t nearly as accepting. Not that I would suggest it has changed dramatically, because I am certain that many of these ladies are still facing the scorn of a drunken crowd … and a few angry wives.

But it is intriguing because, at a moment in time when the idea of “amateur” holds a particular appeal, here are housewives, bank tellers and former corporate types, doffing their panties on stage and shaking what Momma gave them.

The article said clubs, adult magazines and porn producers are seeing an influx of applications from women who have college educations and were previously well employed. Some have even used their past as part of their onstage personas to underscore the changes … and appeal to that certain fetish about seeing the boss in her business suit strip down.

I know it works for me when I get all dressed up in professional attire and reveal teasing glimpses of naughtiness under my hemline. And I love how my Office Guys react when I put on my best suit for work.

I suppose for some, the idea may seem somewhat desperate. But given that all of us – men and women – get naked at least once a day for free, is it so bad to try to make the best of the moment and benefit financially? I’m not sure I have an answer, but I can see the appeal … just from my own experience I have noticed that more and more of the guys I have talked to like the idea of “amateur” over “professional.” There’s just something more erotic about seeing the “real girl next door” naked than the one’s airbrushed and pretending they could live on your street.

Andee     xoxo

Grey Cup Sunday

“The reason women don’t play football is because 11

of them would never wear the same outfit in public.”
Phyllis Diller