felt, headrushed desperation thought maybe that could be the way to gain entrée, to leapfrog Glee Project 2 & any other kind of project, person or thing Ryan & Dante were considering, the way to stand out from the pack, that maybe if she did then Heather would tell Creator Ryan, the creator Ryan was bold, a kiss between older & younger could be the new frontier because everyone was getting tired and bored (thought Telma, in that moment) with the boy-boy/girl-girl same-age kiss, this way maybe would be another way to help her to be permanently hired— — — — — —so— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —she put her tongue right in Brittany’s mouth, deep, Brittany didn’t see it coming, Telma had her eyes open as she pushed it further and further in, the expression on Heather’s face was total shock which actually allowed Telma to keep the thick pink muscle in there longer, even if it was only a sliver longer because as it turns out a sliver happens to be a lot in tonguetime, Telma only kissed once like that ever, one boy (not Biggie 
), was kissed by him more than kissing him, that little swordfight first-time exploring tongues do, but not as deep as this, she twirled & swirled around in Brittany’s mouth til Heather grabbed her & practically threw her off her to the ground saying What are you doing are you CRAZY?!?!?! Then she looked around declaiming to no one in particular OMG this little girl just kissed me with her TONGUE OMG HOW GROSS! THIS is so W E I R D, who IS she, where is her GUARDIAN?
the tomgirl gal rushed over, and a few stragglers too, half-smiling not knowing if it was a joke, Heather saying
shouldn’t I tell someone, who should I tell? (half-smiling/half-spooked as Telma backs up in shock & embarrassment then falls on her ass but keeps backing up crab-like) WHO SHOULD I TELL??????!!!!!!!!!
. .
On the long walk back to the car, all Gwen could do was ask her daughter why.
When Telma said she thought it would help get her on the show (tho her logic was torqued & perilous), Gwen’s heart broke again. It broke all day long, every beat like a bone china teacup shattering against a wall.
A golf cart headed toward them, not from the soundstage but from the direction they’d originally come. Gwen saw the shaven head from a distance and knew it was Ryan Murphy. When Gwen told Telma who it was, her face dilated in tiny ecstasies.
He pulled up, smiling.
A tiny girl sat in front, with his asst & a mom in back.
“Sorry we missed you!” said Ryan.
Ryan shook hands with Telma from the cart. He turned to the tiny girl, who had some kind of harelip. The mom seemed to have something going on in that area as well.
“Gwen & Telma Ballendyne? Meet Melanie & Aleisha Hunter. You 2 ‘single ladies’ have a lot in common.” He spoke directly to Telma now. “Aleisha’s a breast cancer survivor. Melanie, how old was she when she was diagnosed?”
“She was two.”
“Two-years-old,” said Ryan, his sensuous lips in pouty incredulity. “I’ve heard of the terrible 2s… but that is ridiculous!”
(Ryan’s relationship with Melanie & Aleisha was such that all seemed completely comfortable with him making ‘light.’)
“She’s 6 now — aren’t you, Aleisha? Our Aleisha happens to be the youngest breast cancer survivor in the world. We’re on our way to introduce her to the cast. Do you two have time to come back for a little lunch?”
EXPLICIT [Jerzy]
Spurts, Illustrated
Jerzy
got lucky & snatcherazzi’d Amanda Seyfried (27) sliding out of a friend’s Tesla at the Brentwood Mart (that rare passenger seat honeyshot!) — no panties. He thought of photoshopping a kite string because at this time, Harry round the Ovaries was paying a premium for Ragtime pics. HoneyRagtimers! was a new link celebrating what Harry, authentic Mad Men-era-ish madman that he was, still, in conversation, quaintly called the monthlies AKA the red meanies, showcasing rag hags of the week (subheading: “They Got The World On A String!”), a riff on those pukeworthy stars-are-just-like-you-&-me features in the newsstand tabloids — pics of Tobey Maguire pumping his own gas, Demi Lovato scratching her own ass, Lena Headey leaving Ikea, Shailene Woodley leaving Café Gratitude, iCarly jaywalking, Jared Leto drilling for oil in his left nostril — Harry’s banner victoriously proclaimed “They get periods!” Jerzy got eight grand for the Seyfried, a bit higher than usual because on closer inspection the pussyhair revealed itself to have a week’s growth from a recent shave. Harry could be mollified but never satisfied. His latest dreamquarry was Her Anexo-Bulimic Hardbodied Highness Kate (unhairy around the) Middleton. Ever since he saw pix of her bikini bod on a yacht off Ibiza he coveted a royal honeyshot! “A fella can cream can’t he?”
Jerzy knew how to keep HM happy. What he did was he snapped all the lolitas — the Chloës & the Elles & all the single hailees, the stylists always lagerfelded em up like jonbenets for premières & whatnots in freebie Miu-Miu/Marchesa/Prabal Gurung (Miss Hailee), Stella/Dior (Chloë M), YSL couture (Miss “Sally Draper”—Harry said he’d pay 25,000 for Kiernan Shipka’s honeyshot!), Rodarte/Philip Lim/D&G/Ferretti/Chanel (Miss Elle), you could usually count on the ensembles being too revealing/sophisticated for their age, young money cash money honeyshot!s were easy pickins — though you could forget about a no-panties pic, the kids always wore panties, they were way too far as yet from that rebellious stage, probably for the best because an all-the-single-hailees pantiless honeyshot! would’ve given Harry an instant coronary.
In the meanwhile, Jerzy had his pumped-up kicks cause no one in their wildest dreams could’ve guessed he was angling for a young harpie’s Hairpie around the Middle honeyshot!. . . there was just no legal market for them. To make matters slightly more conducive to our patient, young money cash honey-seeking underagerazzo, all the clueless single hailees were of course as yet unschooled in the proper methodology, the Emily Postmenstrual etiquette of exiting a leather backseat whilst holding a clutch over Area 51, a maneuver that was the most-favored by publicists, the latter-day equivalent of the primly self-protective Bunny Dip of bygone days. Jerzy knew that H around the M could never post underage honeyshot!s for fear of prosecution — it was written into their secret handshake contract that any on-the-fly prepube portraits went straight to Harry’s private reserve, do not pass goo.