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Making out with Ben

Posted by on Feb 1, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

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

Ben and I are lounging on opposite sides of the couch. The Christmas lights have been turned off and the music has ended. It is dark and quiet. My eyes are closed and all I can feel are Ben’s hands plying my feet and calves. He still has not said a lot tonight, but maybe he doesn’t have to. Maybe some people say enough with what they do and the energy they emanate.

I feel fantastically good. I feel better than I have since The Ex broke up with me, and maybe even longer. For the first time in a long time I admit to myself how stressful and full of anxiety our relationship really was. Maybe Jack is right. Maybe I do need someone better for me.

I am sitting in the dark with Ben, whom I barely know, whom I’ve never had a conversation with, but I feel happy. We’re two people just enjoying one another’s company. No strings attached. It’s been a long time since I felt that way with The Ex.

Inspired, I sit up and lean toward Ben. He puts a hand on the back of my head and pulls me closer. We kiss slowly, exploring each other’s mouths for a very long time. It is ecstasy—or maybe the ecstasy.

The light peeks in through the shutters. I pry myself from Ben’s lips. I tell him I need to go home. He gives me a warm hug and lets me out through the elusive kitchen back door.

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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Straight or gay, gimme gimme

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.

Become a Sex, Life, & Hannah Book Club Member and read the entire book series.

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Retail therapy

Posted by on Jan 13, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (Chapter 2: Breaking Up With Bad Habits)

Ireland and I are shopping for another pair of shoes (it’s a chick thing—not a bad habit). My morning ice cream buzz is wearing off and I am starting to feel anxious. I haven’t confronted Ireland about her visit with Jack yet, and I’m confused about why I’m feeling territorial over the whole thing anyway. And I’m really starting to worry that this break-up really is the last. He has never denied me sex!

Suddenly I’m freaking out over everything that’s happening around me: The break-up and whether or not it could have been avoided had I been drinking a hot drink versus a cold drink, or had I intentionally spilled it all over his crotch instead of the floor. The possibility that two of my best friends could be starting some torrid affair that could lead to them getting married, running away to some tropical island, and procreating until their family represents half the population, leaving me to grow old alone, bitter, and decrepit, fighting for enough space on the sidewalk to fit my walker.

I’m having a severe moment of weakness and want to call The Ex to work things out.

Ireland takes a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you ate shit this morning.”

I put down the pair of white heels I’m considering. “I feel nauseous.”

I walk out of the store.

Ireland follows me out and lights a cigarette. “Over the price, or the relationship?”

I give Ireland a what-the-fuck-do-you-think look. “I need a cigarette.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“Neither do you.” I grab her pack of cigarettes.

In the nine years that I have known Ireland, she has quit smoking nineteen times. I ask her why she always goes back to her bad habit.

“I get really depressed every time I quit smoking.” She inhales slowly and deeply.

Great. I flip open my phone thinking there might be something wrong with my ringer. But there are no missed calls. I finish my cigarette and go back into the store to buy my ninety-eighth pair of shoes. I need a superficial distraction right now to delay my meltdown.

I look over at Ireland while the kid behind the counter swipes my credit card. “I need a drink.”

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

Seducing my Boyfriend

Posted by on Dec 31, 2009 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (Chapter 1: New Year’s Ex)

I am going to seduce my boyfriend.

We’re supposed to go to this glossy New Year’s Eve Party at the Beverly Hills hotel my boyfriend manages. He’s supposed to pick me up at seven. It’s six twenty-three. I’m not planning on getting dressed. I lift my vodka cocktail off the bathroom counter and take a sip.

Tensions have been running high in our relationship. This is nothing new. After five and a half years together, no more than five months have ever gone by without some kind of drama, incident, or break-up. But we are going to make it. We’ve been together way too long to not make it. I fidget with my garter belt, trying to figure out what’s supposed to sit left, right, and center.

I need us to make it. I’m done fucking around. I’m twenty-eight and I don’t want to be single.

And I do not want to be like my older sister who has no direction or aspiration. And never wakes up before noon. And devotes all her affections to three birds and a cat. I unroll each thigh-high and try to attach the hooks evenly. I take another sip of my cocktail.

My parents expect us to make it. Actually, after five and a half years they expect us to get married—just like they expected my sister to marry her high school sweetheart. But she ran off with a wealthy sixty-six-year-old CEO, who also happened to be our father’s boss. On her wedding day.

After rocking my parents’ esteemed northwest Chicago suburb social status, my sister and her scandalous suitor traveled the world for a year and then settled in Montreal. A month after they finished unpacking, he died. And my sister inherited enough money to never need direction or aspiration again.

This all happened when I was ten. Ever since, I’ve been The Upstanding Daughter. Following my first week of high school, my father sat me down to discuss all the colleges and universities I would be applying to. He strongly “encouraged” me to get any ideas about eloping or traveling the world out of my head. But really, I’m not bitter.

I stuff extra padding into my tight lacy bodice to give a greater impression of cleavage; unfortunately, I need it. At least I’m skinny. I’d rather be skinny and flat than voluptuous and fat. Skinny chicks can always move to L.A., get boob jobs, and start dating young, hot, model/actor types—even when they’re forty and divorced with three kids. I slide into the trampy compartment and go to the kitchen to fix myself another drink.

If we get married I can quit my job. My job pays great money, but I hate it. Planning these perfect little communities for these perfect little families whose greatest level of stress is building a perfect little itinerary for the next holiday or birthday party. Talk about suburbia hell. I sip more vodka.

Of course, I could be one of those wives. One of those bright, cheery, manicured, pampered women who drive their daily three blocks in an expensive gas-guzzling SUV to go shopping. I could probably even get us a steal on one of those houses, if I start sucking up to my boss. My boss, who is always suggestively mentioning the hip, young church he’s just joined with his hip, young wife—in one of the hip new neighborhoods we’ve just finished building. But I tell him I’m doing just fine in my small guesthouse in Santa Monica—for now. I walk back into my closet to dig out the highest pair of black stiletto heels I can find.

I’m buzzed. To wear this outfit you have to be. To once again save this relationship you have to be. I know a night of hot sex will get things back on track. After five and a half years together, sex still grabs the spotlight.

Over the Christmas holidays, we flew to Chicago to visit my parents, and take advantage of another fabulous free hotel stay. One night we went out with some friends from my old stomping grounds, and I was ordering drinks for Pete—whom I hadn’t seen since karate class in the tenth grade. My boyfriend started in on his usual jealous, immature, off-kilter remarks-then told me he was leaving. I ignored him and continued partying.

Eventually, I took a cab back to our hotel, ordered pay-per-view porn, crawled under the covers, and gave him a mind-numbing blow job. We were fine the next morning.

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