The First Sip

I closed my eyes and ordered the most expensive whiskey money could buy. I picked up the glass and instantly heard your laughter, smelled your leather-scented cologne. I saw your flowing blond hair and golden-green eyes. Assuring, alluring, caressing without touching; such virulent pain. Yes, I would taste you in that first sip of whiskey.

Elegant amber swirled in the tumbler, and the fire between us crept in. The anticipation of a glorious drunken stupor hung in the air. But when I brought the glass to my lips, the sweet temptation proved to be a wicked revenge.

I could not choose a comfortable sensation as the smokey liquid filled my mouth; Like your breath, hot on my neck. It burned down my throat and emanated through my body like your fingertips, slow and penetrating as they clasped around my waist.

The clinking of ice cubes made me smile despite myself. My skin tingled. I thought of the warmth from your body on a cold winter night, like the occasional moan which escaped my lips while entwined in your arms. I was defenseless.

I craved the liquor's strong bite. At that moment, it was you inside me and not the whiskey; I savored all of it. Just like the alcohol, you had a way of dulling my senses, and spinning me in circles until I was too dizzy to stand. Yes, I could taste you in that first sip of whiskey.