Halle Berry is the sexiest "Cougar" around today! The latest issue of Esquire Magazine declared Ms. Berry the Sexiest Woman Alive. And... we agree. Check out the excerpt below where Halle Berry talks about her "g-spot" shall we say? It's eye-opening information. Enjoy!Does being the sexiest woman alive imply that I know a thing or two about what’s sexy and, possibly, about sex itself? I’m not sure, but here’s what I do know: I know damned well I’m sexier now than I used to be. Let me make an argument here — not so much for me, or even for my age being sexy, but for what I’ve learned. I’ve picked up a little over the years. Sexy is not about wearing sexy clothes or shaking your booty until you damn near get hip dysplasia; it’s about knowing that sexiness is a state of mind — a comfortable state of being. It’s about loving yourself even in your most unlovable moments. I know a little bit about that.
Sexiness is also about knowing what’s sexy to you. To me, spaghetti is sexy, especially when it’s served off the tips of a man’s fingers. I like that. And I think wine is sexy, just before sex. It relaxes me. But if I want to get a serious groove on — if I want an out-of-body experience — I’m all about the sloe-gin fizz.
I think lingerie is sexy, and I’ll wear it, sure. But truth is, I’m good-to-go in a tank top and bare feet — although every woman should own at least one good pair of pumps. That’s really the only wardrobe you need for sex: a tank top and pumps.
When it comes to what I think is sexy about men, I like forearms. That’s my body part. They’re generally exposed, available, a little bit vulnerable. A forearm is different with every man, and when it comes to forearms, size matters. I don’t like them slight.
Ask me what’s the sexiest car in the world and I’ll just say my man’s car, because it smells like him, because his shape is pressed into the seat, because it’s littered with little bits of his life — his golf balls or his chocolate-bar wrappers — and it’s ripe with the smells of him. That’s the car I most want to ride in.
What else? Ah, yes: the big O. You know that stuff they say about a woman being responsible for her own orgasms? That’s all true. And in my case, that makes me responsible for pretty damned good orgasms these days. Much better orgasms than when I was twenty-two. And I wouldn’t let a man control that. Not anymore. Now I’d invite him to participate. I’ll tell you this: I’ve learned my tricks. I know what I like. I do not wait around. I initiate. And I’m not all about frequency. I favor intensity.
There have been some men in my life who have been wickedly sexy and have taught me much about sexual pleasure. There are a few men I should thank, and others I need to forget. But I don’t regret. To hell with regret. I like what I am now. I like being a mother. I like my body better since I became a mother. I feel sexier as a result of becoming a mother.
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