That Fling Still Throws Me

I met her at friend's house after work (where I'd flipped a hundred or two pounds of beef for mass consumption) and she caught my attention right away. She was an inch or two short, sassy and curvy and as soon as she was offered up for my approval I wanted to get her top off. I'd never met anyone like her on the local bar scene (I've since learned that I didn't look hard enough) and the bold intoxicating lovely went right to my head before we had been properly introduced. From the moment I first took her into my mouth, there was no escaping. Or so I wanted to believe. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing so I dumped her on an August afternoon 9 years ago.

She was never really good to me. Even that first night was just a good first impression over a pile of shit. She took me for a ride up to the Wall and I came home used up, broke and without my shoes. It got to the point where keeping up with her was making me sick - spending time with her was killing me for real. Anyone who wanted a taste just came right on and took it and she let them. She would take all comers. Really, when I started having conversations with my splinter-selves trying to figure out the best course of action out of variouis plans of attack I knew there was something really wrong going on. But she smelled so good and her legs were great and I still couldn't look at her without wanting to take her top off. And she tasted like morning dew with a tang like something sweet left to sit somewhere wet too long.

And now she's back - I can't believe she's back after all of these years. After all of the effort I put in to putting her out of my mind - all of the fruitless obssessing - she comes grinding back in like the bad old days all over again. I'm stricken...I'm piqued - I'm flying to heights that will be too far to fall when I crash and burn again. There's no controlling her once she gets ahold of you. I know this from experience and thought that I'd understood what the trouble was. For the love of all that's good, I swear I had her beaten, broken and dealt with - put away forever. Good crap! I'm married now, I have responsibilities. This can't be happening but I want her so bad that driving for a break in reality sounds pretty fucking good right now. And she's sitting right in front of me, still an inch or two short, still curvy, still perfect. All I have to do is reach over and take her top off and everything's like it used to be.

I shouldn't. But I will and be damned. Fuck it and I don't care who knows.

Her name is Sawmill Creek Autumn Blush wine in the 1.7 litre bottle and I'm just lucky that I don't know any women like her (anymore).