Posts Tagged ‘cocktailing’
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…
by hannah
July 2nd, 2010
Hey! Interested in making your life a bona fide hell, where every step you take is sized up for ridicule by a disgruntled bitch and her entire posse? Then sleep with your friend’s ex! I’m serious about this one, ladies. While our forefathers fought for our right to whatever one-night stand we so choose, this is an instance where we might want to exercise a bit of guarded liberty.
Sure, it may seem like a good idea in the heat of the moment. You’re nursing him through a breakup of epic proportions, drowning his sorrows—and your moral compass—in a bottle of Grey Goose at a local dive bar. Woes soon turn to giggles, which turn to sexy whispers, which turn to you emerging from the ladies’ room and handing him your crumpled up panties. “Let’s blow this joint,” you say like a woman possessed.
And your night of released tension—pent up for three long years, as you watched him hold your BFF’s purse while she tried on jeans at Macy’s—is everything you imagined and more. It feels forbidden, yet ten times better because you know it’s technically not. The entire day after, you’re on top of the world…until you get a call. From your BFF. Distraught out of her effing mind…
