Weapons of Mass Seduction

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  “Honesty Moment: You walk into your seven-year-old daughter’s room one morning and find the pajamas she went to bed in are on the floor and she is sleeping happily nude. ‘Why?’ you ask. ‘Because the sheets feel good on my skin,’ she says. Please, a show of hands: How many of you would be shocked and bothered and insist that she sleep with pajamas so she wouldn’t catch cold or some other concocted reason?”

  Slowly the hands of nearly three quarters of the room rose into the air. Apparently Joey’s point had hit home. Why was sensuality considered an imperative in early childhood and then snatched away before puberty?

  “Whoa, that is so my mother,” Rebecca whispered to Pia, keeping her hands defiantly in her lap. “Once she and I went shopping for school clothes. I didn’t put on a bra under my slip ’cause I liked the silky feeling, and she got so upset she slapped me. She said the boys would think I was a slut.”

  “Shhh,” Flo gently admonished, putting her index finger to her lips and tilting her head toward the front of the room.

  “So it is time to take back your sensuality and revel in it once again,” Joey was saying. “A woman’s sensuality truly takes root in her individuality. A woman comfortable with her uniqueness is a confident woman. And a confident woman is a sexy woman! So you must first find the things about you that are unique and interesting and make you feel good about being you.

  “Yes?” Joey interrupted herself to acknowledge Rebecca’s waving hand.

  “What if there’s just nothing that’s interesting about you? What if you’ve spent your entire life trying not to be noticed and now nobody does?” Her comment raised the curious eyebrows of her teammates.

  “Or maybe you’ve spent most of your life being somebody else’s somebody,” a voice called out.

  “Yeah, like a mother,” added another sympathetic participant.

  “Or a wife or lover.”

  “Or a wife and a lover,” Julie quipped, making the group around her snicker uncomfortably.

  “Or all of the above plus about a hundred other job titles,” Flo added.

  “So the question is,” Joey stepped in, “how do you wear all of those hats and find your authentic self beneath them?”

  “Exactly. How do you find someone you never realized you’d lost?” Flo asked.

  Or have kept hidden for so long? Pia wondered in her head.

  Or never knew, thought Rebecca.

  “Well, you dig deep and excavate. You dust off the precious relic, polish her up, and voilà: You discover what Dubya and others couldn’t—a bona fide WMS.

  “This morning we’re going to talk about ways to bring out the incomparable you hiding behind all those titles, expectations, marketing campaigns, and celebrity endorsements. And we begin with identifying your personal charisma.”

  With all the flair of Vanna White, Joey walked to the easels and dramatically removed the fabric from each, revealing poster-size photographs of six very famous celebrities. Staring back at the audience with their perfect toothy grins were Sharon Stone, Whoopi Goldberg, Angelina Jolie, Reese Witherspoon, Oprah Winfrey, and Halle Berry.

  “Charisma. Every woman has her own distinctive brand of ‘star quality.’ You don’t have to be famous to own and use it to your best advantage. Charisma is not what you are—your job or role—but who you are. It is your own ‘secret sauce’ that helps connect you emotionally, intellectually, and even spiritually to others. Your personal charisma might be flashy or flamboyant. Maybe it’s quiet and intoxicating or warm and witty. Once you identify yours and really own it, it can never be taken away.

  “So with the help of these well-known ladies, let’s look at what I believe to be the six main types of charisma:

  “POWER CHARISMA,” she said, pointing to Sharon Stone, “is all about chutzpah. Sharon is shocking and fearless, and standing next to her you just might be a little intimidated by her energy and intensity, but you’re also fascinated. Hillary and Condoleezza also have this kind of charisma.

  “HUMOROUS CHARISMA,” Joey continued. “Whoopi is clever and disarming. She’ll draw you in with her wit and amusing take on life, all the while making you laugh and feel at ease. Ellen DeGeneres has the same kind of power. There’s nothing clownlike about this kind of charisma. Think about it. How high is humor on your list of what you want in a mate?

  “No offense, but Whoopi Goldberg is not very sexy,” Rebecca whispered, leaning over. “And Ellen is gay.”

  “Well, something’s working for them, because they can pull some serious men—and women,” Pia said, before returning her attention to Joey.

  “Now, Angelina Jolie certainly personifies SEXUAL CHARISMA. Sex appeal and passion ooze out of every pore. Her sexuality permeates everything she does, and yet she’s no bimbo. Her attire is elegant and refined and still enormously provocative.”

  “Jennifer didn’t have a shot in hell,” Julie joked from the back, setting off a roomful of titters.

  “Jennifer Aniston is much like Reese,” Joey continued through the laughter. “She’s someone who is completely capable of taking care of herself, and yet people seem to want to protect her. Women with CUTE CHARISMA are friendly. They make people feel comfortable around them, and their appeal lies in the fact that they aren’t intimidating, snobbish, or aloof.”

  “And aren’t old enough to be pissed off at the world,” Flo joked to those around her.

  “Now, women who possess SMART CHARISMA,” Joey continued, gesturing to Oprah, “are truly brilliant without the need to prove it. They listen and talk to you, not at you. They don’t need to overwhelm you with all they know, but have the humble, unassuming ability to make you consider things in an entirely different light. Brooke Shields is another great example of smart charisma.

  “And last, cool as a Coca-Cola, Halle Berry. Mystery is what makes a woman with COOL CHARISMA so appealing. Though she may be slightly aloof and you never quite know what she’s thinking, her smile is as genuine as it is tempting, because it always implies that there is so much more to know and uncover. Charlize Theron is another cool customer.

  “Each is different, yet each as seductive and sexy as the next, and most are a combination of several charismas. So, probably, are you. Let’s take a moment to think about what kind of charisma you possess.”

  “Pia, you’re easy. You’ve got cool charisma,” Rebecca immediately declared. “You’re beautiful and fashionable and there’s a secret part of you that makes people curious.”

  “I can live with that,” Pia agreed, visions of her own cool heroine, smooth and sexy jazz singer Sade, appearing in her head. “What about you, Florence?”

  “Rocks don’t have charisma. Not even sensible pet rocks,” Flo deadpanned.

  “Well, I want charisma like Angelina Jolie. She’s so hot. Guys love her. But I don’t exactly know how to do that,” Rebecca admitted while waving her arm in the air.

  “Joey,” Rebecca asked, “if you don’t know what kind of charisma you have, or don’t have the kind you want, how do you get it?”

  “By pinpointing the parts of your personality that are appealing and then working them to the max. Most people waste their time working only on their weaknesses. I say, strengthen your strengths,” Joey advised.

  “TIP: The things you are drawn to in other women are the hidden, undeveloped assets you possess but have yet to acknowledge. Study these women—and pull from their lives that which is you, but don’t try to copy them. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but it’s also the fastest way to look like an idiot.

  “Now, enough lecturing for today—you have other exciting things to do. First, if you’d please turn to page seven to find your homework assignment for this evening,” she said.

  Pia and the others flipped to the pages.

  EXERCISE: Identify three things: 1) your individual charisma; 2) the secret weapon you already possess but underutilize; and 3) what trademark icon you would choose to represent yourself. Write these down in your WMS journal with any th
oughts or feelings that might accompany your answers.

  “I don’t get it. What exactly is a trademark icon?” someone from the back asked.

  “An icon is merely a representation of something. In this case, you. Your trademark icon is something you can see and touch that connects you to your sensual, unique self and reminds you of the woman you are striving to be.

  “Right now the bus is outside to take you on a very special shopping expedition. As you leave you will receive your shopping list. Sometimes it’s the small and very personal things—shoes, jewelry, or fragrance—that make you feel sensually unique and become lingering clues to your inimitable personality. Now keep all these things in mind as you make your purchases.

  “Your first stop will be a visit to my good friend Cosette. If anyone can make you feel like a true WMS, she will. I’ll join you later at dinner. Have a sensual afternoon, lovelies, and by all means, take time to notice and smell the flowers along the way.”

  Chapter Five

  Pia crossed the threshold and immediately felt a satisfying sense of homecoming. There was something about stepping into a lingerie shop that automatically brought a twist to her lips and put an adventurous gleam in her eye. Some women loved shoes. Others coveted jewelry. Pia adored expensive undies. For some, paying $125 for a brassiere and $65 for matching panties might seem excessive, but for her it was an investment in her positive state of mind. Fine lingerie made her feel attractive and desirable, feelings tough to hold on to when there was no one in your life reminding you.

  “Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus. This is definitely not the bra section at JCPenney,” Rebecca proclaimed in nervous awe as she eyeballed every satin and embroidered inch of their assigned destination.

  Of course it isn’t, Pia wanted to assure her. This was not a boutique for amateurs. The place positively reeked of feminity. And power. Erotic, sexual power. Even to the unindoctrinated eye, this was a sophisticated and elegant collection for those steeped in the art of seduction. Boudoir-style armoires lined the walls—each tastefully stocked with lace and silk-spun concoctions of sexy body armor, all designed to disarm and accelerate the fall of men.

  Talk about your amorous arsenal, she thought, giggling to herself before a tide of pessimism swept over her. Despite owning an impressive munitions chest, Pia no longer possessed the confidence to wage an effective war. Perhaps Dee was right to dupe her into attending this workshop.

  “Bienvenue à Passionata. Welcome to Passionata, ladies,” interrupted an elegantly French-accented female voice. “I am Cosette. Your professeur, Joey, has sent you to me this afternoon to teach you more about the power of the pretty things that surround you.

  “Lingerie is a beautiful way for a woman to develop and explore her sense of identity. Pretty things like this or this,” Cosette continued, holding up a black lace merry widow bustier and a delicate sheer white camisole as divergent examples, “are a special and secret manifestation of your personality, mood…or purpose,” she added with a wink. “So let your most intimate apparel be the sign of how you feel.”

  Cosette’s captive audience broke out in a chorus of flirty laughter. Power. Purpose. Pia almost felt sorry for the male population once these sex bombs in the making were released around the country.

  “And never, never must you save these beauties for a special occasion. Every day is special, non? Put them on to clean your house, wear them to drive your enfants to school, to shop your groceries. If you choose to share with your lover, well, lucky him. But never do you buy just to seduce him. You must first seduce yourself. So every day when you pull on your panties, pull on a new attitude as well. What bubbles underneath radiates on top. Non?

  “Ladies, enjoy the champagne. You will look and touch and find yourself here in Passionata. Now mademoiselles Marie, Aimee, and Jacquelin will begin to measure you, as fit is most important.”

  With a dramatic clap of her hands, Cosette’s three assistants, clad in black smocks, pencil skirts, and stiletto heels, appeared and the fitting frenzy began. Pia walked over to Rebecca and the two were soon joined by Flo.

  “Why do we need to come here?” Rebecca asked, thinking of her already sky-high credit balance as she curiously fingered a siren red garter belt. “Can’t we go somewhere a little less expensive?”

  “Because as Cosette said, proper fit is important,” Pia explained. “Here, you’ll get that. Buy what you want. It will be my gift to you.”

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, besides I’m not going to get anything. I have drawers of this stuff at home.”

  “Thank you,” Rebecca said as she scooped up the garter’s matching push-up bra and thong panties.

  “I’m not tryin’ to be your mother, Rebecca, but aren’t those just a tad…well…risqué?” Flo asked. “How about a sweet little camisole that isn’t so…red?”

  “My mother would never let me wear anything red, not even a sweater let alone underwear like this. I’ve been sweet all my life. Now I want to be sexy like a Victoria’s Secret Angel.”

  “Honey, there’s not one thing angelic about these skimpy panties and brassieres. Those creations are the devil’s work. And I am not talkin’ about nothin’ moral or religious, darlin’. I’m talkin’ comfort. No underpants are supposed to disappear into the crevices of your body, and no nightie is supposed to be so full of hardware that it would stop you from gettin’ on an airplane let alone gettin’ a good night’s sleep.”

  Pia couldn’t stop laughing. Flo Chase was a natural comedienne. “Flo, in case you had any doubt, your individual charisma is definitely humorous, and I think that’s your secret weapon as well. Now go on. The panty patrol is calling.”

  “Well, can’t hurt to get a good fit,” Flo said as Aimee beckoned her into a dressing room. “Maybe it’ll keep my nipples from droppin’ out my pant legs. Come on, Rebecca. You can try those on while I’m gettin’ measured.”

  “Mademoiselle?” Aimee asked, gesturing to Pia.

  “Non, merci,” Pia begged off, dragging out her high school French. “I’m just browsing today.”

  While her teammates headed for the dressing rooms, Pia decided to buy a gift for Dee and wandered over to the armoire of nightgowns and matching robes. “For Hector’s homecoming,” she decided, admiring a chocolate brown and lavender silk chemise. She’d just found Darlene’s size when Rebecca’s loud denouncement sounded above the background music and quickly steered Pia back to the dressing area.

  “Absolutely not! It’s supposed to be sexy. Pia, look at her. Tell her she looks like my grandma in that.”

  “Well…” Pia began softly as she viewed Flo standing in lingerie’s equivalent of oatmeal—a sexless, shapeless, laceless cross-your-heart-looking number. “I’ve never seen Rebecca’s grandma, but that’s definitely not saying ‘new attitude.’”

  “Well, I guess a granny is what he saw too. It’s no wonder…” Florence said, her words barely audible.

  “You said that earlier today. If you don’t mind me asking, it’s no wonder what?” Rebecca politely inquired, curiosity winning out over protocol.

  “No wonder why my husband, Dan, decided to walk out after twenty-six years of marriage. No wonder he moved clear across five states just to get away from me,” Flo admitted before collapsing on the chair in the corner.

  “I know yesterday I said I was here to refresh my marriage, but truthfully I think save is a better word,” she softly revealed. “My friend Miriam gave it to me for a birthday gift and insisted I come out here—otherwise I’d be back in Texas still tryin’ to figure out what exactly I did wrong. That test we took says I’m sensibly sensual and here I am standin’ in a shop full of lacy tidbits, wearin’ your grandma’s boring beige sensible brassiere. And according to Joey Clements, when it comes to bein’ a sexy, sensual woman, sensible is the last thing men want.”

  “Who knows what men want? I don’t think they’re even sure,” Pia said, angry at a man she didn’t even know for hurting a woman s
he’d just met. “Men leave for a variety of reasons. You didn’t have to do anything to drive him away.”

  “I’ve been rackin’ my brain over this, and I know I didn’t do anythin’ per se. I mean, I didn’t have an affair or run up the credit cards or anythin’. Lookin’ back, I’m sure he felt slighted for the past eighteen years or so, but the boys were a full-time job. In my mind, when the kids came our first priority was to be parents, and once they left to live their own lives we’d get back to being a couple. What I hadn’t figured was that they’d all grow up and leave—Dan included.”

  “So he just up and said he wanted a divorce?” Pia asked.

  “No, nothin’ that definitive. Our youngest had just returned back to campus followin’ Thanksgivin’ break. Dan left two days later on a fishin’ trip to Florida. Well, sometime between the flight down there and catchin’ some big marlin, he decided he was bored and he wasn’t gettin’ any younger. Told me he needed to experience life. I hate that phrase, ‘experience life.’ What the hell has he been doin’ the past fifty years? When he told me that I went down to the basement and took out all the scrapbooks I’d put together over the years. There were fifteen books just filled to the brim. How could he have that many memories and not have ‘experienced life’? It makes no sense to me.”

  “I think that’s one of those catchphrases people use when all of a sudden they look up and realize that there are more years behind them than in front of them,” Pia offered. “Women may have their biological clocks, but men have these Big Ben timepieces that go off in midlife. It’s their warning that their penises aren’t going to stay hard forever so they better accomplish whatever they need to now to keep that feeling of youthful vitality.”