Wild Women Do...

An unequaled sex guide that's packed with erotic advice for every man and woman who want super sex.

A super-hot sex manual for a new generation, Supersex is a stylish, witty, and cutting-edge look at sex in the new millennium. From the internationally best-selling author Tracey Cox, this beautifully illustrated guide highlights the author's unique ability to write about sex in an honest and entertaining way. From the basics of the male and female anatomy to hard-hitting information on sexual techniques, this book covers-and uncovers-it all.

Wild Women Do...

Have you heard the news? There's a new breed of women out there and they're a bunch of shameless hussies! Selfish, self-absorbed - why, they're she-devils! Determined to destroy our sense of community/the American way/the family unit by putting off marriage and motherhood to concentrate on their own needs. Imagine! Daring to be independent rather than dependent. Slaves to a 'me first, others later' ideology. Worshippers at the altar of self-gratification! I've even heard they have multiple lovers (sometimes more than one at once!), zero inhibitions and libidos which rev faster than a Lamborghini. Sigh! Isn't it just brilliant being a female in the 21st century? Let me apologise in advance: this feature contains paragraphs of unashamed GirlPower type rants. Oh, and there's some pretty good sex tips thrown in there as well.

I turned on the telly last night and saw a haggard, harassed-looking woman say 'It's quite obvious Robbie Williams would be a great shag - I mean, just look at him'. On closer inspection, she turned out to be me. Quite frankly, it was recorded so long ago, I'd forgotten I'd done it - one of those let's-pick-fault-with-celebrities-because-we'd-all-like-to-be-them shows where 'experts' like me say they wouldn't walk in their shoes for a million pounds (but secretly we'd pay them £100 quid for five minutes worth). Anyway, I was horrified. Why? Well, for a start, the lighting was godawful and I looked about 150-years-old (which blew my chances of Robbie calling the station for my phone number to prove the point, which was whole point of doing show in first place). My second moment of mortification: 'Everyone will think I'm a Bad Girl for saying that'. I mean, I practically had my tongue on the floor like some sluuuuu...... And then I stopped myself. Because not only do I hate the word and all its connotations, I thought 'Oh what's wrong with it! It's a compliment and - it's true. He would be great in bed. Damn good in bed' ..and proceeded to drift into some rather wicked Robbie fantasies which put me in a hell of a lot nicer place than squirming around imagining what my first grade teacher now thinks of me. After all, who would I rather impress: the 70-year-old (and that was then) Mrs Friar or the so-fresh-he-should-be-refrigerated Mr Williams?

My point is this: OK, I might have been called a - whatever - for saying that. But at least I maybe made someone sit up and take notice (me and Mrs Friar anyway) and that's a good thing! We're always talking about how women love bad boys (like Robbie), well wild women are just as appealing (she says hopefully). For all the same reasons. A trash video and a block of Cadbury's around the same size. A whopping great G & T at the end of the world's worst work day. Sleeping in when we really should be up doing the dishes we abandoned the night before. We all love doing things that we shouldn't - and boys are as much a sucker of this mantra as we are. Thing is, despite the press, I don't think wild women are quite as obvious to spot as bad boys. Like, we don't all wear leather jackets and Levis (worn in all the right places). Apart from wicked thoughts and a slightly wanton attitude, I'm not quite sure how men spot a bad girl. Sure, she'll flash a smile bigger than Julia Roberts' and maybe start twirling her hair with her little finger, while letting her gaze drop, just for a millisecond, downward. But apart from that ... and maybe the wonderfully flattering figure-hugging LBD and the rather naughty thing she's doing with the straw in that - what is that? - cocktail which looks like you could dive in, it's that delicious...and... OK, whatever it is, you know it when you see it and you also know anyone that delicious is not going to necessarily be the mother of your future children. But God, wouldn't it be wonderful if that fab body also housed a brain and even an ounze of humanity and vulnerability and.....blimey! It does! So it's all a bit scary now, so you try to be sensible and stop flirting, or (more to the point) letting her flirt with you. But the fact that you can't/shouldn't/won't makes it worse. So you start stealing little looks again and you're starting to salivate. Two drinks later you're frothing at the mouth. And...oh, just give in! As Geri says, You know want to.. Anyway, what was I saying about the difference between bad boys and wicked women? There is none. Which, given the appeal, is possibly why you might want to cash in on the whole thing and....

Wanna Be Wild? You've Got To...

Dress the part by leaving something on like a fab bra (aka Carrie in Sex and City) or high heels and a g-string. I'm thinking expensive Agent Provocateur style rather than one of those awful black/red/crotch and nippleless numbers. Open the bedside drawer of a wild woman and you'll also find knickers which tie up on the side (for easy removal), a feather boa, some old scarves and stockings for tie-me-up games, thigh-high boots, chokers, satin French knickers, black/white/fish-net stockings and every type of underwear possible, ranging from sporty and athletic to mere wisps of string which are so flimsy it's amazing they hold together. Wild women have loads of different sexual sides and dress to reflect them. (If Whitney didn't have this in mind when she sang, 'I'm every woman' she should have.)

Talk the part The turn on of talking dirty is because (most) women aren't explicit about sex the rest of the time. So if you're the type who swears like a fishwife during breakfast with the Parents and Citizens Association, it's probably not going to surprise him particularly if you continue doing it in bed. The appeal harks back to the old 'Madonna in the kitchen/whore in the bedroom' thing, so works best for wide-eyed wild girls who play pure and virginal in public and save their Temptress-with-Turret's-Syndrome (PETER: I THINK THIS IS RIGHT? It's the psychological condition for people who swear uncontrollably!) for behind closed doors.

Take control. You are mistress of the manor, he is the butler so therefore must do anything you ask him to. 'Get me a glass of wine'. 'Get me my bathrobe'. 'Run the bath'. 'Soap me up'. You get the picture: the requests get ruder the longer you play the game. He must say 'Yes M'am' after each request or - he's banished to the kitchen to do the dishes and polish the silver.

Call the shots. Ban intercourse for the next five sex sessions so you're forced to discover new ways to please each other. First session: you're only allowed to use your mouths, no hands allowed. Second session: hands only, no mouths or tongues. Third session: only allowed to stimulate lower half of body. Fourth session: only allowed to stimulate upper half of body. Fifth session: only intercourse allowed (and bet it's the best bonk you've had in ages!)

Have no shame Take one of his hands in both of yours. Start by sucking his fingers, then run his hand over your neck, down over your breasts and your tummy, up your skirt to rub your clitoris through your knickers. Don't let go at any point - his hands are a mere tool you're using to pleasure yourself.

Text tease Let your fingers do the walking over that mobile phone keypad. 'I got so hot thinking about us last night, I've just had to masturbate'. 'My fingers are doing what I want yours to do to me tonight'. 'I want you in my mouth' (Triple-check the number before you press the send key, it takes just one slip of the fingertip and you've told Dad rather than Dave.)

Reinvent the wheel. Strip for him? Puhleeze! You did that about a week into your sexual relationship, right? Now he's ready for the Blind Man's strip. Blindfold him and sit him, fully clothed, on a chair in the middle of the room. Then proceed to strip for him while giving a running commentary of what you're up to. Dance and gyrate around and against him (letting thigh, leg, arms, breasts, touch him briefly as you flaunt that flesh) and remove items of clothing. Stroke each item of clothing against his face, particularly under his nose, as it comes off. When you're completely and utterly starkers, remove the blindfold but order him to keep his eyes shut until you say 'Open'. When he does, it's to be treated to the sight of you, doing just that, sprawled on the bed, totally naked and totally ready for him.

Leave him hard and happy. Say goodbye with a promise. Instead of a distracted peck on the cheek, plant your lips squarely on his and move in for a long snog, tongues and all. While you're doing it, your hands creep around to start stroking his penis and cupping his testicles. The whole thing lasts for about one minute only. Then stop. Abruptly. And say 'Have a nice day honey. See you tonight'.