My Own Personal Jesus: Victor Garber

I know what you're thinking: Just how do I plan on writing a post about Jesus for Erotica with Soul?

Remember, you can experience erotic influences when sex is the further thing from your mind. This will be my case in point: my personal experience with the 1973 film "Godspell," which I just watched again on Easter night.

I was 16 when I first saw this movie. I fell in love with the spirit of this film: the childlike joy of camaraderie and celebration. The whole cast was wonderful: their antics, their clothes, their love for each other, their happiness at the simple pleasures of friends and fun. The songs were wonderful, of course: I listened to this album more often than any other in my life (including even Les Stroud's CDs!).

And I went head over heels for Victor Garber as Jesus. I think I can articulate better now how that happened than I might have in 1973.

I was raised agnostic and up until that point, had very little experience with churchgoing or Christianity. I became a Christian due more to "Godspell" than anything else, really, and eventually found myself a Lutheran pastor's wife, then an Anglican, and briefly a Roman Catholic, before evolving into what I am today...with which I won't bore you. My point is, this movie had an intense and long-lasting impact on my life, and while you can give credit for that to many things (like the gospel for example), you must give some to Victor.

I see now, particularly in view of the man as he appears today, still handsome, but a grayed, mature figure of some dignity, that Victor played Jesus as about as young as a man can be. He was so fresh-faced, so pure, so innocent, and so beautiful in face and voice, he is truly a paragon of youth. In the context of the rock opera, which in classic 70s style is symbolic and stylized, he plays Jesus not at all as the man he was historically, but as an archetype of one aspect of the Messiah: the child of God.

He is the leader of the ten 20-something children in this sweet, careless playground (which in the film is ironically New York City), and he engages himself with teaching them the simplest, yet deepest, lessons: how to play well with others and how to be good children of God. There is no complex theology here, and no Passion-of-the-Christ-style atonement scene either: even the suffering is a kind of play.

But that is the charm of it all, and the charm of Victor Garber's Jesus. Don't forget, I grew up in the world of Vietnam war footage on the evening news, race riots, campus unrest, LSD and Charles Manson. New York City was no playground in 1973. And yet here was a guy in rainbow pants and a Superman shirt, who was gentle, and funny, and tender, and loving. He had a perfect face, an angelic smile, eyes full of light and warmth. He had a voice that would melt your heart. You just wanted him to find you in some dreary urban setting, and take you to a park, and paint something whimsical on your cheek with his slender fingers.

Are you following me now? Yes, it did work because he was a lovely young man, and I was a 16 year old girl. I never had sex fantasies of him--heaven forefend--but I did think of him in ways I would not have done had he been an old man or a woman. It was an erotic pull that bound me to him, that intensified the delight I felt for his music and the humor I drew from his jokes...and the love I felt from him and for him.

And to this day I think that while this is not the most well-rounded portrait of Jesus on film, it does capture with amazing clarity certain aspects of Him, whether you consider Him a historical figure or an archetype. Grown men, in real life, do not exhibit this kind of innocence, this childlike exuberance, this joyful and potent tenderness...but the Son of God surely would.

Victor Garber brought the role to life in a way that truly touched mine...and he will always be my personal cinematic Jesus.

Notes on the Gaiman Crush, Part 2

So, I’m sure you’re burning with curiosity how I am faring with my temptation to crush on Neil Gaiman. I’d have to say I’ve lost the first week’s battle pretty soundly.

Planning to read more of his books? Yes.
Thinking of doing a tribute site? Still no!
Hoarding a few more wallpapers? Yes.
Marveling at his mind? Yes, yes, yes.

What I really love about Neil boils down to—no, not the smile—his ability to describe exactly what it is like to be a writer. I mean, in the same terms (although much more eloquently) than I would. Before you non-writers tune out, bear with me: Imagine encountering someone who really gets [fill in your particular passion here], in a manner you thought was practically unique to you. Yeah, it’s a heady trip when that happens.

Case in point: I watched the rest of the Google interview video. In response to a question about archetypal hero themes, Neil brought up Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with 10,000 Faces. As a Jungian author I’m all about archetypes, and I’ve read some Campbell, and I followed where Neil was going with this. But personally, I’ve never wanted to read too much Joseph Campbell, for fear that studying the creative process in that way might inhibit my natural ability to tap into the unconscious and draw stories from it.

I was thinking about this, just as Neil said [something like] “I was part way into the book and I thought, ‘I shouldn’t be reading this.’” In that moment I realized he and I had the very same thought on the subject. It was spooky. Even spookier was the fact that as Neil went on, expressing basically what I just did in the paragraph above, the questioner responded in a way that demonstrated he had missed the point. He was a smart guy, he just wasn’t a writer.

Earlier in the video, Neil read another of his poems, this one about Scheherazade inventing the Arabian Nights tales. This poem also hit upon the writing process in a manner that to my mind was spot on. I felt like if Neil had changed some of the words he could have been describing what I’ve been doing lately with the Bloodchained sequel! Of course I’m not under threat of death like Scheherazade, and my book can hardly compare to Aladdin’s adventures, but you get my drift.

Last time I posted, I discussed how scary it can be finding out about the real life of the object of one’s infatuation. I won’t lie that I am terribly intimidated by this man, who has a dozen celebrities on speed dial, sees his work adapted for movies and musical theater, and is adored by millions. I have no wish to throw myself among the rabid crowd of fanboys (and in the case of sexy Neil, there are plenty of fangirls as well) that follow Neil Gaiman from sci fi con to sci fi con.

Nevertheless, I’m beginning to think some good could come of this thing.

As always happens when I read good fiction, I find inspiration in Neil’s work to improve my own. For example, he has a tremendous knack for embellishing a scene with a few marvelously selected details, phrased utterly without cliché, thereby making that scene more colorful and substantial in the mind’s eye. My own personal weakness has always been description—I ought to be a playwright with my love of dialogue—and I can only dream of having such a skill. Nevertheless, I can try to emulate the man a little, and my prose will only be the better for the effort.

I explained this to my husband yesterday, saying “Of course I could never write like Neil Gaiman.” Davie replied, “Well, and he could never write like you, either.” It was a very kind thing to say, and also, I’ll admit, true. I don’t want to write like anyone other than myself, and no doubt Neil would encourage that attitude. I am at last too mature to want to express my worshipful feelings for another person by trying to be him.

That said, however, I cannot help but be moved by the man’s perception of the creative process and the way he describes it. In this one small way (actually in my case, not so small), he and I are soul mates of a sort.

Therefore I am becoming more comfortable with the idea of having my imaginary version of Neil Gaiman—for how could my concept of him be anything but imaginary?—serve as a sort of muse. My imaginary versions of celebrities I’m "in crush with" have often served as inspirations to my life and work, and considering this is the first time I’ve glommed on to an author, the muse thing is definitely in order.

So, doesn’t it sound like I’m being all sensible about this and stuff? Doesn’t it? Acting my age and all that? Well, don’t think that I’ve ruled out the possibility of seeing him in person some day…he lives in Minneapolis and that’s just over the border from Wisconsin, people.

I’ll keep you posted, you know I will, whether you like it or not.

Neil Gaiman: Trembling on the Brink

Today I trembled on the brink of developing a whale of a crush.

Back story: A couple years ago my husband, ever vigilant for guys he thinks I’ll find attractive (see also “Cody Willard is My Type”), pointed out Neil Gaiman on a book cover. Davie’s really good at spotting my type (I’m not bad at returning the favor, either). At the time I looked up Neil on the web and was impressed with his body of work: he’s a fantasy/sci-fi author known for, among other things, authoring the Sandman comics and writing the novel American Gods. Although only four years my junior, he still has the boyish good looks and mop of curly dark hair I find irresistible.

I let the moment pass, and even when Davie asked for American Gods for a Christmas present and read it, I forgot about Neil Gaiman.

Fast forward to a week or two ago when we rented “Stardust.” I loved the script to this movie, as well as the story itself, and noticed in the credits it was based on a novel by Neil Gaiman. By this time the name merely rang a bell—I couldn’t place why my heart skipped a beat when I saw it. I hit Google and remembered my past encounter with the man. I asked Davie what happened to American Gods and he dug it out of the basement.

Today I read the first chapter. The writing style is quite reminiscent of one of my favorite authors, Stephen King. It’s too soon to say how much I’ll like the book, but so far so good. Very good.

And there’s still the problem that I really like what this guy looks like.

Like a fool, I googled him again, and happened upon a 2006 video of him doing a public appearance in relation to his collection of short stories and poetry, Fragile Things. I only had a few minutes to view this hour long video, but I couldn’t resist a peek.

Oh great—he’s British, too.

So I watched and listened to Neil do an absolutely wonderful reading of his absolutely wonderful poem “The Day the Saucers Came.” It was spell-binding really. He’s funny, quirky, and fantastically imaginative, in addition to his looking like that.

I went to his article on Wikipedia and learned he was influenced by, among other people, my beloved C.S. Lewis. And that he wrote the marvelous English screenplay of “Princess Mononoke.” And so on. In short, I uncovered a bunch more reasons to like the guy.

Then I peeked at his blog, and it was at this point that I began to feel true fear.

You see, the biggest threat to a crush is always reality. Infatuations used to be a whole lot easier before the internet. Back then you could find a few reasons to be drawn to someone, then a few reasons why you and he were destined to share some meaningful connection, without having reality thrust upon you. But then technology came along, and even celebrity’s lives can be open books. Neil’s blog, like anyone’s, is full of commentary on what he’s doing, communications with his friends, all sorts of evidence that he is a real and regular human being with a life in progress involving a billion personal details that seem infinitely distant from my own existence.

For awhile there I had been tempted to throw myself into this Neil Gaiman thing: watch the rest of that video, read all his books, get the Sandman comics, etc. But this is happening to me why? Because of that face, that British accent, one movie and one chapter of a book, so WHOA. I know it used to take less than that when I was 20 or even 30, okay, even when I was 40...but I can’t quite do it now.

I’m too scared.

Crushes are always scary things, even for the well-adjusted and non-psycho person who recognizes from the get-go that no real relationship will ever occur. You can’t help fearing the inevitable moment when you either (a) discover something about the person that clashes with your dream of his perfections or (b) start feeling so much that it hurts that you can’t ever meet him. When I was younger I gaily and boldly plunged in, paying no heed to the imminent arrival of such moments. It was worth it for the heady thrill of being infatuated.

But at 51 I am not so energetic. I look back on my crush in 1989 on Kenneth Branagh and marvel at the sheer amount of time I spent researching him, not to mention the money for the library copy machine. Don’t get me started on my Sting phase, which ended up with my not only learning everything about the man, but also studying his hero, Carl Jung, for years. Oh, and then there’s my 300+ page tribute site to Guy Carbonneau. No, I’m just not up for that anymore. For one thing, I have my own career to take care of; these books don’t write themselves you know! LOL

But that said, I also am not of a mind to walk away from Neil Gaiman. Because I am still me, and me is a person who just gets a little excited and fluttery when a guy like this comes along. So I’m sure I’ll read American Gods, and watch the rest of that video, and see what comes of that.

And okay, yeah, I did put him up on my wallpaper. Dang it, he’s just really good looking.

Please Tell Me Why I Love Ben Linus

Even if you don't watch "Lost," I'm sure you've had the experience of being drawn to some character you can clearly see is not supposed to be sexy. Or even likeable. For some reason, when this happens it's more thrilling than when you lust after someone who is supposed to be hot.

Cue Michael Emerson as Benjamin Linus.

Ben is the uber-villain of the show, and believe me, he's not one of those Alan Rickman-Jason Isaacs-Cillian Murphy kinds of villains. He's puny, has bug eyes and weird hair. He gets captured and beat up by the good guys all the time. He has no hot girlfriend at his side at the poker table, no posse of hangers-on, no fast car or ritzy mansion. He does rule the Island, though...mostly by ruthless cunning, remorseless violence, and superior intelligence. And at one time or another he has hurt, deceived, betrayed, or made of fool of every guy (and many women) in this creepy little paradise.

And he lies all the freakin' time.

But something about this man has won me over. His backstory episode helped: He was emotionally abused by his rotten father as a child, in a most pathetic and tear-jerking way. And he does have his vulnerabilities: just this past week our suspicions of his devotion to Juliet were confirmed. It was classic Ben Linus all right: now you like him, now you don't. In the scene where he makes her dinner, all excited like a schoolboy with a crush, he was so endearing...and so doomed, for meanwhile Juliet was having an affair with Goodwin. But wait a half hour (in TV time) and he's just murdered Goodwin and informed Juliet "You're MINE."

Now please tell me why this declaration by the murderous, weasley little Ben Linus sent me off to bed, imagining that I were on the Island trying to comfort him and win his heart away from Juliet? Well, that's what I did! I would have decided I was really insane were it not for the fact that the next morning my daughter Katie, who composes and distributes a weekly "LostCap" newsletter, included in her report a declaration of her own Bensanity.

This encouraged me enough to admit my problem in this blog. I am fascinated by Ben Linus. I love (as he put it this past week) that he always has a plan. I love that he lies, and I always believe this time he might telling the truth; in other words, I love that he can fool me. I love how devious he is, how unfailingly clever, and most of all how he only loses his cool when he loves somebody.

And as much as I've come to like his crazy hair, his buggy eyes, his face trashed by whatever latest round of pissed-off beatings he's received, I can tell you there is one thing about him that is truly beautiful: his voice. Michael Emerson has one of those velvet voices that forces you to listen. There's some fascinating quirk to his accent and/or diction that I can't quite place but could listen to for hours.

I guess in the final analysis, this is just one of those rare characters so intriguing, so strong, and so marvelously brought to life by a brilliant actor, you just can't help reacting to him. My husband just loathes the guy, probably more than any TV character I can recall. Some of my daughters' friends thinks he's horrible and icky. But I bet there are other Bensane women out there wondering why the heck they are lying awake at night picturing themselves washing Benjamin Linus's wounds and eating up his lies like candy.

Yep, here you have the handsome heroic Jack, the hot (former) bad boy Sawyer, the model-perfect Jin, the dreamy Desmond, the geekily gorgeous Daniel, and I'm writing a blog post on Ben. Just goes to show you, there are two words that best describe what turns women on: Go figure.


UPDATE - Dec. 14, 2008

I just had to share this photo, sent to me by Ben Linus fan Jennifer.

She was not wrong when she claimed it was one of the hottest photos of him ever, and I would faint. Brace yourselves...

The key, as Jennifer pointed out to me, is to view the photo in full size. To do so, please click here.

Thanks for giving me goosebumps, Jennifer!

UPDATE - March 14, 2009

Ben Linus fans may also enjoy this post: "Bad Boys, Good Guys, and Ben Linus."

Three Turn-On Moments

Don't you just love those random "Turn-On Moments" that sometimes grace your day? Over the past week or so, I've enjoyed three of these, and I just wanted to share them with you.

The Transformation

I highly recommend the 2007 fantasy movie "Stardust." I had seen the trailer for it and while I was not particularly impressed by the actor who seemed to be the male lead, there was some other really hot guy in the movie that I was on the lookout for. So we rented it from Netflix.

Charlie Cox plays Tristan, an ordinary young fellow whose life takes a turn for the adventurous when he finds a woman (Claire Danes) who is apparently the embodiment of a fallen star. He's a sweet, slightly bumbling guy, kinda cute. Eventually the two hook up with Robert DeNiro's character, Capt. Shakespeare, a fierce and swashbuckling airship pirate who is secretly a gay cross-dresser. Yes, I'm not making that up.

The good captain takes it upon himself to give the two young people makeovers. Not only does Tristan get a very sexy new suit of clothes and fencing lessons, Capt. Shakespeare does his hair. And, this being fantasy, Tristan's hair gets longer. The long and short of it--sorry--is that Charlie Cox IS the hot guy I saw in the trailer, post-makeover. So, all along I'd been watching the very fellow I lusted for in the trailer, without knowing it.

That made him all the more attractive. I guess it's the classic frog-into-prince phenomenon. Not that the pre-makeover Charlie was a frog, exactly...he wasn't bad, don't get me wrong. But the coat, the sword, the hair...well, he really turned into something special. It took my breath away seeing that surprise transformation. And that's a turn-on moment.

Expertise Under Pressure

Many a time I've talked about how nothing's so sexy as talent or expertise. That, of course, is the secret to the sex appeal of 80's TV hero MacGyver, famous for his ingenious ability to devise whatever he needs out of regular stuff he finds laying around.

In a recent episode of "Mythbusters," Jamie Hynemann, Adam Savage, and their Build Team set about to test some of MacGyver's stunts in real life. The concluding segment of the show featured Grant and Tory posing as ultravillains and putting Jamie and Adam into challenging circumstances, to see if they could be as clever as MacGyver.

Our heroes were locked in a small room illuminated by two hanging light bulbs, with nothing else at hand. Would they figure out, as MacGyver did, that you can use a light bulb filament to pick a lock? Well, it took the boys no time at all think of that, and soon they were using Adam's steel-toed boot as a hammer to flatten the filament into a lock pick.

That was amazing enough, but there was still the challenge of picking the lock. Lock-picking is nothing in movies, but who do you know in real life who knows how to pick a real lock in a real doorknob? But wouldn't you know, Adam has some locksmithing in his background. He and Jamie took turns with their makeshift pick as the clock ran down. Adam announced he could feel the tumblers, and after another moment's careful concentration and minute motions, he unlocked the door!



Maybe you had to be there. Okay, maybe you had to be ME and be there. But I was blown away by the fact that Adam pulled off a stunt you normally only see people do on TV and in the movies. You could tell he was a bit amazed himself. I mean wow. I turned to David and said, "If Adam Savage were here right now he could totally do me on the spot." And I meant it too.

That was a big turn-on moment. Seriously, Adam. Sigh.

Erotic Flashback

Over the weekend I was organizing a bunch of old photos and happened to look at the album from when Davie and I were first dating, circa 1992. Backstory: I was recently separated from my gay husband, and hadn't seen any romance in a good decade and more. Imagine my excitement at the prospect of dating. I did marketing/PR at a law firm where Davie was employed in the mailroom. He'd drop off the mail and I'd admire his boyish good looks and cool and quirky fashion sense (like a drink of water in the desert, seeing as this was a law firm).

Davie's a runner and at this time was in his prime, and to put it bluntly, had the best ass in southeastern Wisconsin. Very possibly he still does. I found an old picture I'd forgotten about, of Davie wearing his favorite pants, with the 29" waist and the skin-tight posterior, and a really nice cotton oxford shirt with the cuffs folded up. From behind. It suddenly came back to me how I used to watch him go by when he dropped off my mail. And the time I rode the elevator with him and was all entranced by his brown leather jacket and longish hair and earring.

When you live with someone day in and out, through cleaning up after your cats and having gall bladder surgery and watching countless episodes of "House Hunters," you just get used to him. It's nice now and then to recall so vividly why you were attracted to him when you were practically strangers.

That's a turn-on moment that pays off most of all. :-)

The Bloodchained Sequel is Underway!

An update for fans of my fiction: This week I started writing the sequel to my novel Bloodchained! The book has been selling so well these past couple of months and has gotten more fantastic reviews, and meanwhile several fans were asking if there would be another BC book. Therefore it was pretty clear to me it was time to start writing BC2.

Don’t want to put in too much here about what may happen in the new novel, lest I spoil the first one for those who haven’t read it yet. But rest assured, your favorite vampiric villain has arisen again to use his seductive ways to gain power and threaten the Roican and mortal races. Meanwhile, the “good guys” of Bloodchained have their work cut out for them as they struggle not only with their battle to keep evil in check, but also with some internal strife (there’s a nifty forbidden love plot in the works, for one thing).

And if you’re wondering about some of those bits of foreshadowing in Bloodchained, well, all will be revealed, including the ultimate fate of the Temple and of Gilder’s Inn. You’ll meet some characters mentioned before, as well as intriguing new ones. And of course, the book will emulate its predecessor and be chock-full of suspense, romance, vampire-style spiciness and shocking surprises.

Yikes, I’ve got my work cut out for me making good on all those promises! I also have to try to live up to the reviews the original Bloodchained has been getting:

The Romance Studio: 5 hearts - “I loved this story. It truly has it all...and has become one of my favorite stories.”

Fallen Angel Reviews: 5 angels - “Like no other book...a tale that comes together brilliantly...pure delight.”

Sime~Gen: 5 stars - “Not many books are able to capture me completely the way this wonderful book did...a superb love story that touched my heart...a phenomenal read!"

Romance Junkies: 4 1/2 blue ribbons - “A story that will thrill paranormal and historical romance lovers alike...Grab a copy of this superb book...”

As you may know, Bloodchained owes much of its success to the 63 reader/partners who worked with me on the creation and writing of the story. I have often been asked if I would write another book in that fashion. Well, to answer that: Because the storyline has been largely established by the first book, I won’t be using the general surveys and such this time, but I do hope to recruit some members of the Bloodchained Readers Club who will be willing to read and critique the manuscript like was done with the original. Help from readers always makes for a better book!

[And if I’ve wet your whistle for getting your own copy of Bloodchained, the paperback is available online from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell’s Books. You can get it in Kindle from Amazon or in mobi format from Mobipocket, or go to Powell’s for the pdf and lit versions.]

Enough of the infomercial, we now return you to your regularly scheduled blog…

My Favorite Dracula

Is Frank Langella.

I'm not sure why, but as I recovered my health recently and with it my libido, the first attraction to come back to me was Frank Langella from the 1979 version of "Dracula." His portrayal inspired my first lust for a vampire figure (I was barely past puberty at that time) and in the nearly 30 years since then, no one has taken his place. (Not even my own characters Anders, Mr. Wellsley, and the gang from Bloodchained, LOL.)

What are the keys to Frank's charms? I suppose at the heart of it is his slow, painfully graceful, exquisitely elegant manner. More accurately, the way he is able to convey danger, seductiveness, and pure dominance in such a slow, graceful, elegant manner. He is literally the perfect gentleman, and yet so compelling and captivating that one is terrified by one's immediate and intense desire for him.

It's the voice, the eyes, the mouth, that slow and secret gesture of the fingers...it's the way power is cloaked in refinement when he speaks...it's the way he stands in a window or the way he sheds his cape. In my opinion there was never an actor so born for this role, with the perfect manner of speaking, the perfect comportment, to convey a creature so wicked and yet so impossible to resist.

If you don't believe me, here are four minutes from the film that may convince you.



[It doesn't hurt, may I add, that Frank has the support of a John Williams score. Now that man was born to write music that expresses deadly danger and romantic lust rolled into one overpowering force.]

Frank Langella's interpretation of Dracula, for me, personified the sexy vampire, and I'm sure I'm completely unable to write a vampire character without harking back to him. He taught 13-year-old me to understand what it means to be irresistibly drawn to something hurtful, and how overpowering the interplay between dominance and submission can be. In that way this character did more than illustrate the vampire archetype. He demonstrated principles about sexual desire that totally transcend that theme.

By that token, I have to give credit to Frank Langella and that film for doing more than giving me my favorite vampire character ever. I owe them also for playing a key part in my sexual awakening and my understanding of the essential roles of the male and female in the most commonplace of erotic relationships: dominance and submission. So in a way, "Dracula" is among the most basic underpinnings of much of the erotic and romantic fiction I write today.

I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised after all that it was Frank's Dracula that visited me in my recovery. Needless to say, I was very glad to see him again.

Sexy Killers

Please understand that in real life, murderers are very difficult to find attractive. But in fantasy, when tragedy is extricated from the equation, it's amazing how sexy killers can be. This past week I watched two very different films that made this point quite clearly.

"Mr. Brooks," with Kevin Costner in the title role, is the story of a schizophrenic serial killer addicted to murder and making an effort to beat his addiction. He doesn't fare too well at that, but in spite of myself I found the guy really attractive. It's not that his gruesome habit turned me on, but the fact that he exercised it with such cool cunning. Earl Brooks has ice water in his veins and is painstakingly clever about his little hobby. You can't help but admire his precision, as well as his complete objectivity, as he plots and executes the crimes.

In order to better showcase Earl's "good qualities," the story involves his acquring a novice accomplice equally turned on by the idea of killing, but otherwise a completely different sort of guy. Mr. Smith (Dane Cook) is careless, hotheaded, cowardly, vicious, and without remorse. Earl wouldn't have anything to do with this lout except for the fact that Mr. Smith observed one of Earl's killings and is blackmailing him so he can get in on the murderous fun.

Juxtaposed with the repugnant Mr. Smith, Earl comes across as truly admirable. I asked myself why I reacted this way to a man who gets off on killing strangers. My best answer was that Earl executes his fetish in a manner that, were it any other hobby, would demonstrate that he possesses many exemplary masculine traits.

Above all, Earl is successful at what he does--he is an expert, an artist. He is intelligent, clever, resourceful, determined, and even brave. Up until the actual moment of the crime, when the rush hits, he acts with that kind of manly coolness that never fails to impress. Meanwhile, for all his desire to emulate his mentor, Mr. Smith is half the man Earl Brooks is. He is cowardly, mean, and petty. His lust for murder is unchecked by any kind of intelligence, patience, or caution.

It also helps that Earl does care as passionately about his wife and daughter as he does about killing, and that his more disturbing personality traits have been relegated to his imaginary alter ego (William Hurt). And he really does want to stop murdering people. Funny thing is, he does it so well, half the time you find yourself not rooting as much for his recovery as for his success at crime. And certainly were he to express his talents in some more productive way, he would be a model of masculine appeal.

Even sexier than Mr. Brooks, there is the outlaw Ben Wade, played by Russell Crowe in "3:10 to Yuma." Ben is a dastardly outlaw of the Old West, who has unrepentantly dedicated his entire life to robbery and the requisite killing that enables it. Nevertheless, he is more or less the hero of the film and certainly a completely sympathetic figure. One could attribute this to the charm of the character or the sex appeal of Russell Crowe, but I think there's more to it than that.

In an early scene, Ben hooks up with a barmaid. At this point in the film I really didn't know him well enough to be tickled by this. I mean, it was all well and good that he had a way with words and a gentlemanly allure, but the guy had already been responsible for a whole lot of killing by this point. I had to defer on my judgment for a bit.

Ben began to win me over when he dealt surprisingly fairly with Dan Evans (Christian Bale), the down-and-out rancher whose cattle accidentally got involved in a stagecoach robbery. Ben was certainly under no obligation to reimburse Dan for his dead cattle or his time dealing with them, and yet he handed over the money like the most respectable of businessmen. And as the story progressed, more and more of Ben's good qualities came to the fore, traits almost unreconciliable with his total lack of respect for life and property.

Again, the script used the device of surrounding Ben with weaker men who made him look good by contrast. Greedy businessmen, cowardly lawmen, unfair institutions, liars and cheats of all kinds are at every hand. And then there is Dan, who although sympathetic by virtue of his love for his family and determination to do the right thing, has led a life of failure. His ineffectiveness at providing for his family and earning their faith and admiration is constantly contrasted with Ben's success and ability to command others' devotion. Moral issues aside, Ben is strong and Dan is weak, and your random barmaid will see this a mile off and be attracted to Ben as the better mate.

And it's interesting how hard it was for me, as a female hard-wired to lust after men who are accomplished and successful, to begrudge the fact that Ben's field of expertise was thievery and murder. Likewise, any guy watching this movie is going to admire and envy Ben more than Dan. (The moral side of things is addressed in the film, by the way, but I won't spoil it for you by telling any more of the story concerning the two men's character development.)

The point is, when you're talking fantasy, the fact that a man's forte is killing is not necessarily a strike against him. Murder--especially getting away with it as Mr. Brooks and Ben Wade do--is a tough gig, akin to any great challenge like mountain climbing or building a billion dollar company. Guys who pull it off with aplomb and grace are going to inspire a woman's admiration in spite of ethics.

We just can't help it, any more than guys will be attracted to hot women even if they are emptyheaded and useless. Come to think of it, I guess having the hots for Ben Wade is no more shameful than lusting after, say, Pamela Anderson....

Home Improvement Hotties

I posted awhile back about my favorite guys on the Discovery Channel, and now it’s time to turn to another genre of cable TV: home improvement shows. You’ll note too that I’m not going for any of the obvious choices of sexy carpenters (Ty Pennington, Carter Oosterhouse, Andrew Dan Jumbo, Eric Strommer, etc.)...that’s too easy. My picks:

David Bromstad – Colorsplash (HGTV)

David earned his show by winning “HGTV’s Next Design Star” a couple years ago. On that show, he was known for appearing shirtless whenever possible, but in retrospect I think that was the producer’s idea more than his own. The guy is really sweet as well as really serious about his work, so he’s not the kind who would need to sell himself through sex. On the other hand, the “if you got it, flaunt it” rule does kind of apply.

At any rate, it’s not David’s cute face or buff body that makes me like him. He’s just a decorating genius, and one who executes his craft with humility and good-natured humor. He’s never done a bad design, and the original paintings he creates for each room are gorgeous too. Few people this talented are this sweet, either. If I were gay I’d probably be hot for him, but as it is, I’d just love to go shopping with the guy!

Clive Pearse – Designed to Sell (HGTV)

The show’s pretty good, Lisa LaPorta’s a cutie and a talented designer, but I watch DTS for Clive. He’s the quintessential charming, funny Brit, with a low key, quirky, elegant sense of humor. And he’s got one of those voices that make him automatically handsome regardless of his physical appearance.

I just love when Clive hosts the open houses of participants on the show. He turns on his unique charm and just about every visitor seems ready to make an offer just to please him. Sure, the makeovers help—but Clive could sell castles to cave dwellers. It’s funny how Clive is one of the few home improvement show cast members who doesn’t really do anything but occasionally open a paint can, but it doesn’t matter a whit...he makes the show.

Had he been born earlier, Clive would have made a great member of Monty Python. I’d date any of those guys too.

George Gray – What’s With That House? (HGTV)

Speaking of zany guys, no one tops George Gray. Is it his white hair, goatee, trendy glasses and wacky bowling shirts? Is it his crazy questioning of weird homeowners and their neighbors, or the way he cuts up as he explores these bizarre homes? Is it the faces, the impressions, the jokes?

I’m always a sucker for a guy who’s funny, but beyond the antics, you get the sense that George is just a warm, nice guy who enjoys people, no matter how eccentric. And that takes him to a whole new level. Heck, on his web site (www.georgegray.com) he calls his fan club “People Who Don’t Think I Suck.” Also to his credit, he’s devoted to his cat Stinky.

I would watch George Gray host anything and am even sorry I missed his stint on “The Weakest Link.” Not only do I not think he sucks, I think he’s damn hot. What a great companion for a tour of homes.

Richard Davis – The Real Estate Pros (TLC)

Richard Davis, self-made real estate magnate and founder of Trademark Properties, is not on this list because I want to date him. I simply really, really admire the man. He embodies my ideal entrepreneur: he’s a man unswervingly devoted to the principle that he who is smart and works hard should make money, but is also dedicated to sharing his hard-earned success with others.

Richard has put his own profit in jeopardy many a time in order to give a chance to someone I myself would consider a bad risk. Whether it be a drug addict or a lazy employee, Richard sees potential where others either look away or throw money at a problem. By the example of himself and his protégés, he teaches the down and out to apply themselves, make smart choices, and turn their lives around. And all while making money himself!

Is that the American Dream or what?

While not so much a romantic hero as say, your Les Stroud or your Mike Rowe, Richard is nevertheless very much a hero. Watching him get things done, make lives better, turn trash into treasure, and accomplish what others wouldn’t even attempt, never ceases to brighten my life and inspire me.

Ah, cable reality TV...what an endless source of interesting males. And I haven’t even touched upon the hotties of Bravo and the History Channel yet. As the saying goes, stay tuned!

Sex Education

Hey, I'm back...the convalenscence continues, and I'm beginning to think one day I'll be myself again. But seeing as I haven't really been myself lately, I don't have a lot of current erotic adventures (real or fantastical) to relate.

Therefore I thought I'd post about erotic adventures of the past! Well, not exactly adventures. Still, I think you may find it interesting to hear about the sex education of Diana Laurence, right?

I came of age in the middle of the sexual revolution. My childhood was marked by exposure to rather exotic things that didn't necessarily make sense to someone reared on "Leave It to Beaver." I remember feeling shock, discomfort and fear hearing hippies talk about "free love" and seeing things like a photo of Charlie Manson being serviced by one of his followers. On the one hand, I had the romantic values you'd expect of a little girl who listened to a lot of Rodgers and Hammerstein soundtracks. But on the other, I watched "Laugh-In" and heard about "Barbarella" and "Last Tango in Paris." It was a confusing time to go through puberty.

One of the things about me that I guarantee influenced who I am today as a writer was the fact that I was blessed with a quality sex education. Not in school...there all you got was information on your anatomy and how to use tampons. No, it was--what a concept!--my parents. When I was a young teen they provided me with excellent books that discussed everything from masturbation to blue balls to wet dreams. And it was a good thing too; I was such an innocent at that time that I didn't know erections happened much less that boys in my classes were enduring them in my presence!

Both my mom and dad talked to me about what I read and created an environment where if I had questions at any time, I was comfortable asking. And believe me, my parents were not avant garde types by any stretch. They were private, and a little awkward about the subject, just like any parent would be. It was just that they believed it was crucial for their daughter to know about sex. They didn't want me to get VD, or pregnant, or even to get in a situation where I was confused or scared by what was happening to me.

The fact that my parents would talk about sex with me also conveyed to me that it was a natural, wholesome thing that needn't bring embarrassment or shame. Consequently, alongside my incurably romantic streak born of "The Music Man" and "Oklahoma!", I developed an appreciation for the erotic as something that could be good and beautiful and operate in perfect harmony with romance.

I have always been an outspoken proponent of sex education, both in schools and better yet, at home. Not only does it help kids be safer and wiser, it passes on a positive attitude and good mental health concerning sex.

So parents reading this, if you love your kids, don't neglect this area of parenting. Explain things so your children know their feelings are normal. Teach them about the sexuality of the opposite sex. Tell them the pitfalls and dangers, but also let them know you understand what it's like to be a sexual being. Share the advantages of abstinence in a non-critical way that respects their intelligence. Provide an environment that encourages their questions and responds to their natural curiosity. If this sounds intimidating, remember--keeping a sense of humor is key. There is a lot to smile and laugh about concerning sex, and there's nothing wrong with all parties acknowledging their shyness and embarrassment.

The point is to make sure your kids are informed. Sure, you can leave it to the less than adequate information they get in school. Sure, you can hope they find the right websites with sex information rather than the wrong ones. But the benefits of them learning these key life lessons from someone who loves them--you--cannot be overestimated.

One of the things I've always been most grateful for concerning my parents is that they cared enough to teach me about sex. I did the same for my own daughters, and it's something I will never forget.

Temporarily Out of Commission

I'm finally able to sit up at the PC long enough to post!

Almost two weeks ago I started having terrible abdominal pains that I figured were a severe bout of IBS. They got better after 2-3 days (four times as long as past experience) and I spent the weekend feeling almost normal. Unfortunately the pain came back with a vengeance a week ago. To my credit, I did call my doctor's office for meds and told them the story, but I think any normal person would have expressed more alarm and they didn't take me too seriously.

There is nothing you can do for IBS but wait for it to pass. So I waited three more days in pain that approximated the later stages of labor...yes, I am that much of an idiot! I woke up early Thursday morning in a fever and knew then it was not IBS.

Off to the hospital at last. Thursday afternoon I had emergency gall bladder surgery and it was a rather rough one since I had a gall stone over one inch in size and the organ was pretty much a wreck. Recuperation is going to be slow. (Interestingly though, I did feel better after the surgery than before!)

I don't usually go on about personal stuff on this blog, but I wanted to share the painful lesson I learned. For all you stoic types out there who are like me, who put up with pain to an unreasonable degree, don't take any chances! I think about myself getting up at 2:00 a.m. that Thursday shaking so hard I could barely walk, turning on the PC to look up the nearest emergency room covered by my insurance, then waiting another half hour so my husband could get a bit more sleep...I mean how crazy is that?

Sometimes you have to put yourself first and value your own needs a bit more. Maybe you're good at managing suffering--be it physical or emotional--but taking that too far doesn't help anybody. You're just as valuable as the next person so treat yourself as well as the next person!

I learned the hard way that tolerance for pain isn't always an asset.

Will return to your normally scheduled blog as soon as I'm up to it! And I won't rush it... :-)

Twins in Love

There has been much talk in the news lately about a pair of twins from the UK who were separated at birth, knew nothing of their siblinghood, met as adults and fell in love. The two married, and subsequently learned of the relationship. Their marriage was annulled and according to reports, they split up.

About a year ago, there was a similar story in the press about a German couple. The brother went into foster care at a very young age, and didn’t see his younger sister until both were adults. They fell in love and have actually had four children together. The brother has served two years in prison for incest and may have to serve more. Three of the children were taken from their home and put in foster care.

Few would disagree that these two stories are tragic. The point of debate is, is sibling incest immoral and should it be illegal?

The taboo against incest is almost universally prevalent in human society, with the most notable exception being ancient Egypt, were brother/sister marriages were quite common for three centuries. Scientific studies show that sexual repulsion stems not from the idea of similar heredity (“ick, we’re the same flesh and blood”) but from the “familiarity breeds contempt” principle. For example, unrelated children raised in the close proximity of an Israeli kibbutz had no sexual interest in each other when they matured. Anyone raised with a sibling (or even those like me, without one) can understand that; it makes no difference if that sibling was adopted and was no relation.

This would suggest, take out the familiarity, and anyone is fair game, sibling or no.

The two cases I mentioned above are interesting in their differences. The twins, who fell in love oblivious to their connection, apparently did so due to the uncanny similarities they experienced. I wish I could speak more to the question of their reaction to the news, but they have remained anonymous so far. Still, the fact that they split up after learning the truth, would indicate they were “heebed out” by being genetically related.

On the other hand, the German siblings knew of their relationship when they met. They attribute their bond to a desire to want to heal the separation caused by the brother being taken from his original family. In their case, the knowledge that they were brother and sister did not hinder them and may have actually encouraged their attraction.

This just goes to show that different people react differently when it comes to being capable of sustaining sexual attraction to a known sibling...although I suspect the UK twins were probably just as much in love as ever, but those feelings were at odds with their intellectual moral principles.

Speaking for myself, it’s interesting how I feel on the issue. Occasionally I’ve seen movies (“Gladiator”) or read books (The Hotel New Hampshire) about brother/sister incest, but they were always about characters who had grown up together. In those cases, I reacted with the typical “oh, that’s icky” response. Then there’s the example of Children of Dune’s Leto and Ghanima Atreides, who are so close and so godlike, the subliminally sexual bond between them is a little disturbing but also strangely fitting.

And on the other end of the spectrum, I reacted to the UK twins case with a wish that they would stay together. Clearly at least for me, the taboo is not flesh, it’s proximity. Seeing as these two never knew each other as children, I feel there is no reason why they shouldn’t stay together. My initial reaction was that ideally the law would allow them to stay together but not procreate, but the German case made me reconsider that aspect as well.

I believe three of the German couple’s four children are slightly disabled, as geneticists would predict. Many say 50% of offspring of siblings will have physical or mental defects. But really, from a moral standpoint, does the law have the right to dictate to any consenting adults if they may have children? After all, wouldn’t we all object if someone wanted to pass a law forbidding people carrying genes for Down syndrome, hemophilia, or sickle-cell anemia from having kids?

It seems to me the natural taboo most humans feel against sexual feelings towards proximate people is sufficient to safeguard the race from too much interbreeding. The occasional exception is not going to be our genetic undoing. That said, I have to amend this statement with the caveat that I’m not a fan of closed interbreeding societies like Warren Jeffs’ FLDS, where the majority of members of the community are genetically related--that’s just too darn much proximity, people!

About twenty years ago I wrote my second novel, a romance called A Bondage of Dreams, which was never published. In the story a woman falls in love with her young music professor, a man still tortured by the unsolved kidnapping of his beloved sister that occurred when they were small children. The heroine senses the prof feels likewise, and is puzzled why he keeps her at arm’s length. It finally comes out that he has looked into her past and is convinced she is the long-lost sister, hence he cannot allow himself to have sexual feelings for her. The woman does some research of her own and fears he may be right, but finally uncovers information that proves they are not related, and the HEA ending ensues.

Remembering the feelings these two had for each other in my book, I think of cases like the UK and German couples. Really, of what relevance is heredity?

It’s a taboo that isn’t always easy to apply, and a moral conundrum. All I know is, no one should be put in prison for sexually loving another consenting adult; exactly how that benefits society I can’t imagine.

The Eye of the Beholder

The 18th Century philosopher Immanuel Kant believed that beauty is objective and universal, in other words, there are immutable standards by which aesthetic judgment can be applied.

Contemporary thinkers hold more to the “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” theory, that is, individual taste and cultural influences determine what is considered beautiful on a case-by-case basis, and there is no objective standard.

I say, all you have to do is be an artist to find out which view is more practical. You’ll find out mighty fast that whatever your medium, there will be no consensus as to whether or not you’ve created something good. That’s certainly the case if you choose to write fiction...oh boy, is it!

Let me give you some examples from my own experience.

Last week my novel Bloodchained was reviewed by the sometimes irascible, always entertaining romance reviewer, Mrs. Giggles. Mrs. G was a big fan of my first writings as Diana Laurence, but I can never guess what she’s going to say. Well, she pretty much panned the book (a 52 out of 100)--the worst review I’ve ever received for anything! Had this been Bloodchained’s first review, I would have quite dismayed, but fortunately it had already received two 5 star and one 4.5 star review, so I could fall back on that good old “Eye of the Beholder” theory. (Likewise, several significant errors in the plot summary told me Mrs. G didn’t give the book a very close read--not surprising considering how prolific she is!)

Meanwhile, interestingly, it was only a couple days later that Mrs. Giggles gave a “Best Short Story Award for 2007” to my sci-fi tale, “Alloy Love” (Soulful Sex: The Science Fiction Collection). The amusing thing about this is that I felt that story was pretty weak and considered replacing it! E.O.T.B. much? Yeah, one woman’s treasure is another’s, well, so-so.

That’s not the first time my judgment of my own work has been questionable. In 2005, the Reviewers International Organization declared my story “Je t’aime, Etienne” (Soulful Sex Volume II) a Best Story from an Anthology Finalist. I’ve gotten a bunch of fan mail for that tale, too. But you know what? I almost left it out of the book, thinking it was weak and rambling.

Yeah, the things that make you go “huh.”

But enough about my stuff. I’ve had the same problem regarding the work of others. This year I once again judged the Eppie Awards, reading four books and rating them. The finalists were just announced, and in my category, only one of the books I read finalled: the one I thought was the worst by far and perhaps unpublishable! Last year I had a similar problem with the Eppies, when a title I gave nearly a perfect score and found superb failed to final at all.

It’s enough to give an author a complex.

A couple of favorite books that I read last year were The Man Who Heard Voices, Michael Bamberger’s wonderful biography of M. Night Shyamalan, and The Name of the Wind, by new fantasy author Patrick Rothfuss. Bamberger’s book flopped and was pulled early from stores; Rothfuss’s book won a Quill Award for Best Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror Book of 2007.

You get the picture. It’s really a crapshoot if what I judge to be great writing will be met with the same reaction by other people. This is why, when I set out to write my last novel, I liked the idea of recruiting a bunch of readers to help. The 63 participants in the Soulful Sex Partners Project gave me feedback galore, and in the end, the consensus was that Bloodchained was a terrific book, thanks to their help.

I know those folks were being honest, just as I know I was not exactly deluding myself when I considered it my best work to date. Meanwhile, however, I know Mrs. Giggles was being just as honest when she said the book bugged her to death.

It makes a person crazy. Are there really no absolute standards of aesthetics? Is it impossible to determine the truth as to whether a book is well written, a painting is beautiful, a piece of music is good? And if it isn’t, what’s the point of reviews?

As one author who works really hard to get her books reviewed (and really enjoys the good ones!), I still feel that artistic criticism has a point. However, it seems to work best on a consensus basis, like the star systems for films on Netflix and IMDB, and the Tomatometer readings for movies and games on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s nearly impossible for a bad movie to get a high fresh rating, or a good one to score rotten.

Just so, the fact that my overall critical rating is 4.3 (after 59 reviews) suggests I’m not a bad writer. It does not, however, guarantee some reviewer isn’t going to pan me tomorrow. Because it’s pretty much all in the eye of the beholder, folks. Bottom line, you gotta judge for yourself!

(But if you read me and like me, by all means let me know! LOL)

How to Look Good Naked

So, a couple days ago I received this email that said, "Being that you are a trusted voice in the female blog community I would like to invite you to a special online advanced screening of 'How to Look Good Naked'..."

In marketing-speak, that simply means, "Your blog has enough readers that we want to include you in our viral marketing campaign," so don't worry, it didn't go to my head! But I was curious about the show, Lifetime's new adaptation of the UK show of the same name, which features host Carson Kressly of "Queer Eye." So I checked out the preview of the first episode (airs on Jan. 4), and was impressed.

My regular readers know I'm a big proponent of self-esteem for real women. I've been known to go off on frequent rants (causing my husband to recoil in alarm and even hide) against the unrealistically thin women that prevail in the media. I love the Dove "Campaign for Real Beauty." And therefore, "How to Look Good Naked" is right up my alley.

In the preview episode, a somewhat Reubenesque but nevertheless nice-looking woman is taken under Carson's wing to change her body image. After a grueling and tearful self-analysis, countered by Carson's encouragement, she undergoes a series of experiences to teach her she truly is beautiful just as she is. The woman learns that beauty stems from a lot more than body shape, and she also learns that her body, just as it is, is perfectly attractive.

Other shows teach self-esteem. Other shows do makeovers--and this one also includes the clothes, the haircut, the makeup. But what sets HTLGN apart is that in the end it does get down to the issue of one's unadorned, naked self. Carson persuades his protege to do a nude photo shoot, with absolutely amazing results. From this experience she learns undeniably that she is attractive and sexy--without losing 40 pounds or having plastic surgery.

I've been noticing lately on some of the makeover shows we watch, just how much "ordinary" individuals look like celebrities if they simply have access to the same designers, stylists, hairdressers and makeup artists. It's quite enlightening. On the flip side, you know those hideous candid shots of celebrities you see on the covers of the tabloids? I used to think they were doctored in reverse, but now I truly believe these gorgeous stars are just that plain, or even homely, without help.

It all boils down to an interesting truth. We have been duped...or duped ourselves...into believing there is a whole huge segment of the human population that is beautiful, and we don't belong in that segment. We can see why they feel sexy and are sexy...and therefore conclude we ourselves ought not hope for the same.

But the truth of the matter is, the truly perfect natural beauties of the world are extremely rare. 99+ percent of us are flawed, celebrities included; the human race abounds with pot bellies, bad complexions, boring hair color, teeth that need straightening, big noses and small breasts. Women have to work a bit at looking good, be that by a good haircut, proper clothes, or eye makeup.

And far more importantly, women need to realize that beauty and sexiness spring from the mind, not the body. Helen Mirren at 61 still echoes her sexiness when she starred in "Caligula" almost 30 years ago. Is "Sex in the City"'s Sarah Jessica Parker conventionally beautiful by anyone's standards, even with benefit of stylists? The sex appeal of Mae West (weight), Barbra Streisand (nose), and Bette Midler (lots of things!) have very little to do with natural beauty and everything to do with talent and attitude.

But I'm like the umpteen-millionth person to say this. You hear it all the time. The problem is, you always forget to apply it to yourself. And that to me is the great success of "How to Look Good Naked." Watching a woman who really has nothing on you being told by strangers and passers-by that she is sexy and pretty...that's powerful stuff. You really do walk away from this show, find a mirror, and take off your clothes, and think, "I can be beautiful too, without the diet and facelift."

You'll believe it. Try out the show and see if it doesn't make you feel it too. And that's my honest, uncompensated endorsement.

Why DO I feel romantic toward my husband?

Earlier this month I posted an essay called “Why don’t I feel romantic toward my husband?” My daughters have subsequently referred to that post as “when you wrote about Davie.” While I did, in a sense, write about their stepfather in that piece, I was actually addressing a question emailed to me privately from a reader. And while I was writing about truths I think are fairly universal, I know feel rather compelled to write about the flip side of the issue.

So Davie, this one IS for you! Just a few reasons that pop to mind why I do still feel romantic toward my husband after 15 years....

1. That runner’s physique and fabulously tiny ass that first attracted me are still amazing. Davie would deny it, but at 46 he’s still a lean, mean and toned machine. I take it for granted now, but I shouldn’t; in Wisconsin trim men are not that easy to find! And as we recently determined, he is exactly five times stronger than me.

2. He’s really smart. Smart enough to build a computer, and to store in his brain approximately 5.3 billion facts about politics, history, and sports. Also smart enough to always know which direction to turn when coming out of a store in the mall, whereas I never have a clue.

3. He’s gallant and chivalrous. These are also vanishing traits. He’s always happy to drive me around. He’s always delighted to rescue my daughters from their latest crisis. Whenever I ask if I can help shovel snow, he says no. Cheerfully even.

4. He yells while watching football games like any red-blooded American guy, but also cries at movies. This man is a 10 on the straight-to-gay spectrum (meaning that when he’s really attracted to another man, it only means he’d love to buy him a beer), but he loves romantic comedies, enjoys cooking and decorating shows, and is a total sentimental slob about Christmas.

5. He hasn’t the slightest problem with my endless parade of celebrity and non-celebrity crushes, and even facilitates them at times. Who else would accompany his wife to Ottawa, Canada in February just so she could see her idol coach a hockey game? (Well, he does like hockey, but still.) Meanwhile, he also indulges my platonic but no doubt slightly annoying crush on our cat Cody.

6. He is cute and funny and has a fantastic vocabulary. Consequently he is entertaining every day. Davie still doesn’t quite believe that being funny is the sexiest thing a guy can do, but I keep reminding him. I’m right, right ladies?

7. He is 100% honest, loyal, faithful and true. In fantasy these are not necessarily romantic traits--we all like our bad boys--but in reality they are probably the most important erotic/romantic traits of all. Davie has never lied, cheated, deceived or been less than totally candid and open about anything in all the time I’ve known him. I’m not sure he could even if he tried and he has no interest in trying! Being able to completely trust someone is an indescribably wonderful thing.

I could go on (and I’ll bet Davie would kind of like me too, LOL), but you get the idea. It all boils down to the fact that he is a wonderful husband, especially for me in particular. That doesn’t necessarily inspire romantic feelings every hour or every day (especially when your wife is menopausal--the only thing wrong with being 51), but sometimes it just has to.

And every hour and every day it does make me very, very happy. Merry Christmas, Davie! I love you.

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.

Why don’t I feel romantic toward my husband?

I remember when I was a young newlywed of 21, and found myself attracted to a co-worker. Up till then I thought that when you really loved someone, you only had eyes for him. Wasn’t that how it was in the love songs, movies, and books? Stricken, I confessed to my husband. He just smiled and assured me I was perfectly normal, probably mostly because he’d had the same experience for a lot longer.

Thirty years later, I have a lot clearer understanding of romantic, sexual love. Without doubt it is among the most exciting, inspiring, life-enhancing human experiences...but the part it plays in long-term relationships is much smaller than our culture would have us think. There are times I feel romantically/sexually towards my husband, but more often I feel different emotions that are not particularly romantic or erotic: comfortable, appreciative, secure, content, etc.

In fact, many of the emotions that spring from a healthy longstanding relationship are anathema to romance. In essence, romantic love is fascination with a being who seems both a perfect mate and somehow out of reach. That’s why all love stories tell the tale of the boy getting the girl (or vice versa), and end when he does. That’s why love songs are about yearning, pining, longing, missing, losing, and so on.

From a Jungian viewpoint (aka the one I have, LOL), this fact is easily explained. Romantic love is an animus phenomenon. What I mean by that is, it is always tied in to our conscious psyche yearning for its subconscious opposite self. Before I say something else unintelligible, let me illustrate. My own animus, my subconscious “dream lover,” is completely and uniquely mine (the perfect mate) and yet, being subconscious, is not accessible to me at will. Rather, he projects himself upon whatever person I’m infatuated with, attracted to, etc. Hence he seems elusive, out of reach. And there you have it, the formula: the perfect mate, who is somehow out of reach.

A husband, of course, is not out of reach, or at least not in a healthy marriage. Experience has proven him also not the perfect mate. Who is? Therefore, it’s very difficult to sustain feelings of romantic love, at least the classic “love song” type. You can love your husband, even adore him, you can most certainly be attracted to him and associate all sorts of pleasures with him, but those achy feelings of longing we think of as romantic love? Not so much.

Meanwhile, it is highly likely any given woman will periodically encounter male figures--be they “real people” or celebrities or characters in books, on TV, or in the movies--that provoke romantic feelings. These “animus bearers,” as Jung termed them, just happen to have the traits for which your particular soul yearns. In some women these animus feelings will be relatively mild, perhaps just a lively interest. In others, the emotions can be so powerful as to be confusing, unsettling...even make a woman question if she’s flipping out.

And most certainly make her feel guilty about having more passion for some actor than for her husband.

Such a woman is making two errors: One, she is underestimating the significance of her bond to her husband. The healthy marriage bond is based on a lot more significant things than intense emotion. Two, she is confusing her very real attachment to her animus (that subconscious part of herself) with feelings for an external person she probably doesn’t even know well. I don’t mean that to sound accusatory, we’ve all done it! And in fact, it’s so FUN to do it, I’d actually advise you to indulge, as long as you keep everything in perspective.

This all translates to the following simple answer to the question posed in our subject line:

You can think half the day about Matt Damon / Hugh Jackman / Christian Bale, or whomever, and still have a perfectly normal and healthy love for your husband. In fact, look for romance in your fantasies, and love in your relationships, and you will do pretty well.

I’ve Found My Soulmate and Her Name is Meg!

...Meg Wood! I don’t often endorse other blogs and sites here, but I have to make a special recommendation for Meg’s Boyfriend of the Week.

Well, what I mean by “soulmate” is that Meg’s taste mirrors my own in uncanny ways. I’ll grant you, if you blog about a new celebrity you like every week or two, you will have a long, long list that most women will share at least in part. But there are definitely some guys in Meg’s pantheon that you wouldn’t necessarily expect every woman to drool over.

Naturally Meg could not be my soulmate if she didn’t appreciate Les Stroud. But she pleads to have his children ASAP, and for all the same reasons I adore the guy. She’s got a long list of my more “commonplace” faves: Naveen Andrews and Josh Holloway, David Duchovny, Sean Bean, Gregory Peck, Dominic Monaghan/Billy Boyd/Elijah Wood, Joaquin Phoenix, Johnny Depp, Ewan McGregor, Owen Wilson, Colin Firth, Hugh Jackman, Keanu Reeves, Tobey McGuire...none of those guys are overly surprising.

Now, however, for the “overly surprising” category, relatively less popular guys that I have adored and/or blogged about: the “So You Think You Can Dance” guys, Mike Rowe, Bill Nighy, Mythbusters Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman, the Serenity guys, Josh Whedon and Anthony Stewart Head, Sam Neill, William Hurt, Kevin Kline, Anthony Hopkins, and Ray Walston.

Yes, Ray Walston! When I saw that name I knew Meg and I quite possibly share the same brain! Or at least libido! I couldn’t believe there was anyone else out there who had a crush on him in “My Favorite Martian” besides me. But Meg did! Will wonders never cease?

Really, there are very few guys on Meg’s boyfriend list (other than those I hadn’t heard of) that I don’t find attractive. Eric Stoltz? Adorable. Chow Yun-Fat? To die for. Morgan Spurlock from “Super Size Me”? I’ll take two. James Spader? Swoon. I even get what she means by the Pets.com Sock Puppet.

I just love that Meg seems to have developed her romantic taste, as I did, based upon a combination of science fiction, Broadway musicals, and admiration for men whose resourcefulness emulates MacGyver. She likes a lot of guys who are quirky, exotic, romantic, heroic, and ingenious. Just reading her analyses (and admiring the accompanying photos) is inspiring, because she really gets (at least according to my particular taste) what makes men spiritually satisfying to women.

Love, love, love it, Meg. I only wish we were both twelve years old and could stay over at each other’s houses making scrapbooks of our fave guys and giggling till one in the morning.

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.

Memoirs from Puberty: Chris

I guess since I haven’t had anything current to blog about lately, I got to thinking about the past. Every once in awhile I get nostalgic for the distant days of yore, the formative years of she who would eventually become a peculiar sort of romance writer. Ah, first loves! Is there anything like the way we felt during those first infatuations, when the opposite sex was so mysterious and interesting? So come back in time with me, to 1970 when the sexual revolution was in full swing and hippies were singing the praises of free love, and I was an intimidated ninth grader trying to make sense of what was going on in my body.

The musical “Hair” was in its heyday. While I had no idea what most of those naughty words in the songs meant, there was a strange appeal in the shows two stars, Claude and Berger, as they appeared in photos on our album jacket. The drugs and nudity and the pall of Vietnam frightened me, but there were songs in that musical about love, and that I could understand. So I was drawn to Claude and Berger, and frightened by them, and that was how I felt about sex, too.

So...ninth grade. Chris, the guy who sat in front of me in geometry and across from me in study hall, was not my “first love.” I’d been sweet on Jeff since fourth grade, but redistricting had separated me from my grade school crush with the big blue eyes. Anyway Jeff was a little kid thing; Chris seemed altogether different. My interest in him crept up on me, even as puberty did. At first I was simply intrigued by him because he was so shy. The boy barely spoke to anyone. I wondered why; my imagination invented all kinds of alluring mysteries. And as I studied him, for the first time in my life I began to notice masculinity.

My obsession with Chris’s masculinity took very interesting forms in my innocent psyche. I memorized his shirts. They were knit pullovers and cotton oxfords, and for the first time I realized males wore their clothes differently than females. I was fascinated by the colors and patterns of Chris’s shirts, and on days when he wore my favorite striped oxfords, I was happy. I still remember those fabrics. Chris was the first male to allure me by turning up the cuffs of his shirts to reveal his wrists. At fourteen he was barely a man by any standards, but there were definite signs.

I loved to pile my books on my desk in geometry class, and set my hand on top, close enough to Chris’s back to feel his body heat. It was inexplicably thrilling. The warmth that came off of him seemed so different than what came off me, as if it had a different chemical composition, as if one could get drunk by feeling it.

How I yearned to know the secrets of this magical creature! I shared a table in study hall with Chris and a talkative nerd named Rich (nicknamed “the Bod” based on an odd last name which shall remain unrevealed here). Every word I said to Rich was meant for Chris’s ears, and I longed for some sign that he recognized I was alive. But he kept to his strange silence, working away on his assignments as if no one else was in the study hall.

Was there anything particularly attractive or amazing about this boy? Not really; he was fairly plain, with a decent physique, and with no unusual attributes except intelligence. I never learned about his hobbies or interests, never knew the bands he liked or the TV shows he watched. So he remained in effect a blank slate, a young everyman upon whom I could project my budding fantasies about masculinity.

Chris was the first boy to make me feel like sex was not necessarily a bad thing.

His was the face and body and voice that maleness wore as it changed my mind about the sex act. What had previously seemed, as it does to all children, as repulsive and bizarre and inexplicable, began to have strange appeal. I felt that with this one person, it was possible such intimacies could be not horrifying, but rather pleasant and exciting. I could do it with Chris, only with him; he alone could make me want to explore such things.

So how did it all end? Well, sadly, upon graduation from our junior high, Chris and I were destined for separate high schools. As despondent as I was about this fact, I was determined to raise the courage for one final act of devotion before we were parted forever. I would ask him to sign my yearbook, and pray that he would respond in kind. I composed a few words that I hoped would convey my affection without embarrassing me; I wish I could tell you what those words were, but I don’t recall. The final day of school arrived, and trembling visibly, I asked Chris to sign my yearbook. We swapped books and wrote, and said goodbye, and I got on the bus to go home. On the way home I finally dared to look at what my beloved wrote.

It was: “Diane, you sure seemed to like the Bod. Have a good summer, Chris”

I realized too late that the boy of my dreams had totally misunderstood me! How devastating! And there was nothing to be done about it. Fantasy and reality collided and my little heart was shattered. There was really very little about my devotion to Chris that was founded in reality, but I didn’t understand that then; I couldn’t grasp that he had never picked up on the tiniest wisp of the roaring passion I had harbored, right behind him in math, right across the table in study hall.

Sad ending notwithstanding, this boy was the tool that nature used to urge me along the bumpy road to adulthood. And even if it was nearly all me and very little him, I still feel a pang remembering how he played that part in the awakening of womanly feelings in me all those years ago.

So whatever became of Chris? Thanks to the wonders of Google, I can tell you. He’s a very successful chemistry professor at a prestigious college.

And in the photo I found of him, he’s wearing an oxford shirt.