Sex, Life, and Hannah » younger men

RULES! Part 13.

hannah — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 16:13:20 +0000

78. Older men hit on younger women, younger men hit on older women.

79. Pretty men are fun, smart men are an experience.

80. Brain sex can lead to really hot sex.

81. It doesn’t work without love. But love isn’t enough.

No Strings or Guilt Attached.

hannah — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 23:43:46 +0000

The night before I left for Vegas I watched Up in the Air, where the climax of the movie is centered around this unattached, unemotional man realizing he’s fallen in love with a women he wants to make a home with, only to find out she already has a home, with a different man, and family. I found myself relating to the woman; understanding the need for a family yet also the need to get carried away by a moment, a different circumstance, a different man, woman, threesome... Did ‘til death do us part have to mean to never flirt with spontaneous attraction again? Of course your husband is supposed to be enough, supposed to complete you, so that you don’t ever crave getting carried away by a spontaneous attraction, but I’ve read enough about the biology of lust and love to know it’s not always so. At least I don’t think it’s that way for me. I got to Vegas, checked into my suite, flipped the TV on, and layed down. A Sex and the City episode was on; the one where Carrie is dating Aiden and ends up fucking Big. It’s hard for one man to satisfy everything we need. Although I wondered whether somehow it was more alright for a single woman in a relationship to have multiple lovers than a married woman. And then my mind wandered to another time I had taken a trip to Vegas by myself.

When a sperm donor turns out to be a great lover.

hannah — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 00:42:25 +0000

“Lola!” Ireland gives me a squeeze, slides into our booth, and repeats the ritual with Lola, “I haven’t seen you in forever, you look fantastic.” “Not for long if I keep eating like this.” Lola shoves a fork full of garlic mashed potatoes into her mouth. “You’re eating for two, that’s so exciting!” When I told Ireland, Lola was pregnant; she told me she was both happy for her and jealous. Ireland then suggested all three of us move in together to raise the baby, since Lola had gone the sperm donor route. I told Ireland I was quite sure Lola was going the nanny route.

Kissing the shampoo boy.

hannah — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 16:19:50 +0000

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 7: FRIDAY NIGHT CUTS) It’s Friday night, and all over Los Angeles people are getting ready to go out: some, on a hot date; some, to a hot club; others, to Blockbluster. I’m at Chopper’s hair salon about to get my hair cut, hoping it will help inspire a hot date—one of these Friday nights. Ben is washing my hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he left the bouquet on my doorstep. “I loved the flowers.” Ben smiles and keeps massaging my head. “We should hang out again sometime.” Ben continues smiling and nods. And then he straddles my reclined body, his hands continuing to rub tingling conditioner into my hair. My hands grasp the arms of the chair in anticipation—of something. He looks at me, still smiling and rubbing. And then he leans his head close to mine and brushes his lips against mine. I part my lips and feel his tongue. His tongue swirls around my tongue, and my tongue swirls around his tongue. I don’t understand how someone can be so great at foreplay but so bad in bed.

The sexual peaks of 18 and 30.

hannah — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 16:40:55 +0000

All right ladies, we've been going over this whole younger man thing for weeks now, and while I totally support the cougars in the crowd, I'm still not sure whether ALL us women should drop everything over 27 and start shackin' up with a young pup. Don't get me wrong, I’m anything but closed-minded when it comes to getting frisky with fresh, firm, young meat. You know I’ve barked up Ben’s tree house quite a few times. And while it’s exhilarating to know that my body is on par with the Spring-Break-going, beer-pong-loving skirts he chases, I’ve found our time together to be a bit…sub par. It always starts off with a bang. The clothes come off. He gazes at me, and I gaze right back. I fall deep into the throes of admiration for his supple skin, his firm abs, his pure puppy-chasing-a-frisbee excitability. And we start getting it on. I tell him, “Faster.” He obliges. I tell him, “Slower.” He obliges. I grab his head as if adjusting the speed on a vibrator, and yell out, “Right there. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop!” He lets out a jerk and a moan. And…stops. I tell myself: I really don’t like orgasms, anyway. Needless to say, I’ve never been sold on the youngins. I’ve always preferred the well-trained and experienced caresses of a matured man; although…that’s not always worked out in my favor either. So I’m starting to think I’ve been hanging around the wrong Kindercare, because the tots that Ireland and 86% of you Think Tank voters are frolicking with seem to be top-notch...

OMG I wanna be a cougar!

hannah — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 16:24:08 +0000

I get an email the other day: I was sitting in a bar two nights ago and this very cute, somewhat drunk boy I was talking to invited me to his place to...listen to Eric Clapton. I bought him a drink but I didn't take him up on the offer. What's a cougar to do? Ummm...take a pack of condoms everywhere you go. Seriously, what's a cougar to not do. I've been doing a lot of thinking about this lately (hence the recent poll) and as far as I'm concerned, if you're a cougar you have it all. You're old enough to take care of yourself, and experienced enough to know exactly what you like in the sack. And the best part, you feel no pressure to get married or have kids because you've been there and done that. Relationships are suddenly not complicated because they don't have to go anywhere, and there is a sea of eligible bachelors dying for a no-strings-attached rendezvous. Being a cougar is like getting to relive your twenties the way you always wanted to. So my advice to you: go ahead and be a slut. I'm so jealous. p.s. more questions always welcome:)

Mourning my new single life.

hannah — Tue, 07 Oct 2003 04:32:36 +0000

I’ve decided to call my new single life my mourning period. Oh yeah, that’s how excited I am about my new single life. You know I totally get why things didn’t work out with Mr. Smyth, but it still sucks. Or maybe I was right last week when I concluded that perhaps I just suck at being single. Or maybe the real problem is that this time I don’t have someone like Ben to keep me distracted. Why is it that for some reason if you have a hot piece of ass to distract you, all of a sudden the trauma of breaking up with someone miraculously disappears? Where oh where is Dr. Bod when I need him, and why don’t I have a business trip to New York planned anytime soon?