Be forewarned, I’m in a snarky snit over an author and I hate, hate, hate to stuff-her in silence.  I’m not going to name names, but I am going to seethe a bit. 

 I love writing about sex and sensuality, and so I’m naturally curious to see what other women have to say on these subjects.  Stumbling on a “sensuality test” last night made me positively gleeful.  I was positive my score would put me in the firecracker category, reserved for those rare few whose incorrect handling could lead to loss of limbs, lives and property.  Sharpened pencil in hand, I opened the page.   This is a just a small sampling of the true or false questions that awaited me:

• I like to watch cloud shapes and changes in the sky.
• I can be deeply moved by a sunset.
• I find that different odors have different colors.
• When listening to organ music or other powerful music I feel as I am being lifted into the air.
• I often take delight in small things (like the five point star you get when you cut an apple across the core.)

WTF? These are questions that will lead to “Extraordinary Sex?” Sounds more like a kindergarten curriculum. If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. Just because I don’t have a penis doesn’t mean that I’m not interested in mastering the hokey pokey. (NOTE: You may want to have the mute button handy since this is the official commencement of my caterwauling.)

Why are we so afraid of shining the spotlight on women’s true sexuality?  Are women such sexual naifs that we have to start the conversation with “If you were a color, what color would you be?” Looking for diamonds in the sky can be nice, but let’s focus on the jewel box between our legs. If we truly want to unleash the power within, that’s what should move and delight us.  Forget the scenic spectacles and pass me the speculum.

What’s really behind our ambivalence towards owning our eroticism and seizing it with both hands? Sensuality is not listening to Yanni and ignoring our own yawning desires. It’s a potent elixir of heat and electricity that we carry with us always.  It’s wanting, not wanton, behavior where every climax signals a Morse code of one's innermost inferno.  It’s a command:  pay attention to me!

Of course, that’s really the point, isn’t it?  Sexual women are powerful women.  For us, sex and rest of our lives are not autonomous spheres where sex inserts itself through sneak attacks.  The evacuation of sensuality leaves us high and dry, and so we actively seek the mysterious within the mundane.  Failure to balance the heat with the heart is more than an aesthetic transgression; it throws our equilibrium off kilter. So we defy conventions and accept both the attention and admonitions that true sensuality brings.

Instead of sunsets and suncatchers, let’s talk about the awe of primal orgasms that tug at your ovaries like a torrent.  Let’s discuss the power of sexual prowess, and steer the conversation away from body issues to body tissue.  And instead of maintaining appearances, let’s speak of the glorious feelings of transformation that eroticism bestows and the combustible power of self-knowledge coupled with desire.