Women and Wine

She shivered as I touched her. We kissed for a while, squeezed onto the couch. Then she pushed me back and began to unbutton my shirt. I reached out and followed suit, carefully slipping the pearl buttons through the white silk. I shrugged my shirt off; she leaned forward and caught my nipple between tongue and teeth. I fumbled a moment with her last button, then opened her blouse. She wore no bra. Her breasts were small, with large brown nipples. I kissed each in turn, then slipped onto the floor, kneeling before her as I bent over to kiss her inner thighs, sliding the green skirt up. I brushed my lips over the nearly invisible, downy hairs on the silky, pale skin. She sighed and spread her legs wider.

The hair between her legs was paler and redder than that on her head, sparse and soft. I ran my fingers over it and down, brushing her rosy lips, which were noticeably moist. I kissed them gently, then harder, slipping my tongue between them and licking from bottom to top with long, slow strokes.

Her scent was delicate, at first almost disappointingly faint, but as I worked over her with my tongue she opened, as some wines will when allowed to breathe. Fragrances of spice and earth, a rich animal perfume of old forests and dark pools, with a hint of sweetness that might have been only the last trace of the wine’s long finish.

Her breath was coming fast, a little panting gasp with each stroke of my tongue. I sped up, following her rhythm. Then she burst out with a single, sharp “Ah!” and her entire body went rigid for a moment, then convulsed as I tried to follow her with my tongue, greedily lapping up every drop I could catch of her spicy liquor.

She slumped back on the couch; I rested my head on her thigh. She opened her eyes, leaned over, and picked up the untouched wineglass from the floor. She held it to my lips. I drank, she drank, and she set the glass down. She grinned at me.

“Okay, you can fuck me now.”

* * *

I take a towel from the drawer and wipe the dust from the bottle. The grapes that went into it were still on the vine that night, exactly twenty-five years ago. I open a cupboard and take out two large balloon glasses, put the corkscrew in my pocket, and head upstairs to the bedroom. Sarah’s waiting.