We talked about music and books. Our interests were in stark contrast to one another, she preferred Celtic street rock to my American punk. I ordered a bourbon and she supirsed me when she made it two. We bored one another with tales of our jobs and friends and families. I pretended to insult her and she pretended to recoil in disgust. I pretended to compliment her and she pretended to blush. We were alone together in a room full of hundreds.

The night was winding down and I was purposfully clumsy when I suggested that we should stay rather than risk driving home. This was a big release party we reasoned, well known among the local police for letting the alcohl flow, they would certainly be watching the garage. And the rooms were there for the taking. Before we walked to the elevator I slipped the bartender a $50 and he slipped me a pint of Woodford Reserve bourbon.

Despite the excuses we both knew why we were staying. We had been flirting so obviously that everyone who saw us knew as well. She and I fell to the bed almost as soon as we walked in the room. Our fingers pulled at one another's clothes as our lips locked together. I drank in her scent. Our warm flesh pressed together with that electric feeling you always get the first time, not knowing what the other will do, how they will feel. We were completely naked now and our bodies were intertwined. Legs wrapped together. Arms. My hand on the small of her back. I kissed her shoulders. Softly sucking each time. I leaned down and brushed my cheek across her nipple, let my lips wrap themselves around it. My hand moved along the ridges of her spine, down her body.

My destination is becoming obvious, softly kissing between her breasts, moving slowly down her stomach. I let a few drops fall from the bottle of bourbon to just below her belly button and wisk them away with a flick of my tongue. Beautiful. More of the bourbon falls along her legs and I take that too. We're both getting warmer now. A few drops hit her lips and I feel her tense, then relent as she slowly raises her knees. My head slides between her thighs and my tongue flits across the metallic dull of her piercing. As she feels me a barely audible moan escapes her lips and she rolls her hips forward, pushing her heat closer to my mouth. I find the bourbon I had laced her with and its peppery bite fills my mouth.

Velvet encloses my tongue, it pulls me in. I can feel it through my entire body. The sort of feeling that you think about over and over in your head so that when you experience it you never want it to end. Intoxication fills me. I want to scream. Wood smoke. Leather. Vanilla. The faint chalky texture of that fresh splash of branch water you pull straight from the creek in the early morning haze. This bourbon is absolutely spectacular. The pure undeniable genius of that creation. To think that a man could conure such a splendid liqour from mere scrap, the leftovers from the grain fields after the world was fed. Pure magic springing from the ground. There is nothing out of place with it. How can it be that such a perfect creation could come from such humble beginnings, a limestone infused creek flowing through Elijah's back yard, bits of unwanted corn and rye, charred oak barrels tossed aside. As if directed by the hand of the creator a man was driven to build this worthless refuse into something nearly as grand as life itself. Life giving bourbon. A reason to live.

At once sweet and biting. It courses through my veins and I can feel its power. A hot breath escapes my mouth and she can feel it as well. My head is up now and the bottle is to my lips. Appetite insaitable. I give myself over to the bourbon whiskey inside this bottle, I want it inside me. She wants it too so she claws at my chest trying desperately to gain its affection. I'm startled by this. Her intentions become aparrent through my bourbon haze and they require immediate action. I wail like a baby and growl like a lion. Leaping to my feet I flee the room with bottle in hand. Now I'm running down the hallway, naked, with a hard on, trying to stay ahead of my pursuer as I imbibe the object of her pursuit. Down the stairs and back up we race. I make it back to our point of departure first and slam the door behind me.

Now I'm alone with our bourbon friend and she and I twist our tongues and tangle our bodies. My pursuer is outside pleading to join us, but she is too late. She waits nude in the hallway while my tongue explores every last inch of our bottled muse and we both become one. The encounter leaves me feeling satisfied, but I know the feeling is only temporary. I'll want more soon enough. I'll want to bring the feeling back again and again, the feeling of being something greater, of being outside my own consciousness.

Now I'm as alone as the girl on the other side of the door. Bottle lying spent on the cheap carpet next to me. I'm spent. Momentarily.

Under the door comes comes a scent I've known many times. It reminds me that more than just the bottle and I are in this menage a tois. The tendrils of the bourbon I had so eagerly splashed on the object of my passion just moments earlier sneak through the crack below the door, calling out to me. I rip it open and grab her. Throw her on the bed. The feeling builds inside of me again and I begin to lose control. My lips search her body for the source of the treasure, hoping to find a spring with which to feed my thirst. But she was searching too, searching with her eyes.

"She is gone.", I said, pointing to the empty bottle.

"Lets open the mini bar.", she said.