Why I Love it When a Guy Calls Me “Baby”

Because it turns me on

At the risk of sounding like I approve of infantilizing women, of which I am one, by the way, I may be “fully grown” but I get a serious body buzz when a man calls me “baby.” Always have, always will.

It’s hard to explain but I’m guessing more than a few of you folks here will get it. Men and women, both. There’s just something so sexy about it. So intimate.

“C’mere, baby.”

In the lexicon of how women are commonly referred as, there’s “Baby” and “Honey.” Both perfectly acceptable but as different as the divide between being fucked and being made love to. That’s not a deliberate attempt to be crude, merely the truth. There is a difference. And everyone has their preference.

Let’s go back to the “baby” thing and explore its origins in music and films. There are thousands of songs written by both men and women where someone’s “baby” is the centerpiece. The catalyst for heartbreak and/or sexual obsession. Or a combination of the two. Some of the most iconic songs ever written are about somebody’s “baby” doing them wrong. On the other side of the coin, are the compositions about undying love, again with someone’s “baby” as the object of that eternal affection.

I was thinking about how different the vibe would be from some of those tunes if the word “baby” was swapped out for “honey.” A simple word shift but I believe you’ll agree, that the change is considerable in that the heat is dialed way down. That near visceral “need” is missing.

My musical tastes are eclectic in that I have an equal affinity for both the classics and contemporary songs and artists. But for the sake of simplicity, I’m going to focus on the “classic baby.”

I’ll begin with the honey-voiced master whose songs were steeped in sex: Marvin Gaye. Imagine if his prospective bedmate in “Sexual Healing” was a “honey.”

Oh, honey now let’s get down tonight Ooh honey, let’s get down tonight

Honey Honey let’s get down tonight Ooh

Honey, I’m hot just like an oven Ooh Honey now let’s get down tonight

Do you see what I mean? For me, anyway, we’ve gone from “Oh, hell yeah” to “Meh.”

Now let’s take a look at this blues classic by Muddy Waters, “Baby, Please Don’t Go.”

Honey, please don’t go Honey, please don’t go Honey, please don’t go Down to New Orleans You know I love you so Honey, please don’t go

Muddy would be mortified.

Let’s move on to this soul-stirrer by The Righteous Brothers which garnered a whole new set of fans after being featured in the 1986 flyboy mega-hit, Top Gun. Of course, it’s “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’.” Imagine Bobby Hatfield’s smokin’ hot soprano warbling the following:

Honey, Honey, I’d get down on my knees for you If you would only love me like you used to do, yeah We had a love, a love, a love you don’t find every day So don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t let it slip away

Oh, hell no.

Remember sexy disco siren, Donna Summer? And the song, more of an orgasm set to music, that rocketed her to fame? “Love To Love You Baby,” is still a guilty pleasure for me. You gotta crank it though, to get the full effect. Imagine her belting out the following tweaked lyrics:

Ahaaw, I love to love you, honey Ahaaw, I love to love you, honey Ahaaw, I love to love you, honey Ahaaw, I love to love you, honey Ahaaw, I love to love you, honey

The beauteous Ms. Summer (gone way too soon), would be spinning in her grave. And not in a good disco-spin kind of way.

Rick James knew a little somethin’ about getting his freak on, but he had more than one hip-shaker in his repertoire. “Give It To Me Baby,” leaves nothing to the imagination. Somehow, “Give It To Me Honey” lacks that funky stuff he calls out at one point in the song.

Give it to me honey Give it to me honey (give it to me honey), I betcha I’ll make you hot till you’ve had enough Give it to me honey (give it to me honey) Just give it to me honey Give it to me honey (give it to me honey), I betcha I’ll make you hot till you’ve had enough

See what I mean? I don’t think I’d give it to him.

I could go on but I don’t want to lose you, so I’ll close the musical portion of this program with the Beach Boys mega-hit that was written and originally recorded by The Everly Brothers. “Don’t Worry Baby.” Here’s what it looks like when Baby takes a hike:

But she looks in my eyes And makes me realize And she says “don’t worry, honey” Don’t worry, honey Don’t worry, honey Everything will turn out alright

Nah. I don’t think so.

On to “babies” in filmdom. Nowhere are they more prevalent than in the back alley, cigarette-and-booze-infused, “there’s nothing like a dame” genre known as Noir, where women were complex, sometimes dangerous creatures who unashamedly flaunted their sexuality.

In 1944’s Double Indemnity, Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck had it goin’ on big time. They set fire to the screen, so much so, that Hollywood had to remake this classic at least a half a dozen times, most notably as “Body Heat.” Although Stanwyck’s character was named Phyllis, we rarely hear it because MacMurray’s Walter, calls her “baby” in almost every scene they share.

After the duo conspire to murder her husband, Walter asks his deadly femme fatale, “Afraid baby?”

Once again, “Afraid honey?” doesn’t cut it.

I’ve always loved the movie, “Picnic,” starring William Holden and Kim Novack. Produced in 1955, the story of a studly ne’er do well of a drifter who shakes up a small Kansas town and falls hard for the local “dream girl,” never gets old for me. (Neither does Holden, shirtless.) “Madge,” Novack’s character, is the girlfriend of the town rich boy, played by Cliff Robertson. Holden‘s “Hal” roomed with him in college and is seeking a reunion in the hopes of getting a job.

There’s a scene near the film’s end where Hal is getting run out of town and wants Madge to come with him. She loves him but fears an uncertain future with this guy.

Hal is practically on his knees begging her to come with him when he implores:

“Listen, baby, you’re the only real thing I ever wanted, ever. You’re mine. I gotta claim what’s mine, or I’ll be nothing as long as I live. You love me. You know it. You love me.”

“Listen, honey…” doesn’t carry the same heat, does it? I’ll bet when this premiered in theaters there wasn’t a dry seat in the house.

More recently, in the Jennifer Lopez showcase, “Hustlers,” J-Lo’s Ramona calls damn near everyone, “baby,” much as she does in real life. When she says:

“I’m a hustler, baby…I just want you to know,” you believe it!

Somehow, “I’m a hustler, honey…” doesn’t have that same ‘Jenny from the block” sass.

Done. Now I’d love to hear your thoughts, men and women both. Think about the “baby” versus “honey” thing. Did what I say resonate, or make absolutely zero sense?

I’ll put it this way. Let’s imagine you’re in between the sheets and in the throes, what would send you over the edge? Your partner crying out, “Ohhh, baby?” Or, “Ohhh, honey?”

Asking for a friend.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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