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A romantic alcoholic

Short story By: Nixie
Flash fiction



I watched as she poured a second glass and I couldn't bargain with her, I wanted it. I'd of sucked the cork dry if she'd offered.


Submitted:Aug 16, 2007    Reads: 1,083    Comments: 20    Likes: 9   


I had not anticipated how the night would go. Dinner was roast beef and I, the vegetarian fingered the fork for half hour before confessing to it. Her eye's twitched and then she'd said 'There I was thinking you were trying to bend the fork' much to her amusement I looked at the fork just to check.

I hadn't told her a few minor details, those I thought minor became major when she bought a bottle of red into the living room; wine, she is perfect! I smiled up politely.

Our conversations went from De Vincci and Mozart to Chinese takeaway's and my grandmothers rocking chair that she'd left me in her will. I was describing it to her, the detail on the rocking chair and how my grandmother use to sit in the shadows of my bedroom when I was a child and sing me to sleep. I pretended for a moment then not to know better of where that rocking chair now sat and how often, like a drunken hag I'd fallen asleep on it rocking with a glass pressed against my cheek.

As the evening passed she wore on me like wine, wine to my head. Sweet and honest with every word from the very first sip, I wanted more. It wasn't the cheap kind either, that wine. I watched as she poured a second glass and I couldn't bargain with her, I wanted it. I'd of sucked the cork dry if she'd offered.

Her legs wrapped around my waist, her hand still holding the neck like a lady and as I found myself there beneath her, I saw myself. A mirror looking down watching myself come undone, slow and seductive. She controlled me and suddenly I felt like I knew her so well.

I remembered her fingers circling that glass as her fingers worked on me now. They felt like the breeze against my skin, delicately awakening every inch as I lay there; my body once cold and numb now a fire of anticipation...

The tip of her tongue was red and washed over me, my lips left wet from her kisses... And every kiss was as good as the last, until you're drunk with kisses and falling asleep in her arms. Hoping that when you wake the bottle isn't empty.

But this time when I woke she was still sleeping beside me, the bottle untouched by either of us and resting on the side next to two dry glasses. I'd not needed it, I had her. I smiled into her and closed my eyes again knowing that I would sleep sound with her on my lips and not the wine.





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