Love in a Hot Afternoon

There are love songs, and then there are lust songs. I assure you, there’s a time and a place for both.

When I want to encourage and/or enhance a particular mood I ask Alexa to play slow, sexy R&B. Oh my. If I were the blushing kind of woman, the lyrics from that play list would have me glowing like a neon sign.

Yet, there’s an old country western song by Gene Watson that manages to get to me in ways that even the most explicit R&B lyrics never do. How can that be? I have a feeling the fiddle is to blame.

https://youtu.be/OtT-ATGCRQ8

Is there a particular song that puts you in mind of a good romp in the sheets? Bonus points if the song includes a fiddle.

Peace and love, people.

Sex Sells

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2014/10/21/roller-skates-and-sexual-innuendo/

The link above will take you to one of my most liked blog posts. Honestly, it’s not that it’s a terrific post, but the title includes the word “sex” and that makes all the difference.

Note to self: work the word sex into every single title from now on

Peace, people.

Minimalist Challenge Day 3

None of these things is just like the others.

A ball of twine, an empty souvenir cup, and a fake flower are leaving my life today. I believe the cup and the flower have been taking up space at Doright Manor for four years, having come into my possession on an anniversary trip to the beach.

As for the ball of twine, I haven’t a clue. Had I planned on tying Studly Doright up for sexy shenanigans? Was I going to truss a turkey? It’s a mystery that I doubt will ever be solved.

Some things are better left to the imagination.

Peace, people!

Wine Fueled

Saturday came with its easy vibe, cloaked in laziness and splendor.

A chaise lounge beckoned, and I reclined, the better to revel bodaciously.

A glass of red in hand, the radio on a slow, low, sexy jam, stretch out your hand

And touch me there, and here. Oh, the wine might fuel me, but it’s you who

Moves me, every time, every single time. Come closer, and kiss me.

Silken Promise

Sitting slyly perched within

The silver strands stretched tightly

I’ve woven this silk for you, my love

Come lounge here with me nightly

Your gossamer threads cannot hold

Your liquid words won’t bind

I’ll sit with you for just a spell

Then leave your web behind

Of course, she whispered soothingly

Here, rest in my embrace

Through half closed eyes he watched

As she moored him to her place.

Vagina Wars: A New Hope

I’ve debated endlessly with myself about publishing this post. The truth is, this is an adult situation, and I’m going to discuss some delicate matters, so you’ve been warned. In the end, I thought that other women out there might be dealing with the same issues I’ve had and not to share would be wrong.

First some history. In 2007 I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. I had a lumpectomy and six weeks of radiation therapy. The lump was estrogen receptive, so I was placed on the drug tamoxifen, an estrogen inhibitor, for a period of five years. Everything went beautifully, but I continued menstruating heavily and in 2011 my doctors decided I needed to have an oophorectomy (hysterectomy plus removal of my ovaries, Fallopian tubes, the whole shebang.)

Shortly after that I realized that sexual intercourse, an act of which I was tremendously fond, had become unbearably painful. It was like one day a switch was shut off and my vagina ceased to be my friend. 

Oh, we coaxed it, and lubricated it. I sent off to Europe for a product guaranteed to make my vagina a welcoming place again. My radiologist, Dr. Sapiente, sent me home with a set of dilators in Easter egg pastels. We tried lidocaine swabs. Nothing helped.

My gynecologist at the time prescribed the topical steroid, Premarin, and for one glorious month I was on speaking terms with my vagina. Unfortunately, when my oncologist found out I was taking it she put her foot down and took it away from me, and we were back to being frenemies.

Poor Studly was, and continues to be, so patient, and I must say I’ve been a trooper, too. Wine helps, lots and lots of wine. The act still hurts, but I don’t care as much. 

When we moved to Florida I told our new family doctor about my problem and asked if there were any new treatments for women like me. He responded, “Is it still that important to you?” I wanted to slap him, but instead I began the search for another doctor. 

My new doctor is female, and she referred me to a gynecologist who uses a relatively new procedure using lasers to stimulate the vagina to create its own collagen. I saw the specialist on Wednesday, and for the first time in six years I feel hopeful that we can be friends again. 

The procedure isn’t covered by health insurance, and the initial package of three treatments can vary in price from $1,500 to $3,000 depending on the part of the country in which one resides. Annual follow up treatments run about $500. 

At my doctor’s office the procedure is known as the Mona Lisa Touch (they have a website: http://www.monalisatouch.com/), but I understand there are several other companies in the market with different monikers.

My first treatment is scheduled in early March. If I haven’t put everyone off I’ll provide updates, not to be confused with play by play. That would just be wrong. Send good thoughts. I will appreciate them.

Oh, my new gynecologist talked to me extensively about new research regarding Premarin and he’s started me on a new prescription. Things really are looking up down there.

Peace and friendship, people.

Song of the Lake 

Hear the frogs singing
Their song of the lake
Throaty and fervent
A call for a mate:

I’m strong and I’m virile
Froggy voices declare
I’ll take you by moonlight
My frog lady fair

Come croak to me, lover
I’ll capture your heart
On the still, calm waters
We’ll cavort in the dark.

Frog fortunes are made
In the conquests they make,
In the courtships brokered
On the shores of the lake.