The Queen of My Self

This week I am offering my own sensual, sexual experiences as Maiden, Mother, Queen and Crone-to be.

The Queen of Hearts

Eventually, time and the winds and storms of my maternal years weathered my once-sumptuous bloom. The galloping growth of my spring and sweet blush of my fertile summer had slowed and faded in the sweltering heat of vicissitude and time. Like many women of a certain age, I had let myself go, like an overblown rose clinging to the vine in the fall, my petals ratty and my hip growing round. But this is only natural. A flower must shrivel before it can bear fruit.

My hard-won Self-knowledge and acceptance has only grown more intense and powerful, as my once-luscious blooms have ripened into fruitful age. Now that I have entered the autumn years of my Queendom, I have become a well-seasoned woman, mature and plump and ready for the picking. Piquant, tart, sweet, succulent and juicy, ripe with the cycle of life, I am what my Chicana friend Linda calls “Una mujer in su salsa.” A hot sauce woman.

Relaxed and contracted in the Fire Queen’s sweltering heat, I’m slower now, and surer, like thick crystallized syrup. Honey made for me, the Queen Bee, from the wildflower I once was. I’m strong and steady, salty, spicy, and oh so sultry, if a little bit dusty.

A little wrinkled. A little weary. A little saggy, a little worn, but infinitely stronger, steadier and a whole lot wiser. I bear the fruits of my own labors, and I wear them well. I have passed into the majesty of proud maturity that Ms. Brody would term her prime. This is surely what they mean about PMV (Post- Menopausal Vigor).

Radiant, I was lit from within. Other people noticed this and began to gravitate toward me. Suddenly, after five decades of rather modest sex appeal ratings, I found that I was turning heads wherever I went. The Queen I had become in my fifties began, for the first time in my life, to attract charged affection and lustful admiration from friends and strangers alike. Like bees to a hive, attention buzzed around me, tickling my self-perceived image, stroking my ego. I was the Queen Bee, Nefertiti, Cleopatra, the Queen of Sheba. Honey, I was the Queen of Hearts.

Now, in my sixties, I am so happy to be me. This long longed for assurance has had a thrilling aphrodisiac effect — from the inside out. I feel more attractive and sexy than I ever have, and therefore I am. My entire Self is charged with new poise and ease of being: my head held high with pride and self-esteem; my eyes alive with what I have seen, the many sights and insights; my cheeks red from the chase — and hair to match. I am a mean, clean, spirit-driven machine, shined with spit and polish, full of gas, revved and ready to go.

Now, “Who’s the fairest of them all?”  

Red Hot Queen Mama

The Queen welcomes questions concerning all issues of interest to women in their mature years. Send your inquiries to

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