Ten Sexiest Stars of Classic Broadway (IMHO)

Yes, I'm obsessed with Broadway. And why not? Guys singing, guys dancing, guys in great costumes (and yes, many of them are gay but they're still hot, for heaven's sake), romance in abundance, and plenty of sexiness.

I've been obsessed with Broadway since I was a tiny child, as my list below will attest. Alas, I also live in the Midwest. So I'm far from an expert on the current stars trodding the boards in NYC. Still, I can recognize all kinds of classic and unforgettable performances over the years. So, for what it's worth, here are my top ten guys who rocked the stage (and sometimes screen) with their hotness:


Yul Brynner, the King of Siam, "The King and I" (1951) (see also this post) - Exotic, beautiful, funny, fierce and vulnerable...wow. Oh, and also shirtless throughout the whole show.

Robert Preston, Harold Hill, "The Music Man" (1957) - The original charming shyster of Broadway. Prof. Hill, I never heard those bells, till there was you.

Gerome Ragni and James Rado, Berger and Claude, "Hair" (1967) (see also this post) - The originators both of the show and the starring roles, they served as inspiration as I passed through puberty. I slightly preferred Claude.

Victor Garber, Jesus, "Godspell" (1971) (see also this post) - Is it wrong to think of Jesus as hot? Well, he wasn't actually sexy, just sweet and funny and brave and lovable. I'm still not over my crush on Victor, it's been a doozy all these decades.

Richard O'Brien, Riff Raff, "The Rocky Horror [Picture] Show" (1973) (see also this post) - To say he's not classically handsome is to state the obvious...but the show's creator and eccentric star was undeniably sexy in this role. It's downright scary how sexy...

Kevin Kline, The Pirate King, "The Pirates of Penzance" (1980) - Sure, he's goofy, but you can't resist him in that "alarming but effective costume." He can swash my buckle anytime.

Michael Crawford, The Phantom, "The Phantom of the Opera" (1986) - Appropriately, I fell under the spell of his voice without needing to see his face.

Anthony Rapp, Mark, "Rent" (1996) - Can't really put my finger on why I'm so attracted to Mark (my daughters saw the show on Broadway and were sure I'd go for Rodger). He's just damn cute.

Hugh Jackman, Curly, "Oklahoma" (London Revival) (1999) (see also this post) - If you like Hugh, then you should rent.this.now. He's absolutely breathtaking.


Jason Danieley, Lieutenant Joseph Cable, "South Pacific" (Concert Version) (2006) (see also this post) - I'm cheating a little here, having not actually seen Jason perform this role or any other, but his version of "Younger Than Springtime" is absolutely heavenly.

That's a pretty eclectic group, hey? I know I left out scads of other worthy candidates. Please share your favorites of yore or today in the comments....

Glenn, Then and Now

Well, I've certainly had tenors on the brain lately. It's the time of year, I think. I listen to a lot of classical Christmas music that reminds me of my high school choir days, and those days always remind me of how much music had to do with my romantic life. (Some things never change, obviously. My Jason Danieley thing should not have surprised anyone who knows me.)

Well, I recently happened to catch on the radio Vaughn William's Fantasia on Christmas Carols. When I was a senior in high school, my choir performed this beautiful piece at our Christmas concert, and the solo part was taken by my classmate Glenn Siebert. To this day I can still play in my head his voice singing it. This boy's voice was heaven. When Josh Groban hit the scene, I immediately noticed how similar his voice was to Glenn Siebert's.

Going through three years in vocal music with Glenn around was no small treat, believe me. I got to see him as Tony in "West Side Story," as Curly in "Oklahoma!" and I actually shared the stage with him (in the chorus) as Prince Karl Franz in "The Student Prince." My head will also still play his voice singing "Deep in My Heart, Dear." Sigh...

Reading this, you may have figured I had a mad crush on this guy back in the day. Well, I didn't. I was just not the self-flagellating type. Glenn was a prom court kind of guy, staggeringly cute (70's style, which still works for me), and clearly with that voice and decent acting skills was a total chick magnet. I was not in his league. I did not allow myself one daydream about this guy, knowing that could clearly only end in tears.

So here he is, in a promo shot for "The Student Prince," in 1974:


Nevertheless, all my life Glenn Siebert defined tenors for me, which is undoubtedly why no guys on the Sirius XM Broadway Channel thrilled me until Jason came along. I was just too spoiled in high school. And I'm sure having a guy like that in the neighborhood only helped foster my conviction that being a talented tenor is just one of the most romantic, sexy things a man can do.

So what became of Glenn Siebert? Well, here he is today:

See, I wasn't making this up or exaggerating! Just read his bio and have your mind blown. He's sung solos with pretty much every orchestra in the country (the New York Philharmonic, the Cleveland Orchestra, the Boston Pops et al.), and performed the lead in dozens of operas in the U.S. and overseas. He also teaches at the North Carolina School of the Arts in Winston-Salem, and is director of the Magnolia Baroque Festival. He's not a household word like Pavarotti, but it's pretty clear to me he's among America's most talented operatic tenors. If you'd like to hear him sing, go HERE for samples (I'd recommend the third track there).

It does my heart good--yes, that heart which didn't dare fall for Glenn back in my high school days--that to this day that voice is being enjoyed by thousands of people. Seems like a very, very happy ending to a little "love story" that never took place.

A Christmas Angel Named Harry

Some experiences you just know are going to be blog-worthy.

Last night Davie and I went to see Harry Connick, Jr. and his band at Milwaukee's Riverside Theater. People, a man this wonderful simply has to make an appearance on Erotic with Soul.

It's certainly not news to you that he is one of the great musical minds of his generation. His musical arranging and composing talents are staggering. And you'd have to have spent the last fifteen years living in a cave to not know how wonderfully Harry can sing and play piano. He's a fine actor as well...and the face, the face is divine. He ain't a bad dancer either, as we learned last night.

But as impressed as I am by all these things, I'm wild about Harry for another reason altogether: his heart. It's something of a miracle to be able to give a room of 2,500 people the feeling of being entertained in your living room, but this he managed from the very start of the show. The Riverside is one of the few venues Harry has played that has no curtain, he told us, so before the start, he looked out at the crowd. He said he found us beautiful, and his heart swelled to think that in spite of the economy we would spend our dollars to see him and his band. These words were spoken with such sincerity, you believed him--and marvelled that he would think for a minute the $40 ticket price (for the balcony anyway) wasn't worth what he was going to give us! But this is a guy who, despite his success and popularity, still treasures every member of his audience.

There was an older woman in the front row, "Fritzi Sue," whom Harry adopted as his pet for the show. She was beautifully dressed and obviously a doll...and in reward for her love of Harry, got to kiss him and come up on stage and dance with him a bit. He told her "You're beautiful," to which she responded, "If you like 'em old!" Harry's reply: "What about you is old, Fritzi Sue? You live life--it's wonderful, you live life."

The band returned for an encore, and as they retook their seats, Harry started to tell an anecdote about the second time he met Frank Sinatra. He was a minute or two into this story--and on top of everything else, Harry is an amazing storyteller--when he said, "Right after this we'll play some New Orleans music and then we'll be done, so do you have a minute?", seriously as if he wanted to be sure we could spare the time to listen to him.

It's amazing enough to meet a man this talented, charming and handsome, and not have him possess an ego the size of the bayou. But that this fellow should be one of the most tenderhearted, people-loving, genuine, generous-spirited guys you could meet...well, that's a Christmas miracle.

God love ya, Harry! Thanks for a glorious show, and for being such an inspiration.

I Want an Angel: On Josh Groban

I heard the other day that Josh Groban’s new Christmas CD “Noel” has been at the top of the charts since its release...it’s gone double platinum. First of all, let me say I think it’s extremely cool that a Christmas CD is a #1 seller. And it’s really sweet and wonderful that the particular album is Josh’s.

The young man truly seems to me like a Christmas angel incarnate.

I first encountered Josh when he was 20 and played a high school kid on “Ally McBeal.” He was adorable even before he opened his mouth to sing...and the voice completely blew me away, partly for personal reasons. You see, I went to high school with a guy whose voice was incredibly similar, and he was cute too. I think the only reason I never had a crush on Glenn Siebert is that I knew it was too hopeless to bother with. (He grew up to become a professional music professor and opera singer, and still sounds sublime.) So here was this young reincarnation of Glenn Siebert, Josh Groban, with those tousled curls and dark brown eyes...and such a sweet and gentle persona. I don’t care if I’m old enough to be his mother--I’m only flesh and blood.

And besides, I’ve never actually lusted for this boy. It’s too delightful to adore him chastely, to simply bask in his gifts. You can close your eyes and forget all the ambiguity and imperfection of real life, and let this voice fill your soul, this voice that is so absolutely flawless.

Angels, they say, are perfect.

You could certainly do worse than Josh Groban if looking for a Christmas angel. He is a Christian, and very supportive of all manner of great charities, both with his singing and his pocketbook. In a world of celebrity scandals, you won’t be seeing him in some compromising photo in the tabloids soon.

I appreciate that. I really do. I know no human is perfect, but a man with such a lovely face and such a heavenly voice--well, one really does want to pretend he is perfect. It’s very kind of Josh to keep that in mind in his daily lifestyle.

Now, while I don’t purport to make Josh an object of lust, neither do I deny that beauty and perfection are erotic, in a certain way. In fact, when the mind and soul long for perfect beauty, they bring the body along; that is, the pleasure and satisfaction of beholding such loveliness are physical sensations as much as emotional ones. This kind of passion may be more akin to religious fervor than sexual desire, but it is still an intense form of love.

Angels, they say, are pure spirit.

And as such, they of course do not traffic in the physical, including intercourse. Sex is irrelevant to angels, and yet I would suppose they experience passion as profound as any we sexual beings feel. I wonder then if in their discourse with each other and God, their experience is perhaps a little bit like what I feel when I listen to Josh Groban.

And if that’s true, it’s no wonder so many of us have bought the CD. It’s Christmastime, and we want an angel.

My Sexiest Guys of 2007

Okay, People magazine, I just don’t get the Matt Damon choice. He’s cute, funny, a good actor, but Sexiest Man Alive?

I realize there can never be any kind of consensus on an issue like sexiness, so the question is moot anyway. But a choice this weird just motivates me to make my own list. I blog about sex, isn’t that enough qualification? Okay, I know my opinion counts no more than yours...so write your own list!

Here’s mine:

Sexiest in a TV comedy: John Krasinski (Jim on “The Office”). Now that he’s got the girl (Pam), he manages to be just as adorable, charming and sexy as ever. Even playing ping pong badly.

Sexiest in a TV drama: Milo Ventimiglia (Peter on “Heroes”). I know I’m not alone on this one. Dark, handsome, goodhearted, brooding and tortured, looks great half naked and bruised, plus he is the most powerful superhero in the Heroes pantheon.

Sexiest in a film comedy: Simon Pegg (Nicolas Angel in “Hot Fuzz”). I wish I could tell you why he got to me so; I guess his being a super cop with perfect dedication to his job was some kind of turn-on to me.

Sexiest in a film drama: Daniel Craig (James Bond in “Casino Royale”). I think I’ll get some seconds on this one too. He added a dimension of vulnerability to the Bond package that intensified his allure. I would be remiss not to mention the eyes, of course.

Sexiest villain, TV or film: Zachary Quinto (Sylar on “Heroes”). Gotta give it to him this year, he just brings superpowered-blacksouled-serial-killer to a whole new level of hotness.

Sexiest dancer: Danny Tidwell (runner-up in this year’s “So You Think You Can Dance”). The looks, the body, and one hell of a samba. Honorable mention to third place Neil Haskell who shines mostly by humor and charm, but pulled sexiness out of his tights a time or two as well.

Sexiest singer: Les Stroud. I’m not about to deny Les his due here, and if you don’t believe me, listen to “Nice Tattoo.”

Sexiest speaking voice: Mike Rowe (“Dirty Jobs,” “Deadliest Catch,” Ford commercials, etc.). The rest of him ain’t bad either, but I could listen to him talk all day, even about poo and crabs.

Sexiest in a reality show: Les Stroud encore (“Survivorman”). Call me biased, but I really think a national vote (wait, let’s include Canada) would back me up. The commentary in the blogosphere sure suggests it.

Sexiest entertainer who doesn’t sing, dance or act: Criss Angel (“Mind Freak”). We all find magic sexy but this guy blows away all competition. He’s one of a kind, this one.

Sexiest sports figure: Mark DeRosa (Chicago Cubs). I have to qualify this by admitting I’m a rabid fan of the Cubbies, but Mark deserves the title. He’s hot, nice, talented, hardworking, and a team player. Honorable mention to Peyton “Laser Rocket Arm” Manning who may not be sexy but steals the show both on the gridiron and any commercial in which he appears.

Sexiest guy, mature category: Edward James Olmos (Admiral Adama, “Battlestar Galactica”). At age 60, E.J.O. has a strong, wise, gentle dignity about him. As Adama, he can be father figure and alpha male all at once. Works for me.

Sexiest guy, barely-legal category: Shia LaBeouf (actor, “Disturbia,” “Transformers,” etc.). Okay, he’s 21 now but he doesn’t look it. Shia has a shy, youthful charm with just enough innocent sexiness to attract without freaking you out. Runner-up props to 18-year-old Corbin Bleu (“High School Musical”), who in my opinion totally outshines Zac Efron.

Sexiest person if you base your choice on Google searches leading to my blog: Cody Willard (Fox Business Network, hedge fund manager). 2.3% of searchers, people, can you believe it? I have a feeling all those hits are due to the fact that investors are so surprised to see the third result in Google for Cody is a blog called “Erotica with Soul.”

Matt Damon, eat your heart out.

Miracle Music

This topic is not strictly regarding the erotic, but whenever I encounter real life magic, I think it’s worth reporting.

I posted recently about Les Stroud’s new CD “Long Walk Home” which he sent to me as a gift. The title song on the CD, composed by Les and members of the Northern Pikes, happens to be (for me) one of those songs you encounter once a decade. The kind that you want to replay as soon as the last note sounds. The kind that uses your mind as modeling clay. The kind that tweaks and piques your soul.

I’m not saying anyone who listens to this song will experience what I do (life’s not like that), only that it’s the music and not me that’s working the magic. I always love Les’s voice. I’m a big fan of the Pikes--“Dream Away” is nearly in this same category, but not quite. But it’s this particular song that transcends. It’s the combination of all the elements in it: the shushing percussion, the haunting electronics, the heart-tugging chord progressions, Les’s plaintive voice (his “come with me now” is irresistible), the classic-Pikes-sound bridge, the relief of the lilting bluegrass at the end that ultimately yields again to the melancholy of the song.

You can combine such elements and be assured the resulting song will be a great one. But “Long Walk Home” goes beyond being simply good to listen to. It has an effect beyond auditory for me. Every time I listen to it, it seems to probe at my brain like water stirs up sand, dislodging feelings and memories I’d lost for years. One minute I’m remembering how it felt to be wandering the vacant lots near my childhood home, picking wildflowers. The next it’s the memory of looking forward to seeing some guy I’m crushing on at a high school football game. I’m transported to other times and places, in my own life and sometimes even scenes I’ve never actually lived.

Far away, beyond the crest of hill or around a street corner, Les and the Pikes are playing this song, leading me on like the Pied Piper through the village of my own soul. It’s amazing.

That’s the miracle of music. Now, I love to write more than anything in the world, but I’m not sure writing prose or even poetry can achieve what music can. I’ve drawn and painted and worked in clay, and although I’m sometimes thrilled to be able to create beauty that didn’t exist before, the visual arts can’t quite do it either. But music can be magic, and is, remarkably often. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be able to do what musicians can do.

I am familiar enough with the creative process to suspect that such miracles are not deliberate. It’s probably not as if Les decided one particular day, “Okay, enough of this regular stuff...today I’m going to write the mind-blowing song.” I’m guessing he and the band put all they had into this one and hoped it would be special, but probably even they didn’t know what this piece of music would be capable of once it was done.

I wonder if Les and the Pikes listened to this track after it was mixed and looked at each other and said, “wow.” Did they not even guess what the song was able to do? Or did they know instantly that it had that power?

Guys, please Google yourselves and find this post and email me. I’d sure love to know what it’s like to be able to work real magic.

Another Gift from Les!

As my regular readers know, I am crazy about Survivorman. Well, not only Les Stroud when he wears his survival-TV-show hat, but just as much when he’s singing. I’ve been counting the days till the release of Les’s new CD recorded with that awesome Canadian band, the Northern Pikes. I listen to his self-titled first CD at least once a month after playing the thing daily for the first couple weeks. If you think this guy is good at building a shelter out of crashed plane scraps, you should hear him play guitar.

Yeah, I really dig the man. So imagine me Friday night when I got home from work and my husband said, “You got a package from Les!” And it was true! There was a package from that Huntsville, Ontario address and inside was the new CD.

Did I ask for this? No. It came to me out of the blue! I mean, think of it: Survivorman himself deciding, “Hey, I’ve got to send a copy of my CD to my writer fan in Wisconsin!” Please understand, he doesn’t know me personally--he just did this to be nice. It all started when I blogged about him and ordered a couple of things from his online store, and he sent me gifts on top of my order. For a blog post! Gosh. So I sent a copy of Soulful Sex: Volumes I & II to him as a return gesture. His assistant Wendy and I have exchanged a few emails too--what a nice person she is! Anyway, over the past year so I have definitely gotten into all things Les Stroud.

So, when I released Soulful Sex: The Paranormal, Science Fiction and Fantasy Collections a couple months ago, I had to send a copy up to Ontario to Les. You see, one of the stories, “Spacewrecked with Joel Fennimore” is basically Survivorman in Space, and Joel is a sort of futuristic Les Stroud. My little tribute to this inspirational guy.

I don’t know if Les actually got a chance to read it and liked it, or if he was just being a sweetheart on general principles when he sent me the new CD. Either way, a person just doesn’t get an unrequested gift from a celebrity every day. I really can’t believe it, actually!

And the CD? Well, it’s awesome! It’s just my luck that my favorite musician in the world does his music as a sideline (although it used to be his primary vocation back in the day). Don’t get me wrong, I adore the show, I get pretty swoony over Les’s wilderness adventures, and his film work is amazing. But it’s the music that sends me most of all. The title track on the CD, “Long Walk Home,” is (at least to me) like something from another plane of reality. It transports me to this weird place where I want to cry but also never want the feeling to stop. With most songs I like, I can tell what it is that makes the song good: nice chord progression, zippy beat, excellent melody, whatever. But with some of Les’s songs (same could be said of “After Neil Young Dies,” “Clouds,” and “All Restless Souls”) I can’t even get my mind around what he’s done to make them work like they do. The magic is transferred from the performance directly to my emotions with no comprehensible link in between.

Regular readers of this blog will recall my lament for a really good crush back in March. I was wishing I could believe in the goodness and heroism of some guy again, if only on a fantasy level, the way I used to be able to in my younger days (like my early 40s, LOL!). I’ve been noticing lately that over a year out from the last new episode of “Survivorman,” even upon listening to his first CD for the thirtieth time, I’m still able to get as excited about Les as ever.

With this gesture, I think he’s put himself over the top. What a swell guy.

Great Guys of INKYTNMO

What’s INKYTNMO? The 1,598-mile road trip I just completed with my family, with that name being derived from the states we visited. We journeyed from Milwaukee to a brief stop in Indianapolis, then on to Louisville, Mammoth Cave, Nashville, Memphis and St. Louis before looping back home. We had the time of our lives for nine glorious days!

Part of the fun of traveling is the people you meet and/or see on the way. This trip had no shortage of interesting sightings. In the Most Amazing Coincidence category: We picked out a fellow on the Belle of Louisville steamboat on Saturday who bore a slight resemblance to a certain star of home makeover shows. Our pal “Ty Pennington” turned up again at our hotel in Nashville and AGAIN at our hotel in Memphis! What are the odds? Meanwhile, a J.D. Fortune lookalike my daughter Manzi fell for at a Beale Street bar showed up at our hotel breakfast along with Ty.

Our St. Louis hotel turned out to be a hotbed of hotties. There was a big extreme sports event in town, and we discovered none other than Tony Hawk hanging out at the hotel bar. The next morning we saw a couple other famous skaters interviewed on local TV, only to see them live at the hotel restaurant for breakfast! Manzi forgot about “J.D.” and even Tony Hawk, once she laid eyes on Jesse Fritsch two tables over in the Union Grill.

But this column is not about men my kids find attractive, it’s about the ones I like! LOL So meet my favorite three guys from the journey....

Glenn Taylor, Louisville--Our first night of the trip we wandered over to Louisville’s Fourth Street Live. It’s a collection of restaurants, shops and clubs joined by an immense canopy-structure that covers the entire street. I can’t begin to describe it, but it’s way cool. There was a special “Beach Bash” on, complete with a pool and sand beach in the middle of the street. Music was provided by a most excellent cover band called “This, That and the Other.” Everyone in the family immediately pegged the lead guitarist, Glenn Taylor, for me. It’s always fun when you spot someone who is exactly your type, especially when he plays guitar. Glenn bore a nice resemblance to a certain other person previously mentioned as my type on this blog, Cody Willard. Add vacation, beer, and a belly full of tasty appetizers and bourbon from Maker’s Mark Lounge and you have the picture of my happiness that night in Louisville.

Ranger Steve, Mammoth Cave--Sunday afternoon was our long-anticipated visit to Mammoth Cave. We were fortunate to be led on our tour by the wonderful Ranger Steve, a fellow who was a younger, more slender version of another heart-throb I’ve mentioned on this blog, composer John Williams. I’m not sure if Ranger Steve is a musician or not, but his charm lay in his fabulous story-telling abilities. As we descended ever downward into the cavernous abyss, he regaled us with tale after tale of 150 years of Mammoth Cave history. What could be more romantic than standing with 120 other people in a cave, by the light of two antique oil lamps, listening to Ranger Steve talk about subterranean discovery and disaster? Sigh.

Danny Umfress, Memphis--But the dream-man capper for me on this fabulous vacation came into our lives Tuesday night. We had discovered ahead of time that a band called Gary Hardy and the Memphis 2 was going to be doing a tribute to Johnny Cash that night at the Blues City Café. After gorging ourselves on barbecue, we headed over to the bar side of the Café, and on the way in we met Danny, who introduced himself and invited us to the show. We settled in with Jack & Cokes, and were treated to the most fantastic live sampling of old Memphis music you can imagine. Not only did Gary Hardy do a fabulous Johnny Cash, he knew everyone in the business and was owner for awhile of the famous Sun Studio. He was quite the storyteller too--funny and fascinating and a great musician. Meanwhile, Danny himself had played with Johnny Cash, and he proved to be a dazzling guitarist, the best I’ve ever seen with my own eyes. He also bore a resemblance to a certain person I have mentioned repeatedly on this blog, my main man, Les Stroud. Danny talked with us several times and seemed a sweet, gentle southern man. And believe me, I’ll never forget the way he looked at me during the opening riff of “Ring of Fire.” Danny, in my mind that will always be our song.

Ah INKYTNMO...how I miss thee! Who knows when I may again find my way down south in Kentucky and Tennessee, but I’ll remember forever Glenn, Steve and especially Danny, my dear southern boys.

Make My Body Move

It’s hard for me to listen to my new flamenco guitar music without fantasizing about dancing. I’m doing the tango with Edward James Olmos. Or the rhumba with Sawyer. (To his Phil Collins mix tape? Okay, that doesn’t work too well.) I’m resurrecting past fantasies with John O’Hurley. You get the general drift.

In the collage of my thoughts is material from recent viewings of the Discovery Channel’s fantastic “Planet Earth” series. We’ve seen a lot of “mating dances.” Apparently countless creatures on our planet do not mate without the male first proving his sex-worthiness through some exotic show.

So I ask myself, how do these fantasy dances of mine work as “mating shows”? If doing the mambo with Sawyer is a turn-on, and you bet your sweet bippy it is, why is that? Why is any romantic book or movie, from “Dirty Dancing” to “Beauty and the Beast,” enhanced by including some dancing? Why does a guy’s ability to dance so greatly increase his sex appeal?

I fell back on my recollections of real dancing experiences and how they made me feel. One in particular came to mind, so I will focus on that one. I wish I could say the guy in question was my husband, but alas, for all David’s fine qualities, grace is not one of them! It was actually a friend of mine. So I recalled this occasion, and tried to remember what was the reason it felt so good and this fellow seemed so attractive on the dance floor.

Here’s your answer: he led.

That’s the thrill of dancing, to a female. The guy moves you, literally. The key to slow dancing from the female point of view is surrender, letting the man lead. You turn your body and its motion over to him and let him rock you and spin you and propel you, in pleasant accord to the melody and rhythm at hand. Your motions and his coordinate in a lovely way, all because you have let yourself go and given him control over you.

And as I’ve often said before, nothing is so sexual to a woman than surrender.

I hadn’t slow danced with a guy in a long time when I went out on the floor with this friend of mine, with the exception of my beloved husband, who alas cannot lead. (Well, he can, but the consequences are disastrous.) Therefore I was somewhat stunned to feel the sense that I could put myself in the hands of this man and he would control my body in this gently graceful act. It was all particularly potent as there are few social or vocational activities left in which a woman figuratively says to a man, “control me.” But dancing remains one, and even in a chaste slow dance where there is no breast-to-chest contact, if the man leads it is most definitely sexual.

The sexualitometer reading goes up when the music/dance is something particularly dramatic and/or rhythmic, like so many Latin dances are. Throw in some elements that mimic the sex act--maybe dipping, or movements where the private parts are in proximity--and you’re dealing with something a lot more potent than the crazy mating dances those birds of paradise do on the Discovery Channel. (Although I suppose a b.o.p. would beg to differ.) I guess we should have had more respect for John Lithgow’s character in “Footloose”...this dancing stuff really IS dangerous!

A corollary to this dancing phenomenon is the effect a guy can work on a woman by making music. It’s possible of course to listen to music without surrendering your body to it, but if you do, there is a similar thing happening. The musician is controlling your body, you are turning yourself over to him. The movement is one step removed, I’ll grant you: he is touching his instrument, not you. Nevertheless it can have a similar sexual effect. And this is why I get kind of crazy watching videos of my flamenco guitarist Jesse Cook perform. Would that I were those guitar strings.

But in lieu of that, I am content to imagine myself at Kate and Sawyer’s wedding (sorry, you Kate and Jack fans). For the occasion a truce has been declared and the Others invited as well. A few of those extras who rarely talk have worked up a little tropical band (there’s a coconut mandolin, cool!), and they’re playing Santana’s “Smooth.” And wow, can you believe it? The evil but strangely compelling Ben has asked me to dance!

Man, he’s good.

Flamenco Guitar = Audio Sex

Yes, you read that right. And I’ll stand by that statement.

I recently blogged about the sex appeal of music, and quoted from John Mellencamp’s song “Play Guitar”...well, I’d like to amend that post and suggest to you men who really want to attract women: learn how to play flamenco guitar. I find it hard to imagine a guy ugly enough not to seem sexy if he were playing this lovely Latin stuff.

Okay, so here’s the back story: A week ago I was driving home from work, listening to the local jazz station, and had one of those experiences when you hear a song for the first time and all the while its playing, you’re praying the DJ will tell you the name and performer afterwards.

He did. It was “Mario Takes a Walk” by Jesse Cook. And I am officially in love with Jesse Cook.

The guy is a Paris-born Canadian (he’s Canadian! Another plus, if you’re a canuckophile like me) and has been recording for many years. Happily, he has a most excellent website with lots of audio and video clips on it, all of which I listened to last Friday at least ten times apiece until I was convinced I need to get every CD he’s ever done.

Is Jesse Cook good-looking? I’ll be danged if I can tell you. He looks hotter than hell to me, but then, how am I to distinguish the real truth when he’s playing that...that...that music. Ye gods.

The rhythms and melodies that come from Jesse’s fingers just assault a person like someone kissing you and touching you in the most expert manner. Sometimes it might as well be that he’s touching you there. And when the music isn’t all sexual and arousing, it’s tender, or teasing, or pining, or something you’ve felt in the most acute throes of romantic love.

Up until I found Jesse, I had been giving thought to trying to blog about the tango, both the dance and the style of music. To me the tango is pretty much sexier than sex itself. Actually, a number of Latin styles of dancing are, and if you haven’t seen “Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights,” then I recommend you make a beeline for Netflix and put it on your queue. Andrew Blake can eat his heart out, he’s never made a porno movie as hot as those dancing sequences with Diego Luna. Swoon.

But flamenco guitar is like distilled tango to me, the pure and uncut stuff, because there’s nothing to distract you from the music. Nope, it’s not the moves of the dancers, it’s not how hot the guy tangoing looks in those tight pants. It’s just the melody, rhythm, harmony making you feel this way.

I suppose I can’t speak universally on the subject of flamenco guitar. But to my credit, I used to watch the video of Sting’s song “Fragile” at least once a week. (Did I mention Jesse Cook covered that song?) Anyhoo, all I know for sure is Jesse Cook makes it happen for me: He “rhumbafies” a lot of pre-existing tunes and imparts them with sexual fervor. He utilizes a sort of African tribal percussion a lot (another wonderfully sexy technique). And he just seems to imbue every song with so much raw emotion you can hardly bear it. I give him all kinds of credit, but then, some of this must simply be inherent in flamenco guitar. I suspect Jesse might say it’s the nature of the beast, and if you play this stuff properly, women will melt for you. (Jesse, if you google yourself and find this, I hope you’ll comment!)

All this and he probably likes hockey too.

Do I feel I’m cheating on my other beloved Canadian guitar player, Les Stroud, by carrying on so about Jesse Cook? Nah, I think Les would understand: it’s not the man, it’s the music.

And what’s a girl to do anyway? It’s flamenco guitar!

Don’t Talk, Just Sing

I’ve always loved John Mellencamp’s song “Play Guitar,” in which he advises men who want to have success with the opposite sex that they should “forget all about that macho shit and learn how to play guitar.” In fact, any guy earns bonus sexy points by simply being able to sing.

I was reminded of this recently when I rewatched the movie “Team America.” You know, Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s 2004 hilarious marionette movie about a band of American heroes saving the world from terrorism. I felt my dormant adoration of Trey Parker (see also my June 6, 2005 blog post) reawaken as I watched. Or, more accurately, listened.

“Team America” is, in itself, not a romantic film. In fact, it’s gross, particularly the endless and cringeworthy marionette sex scene. Oh, and the vomiting. Funny? In a twisted way. Sexy? Big NO.

However, what sent my heart once again fluttering over Trey was the amazing fact that he wrote or co-wrote all the vocal numbers in the film, and performs them as well. He does the love ballad, the stirring hard rock theme song, the Broadway spoof song, the lament in a satirical Korean accent, the country-western political anthem--all of them. You would guess at least six people sang lead on these numbers, but it’s Trey.

My point here is that in watching this movie, I didn’t get to see Trey Parker, I didn’t get to experience any romance, no--I was watching these insane puppets. Meanwhile, the stuff Trey sang was all satire, and profanity-laced satire at that. Nevertheless when the film was over, I suffered from that symptom that always tells you that you are smitten: the urge to use Google Images to see if there were any new photos of the guy.

All because he can sing.

It reminds me of the night I first watched “Moulin Rouge!” and incredulously heard the first few notes emit from the throat of Ewan McGregor. Before that I found him fairly cute; after I checked IMDB to be sure it was really him singing the role of Christian, I was madly in love. Or let’s take the example of how Hugh Jackman’s stock rose in my eyes after I saw him play Curly in “Oklahoma!” (Wow, and I think those are the only two Broadway musicals with titles that end in exclamation points. Oops, except for “Carnival!” Of course, I also have higher regard for Jerry Orbach, may he rest in peace, because he sang the lead in that show on Broadway. But I digress.)

It’s amazing to me how you can feel completely neutral about a guy one moment, and experience heart-throbbing desire for him the next, simply because he sings. This sort of thing also happened to me regarding Les “Survivorman” Stroud last year. Sure, it’s attractive that he has the wisdom and courage to survive alone in the hostile wilderness. But it wasn’t till I heard him sing that I lost my heart to the guy and decided to write a whole romance story based on him (Soulful Sex The Science Fiction Collection’s “Spacewrecked with Joel Fennimore,” if you’re curious). I didn’t have Joel Fennimore sing in the story, though--no audio, it’s on paper.

I wish there were a way to convey in words the magic of this phenomenon. I wrote a novel once in which the heroine became completely captivated by the hero because of his singing voice, but it wasn’t easy to even try to make that work on paper. Which is a shame, because it’s obviously been a recurring theme in my life.

And here come the familiar strains again. I’m going to have to bust out my DVD of “Baseketball” in which Trey is particularly cute. Or even better, my DVD of “Cannibal: The Musical,” in which he sings a lot. And, happily, as himself rather than Kim Jong Il or Eric Cartman. Let’s not debate just now if either of these films is as good as the “South Park” movie--that’s not the point. Sure I admire Trey Parker for his wit, intelligence, ingenuity, guts, and sense of humor....

But there are times I simply want to say to him, “Honey, shut up and sing.”

Les is More

I recently blogged about several attractive fellows from the Discovery Channel, one of whom was Les Stroud, aka "Survivorman." Well, you know how it is: you can never predict what particular person is going to capture your imagination, and in the intervening days, Les has trapped mine. I've also learned there's more to Survivorman than I originally realized.

I have a strong theory why I find so much appeal in a man who specializes in survival. If you'll pardon the arrogance of this statement, I'm a pretty capable person myself--intellectually and emotionally, anyway. Meanwhile, however, I was raised in the early 60s with the romantic ideal that men are strong and protective. In spite of my independence, deep down I have always craved a hero to rely on, someone almost supernaturally able to deal with challenge.

So it was only a matter of time until I found myself attracted to Les, particularly considering the format of his show. He's all alone in these beautiful but dangerous locales...just the man and the camera that connects him to you. When he looks into your eyes (via the lens) and shares with you his most intimate reactions to his plights of survival, you feel yourself bonding with the guy. You suffer with him when he shivers with hypothermia, you pray with him that he won't be attacked by bears, you hunger and thirst with him as days pass and his body pines for nourishment. That kind of shared experience has its effect.

Nevertheless, I confess the allure of Les Stroud crept up on me slowly. He is capable but not dashing, pleasant-looking but not gorgeous, manly but not macho. He can seem almost ordinary at times (if you ignore what he's doing), as he goes about his business quietly with moments of humor and occasional annoyance. After I had spent enough time with him to notice a friendship forming (if familiarity with a TV personality can be called "friendship"), I suddenly realized I felt more than that. One day I kinda liked him; the next I was holding pretend conversations with him in the imaginary wilderness of western Ontario.

Yesterday, however, things took an even more intense turn.

I was killing time and decided to see if I could come up with a nice Les wallpaper with some spectacular natural backdrop behind my new hero. In the course of this, Google turned up someone's personal blog page that featured the line: "Les Stroud--I want to have his babies!!" I figured I'd found another "Survivorman" fan. But when I clicked from Google to the page, I found the reference was in this girl's "favorites" column, listing him as her favorite musician.

I knew Les was a musician, as I reported here before. But it isn't his primary claim to fame. My curiosity piqued, I dug a little deeper and found a page of Les's on which he spoke more about his musical career. It included three free MP3's of songs he had composed and performed. I chose one entitled "Clouds."

It was an interesting folk fusion sort of song, with acoustic guitar (Les) and fiddle taking the lead roles. I liked it a lot, and it was certainly out of the ordinary. Then over the music rose the narrative voice of Les, the one I knew well from watching his show, speaking softly and slowly of his childhood daydreams. And abruptly, without warning, he began to sing.

I am not exaggerating when I say, I had an intense physiological reaction to this. A flush of heat flashed in the core of me. It was a kind of shock, a gasp of delight but more awe-full than happy. Why shock? Well, it wasn't that it didn't sound like Les: it did. And yet, I had truly never guessed his singing voice would be that beautiful. I stopped breathing, ceased moving, experienced nothing but that weird flush and the sound of Les Stroud's music in my ears.

I haven't had a reaction like that to music since when I heard Ewan McGregor open his mouth and sing "The hills are alive with the sound of music" at the beginning of "Moulin Rouge." As on that occasion, I found it hard to believe what was happening--that this person possessed that voice--even though the proof was in my very ears.

I listened to the other two songs. All three were wonderful. Les's guitar playing was wonderful, and the fact he wrote these songs was just one more fact at which to marvel.

It's hard to find men who excel in the esthetic realm and the physical one. Sometimes the survival master's comments on "Survivorman" do verge on poetry, and clearly his love of the natural world and his camera work also mark him as having artistic sensibilities. But there is something about music that, at least for me, transcends all. So this discovery proved to me Les Stroud's soul is a match for that mind and body that I've seen endure and conquer the physical realm's toughest challenges.

What is it about hearing a man sing that just makes you want to lay your heart at his feet?

Over the years I've gotten quite good at mastering celebrity attractions. I know they are 90% fantasy and 10% fact, and I stay conscious of that. That said, Les Stroud is almost too much for me. None of this is acting, it's all the real Les. I fear the fantasy/fact ratio with him is more 40/60. I find myself actually aching a little if I think about it too hard. I'm sure his wife could tell me plenty about his faults and the downside of living with him (as if I could, as she did, live with him without electricity, plumbing, or even metal tools!). But this time the wonders of this man are rather irrefutable.

As much as that pains me, seeing as I won't ever even meet him, it's also really marvelous.

Who’s Your Favorite Guy in the Band?

As the eloquent John Mellencamp once said, “Forget all about that macho shit and learn how to play guitar!” It’s true, one key to most women’s hearts is membership in a rock band. I had a blast writing about a rock band in my novel The Resurrection of Captain Eternity, especially Fritz, the lead singer/guitar player. Swoon.

So let’s have some fun and talk about rock band archetypes. Who’s your favorite guy in the band, and what might it mean that you find him to be the sexiest?

The Lead Singer: There are several possibilities here. One is that this guy is the front man, the designated leader. Could be you go for the take-charge type, the most capable, the fellow who is a natural leader of men. It could also be that you are a romantic, and therefore a softie when it comes to singers. You like the guy who pours his heart out in his voice, who touches you with the music of his soul, the apparent “poet.” Lastly, you may be attracted to communicators, guys who are articulate and open--sensitive and expressive guys.

The Guitarist: The man who plays lead guitar is probably the one who is the most overtly sexy. It’s that stance, you know? You may also like him because he is the often the most aggressive musically: he gets those powerful solos where the music tears through you. Due to the connotations of being a rock ‘n’ roll guitar player, you may think of this guy as a dangerous, bad boy type. Of course, the flip side is the acoustic guitar player, the singer/songwriter type who is a modern minstrel. In this case he’s a romantic balladeer, attractive more for sweetness than spice.

The Bass Player: The bassist plays an instrument whose low notes are subtle, almost subliminal. Nevertheless, by focusing a little more intently, you can pick up on the very powerful influence his music has on the overall sound--and especially feel--of the band. You’ll go for the bass player if you like the mysterious sort, the type who works his influence subtly. Or if you are a fan of shy men, or of guys who work hard in the background, this is the band member who will appeal to you.

The Keyboardist: The piano, traditionally, is more a classical instrument than guitar and drums. The man who plays it may strike you as more of a “classical” musician, perhaps more technically talented, more conservative in disposition, or more cerebral. If you’re a little scared of conventional rockers, you may think of the keyboardist as the most trustworthy and responsible guy in the band, the one man who makes you feel safe and secure.

The Drummer: Drumming requires a certain amount of flamboyancy and energy. It is not for the faint of heart. Consequently you’ll go for the drummer if you like guys who are wild, adventurous, eccentric, or powerful. Drums being the most primitive and elemental instruments of sound, the drummer suggests a sort of primordial masculinity. If you like your men rough, driving, and unrefined, this is the guy for you.

To be honest, on different days I will be drawn to any and all of these archetypes. Among my crushes/attractions in the five categories:

Lead singer: Jon Bon Jovi
Guitarist: Rick Springfield
Bass player: Sting
Keyboardist: Bruce Hornsby
Drummer: Mike Portnoy (Dream Theater)

But wouldn’t that make for a really weird band?

Seduction vs. Copulation

I’m clearly not the first one to notice, but I was reflecting today on the relative joys of seduction and the objective of same, that is, the sex act itself. I’m certainly not going to knock the latter. But the interesting thing is that as far as cultural expression goes, the truly powerful stuff is related to seduction rather than copulation.

The event that sparked this line of thinking was my playing Rick Springfield’s Greatest Hits in my car this morning. You should be aware that Rick saved my sanity back when I was a pastor’s wife with two preschoolers living in the middle of Iowa farm country, with no job, friends, or even a satellite dish. City girl that I was, I would throw Rick on the turntable and stare out the windows at the grain elevators on the horizon, wishing they were skyscrapers of some neighboring urban paradise. My boredom and loneliness were greatly eased by Rick Springfield’s overtly seductive music. Few musicians have so unapologetically sung seduction as Rick, and I love him for comforting me with the balm produced by my own stimulated hormones.

Consider, if you will, the bridge from the song “Love is Alright Tonight”:

Don’t worry Daddy, I’ll have her home at a respectable hour
Go to sleep Daddy, you won't think about tonight
With the night comes the feeling that I’ve got this incredible power
Gonna love her, Daddy, she’ll be feeling it tonight
Alright, it’s gonna be alright…

I too felt that Rick had “this incredible power,” derived largely from his having an awesome body, a gorgeous face, an extremely hot singing voice, and the ability to play rock ‘n’ roll guitar. The object of his lust (in fantasyland, me) was in big danger all right. She (if only it were me) would be feeling it and powerless to fight it.

Before I completely drift off my topic and into some Rick fantasy, here’s my point: in cultural expression, seduction often seems to make the world go round even more than love does, and certainly more than depictions of sex do. If the FCC allowed Victoria’s Secret to show copulation in its commercials, I suspect Madison Avenue would leave them as they are today. Temptation, teasing, hints and suggestions are so much more effective than handing over the cake.

In my erotic reading, the same principle holds true. When I read a story that plunges right into the orgy on page one, I derive very little from the experience. But I can get crazy hot and bothered when the seduction goes on for twenty pages. Is desire really that much more fun than satisfaction? That doesn’t really make sense! But sensible or no, it often proves true. I could handle hours of watching Rick Springfield playing guitar in leather pants, just hinting at the sex with his eyes and the placement of his instrument right over the groin. Meanwhile, although I haven’t actually seen such footage, watching him have sex would probably not be nearly so powerful. (Not that it would suck, but you know what I’m saying.)

It’s an interesting phenomenon. Desire without satisfaction is not usually particularly fun. I have no urge to spend time looking at pictures of food and never eating any of the tasty dishes. I’m not crazy about shopping unless I get to take something home with me. Reading the liner notes of CDs does absolutely nothing for me--the listening is everything. But with sex, we are interesting creatures. Men are willing to go to strip clubs knowing they are in for nothing but unfulfilled titillation. Women generally prefer looking at guys in jeans or even suits than guys engaged in sex acts. Heck, I’ll get off on listening to Rick Springfield singing without any visuals at all.

So do I have a theory to explain all this? Hey, it’s me...I always have a theory. And seeing as my theories usually involve the wonders of the imagination, why not go there right away and save time?

The imagination is the source of all things spiritually powerful, even the carnal things, if you’ll forgive that paradox. If you want power, give the imagination something to work with and let it fill in the gaps with whatever it most wishes to. Sure you could have a video of Rick Springfield having sex with some young girl. But how much more effective it is just to set some interesting lyrics to the right beat and have Rick put them out there in delicious voice, letting you create your own story.

I picture Rick luring the girl away from her home, barely concealing his lascivious propensities under the polite promise, “Don’t worry, Daddy, I’ll have her home at a respectable hour.” He doesn’t seem safe--you sense the fire underneath his reassuring demeanor. Then he admits to you to his conviction that he holds “incredible power”--the very sort of sexual power you’ve been sensing in his voice, and the voice of his guitar. His motives are not honorable, in fact he laughs at you for ever thinking that, he laughs at authority in his cocky certainty of his own sexual prowess: “Gonna love her, Daddy, she’ll be feeling it tonight.” Yeah, I bet she will.

See, my imagination filled in the gaps in the storyline with fodder from my own unique imagination, the fodder that is arousing to me in particular. Arousal is unique to each individual, whereas orgasm is a physical response that is always more or less the same. It’s somewhat analogous to the fact that after a meal the feeling of contented fullness is pretty much the same; it’s the route you took to get there than differs based on your personal taste and choice.

It’s in the course of arousal that a person’s particular needs are provoked and their satisfaction promised. Your attraction to men in beards, your yearning to be treated with a firm hand, your longing to surrender your inhibitions, whatever your individual psyche needs for balance and fulfillment--these things are addressed during the seduction. The final act, the copulation itself, is more of a “Yes!...thank you,” from a psychological perspective.

In my erotic romance writing I do make sure to write about the actual sex acts, but that’s always the toughest part. It’s important to weave in some material that will spark the imagination and inspire the reader, or there just won’t be much oomph there.

But writing seduction is a lot easier. I find material for that all over the place...even in the bridge to some 20 year old Rick Springfield song.

The “How’d-I-Not-Notice-Your-Hotness?” Syndrome

My younger daughter is going through a J.D. Fortune phase. The interesting thing is, back when the show “Rockstar: INXS” was on last year, she didn’t find J.D. particularly attractive and was deeply into his rival, Marty Casey. But with the release of INXS’s new album with J.D. as frontman, Amanda has suddenly discovered the charms of the guy.

Been there, done that. More than once, in fact, but the best example is from back in 1990 when I suddenly discovered Sting. Not that he had exactly gone unnoticed by me, of course; it was hard to live through the 80s without being aware of the guy, and I certainly always thought he was attractive. I had bought the album “Synchronicity” in the mid-80s through one of those “10 records for a penny” Columbia House deals, but for some reason only listened to it once or twice.

But this particular evening I was hanging out by myself and decided to chill out by listening to some music with the headphones (the big kind that plugged into your stereo). On a whim I pulled out “Synchronicity” and threw it on the turntable. I lay myself down on the couch and closed my eyes, and “Every Breath You Take” came on.

Now anyone over the age of 30 knows “Every Breath You Take” was easily the most overplayed song of the 80s. It was even in heavy rotation on the TV show “All My Children,” where it was the theme song of a guy who was stalking Brooke English. Don’t ask me why it should have hit me any differently on this particular occasion.

But it turned out to be the closest thing to an out-of-body experience I ever had. I gave myself over to the music and somehow became it, I became the sound emanating from Sting’s throat. The rest of me, along with everything in my environment, seemed to disappear. I felt that throbbing bass line sustaining my life force, and the chord progressions were my emotions. It was so intense that when it was over I knew I’d been changed forever.

That seems like an overly dramatic statement, but it proved true. My Sting phase ended up ranking in my top three celebrity obsessions of all time, and led me to learn all I could about the man. This quest was also an effort to figure out what exactly had happened to me during that headphones incident. Before too long I learned of Sting’s fascination with the works of psychoanalytic theorist Carl Jung, and so I started reading Jung voraciously. I basically ended up conducting a do-it-yourself Masters program in Jung, even writing a book (Living Beyond Reality: A Jungian Primer for Enhancing Your Life) that could serve nicely as a fake Master’s thesis.

What I learned in the course of this little personal journey did irrevocably change my beliefs about a lot of very important things in life. My erotic romance writing is certainly strongly influenced by Jung, and therefore indirectly by Sting. It’s hard to believe that someone who impacted me this greatly could have gone unnoticed by me for years.

But that’s the “How’d-I-Not-Notice-Your-Hotness?” Syndrome for you. Sometimes there are people or characters that hit you like a ton of bricks at the very first glance (for me, my hockey idol Guy Carbonneau). Meanwhile there are other people you can see fifty times, and then suddenly one day something clicks, completely out of the blue.

I suppose this is because there are a lot of complex things going on in the psyche, developments that occur constantly without our awareness. Sometimes we arrive spiritually at some point where a certain archetype has a new, intense appeal it never did before. Certainly it’s true that at the time of the headphones incident, I was going through some significant personal difficulties and questioning some long-held beliefs. The mysterious, wise, sexy shaman archetype that was Sting fit my needs perfectly. As for the fact that he led me to some real answers to my questions…well, that’s pretty uncanny, and Carl Jung would undoubtedly call it synchronicity.

At any rate, I think a person ought to pay particular attention to those instances when the “How’d-I-Not-Notice-Your-Hotness?” Syndrome occurs. If someone you normally would have overlooked is suddenly a powerful figure to you, it has to mean something fairly significant.

And if you find yourself moving on eventually, as I did from Sting after a couple of years, it doesn’t mean you’re fickle. You’re just growing.

Inspiration of the Erotic Kind

Saturday night my two grown daughters and I watched my DVD of "Oklahoma!", the 1999 London stage version of the Rodgers & Hammerstein musical. It stars Hugh Jackman as the cowboy, Curly, who fights the upstream battle of courting farm girl Laurie. If you like Hugh with mutton chop sideburns and ten inch claws, you really need to see him sing and dance. And smile. What a smile...

On that rare occasion that you encounter a guy who can do drama and comedy and sing the lead and do his own dancing, all live, and manage to exude 100% testosterone all the while, you have to be pretty impressed. It's no wonder that show made him a star.

So from this height of masculine glory we descended to our normal lives: my 12 year marriage replete with steady, if usually ordinary, happiness...my elder daughter's ongoing struggles with her six month relationship with her sweet, if sometimes challenging, boyfriend...and my younger daughter's continuingly fruitless search for a guy decent enough to date. "Ah Hugh," we sigh, "maybe you're simply the only perfect man on the planet."

Hugh Jackman hasn't exposed his flaws in the manner of, say, Hugh Grant, but he has them. We all know that. Nevertheless, as long as he keeps them under wraps (and smiles a lot in that way), we can go on in blissful ignorance. And frankly, I think there's genuine value in our doing so.

It's sweet inspiration.

Nothing inspires the libido like perfection. I don't believe the libido is just a mating instinct, or a mere thirst for physical pleasure. I think it also can be the soul's yearning for the ideal. Day to day we can put up with life's little imperfections and disappointments, but each day also desperately needs a bit of beauty: beautiful music, pretty scenery, well written prose, lovely art, well-crafted entertainment. Day to day we can live with the flaws and foibles of ourselves and our fellows, but on a truly good day we enjoy the presence of a person we can at least imagine to be perfect.

My soul sings when I see Hugh Jackman smile. He is the definition of beaming: shining bright and warm like the sun, filling the gray and gloomy corners of my mind and heart with the sunshine of sweetness and good humor. His brown eyes are so perfectly what one wishes all brown eyes could be: deep and clear and captivating. There on the TV he cannot physically reach out to touch me, but the touch of his brown eyes is utterly palpable, and serves perfectly well as an embrace.

When he gathers the frightened Laurie in his arms and shushes her sobs, he is the personification of paternal love and protection. When he dances with her he is majesty and grace and princely beauty. And when he sings, pouring his heart out unabashedly in those long triple forte notes, his voice clear and true, he is love as much as any god of love invented by the ancients ever was.

He makes one (or at least me) rhapsodize. And that is just what the libido needs. The soul is so inspired, so excited, so wildly happy at all this beauty, it pours itself out in a rush of desire and adoration. Given a chance, who wouldn't want to kiss this man, caress every inch of him, stare for hours into his eyes, stroke his curls, strip him naked and make love to him?

And interestingly, one finds in this rush of libidinous emotion a certain willingness to look more kindly on the less perfect aspects of life. The happiness that springs from experiencing the ideal is so refreshing, we suddenly see the little ideal aspects of our ordinary mates. That, I suppose, is why a good romance movie (or even a good porno movie) can inspire a couple of ordinary humans to look upon each other with new zest.

By the way, my husband has a very nice smile too.

Rick Springfield’s Amazing Sexual Time Machine

I first fell for Rick Springfield when I saw commercials during “General Hospital” for his song “Jessie’s Girl.” Yes, that was way back in 1984. At the time I, a born and bred city girl, was living out in the middle of Iowa farm country, and I took tremendous comfort in the unapologetically raw sex appeal of Rick.

I read this morning that Rick will shortly be reprising his role on “General Hospital” as Dr. Noah Drake, after a 20 year hiatus. Isn’t that just swell? The promo shots of him for the occasion of the announcement are stunning. I wonder if the man sold his soul to the devil at some point or what.

Now I think Rick is a fine songwriter, guitarist and singer, but where he excels is in putting his sexuality out there for the audience to feast upon. That has always been his forte. Back when I was trapped on the farm (sorry, I’m just a city girl), feeling lonely and powerless and cut off from life, I grabbed onto Rick like a lifeline of libido. Desiring him brought fire and joy back into my days. If that’s not a testimony to the invigorating power of sex, I don’t know what is.

A couple of years ago I took my daughters, who were 1 and 4 back in 1984, to see Rick perform live. It was the day after his 50th birthday, and he looked like a god. He didn’t act for one moment like he was anything less than a vital, irresistible, completely cocky love god. I was 47 at the time so you can imagine that once again, the man gave me comfort. You can be over 40 and still damn sexy. Our two generations agreed whole-heartedly on that point.

So I think Mr. Springfield really deserves his amazing longevity. I was never a big fan of “GH,” it just came on after my soap, ”All My Children.” I really left the TV on basically in case Dr. Drake made an appearance, or especially to see if they would run the “Jessie’s Girl” commercial. But I may just DVR the show in December for old times’ sake. Rick in a lab coat always was hotter than hell, and it seems every few years I find a reason to revive my lusting for him. I guess it’s just a good way to celebrate being alive.

Guys…Wanna Be Sexy?

In my ongoing efforts to make the world a happier, sexier place, I thought I’d pass on a few tips to guys who want to increase their sex appeal (assuming there are a few in that category out there). Here’s a short list of some sure-fire ways to increase your desirability to the average woman, and keep in mind, you don’t need to look like Brad Pitt to pull these off:

1. Play guitar. You get ten points for this if you are actually in a band or play professionally (any instrument counts then, including orchestral bassoon). But even if you only play for your own amusement, it counts big. Note: Simply owning a guitar but not being willing and able to demonstrate your ability does not count. Second note: Playing air guitar could give you a point or two if you do it convincingly.

2. Fix cars or do home improvement. These talents do not simply appeal to women because they could save them money or trouble. They also demonstrate your capability, independence and resourcefulness, all very nice masculine qualities. Ask any woman who used to watch the old NBC show “Ed” how she felt when Ed fixed Carol’s plumbing. There’s a double entredre in there but I’ll ignore it for now.

3. Be good with kids. Whether or not a woman has any interest in having kids of her own, your ability to handle them will still get you points. It proves that if she herself ever chooses to be childlike, whether in terms of neediness or desire to play, you will be able to relate to her.

4. Cook. The preponderance of TV shows featuring chefs is hardly due to the fact that everyone in America wants to learn to cook; as always, it’s all about the sex. Women go crazy for guys who can prepare béchamel or chop scallions really fast. Look, if a guy who looks like Alton Brown can seem hot (and believe me, he does), you can too. This is just another case of seeming capable, and it’s also a very sensual skill. Serve a woman a tasty meal—gourmet or simple—and she respond by salivating (interpret that remark as you will).

5. Be funny. I have always believed and always will: the quickest way to a woman’s heart is her sense of humor. I fell in love with David Steinberg when I was 13, and all he had to his credit was boyish good looks and a great standup routine. But man, that guy was hot. Laughter is pleasure, and something in a woman’s brain makes her think that if you can tickle her funny bone, other delights must certainly follow.

6. Do something exotic. Any unusual quirk about you could be a sexual claim to fame. Stuff in this category includes: speak a foreign language, know how to make stained glass windows, raise orchids, collect fine wines, be able to recite sonnets from memory, be an expert on spelunking, etc. If you are Scottish and own a complete outfit in your clan’s tartan, and wear it to your local Scottish festival and for Halloween, you will get chicks in droves.

7. Be able to dance. If you are actually a good dancer, you’ll get ten points for this. If you are willing to learn ballroom dance, big bonus points. If you are merely a decent dancer but are willing to actually get out on the floor, that will get you more points than you think. Women just like a guy with enough confidence to get out and move, regardless of style.

8. Pick something the Fab Five would recommend. It’s a cliché to point out the irony of the sex appeal gay men have, but let me just mention that the topic is worth your consideration. No one’s asking you to become a dyed-in-the-wool metrosexual, and a lot of women, myself included, like guys who drink beer and enjoy sports. But you really will get some points if you dress decently, get a quality haircut, and decorate your space with a bit of style.

9. Understand women’s sexuality. Once you get beyond the superficial and into the realm of intimacy, it will behoove you to have a good grasp on what makes women tick, sigh and swoon. There are plenty of resources out there, so avail yourself. Your knowledge of how to please a woman in bed (or even just on the front porch) will well be worth the effort.

10. Love her. Incurable romantic that I am, I can’t limit myself to just the stuff that will “get you the interview.” If you really want the job long term, nothing is sexier than being the kind of guy who can be sincerely interested, selfless, faithful and devoted. If you merit a zero on this one, she will figure it out before too long. But a ten in this category will cover a multitude of sins. It will definitely get you out of having to take the ballroom dance lessons.

Alchemists: A Tribute to Dream Theater

Been listening to my favorite band, Dream Theater, again...so I thought I'd share this poem I wrote last summer. If you have ever experienced becoming completely captivated by music, you will know this particular sort of erotic experience:


Alchemists
(a tribute to Dream Theater)

Drink this stuff if you dare
But know
Genius alchemists have brewed it
Alchemists so mad and wise

From the quickening sap in the veins of spring
From the shifting pull of the moon
Tapping the clouds’ electric charges
Chanting the words that made the world

Drink it if you dare
Wild mathematical elixir
There is science in the lunacy
And your soul will grasp the meaning
As your heart crashes out of control

Were you a green thing it would make you grow
Were you light it would bend you
Were you a poem it would make you rhyme
Iambic, a sonnet of sound

Drink it from your bare hands
This stuff is molten, and when it cools
Is liquid still
And through your fingers it runs
Leaving behind a map to the soul
Inscribed upon your palms

On your tongue you taste the rushing
In your belly it feels alive
Does it stir or soothe you?
The next draught will change your mind
And make you beg another

Drink this stuff, but know
It’s as addictive as living
For from life they distilled it
Men playing at divinity
Channeling power beyond their mortality
Alchemists so mad and wise

Clay and Constantine

Obviously the popularity of the show “American Idol” is not due simply to our fascination with talent shows. Few TV programs reach hit status without some element of sex appeal.

The task before the contestants is not only to sing well, but to seduce viewers into dialing their phone number. (And really, isn’t that “give me a call” act part of the mating ritual?) Sure the show is looking for “star quality,” but what it’s really after is a certain type of sex appeal...at least how I define that term. Sex appeal doesn’t have to be the ability to provoke sexual desire. In this case it’s that force that makes you surrender your emotions to the free manipulation of the “star.”

What I find fascinating about AI is seeing the delightful range of qualities that can constitute sex appeal. A couple of years back both I fell pretty hard for Clay Aiken. Obviously it was only Clay’s spectacular voice that gave him a shot in the competition, but much to everyone’s surprise, he had such a vibrant personality and exciting stage presence that the unassuming, geeky guy from North Carolina proved he could be a sex symbol. Sweetness, purity, and strong faith actually played out to be remarkably magnetic.

On the other hand, there is this year’s heartthrob (regardless of elimination), Constantine Maroulis. Constantine draws upon a much more proven model for seductive success: the rock star. His tucked-chin, looking-out-the-tops-of-his-eyes stare is a never-fail technique for looking sexy. The long hair and leather jacket, the rough good looks, the strutting body language all evoke classic female responses. On stage he is electric, projecting power and sexuality like a dynamo. This kind of intensity is hard to resist.

So we have two very different paths to the female heart (and loins), both of which are equally effective. So is there anything these two performers have in common? Is there some characteristic they share that can be called “star quality” and falls into this special category of erotic appeal?

As someone who finds both these men charming, I think I can speak to these questions. Both Clay and Constantine are commanding. When they step on stage, they experience no fear or intimidation: each man feels himself easily a match for the millions watching. And both captivate the audience, control its emotions, evoke its adulation. Their performances demonstrate a power so potent that to ordinary mortals it seems magical. The response to that is definitely going to be erotic.

It would be interesting to be in a room with these two and listen to them discuss their approach to entertainment. Of course, if the three of us were in a room, talking might not be my first interest....