by hannah
August 3rd, 2010
Right before The Ex and I got engaged I met this guy at a coffee shop near my place. He was wearing flip-flops, board shorts, a beat-up, light-blue Stussy tee. His face donned a scruffy four-o-clock shadow, and so did his head. If he hadn’t been reading the Wall Street Journal, I would’ve thought he was a beach bum; if he hadn’t noticed I was wearing a vintage Gaultier blousy halter top, I would have never started talking to him.
His name was Christian Knight and he knew about a lot more than just fashion. He was passionate about world politics, understood economics like an investment banker, and observed people for hobby—and his job. We spent two hours that afternoon in the coffee shop debating the possible life stories of the myriad of people walking by. The business man in the dark blue frumpled suit—unhappily married and recently laid off. The young girl, barely turned 16—just lost her virginity. The homeless-looking man—really an undercover cop.
“What about me?” I finally asked. Christian looked at me pensively, arms crossed, one arm scratching his chin, head cocked slightly to the right…
by hannah
July 30th, 2010
When I think of male genital piercings, my mind often goes to a dreadful place—a place of Cosmo horror stories and sky-high gynecologist bills. It drifts to that scene in The Sweetest Thing, in which it took an entire emergency response unit, a handful of neighbors and their grandmothers, and an impromptu rendition of I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing (“Singing relaxes your throat!”) to detach Selma Blair’s mouth from her partner’s bedazzled member. Yep, genital piercing has gotten a lot of bad PR over the years…
I don’t blame the majority of you for voting against hole-punching your happy place for the sake of good sex. There is pain and risk involved, and when you can much more easily read a Kama Sutra guide or buy a quality bottle of warming lube, why subject yourself to that?
But what if you met a guy who just happened to be pierced? Would it be worth a trial-romp, just to see how it feels? I say: Definitely yes…
by hannah
July 22nd, 2010
From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Spring Season (CHAPTER 13: ORAL FIXATION)
I scan my kitchen counter: A half-full bottle of Skyy Vodka…maybe; a bottle of Monogamy cab—definitely not; and a black bottle of 1994 Colheita Porto that my dad sent me for New Year’s Eve—to celebrate my engagement. I pick up the black bottle. My dad, who drinks this stuff every night while knocking back a large cigar, still thinks I’m going to develop a taste for it. The stuff typically makes me gag, but it’s strong, and I need to get rid of it before it brings back any more bad memories of how my New Year’s Eve should have turned out. I open the bottle and pour two glasses. I stroll over to Ben.
Ben is reclined on one end of my couch; his jacket is draped over a chair, his shoes are kicked under my coffee table, and he’s recounting the night he and Yvonne strong-armed her ex-husband over recipes. Her ex got the bar in the divorce, but she refused to give up the title to the dishes she’d helped perfect.
I hand one of the glasses to Ben. “So the large white envelope I saw you holding was filled with…”
Ben nods. He hands his cigarette to me.
“Stealing recipes, Sopranos-style…nice.” I take the cigarette, kick my heels off, and recline on the opposite end of my couch.
I place my feet near his crotch, take a drag, then take a sip of the port—and wince.
Ben starts rubbing my feet with his free hand.
“Somethin’ like that. Yvonne’s stubborn. She kept saying: ‘He’s got the best pub grub thanks to me, and that’s what everyone wants right now.’” Ben takes a sip of his port—and winces. “But, like, fries with six different dipping sauces. You know: fancy stuff.”
I hand the cigarette to Ben, who takes a last drag and then drops it into his glass of port. “This stuff sucks.”
We both laugh, looking at one another through the spirals of leftover smoke.
“I’m told you eventually develop a taste for it,” I say. “So, Wiseguy, back to the night of the Great Recipe Caper, were you packin’ heat, or what?”
Ben tilts his head and winks. “Sopranos-style.”
He grabs both my feet and tugs me toward him. I have just enough time to set my glass down next to the couch before he reaches over, grabs my hands, and pulls me onto him. His hands run up the length of my jeans and grab my ass.
I straddle him and beeline for those plush lips. Ben is such a great kisser…
