On a recent Saturday afternoon, me and two of my good girlfriends wandered through Hampden and through the doors of Sugar, an adult toy and more store. We were like Toy R Us kids. Touching, testing, ooooh’n, ahhhhh’n and, “Oooooooooh bitch come here and see this!

As we roamed, I picked up a little whip and said, “Now see, I wouldn’t mind having this in my stash but niggas get too excited when you let them step out of that box.  I don’t need no welps and shit.” One of them said very matter-of-factly, “Pick a safe word.”  I laughed, and quickly made a mental note.

What tickled me even more was that not only were we enjoying everything that we put our hands on in the broad 33rd Street daylight, but there was no reservation.  We shared, laughed and kept it moving and loaded our discreet brown bags up with the free bare skin magnums that were at the register. So free. So sexy. 

On the heels of the #metoo movement, women are digging up the shells they had previously shed because of a few fucked up men who can’t control their hands, mouths and penises. Shame on them for shaming us. Because they can’t handle our heat, we’re supposed  to turn it down? Get it together boys.

All foolery aside, sexiness or at least the expression of it is being left to the twentysomethings, while the rest of us watch and judge from the porch. Those hot ass youngsters. The nerve of them, right? Stop it ladies.

We’ve let that little voice in our heads get louder and we believe that sexy is above us now. Are we becoming the new prudes? Yikes!

Nah, not me.

Every woman should feel sexy.  No matter her age, size or race. You should walk into a room of beautiful people and feel as if you belong there, like you’ve discovered your long lost tribe. I’m often confused when people refer to my super-sized, black ass self as “For a big girl.. For a dark girl… “, I’m surprised that people still think like that. And even more surprised to hear them say it out loud. Back to the lost art of sexiness though.

Let us not forget the taboo days when you wouldn’t be caught dead with toys or  masturbating.  If you touched yourself, you were dirty or weird. Ladies just didn’t do that. Well in my opinion, those ladies weren’t very happy.  

As a woman who pleasures herself quite often, I find it sad that we still whisper about it. I’m not expecting anyone to run through the streets with a banner screaming, “I GIVE MYSELF THE BEST ORGASMS!!” but leaving discovery and pleasure in the hands of men just doesn’t sit right with me.  The vagina has a voice and every time that we listen to it, we shed a layer of vulnerability and add a layer of personal power.

I own it, I love me and I make it my business to love on every crease, crevice and stretch mark spread out over me.  Something as simple as lotioning my body is loving to me. I take time to massage and squeeze because it feels so damn good to my soul. I stand in the mirror naked every  morning and say the most loving things to myself. I had to undo all that I had been taught. Starting with leaving the lovin’ in the hands of lovers. 

Nah, son.

I refuse to save my sexy for my man.  It belongs to me first.
Some years ago, I was in the mirror doing my hair and caught a glimpse of my eyes and thought, “Damn. I don’t remember the last time I actually  looked at myself in a mirror.”  It was my eyes. Those sad ass eyes looking back at me. I thought about who else had seen those same eyes and looked  away. And who could blame them? Not a shred of confidence, sexy or gusto. Eww.


I found little ways to ignite it in me.  Little private ways to get back right.  Starting with mirrors. I put them all over.  Slowly, I felt amplified. Turned up. Unmuted.  I’m not polite about it either.  I love that part of me so much that I protect it relentlessly and how I do it is no one’s business. This part of me is all mine, everyone else is a guest at a table that I set to my liking.

Everything that I give in love, I give to me first.  I feel like technicolor in motion. Especially in all things sexy. 

That’s the view of me that I choose and could give a damn about how the rest of the world and the fickle people in it choose to see me.  Your turn.

I picked a few of my favorite things, and I hope that they become your favorites too.  Here’s your starter kit, in no particular order:

1. Flirt – My favorite pasttime. Old, young, I make ’em blush. I make eye contact. I lick my lips while talking. I break the touch barrier and graze the tops of hands softly with my nails during conversations, draw little light circles on their backs. Their reaction makes me feel like I still got it. And oh boy do I.  If that ain’t a boost…

2. A red panty and bra set, for your eyes only – I know how cliche it sounds but let me just tell you this: There’s nothing like taking your clothes off at the end of a stressful workday and seeing all of that sexy staring back at you.  My most  favorite thing to do is to spend an afternoon of full-on self care – exfoliating facial, soaking in a tub of Dr. Teals, lighting candles and rubbing down in that good shea and cocoa butter oil. And putting that lacy red brassiere and lacier panties with nowhere to go and no one to see but me.  I switch and glide all through this house, hear?! I don’t see rolls or a fupa, I see top tier sexy. I, (make sure you see that capitalized) see top tier sexy. I feel good as hell.

3. Download Megan Thee Stallion, and dance like E V E R Y O N E is watching – I looooove Meg! She keeps me fun,    young and vibrant and is my 24 year old spirit animal. Unapologetic and dope with it. So, I dance most mornings. Not for exercise but because it sets the tone of my day.  I’ve been dancing to her playlist for the past three weeks.  Tap into your prowess by turning the volume to ten and testing out your Megan knees. I highly recommend Big Ole Freak. While wearing the red panty set.

4. Touch yourself –  Don’t limit yourself to the vagina ladies, but start there.  Touch yourself in the same way that you’d expect a man to. Rub, caress, penetrate, squeeze, tickle, pinch, stretch, think of it as sexual yoga. Be as free as you want with it. No ones watching. But you can pretend that they are if you’d like.

5. Touch him… especially different. –  Push buttons and test limits with intimacy by playing outside off the lines.  Trace his lips with your tongue.  Linger on that bottom lip.  Kiss his inner thighs.  Kiss his fingertips, one by one.  Send chills up his spine by tracing his entire body with a black feather.  That is some sexy shit.

6. Get a piercing, or two. Or some waist beads – I just think it is incredibly sexy to be a plain jane on the outside, with major fever going on under those clothes. What else is there to say?

Become so beautifully unhinged, uninhibited, wild, sexy and free with yourself, that there ain’t a box large enough to hold your Self in ever again. Real sexiness is total confidence. 

Can’t nobody give it to you and they damn sure can’t take it away. Get yours. It’s a short life.

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