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Nostalgia. No, just heartbreaking history.

Posted by on May 17, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 9: ACCIDENTAL)

Still in traffic and not even two-thirds of the way home, I start looking around my car for something to keep me occupied: reading material, leftover food, a CD I haven’t listened to a hundred times, anything.

I notice a duffel bag behind the passenger seat.

I reach around and grab it, and unzip it to examine its contents. Mud-ridden sneakers…were those from the time The Ex and I went hiking in Griffith Park and it started raining? Black sweatpants cut off at the knee—I’m pretty sure I cut those off for the hike. A beat-up old grey t-shirt…the t-shirt The Ex had to change out of because it got so wet. A glass pipe lined with black pot residue, because we decided to wait out the rain in my car and needed something to do.

We ended up getting stoned, then horny, and then making out like two teenagers on their parents basement couch in front of a rented movie. Finally he reclined the passenger seat as I whipped out his dick and he ripped off my sweatpants so we could screw our brains out.

I feel a churning in the pit of my stomach as the details of the event flood into my head. I bury my nose in the t-shirt and inhale, wondering if I can still smell The Ex. I fear a moment of weakness coming on.

But it doesn’t; the t-shirt smells like mildew.

An image of Mr. Smyth flashes in my head instead, and I think about our date again, and about how he called me the next night to ask how my day at work had gone, and to tell me what an amazing time he’d had with me, and how forward he was looking to next time.

Mr. Smyth is wonderful. A relationship with him really would be better. It would be a clean slate. No emotional baggage. No tormenting doubt. No heartbreaking history.

I am going to get over The Ex. There are other fish in the sea: bigger fish, more colorful fish, more understanding fish—ones that know how to screw just as good as The Ex.

I decide it’s time I cleaned out my car.

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.

Read the entire Sex, Life, and Hannah Winter Season on Amazon now!

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Love happens when you least expect it to.

Posted by on Apr 26, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 2 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 8: FALLING IN LOVE)

Love happens when you least expect it to, oftentimes with someone you least expect it to happen with, and more often than not at an inopportune moment.

You’re trying to get over your ex, tackling being single, realizing that shagging your young inexperienced neighbor is not enough, or you’re just about to leave on a philanthropic mission to Africa for the next six months.

And you meet a guy, in a women’s bathroom, who’s a little odd, and a little too tall, and a little too skinny, and maybe a little too old for you. And even though you end up drunk and passed out in a bed with him half-naked, you think little of it, or him.

Until you talk to him intimately over the phone, and find you can share personal experiences with him over drinks.

And you drive up to his house, and he opens the door looking suddenly oh-so-sexy like never before in his black baseball hat, worn jeans, and white t-shirt, telling you to unwind while he cooks for you. And he takes your body in a knowing way you haven’t felt in a long time, and you lie back with this feeling you don’t want to admit to but can’t escape: the feeling of falling in love.

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.

Read the entire Sex, Life, and Hannah Winter Season on Amazon now!

Read More

Trying to numb the regret.

Posted by on Apr 8, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 1 comment

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 7: FRIDAY NIGHT CUTS)

I’m sitting on Ireland’s balcony. We’re smoking a joint to help me numb my feelings of regret. It’s eleven. Mr. Smyth dropped me off at my house half an hour ago; even though—after being made to look like a complete two-timing whore—I puked out a flurry of apologies for what happened and how it wasn’t what it looked like. Mr. Smyth told me not to worry about it. But our moment was lost. We finished our drinks and left.

“He told me to call him when my schedule opened up a bit more.” I suck hard on the joint, devastated.

Ireland inspects the red polish she’s applying to her toenails. “If I had access to someone who looked like Ben and wanted to have sex with me, I’d be over there right now. Forget the old guy.”

“He’s not old! He’s sexy.”

And that’s when I finally relinquish what I’ve honestly felt since the first time I had sex with Ben: that I don’t think Ben is right for me—not even as a fuck buddy. Mr. Smyth is much more my type, which is why I’m kicking myself for ruining my perfect Friday night date with him.

Ireland grabs the joint from me. She wraps her lips around the paper and inhales. “You’re just a greedy, self-absorbed little bitch. That’s all there is to it.”

Maybe Ireland’s right. I grab the joint from her.

An hour later, Ireland and I are stoned, baking a chocolate cake, eating the frosting we made for it, and I’m still going on about everything preposterous that happened tonight.

“What the hell was he doing with a blind woman?” I ponder, sucking chocolate off my fingers. “And what was in the white envelope?”

Ireland points a wooden ladle in my face: “Drug money.”

“You’re stoned,” I tell her, and that I don’t believe it. “Just like you thought The Yoga Instructor was straight.”

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.

Read the entire Sex, Life, and Hannah Winter Season on Amazon now!

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Stumbling towards the bedroom.

Posted by on Mar 18, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 6: VALENTINE’S DAY MARTYRDOM)

Mr. Smyth and I walk inside. I toss the bouquet onto my coffee table. We look at each other in silence for a few moments.

And then, in typical drinking-all-night-and-picking-up-the guy-you’ve-been-drinking-with-all-night fashion, I grab hold of him, and we start making out hard and fast. Clumsily our hands fondle each other; clothes get unbuckled, unhooked, unbuttoned, and unzipped. We stumble toward the bedroom, then the bed, our lips furious and our hands adamant.

And then I pass out.

I wake up feeling my hangover. I turn my head and attempt to focus on my neglected alarm clock. Shit! I’m late.

I turn my head the other way. Shit! Mr. Smyth!

I clasp at my comforter and pull it to my chin. I don’t remember whether we had sex or not. I feel my body for clothes. My bra, camisole, and panties are still on. I slowly lift the comforter and peek under it. Mr. Smyth is wearing his boxers. I deduce we didn’t have sex.

Relieved, at least partially, I jump out of bed and run in to my walk-in closet. My head throbbing, I painfully throw the remaining clothes of last night off my body and search for a new outfit.

I exit the closet in office attire.

“Good morning.” Mr. Smyth props himself up on one elbow and flashes me his terrific smile.

“Hi.” I begin tossing papers that I hope are meaningful into my briefcase. “I’m late for a meeting.”

“I better call you a cab then,” he says cheerfully, reminding me I don’t have my car here. “I had fun last night.”

He is obviously not as hungover or embarrassed by this whole situation as I am.

I smile. “Thanks.” Then I run to the kitchen in desperate need of a beverage to rid my mouth of its clingy, cotton ball taste. “And thanks for the cab last night,” I holler. “I don’t usually drink like that.” I open the refrigerator door.

“Can I get your number?” Mr. Smyth calls back from the bedroom.

I want to be happily surprised by this question. The man who I met in a women’s bathroom, got totally drunk in front of, lured home, threw myself at, then couldn’t remember whether I had sex with or not, might actually like me. But I am not able to focus on the situation. Between my head’s persistent pulsing and trying to figure out how strategically important the meeting I’m probably going to miss might be, I am completely and utterly frazzled.

“Why don’t you just write down your number for me?” I grab an OJ carton from the middle shelf and start chugging.

“I see.” Mr. Smyth says softly after a long pause.

I stare into my fridge, feeling the cold juice soothe my dry mouth, trying to remember exactly what happened last night and how exactly I felt about Mr. Smyth. I hear a honk from outside my door. I feel the silence from my bedroom. I look at my watch. I am definitely going to miss my meeting. I grab a pen from the counter and write my number on the OJ carton I’ve been chugging from.

I bring the carton into the bedroom and hand it to Mr. Smyth. “I had fun too.” I try hard to convey enthusiasm in this statement before grabbing my briefcase and bolting for the front door. “Lock the door behind you,” I remember to tell him. “And don’t steal anything.”

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.

Read the entire Sex, Life, and Hannah Winter Season on Amazon now!

Read More

An unexpected confession.

Posted by on Feb 22, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 8 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 5: REBOUNDING)

When Clark asked me to dinner, I’d assumed it would be a family affair. I’d put on a sexy yet inconspicuous black dress, thinking this would be like a pseudo-date with Ben, where he would get to see the charming side of me and I would get surprised by his intellect and wit. We would finish dinner with a whole new admiration for one another and a mutual natural urgency to spend more time together. Then he would take me into his bedroom, and because it wasn’t all about sex this time, we would make love slowly. He would last, and I would get to come.

But instead, it was nine o’clock, two hours after Chopper’s chop shop closed, and no additional dinner guests in sight.

“Hannah, I have some things I need to tell you,” Clark says from the other end of the table. He walks over to the wine cupboard, grabs another bottle of Cabernet Franc from the glass case, and sets it on the table next to the row of empties. Clark is no stranger to liquor—he was in the Navy, now works for the Navy, and is from Boston-but tonight he has noticeably been drinking even more than usual.

“Hannah,” he begins again, “I have been married before. To a woman.”

This explains many things.

“And she left me. Because she thought I was gay.” Clark pauses, looks at the ceiling, and clears his throat, composing himself.

I work hard to keep my expression neutral.

“And yes, I had been with men. But her leaving me was a devastating blow that sent me spiraling into the dark oceanic depths of a bitter self-destructive vengeance.”

I stare at Clark, trapped within the confines of what is now a church confessional. I lift my wine glass and take a large gulp.

“You see, men are a dime a dozen. But a woman who embodies virtue, vantage, and grace is the only thing that ensures the propagation of our very civilization.”

A very dramatic church confessional. I bite into the last piece of vegetable on my plate.

“Hannah, I love you.”

I nearly choke on my asparagus.

“I fell in love with you when you moved in three years ago. Of course, at first I thought it was just an appreciation of your perfection, but as time went on I realized it was real.”

This has to be a drunken rant. Clark cannot be in love with me; he is gay—or so I thought until tonight. I am overwhelmed. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing at all.

“But you were dating what’s-his-name,” Clark pushes on, “even though I always knew he wasn’t right for you. God, how it killed me, how he didn’t value you. He never treated you the way you deserved to be treated. The way I would treat you.”

Clark raises his glass at me, as if prodding some kind of a response.

I clutch at my wine glass like an anchor and nervously poke my fork around my plate, hoping to find more food.

“I love Ben,” I blurt. I am unclear how I decide this is the right thing to say.

Clark lowers his glass. After a stifling period of silence, he drops his head into his arms and slumps over his dinner plate. I wait a few minutes. And then a few more. With no response, I get up and walk around the table that has suddenly become the burning pit of grievous hell.

I pull out the big heavy chair next to Clark’s and place my hand on his shoulder. I want to comfort him, or console him. I nudge him a bit. Clark lifts his head…and decides to bury it in my chest.

Enter Chopper and Ben—two and a half hours too late.

“What’s going on here, honey? A little romantic dinner for two gone bad?” Chopper rounds the table and gives me a peck on the cheek. “I told Clark you guys should’ve joined us at The Pink Bear.”

Clark lifts his head and stands up. Grabbing onto the chair for balance, he looks at Chopper, at me, and then turns and points at Ben. “She loves him!” he slurs, then staggers out of the dining room, bouncing off a wall, a photograph, and a French door on the way out.

I look from Chopper to Ben, and then, like a woman possessed by too much wine and a mission gone bad, I grab Ben by the collar of his t-shirt and drag him across the backyard to my house.

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.

Read the entire Sex, Life, and Hannah Winter Season on Amazon now!

Read More

I am really bad at instigating sex

Posted by on Feb 5, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 4: MULTIPLE ORGASMS)

I pull into my driveway feeling hot and bothered, and completely jealous that Jack managed to find the best sex of his life by getting into a fender bender on the Golden Gate Bridge.

I start thinking about Ben and our make-out session. I start thinking about his lips…and his ripped body. And the way he can swirl his tongue…and how good that would feel right now—somewhere aside from my mouth. I wonder if Ben could give me multiple orgasms.

The neighbors’ lights are on. I should just go over there and do something that will hopefully lead to me having sex with my hot young neighbor. I take the keys out of the ignition. And then I stop.

I am really bad at instigating sex. I usually end up looking desperate or sounding like a whore. And I am even worse at one-night stands. I actually think the guy will call me.

I breathe deeply. I am not a quitter. I’ll just go over there casually, amicably, with no ulterior motives. That won’t make me a whore—whores are much more aggressive than that. Besides, things could just go differently this time.

I get out of my car and walk up to the house—to the front door this time.

I knock. Ben opens the door.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his head as though he’s just woken up from a nap. His t-shirt rises up, and I can’t help but notice a hint of his firm abs. I feel that if I were wearing a harness right now, this would be a lot easier. “They went out to dinner,” he says.

Shit. I forgot that Ben and I have no established “hang-out” pattern. Usually when I knock, it’s to see Clark and Chopper. I quickly try to come up with a plausible reason to be looking for Ben—aside from sex.

“Ummm…do you have a cigarette I could bum off you?” It’s the best I can do.

Ben opens the pack sitting on the porch ledge and hands me one.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to smile casually, amicably, with no ulterior motives.

He smiles back.

We stare at each other not saying anything. Then I nose-dive for my house. I am really bad at instigating sex.

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.

Read the entire Sex, Life, and Hannah Winter Season on Amazon now!

Read More