Thursday, September 4, 2014

Strange Magic

I smelled you yesterday.

Just for a brief second but it was you….

I’d been rushing about the shop, stacks of new value Bordeaux sliced open, the “tick-a-tack-a-tick-a-tack” of my price gun spitting tiny rectangular stickers upon the shiny new bottles. Running up to the front to answer the phone, answer a, “what would you pair with this?” question and scan purchases into the point of sale system before bending over to retrieve paper bags, plunking paper swathed bottles into them and bidding adieu to one customer just as another walks in. Lather, rinse and repeat all day. I was beat but in that good way, the way that pounds against your bones and sanity and remind you that each day is full of tasks as meaningful or less as you make them. Not solving the big problems, but handling enough of those little ones to make me feel as if I were doing something. 

My body tired and slippery with that sheen…you know the one, that one that causes your clothes to hang just a little longer on your skin. That one that coaxes those tiny hairs to lie flat and moist at the base of your neck. Between the recent construction at the shop, the warm weather and my incessant need to keep moving, physically to keep at bay the gnawing of the deep thoughts and, as it seems of late, enervating emotional fuckdom, my body was in need of a quick break and a splash of cold water. I headed back to the kitchen to refill my water bottle, my fingers tugging at and prying open the cap, hips in full stride and head slowly leaning back as my lips parted to take in the very last trickle of cold liquid my well worked bottle had to give. In classic Samantha form I swung a bit too much this way, or that, and found those last cherished drops of cold water gliding down my chin and landing in tiny beads across the front of my sticking to me shirt. 

“Oh goddamn it” I grumbled as I took a swipe at my dripping chin and tugged at the collar of my shirt, gathering it in a wad and pulling it across the puddle on my mug. It was there. There that I could smell you. I stood there like an idiot, shirt pulled so far up the skin above the waistband on my jeans was exposed, fistful of black uniform shirt pulled across my face like The Elephant Man seeking cover, my heart beginning to thump so hard I could feel it behind my earlobes. A tiny shiver shot down my spine as my nostrils expanded to take more of you, of us, in…..holding on to us as long as I could before having to exhale and dive back for more.

My oily and sweaty skin, the particles of shaved wood, fabric softener, the flinty and mineral whispers from inside my water bottle, sweet gamey sweat and the very familiar aroma of my own saliva, the way I’d smelled it over and over again as I ran my lips and tongue about you. In the middle of a construction zone, shirt hiked up, saliva scented water receding down my chin and landing like drops of, of fucking want, along my bare tummy as my heart set the pace for my breathing and my mouth begin to water. The sensual making me forget and remember.

It was you…










It was you

Meet me again…


I promise an open mind, wide heart and spread open palate that is

Yours and yours, in this way, yours only

Come inside

Live in me

Feed me

Feel me

Teach me...

Use me to feed, feel and teach them…

I’m willing, wanting, craving and

Slippery with ready.

Friday night.....can't come soon enough 


Thomas said...

Exactly how Volnay makes me feel...

Pinot Noir never offered more.

Samantha Dugan said...

My first love in Burgundy was Volnay, don't think I've been the same since. I wish you were here tonight, I am pouring:
2011 Benjamin Leroux
2010 Marchand-Tawse
2011 Comte Armand 1er Cru Fremiets
2011 Mintille 1er Cru Champans
2011 Comte Lafon 1er CruVolnay-Santenots du Milieu...and then five Pommards. Feeling all flush and giddy right about now.

Thomas said...


You are tormenting me.

Every Volnay I have tasted brought up the sense that my insides were secured in fine silk.

Samantha Dugan said...

Ended up being a rather magical night. You know you've picked great wines when one of your customers looks at you and says, "Damn you". The wines from Volnay were quite young but still lacy and captivating, the Pommard I featured were hardly burly but showing just the sexiest bite of tannin. Had an older Pommard Rugien-bas from Montille that was just starting to do that know that thing that makes you bite your lip and growl, "Oh fuck me". Most expensive wine poured and the first to sell out. Only Burgundy can make people moan like those people did last night, when I grow up I want to be Burgundy.

Thomas said...

Yeah, experience with wines like those points to a strong possibility that some places and some grapes belong together and others shouldn't even try.