Sex and the Single Girl: The Unmarried Woman's Guide to Men (11 page)

Clean hair is sexy. Lots of hair is sexy too.

Skimpy little hair styles and hair under your arms, on your legs and around your nipples, isn’t.

Lovely lingerie is sexy. Carol’s beautiful half slips (she has them in ten colors) always peek-a-boo a bit beneath her short sheath skirts when she sits down. Paula wears creamy beige silk shirts, not thin enough to see her bra straps or elastic through, but thin enough to show the tracery of lace bra cups. Both girls are perfect ladies with a sexth sense about clothes!

Girdles are not sexy. I know they are a necessary retaining wall against wavy buttocks but they are
not
magnetic.

Not sexy either are: food particles between your teeth, baggy stockings, bitten fingernails, borrowing money (very unsexy), flesh not secured firmly to the bone, and jitters (the dart-around, jerk-about kind that makes people feel
sandpapered
!)

Being able to sit very still
is
sexy.

Smiles are
sexy.

It is unsexy to talk about members of your family and how cute or how awful they are. Or about your boss a lot—he’s another man … a rival.

Talking all the time about
anything
is unsexy. Sphinxes and Mona Lisas knew what they were doing!

Gossip—surprise, surprise—is not unsexy! How can you not discuss your friends when they are the most fascinating creatures on earth? Try not to say anything you promised you wouldn’t; and gossip, don’t lampoon. Be just a teensy bit careful too about saying anything derogatory of a girl your guy has been dating.

Being seen without your make-up by somebody who always sees you in it can be sexy provided it isn’t in public and your hair is shiny bright. A friend of mine who visited Marlene Dietrich in her Hollywood Chateau Marmont apartment on business said he couldn’t remember what he was there for. Marlene was the absolute end in a black hostess thing and schoolgirl-scrubbed face.

Being seen in bed is sexy—I mean times when you have no intention of letting anybody get in with you. A man once told me his secretary, a rather nondescript little creature, had stayed overnight at his house after they worked late. His wife was present all evening. The next morning when he went to her room to wake her (his wife slept late), he also awakened an almost uncontrollable urge to pile into bed with her. The sight of this little waif, hair streaming out across the pillow, asleep in one of
his
beds was enough to convince him they’d better work at the office hereafter.

Clothes that fit are sexy. Shoulder seams at the shoulder. Waistlines at the waist (unless it’s against the law that year). I think more people buy things too sloppy than too small, on the theory they’re going to grow another foot or that a size 16 gives you a lot for your money.

Skin-tight skirts and sweaters are sexy, but wearing them is like trying to meet men in a bar. If the sweater and skirt are
that
tight, a man figures you must want action badly and you are distress—you know—merchandise.

A black dress is sexy.
The
black dress. The dress you paid more for than you should but every time you wear it you feel bitchy and beautiful. Incidentally, if you have bony shoulders and a small bust and decolleté styles are not for you (or even if your shoulders and bust are fine), a cocktail dress with a solid bodice but long chiffon sleeves and throat part is infinitely alluring. The crepe part comes up to the top of your bosom and the chiffon fits like skin above that and forms the sleeves.

Perfume is sexy and, unfortunately, the costlier the perfume, usually the sexier! Any good French perfume wafting from a pretty girl’s bosom is about the nicest thing that can happen to air! Three inexpensive perfumes I’ve found that smell nice are Max Factor’s Hypnotique, Revlon’s Intimate and Fabergé’s Aphrodisia. (Of course there are many more.) Douse the perfume on cotton, put another piece of dry cotton in front of it and tuck it inside your bra. Use the same cotton again and again to build up a residue of scent. Remember, if
you
can’t smell it, probably
he
can’t smell it either so you’re being wastefully stingy.

Good health is sexy. Tired girls are tiring! Enough energy to dance till dawn when other girl-blossoms are losing their petals is a great plus. I know a man who says he married his wife because she had so much vitality and enthusiasm. He never says enthusiasm for
what
, but apparently for
everything.

Being delighted to be called on the telephone is sexy (unless it’s four o’clock in the morning, in which case hang up, put the phone in the icebox and toddle back to bed). Some girls find it easier to be sexy and oomphy on the telephone than in person. They don’t have to worry about how they look and can depend altogether on how they sound.

Light up when a guy calls. It isn’t going to establish you as overeager Edith. I’m not even for being cool to a man who has recently been a swine in the way he has treated you (if it’s somebody you adore!) You’ll have the grand showdown later. Meanwhile don’t dissipate its impact with petty carping.

About your telephone voice … or any-other-time voice, it’s a tough assignment to change its timbre, but movie stars have sometimes lowered theirs a whole register. Lauren Bacall has, I believe. Listen to voices in movies. Most of them were willed into being by practice, practice, practice. If you squeak or squawk, are thin or reedy (and only dogs can hear you in your upper register) or are decidedly nasal, consider a voice revise. (A high school dramatics teacher in your town with a great deal of savvy about these things could help you.) If you don’t
know
how you sound—and most people don’t, record your voice on tape. Ask someone you trust to tell you honestly. Not your family—they probably sound just like you do. A dictaphone machine will give you the good or bad news. If a test proves nothing really annoying about your voice, leave it alone (but get right to work on your fanny-paring exercises!) But if you have one of those voices that make people wish they or
you
were in the next county,
do
something. You would about bad breath, wouldn’t you?

A girl I know did something. A switchboard operator changed her squeaky soprano into such a sexy contralto that her trunk lines were busy all day long with people calling up just to hear her say hello. (This is a true story; she was a kind of legend in Beverly Hills.) The callers, irresistibly drawn, would come in to see her too. Pauline was just a fraction as sexy-looking as her voice sounded, but she had beautiful skin and great legs to go with that voice! Fellows figured, anybody who cared enough to sound that seductive must have some other good points as well.

Liking men is sexy. It is by and large just about the sexiest thing you can do. But I mean really liking, not just pretending. And there is quite a lot more to it than simply wagging your tail every time a man pats you on the head. You must wag your tail, of course—his collie dog does
that
much—but there are about five thousand more aggressive ways to demonstrate liking, none of which is dashing along to the nearest motel. You must spend time plotting how to make him happier. Not just him …
them
!

Agnes, one of the most successful man-likers I know, holds open house in her minuscule office for any male co-worker’s (or female co-worker’s, for that matter) birthday. She serves jelly doughnuts and hot-plate coffee. When she hears some guy is interested in ophthalmology, she brings in a book for him. She’s even been known to sew a button on a coat and remove a splinter. Sounds like good old Agnes, doesn’t she?—den mother to the office. You should see good old Agnes—if you can get past the men blocking the doorway!

If you can be friendly and helpful without asking anything in return, you are well on the way to surrounding yourself with men. But suppose you’re nice to a guy, lighting up and sewing on buttons and all that and one day you say to yourself, enough is enough, and you pop the question. Will he be your date for a cocktail party Saturday night? No, he says. Just plain no. Hate, hate! Kill. Kill. Kill! A pox on him and everybody under his zodiac sign! Do you know what that means? It means you didn’t really like him for himself in the first place but were just being friendly because you
wanted
something. How do you feel when he’s nice to you only because he wants to sleep with you—or needs a cosigner at the bank?

Not all men see you as date material. The most voluptuous chorus girl may be anathema to the chap who is only
en rapport
with Vassar girls.

Granted, it
is
harder to like men generously and selflessly when you’re single. They are, after all, the enemy! One kindly smile from you, they think you’re sweet on them. It’s true, there has to be quite a lot of unrequited liking on your part for a while, but then men stop being suspicious and allow you to collect them as sons and lovers.

The Lively Art of Flirting

A sexy girl knows how to flirt. The deep-down sexy one may not flirt as much as the pseudo-sexy one, but it’s handy knowledge.

Maybe you think you can’t flirt. You think it means dropping your hanky or giving a long, slow wink, followed by a sideward jerk of the head to indicate “Meetcha out in the hall, honey.”

Flirting is mostly just looking. Ready for a quick flirting lesson?

Select a man at a nearby restaurant table. (Somebody in the dentist’s anteroom will do just as well. Place isn’t important.) Spotted him? Look straight into his eyes, deep and searchingly, then lower your gaze. Go back to your companions or magazine. Now look at him again the same way … steadfastly, questioningly. Then drop your eyes. Do it three times and you’re a flirt! (P.S.—you will have made him very happy.)

Want to flirt some more?

A man is talking to you, nothing very personal. Look into his eyes as though tomorrow’s daily double winners were there. Never let your eyes leave his. Concentrate on his left eye … then the right … now deep into both. Smooth operators never take their eyes off a man even when a waiter spills a tray of drinks. This look has been referred to rather disdainfully as “hanging on his every word.” It was good in your grandmother’s day and it’s still a powerhouse! (Is there any comparison between
this
and gazing all around the room to see if anybody good just came in?) Laura says a man she knows finds this look absolutely aphrodisiac. Looked at so, a man usually stops whatever he is saying and kisses the girl!

Never interrupt a man when he is telling you a story. Not for all the rugs in Persia. This is a terrible habit of girls, even with other girls. For example: Your date is recalling the day a woman fell out of the bleachers at a ball game. “It was last September at the Forty-Niners-Bears game,” he says. “John Stromberger and Sam Hanks were with me and we noticed this woman …” You barge in, “Oh, Sam Hanks, isn’t he a madman? I went to grammar school with him. His sister married my cousin and their kids all look just like cret—” Your storyteller doesn’t want to discuss Sam Hanks
or
your cousin’s kids. He was telling you a
story.
You’ve interrupted him and spoiled his image of himself as a raconteur. It only took a second and you meant no harm, but save your comments till the finish.

The flirt reacts. She laughs at the jokes, clucks at the sad parts, applauds bravery. I really think it gets easier to flirt as you get older because you learn to listen to any man, employing the same charm and rapt attention you once reserved for seven-year-olds.

The Charmer

Being sexy is being charming, and if you can sum up what charm is, I think it’s
total awareness.
A charmer has her antenna up and valves open at all times. With sensitive radar she detects what the other person wants to hear and says it. And she senses what he doesn’t want to hear and refrains from saying
it.
Charming people, either men or women, are usually warm-blooded, affectionate and compassionate, but they are also
thinking ahead all the time.

I had lunch the other day with a charmer, accompanied by her mother. Two of the girls in the party had babbled ten minutes or so about their new office manager whom the mother didn’t know. Presently the charmer said, “You know, Mother, he’s kind of like Joe Winslow at the bank … sort of Prussian.” Mother was back in the conversation.

This particular charmer, so accomplished she should package it, puts everything in terms of
you.
“You would have loved it.” “You would have fainted.” In describing a gown she saw at the opera she says it was a little deeper than your red velvet coat. She remembers what you told her last time and asks questions
this
time. It’s appalling the things people can forget you told them (like your left fender had just been bashed in and your insurance has expired) and never ask you about it in subsequent conversations.

The charmer, like the flirt (she’s the same person), reacts to what you say. And will give you all afternoon to say it. She laughs. She gasps. She’s vexed for you, glad for you, and she isn’t a phony. If you ask her advice she will try to answer honestly.

Second only to that of the President of the United States, the state of your health is important to her. “Did your fingernails ever stop breaking off to the quick she asks. Or, “You were coming down with the flu. Are you better today?” Mother care like that. What adult can’t stand some babying still?

A charmer tells you when people have said something nice about you, and never tells you when they haven’t. She is reliably friendly, doesn’t blow hot or cold. Most charmers are as popular with women as with men because from this person you get love—not trouble.

The Female Female

As for lessons in how to be more feminine, femininity is a matter of accepting yourself as a woman. We’re back to that again! You can look like a Dresden doll and still hate men. That isn’t being feminine. You can have halfback shoulders and
adore
men. That’s feminine!

Some girls “hate” men because they secretly envy their “superior advantages,” their jobs, their ability to exploit. (Haven’t they ever seen some poor drone paying $1,000 a month alimony to a girl he was married to only a year?) Man-haters may secretly envy men’s penises.