The SLH Soap Opera (members only)
by hannah
July 19th, 2010
photo: www.todaynetwork.com.au
From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Spring Season (CHAPTER 13: ORAL FIXATION)
After Nisha has finished her coming-out toast, in which she gives a detailed account of her journey to becoming a lesbian, Ireland and I are rubbing elbows with all the lesbians and lesbinas in Nisha’s inner circle. I’m becoming privy to things like: my first lesbian experience was with a prostitute; in seventh grade, my best friend and I would have sleepovers and touch each other’s private parts; when my husband still couldn’t find the clitoris after seven years, I knew it was over; I’m married, but we’re polyamorous.
“Poly-what?” I ask the girl to my right in the gunmetal-grey silk jumpsuit…
by hannah
July 15th, 2010
From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Spring Season (CHAPTER 13: ORAL FIXATION)
One mani-pedi, four mimosas, two new BioFit uplift bras, and half a joint later, Ireland and I walk into Chloe—the new upscale bisexual boutique lounge in West Hollywood. The concept is not that new for West Hollywood: a sexually ambiguous crowd pecking at expensive tapas served on small plates fit to feed lap dogs.
Ireland and I survey the revolving door of typically attractive L.A. fashionistas that all new venues attract for the first eight weekends, as we walk up the stairs for the private “coming-out” party of Nisha Patil.
Ireland and I met Nisha in a poli-sci class at USC. Nisha was the most Amazonian-proportioned women I’d ever met; loud, overbearing, and very opinionated about things like women’s lib and most men being worthless—except, of course, her quiet, squat, third-generation Filipino boyfriend from the O.C., who smiled a lot and agreed with everything she had to say…
by hannah
July 13th, 2010
From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Spring Season (CHAPTER 13: ORAL FIXATION)
Ireland and I are at Lily’s Nails—the premier budget polish salon on the west side, where the ladies are as professional, quick, and cheap as everyone imagines happy endings to be in Thailand. This is where Ireland recently met Tony: the man who delivered her first oral-stimulation orgasm. And this is where Ireland now gets her nails done every week, because Tony has a “thing” about nails.
“I don’t think I can ever break up with him,” she says, finishing her mimosa, which they serve at Lily’s every day ’til 2:00 p.m.—because every day is a holiday at Lily’s. It’s written in small print on the window.
I point to the dark purple nail polish on my elbow rest, and one of Lily’s girls—the one who has been scrubbing and buffing my feet for thirty minutes now—smiles in acknowledgement. She grabs it and starts applying.
“Strong words,” I say, “for a woman who used to call men who had better hygiene than her faggy.”
Ireland nods to another of Lily’s girls, who is carrying a fresh pitcher of mimosa. “That was before my clitoris experienced this.” Ireland grabs my forearm, wraps her lips around it, and starts sucking and flicking her tongue around…
