Posted by on Jan 27, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 3: THE AGONY OF ECSTASY)

I pull into my driveway, in front of the quaint guest house I rent. It’s perfect for any woman trying to transition from being single to being married. It’s minutes from the beach and walking distance to all the trendy shops, restaurants, and bars. Plus, it has a walk-in closet large enough to accommodate his clothes when he finally moves in. And I love my landlords: the two gay ex-lovers who live in the impeccably restored craftsman steps from mine. Over the last three years they’ve become my surrogate family.

Clark is forty-something and works a high-level job for a navy contractor. Chopper is his Harley-riding ex-boyfriend who owns a hair salon, also within walking distance. They met in Virginia, halfway between their hometowns of Boston and Charleston. They’re the perfect example of two people able to stay friends after breaking up; of course, they’re also financially invested.

Six months ago Clark and Chopper rented a room to Ben, this twenty-three-year-old supposedly straight guy. I say “supposedly” because he’s a twenty-three-year-old guy who rents a room from two gay men, washes hair at Chopper’s hair salon to pay rent, and has never hit on me. We’ve never even had a whole conversation. Then again Ben is severely attractive. In the way a guy who is blessed with perfect genetics, has played sports all through school, and goes to the gym daily is. People like this don’t need to know how to have a conversation.

Ben and I have only ever had brief interactions. Like this one Sunday afternoon when I was over there for brunch, I started bugging Chopper about why he’d never taken me for a ride on his Harley. He told me he would love to but was currently nursing a groin injury and suggested Ben take me instead. Between the vibration of the seat and my arms around Ben’s perfectly molded torso, I decided it didn’t matter whether he was straight or gay.

The lights are off at my house and the thought of a microwave dinner and a cold bed feels completely devastating right now, especially since my martini buzz is wearing off. Maybe Ireland is onto something, paying a man for his attentions—self-financing her foot in the door. Or she’s just one step away from hiring a prostitute.

I decide to call Jack for a pick-me-up.

“I can’t talk for long. I’m in the bathroom of a strip club, and the police officer who helped me out of my accident bind is waiting for me.” Jack’s voice is obscured by the sound of running water.

“Let me guess, he’s waiting for you to give him head.” Apparently everyone’s social calendar is filled except mine.

“She is waiting for me to come out and watch her get a lap dance from some stripper she thinks is just the cat’s meow, even though this Police Officer’s got the body dimensions to charge a thousand dollars an hour.” Jack’s judgment of women always comes down to their potential hourly rate.

“I take it the accident somehow worked in your favor.” Jack never ceases to amaze me. He can wield his charm better than any pageant queen—not to mention his interpretation of the “talent” competition.

“I whipped her up a double fudge dark chocolate red currant soufflé and gave her a massage that was so good she’s now asking me for favors that sound like things you only read about in Hustler Fantasies. I really have to go—”

“But Jack, I need you right now,” I whine.

“Oh my God. Don’t tell me you called The Ex in a moment of desperation and weakness and had desperate, weak sex with him.” Jack has not been a fan of The Ex since we broke off our wedding engagement a year and a half ago.

I tell Jack that’s not it.

“Then you’re fine. You are totally fine. Just be strong, and go have sex with someone else. You’re hot, charming, and female—it shouldn’t be that hard.”

I tell Jack I feel like a failure when it comes to relationships.

“You are not a failure! You just need to meet someone better for you!”

I don’t want Jack to be right.

“And—whoa!—now she’s found me in the bathroom. Hey…okay…I gotta run. Remember, you’re going to be fine.” Jack is gone.

To Be Continued…

COPYRIGHT
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2007 by Dorota Skrzypek.
ISBN 0-9768869-3-8
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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