The corner of my dining room is where I keep my alcohol. Dusting the other day I looked up and realized that each of these bottles has a direct connection with people I have fallen in love with. I was never a big drinker and actually, still, I am not. I enjoy a good drink but I talk about drinking and needing a drink more than I actually do. All the spilled liquor in my home and in my life has made me who I am. I am not giving all the credit to spilled liquor but I give credit to the symbolism of it.
Quarenta Y Tres Liqueur, A product of Spain
When I met my wife we were working hard at a farm. Long hot days in the summer and long cold days in the winter. Everyone on the farm were big drinkers. This made me the designated driver and all around protector of their dignities. I didn’t mind. Watching the shenanigans made me thankful I didn’t drink. Drunk people and horses aren’t usually a good match. It was all in good fun and nothing horrible ever happened.
One night, while still just friends, my soon to be the wife and I went on a moonlit trail ride with our director. We didn’t speak a word and just enjoyed the quiet and the mystery that was the farm at night. When the ride was over, we tucked the horses in for the night and walked to our cars. Neither of us ready to go home, exhilarated by the ride, she suggested we go get a drink. I agreed. Thinking I would just get a coke but looking forward to winding down with her.
We get to the bar and she orders two 43’s over ice. She assured me it was easy and smooth. She was right. It was delicious. I drank slowly because I was unsure of how this would impact me. Nervous about what I would say and how I would act with this kind of alcohol running through me. As nervous as I was, I was excited about it too. It was warm even though it was served over ice. Smooth, with just a light hard edge that was only noticeable if you were close to it. It made me feel good, confident, and open to trying new things. It had a freeing power that allowed me to open my mind and my senses. Just like she did.
The Spilled Liquor Connection
This little bottle sits on my shelf still after 15 years together and three years apart after saying goodbye to our relationship and the farm we built together. I can’t bring myself to drink it and I can throw it out. I like the little reminder of how it all started despite how it all ended.
Chateau Ste Michelle, Riesling, Columbia Valley
I have never been a wine drinker. Wine either give me a headache or puts me to sleep. When I first met my ex-Dom we were simply friends. One day after work we went to a restaurant to celebrate the end of a horrible training that with no exaggeration, we survived. He ordered a bottle of wine. We were still getting to know each other so I didn’t say I would rather have a coke.
Aside from the first day, I met him and instantly became fond of him, this was the night that I started to have feelings more than just friends. We talked of family, goals, fears, and failures. I sipped the wine cautiously because I was driving and I wasn’t sure what this kind of wine would do to me. I liked the taste of it. Taking it in a little at a time. It made me feel comfortable in my own skin. It made me feel like I didn’t have to hide any part of me.
He poured for me, never letting my glass empty. I knew it wasn’t to get me drunk, it was him being a gentleman. I was 17 years older than him but felt like a princess being courted. He was cautious and didn’t let me drink too quickly. He watched me, almost studied me. If I become uncomfortable with a topic and looked away, he made sure I looked back at him. I didn’t know it then, but his dominance was present. Not even knowing what it was I was drawn to it.
The Skilled Liquor Connection
This bottle of wine, half drank, is one of many of its kind I have had since the first time almost eight years ago. It still makes me feel comfortable and unapologetic for who I am. The difference is now I like who I am much more than I did the first night I tasted it. The wine isn’t responsible for my revolution but it reminds me of the moment I knew I could love him, and he could love me. It is a bittersweet reminder now. However, even with the bitter sometimes sour taste in my mouth for how things ended with him, there is always a smooth simple semi sweet memory that lingers after the sadness passes through my mind and heart.
Redemption, Rye, Whiskey
Remember I said I am not a drinker. Well, I wasn’t. At this point, I had expanded my taste in alcohol and my amount of consumption. Still at a controlled point with no need for concern. When Daddy, (we had moved on to a very intimate and D/s relationship at this point) started drinking whiskey it was a nice change from the captain and ginger we had been drinking. Redemption entered on a whim. It was STRONG! He drank it straight and I always had ice and ginger ale to help me get it down. As the relationship became more tumultuous I started easing off the ginger ale. It was fine, I was safe.
I liked it. I like its harsh hit and the way it burned as it entered my body. I like the airy dizzy and warm feeling that it circulated through me as it took control. Redemption had a smooth taste. That is the term used when discussing whiskey. I am not sure I would use that term but I could see where it came from. It smelled strong. The first taste as it hit my tongue and I didn’t mind it. It was subtle. Not until after I committed to it did I understand that smooth was a term was the beginning and it wasn’t until it was running down my throat did the smoothness disappear and the harsh burn was felt on my throat. I didn’t mind that either.
The Spilled Liquor Connection
Redemption was a perfect metaphor for him. Smooth on the outside but underneath, hidden from sight was a dark harsh side. He was soft, loving, caring, supportive. Also, he was harsh, controlling, demanding and dominant. He was perfect. He took all of these traits and littered them over me in various ways and various times and I loved every minute of it. He started out smooth and ended harsh and always followed up with smooth and soft again, like a second glass of whiskey.
Sadly, while going through the liquor cabinet I found an empty bottle of Redemption. Seems appropriate enough since he is gone now. I remember saving this bottle to make something of it for him. Something crafty, handmade, that would probably have a Harley Davidson theme. He loves his whiskey and he loves his Harley. The empty bottle still has the whiskey smell. The cork still brings to mind the memories we shared. Drunk on whiskey while watching the news or playing video games. Still buzzing as we made our way to the bedroom. Good memories all of them.
Fireball, Cinnamon Whiskey
My relationship with Fireball started when ciders became popular. Angry Orchard apple cider beer with a shot of fireball was a great fall drink by the bonfire. It was also a quick trip to a buzz so I was one and done. I liked the cinnamon taste. Eventually, I moved to just shots of Fireball. Again, one and done. I also like the cute little red dragon on the label. There seems to be a little bit of evil lurking there.
It is a deceiving little bit of alcohol. It is fun and tastes good. Barely even taste like you are drinking anything strong until you stand up. So the outside of the bottle, while looking a bit dangerous, inside the whiskey is deep, strong, alluring. It attracts you with the label and the sweet taste, making you feel like you are doing something bad, but it is so much more than that. There is that pesky little thing about it containing antifreeze. I haven’t done much research on that part.
This guy… loves his Fireball. Drinks a Heineken and follows it with a shot of Fireball. His endurance is much stronger than mine. We bonded over our like for this whiskey. While I don’t go toe to toe with him it is always fun to start off our dinners with a little cinnamon.
The Spilled Liquor Connection
He is a bad boy. His past is littered with things he isn’t proud of. Covered in tattoos standing tall he has a look that says he is trouble walking in human form. Like the little dragon on the label, he pulls you in with the risk of danger. Once inside you find the sweet part of him. Behind the glass and dangerous looking label is the sweet guy. Slow to talk about his feelings but when he does his honesty hits you. If there is any truth to the antifreeze rumor, that would be his strength. It is a full strength, scary at times, uncontrolled at time. Sometimes he doesn’t use it as he should. That’s his prerogative.
So, here is what is interesting. I hadn’t bought a bottle of Fireball in ages. Once I started hanging out with this guy I wanted to make sure I had some on hand for when he came over. That first bottle lasted for a long time because he doesn’t come over often. I’m not sure where things are going with him really. He is super nice but he has some baggage he needs to handle. I’ve gone back and forth on my convictions about him. I like it when he is around. When I noticed the first bottle was getting low, I made sure I bought another one, just in case.
While this post makes it look like my life revolves around alcohol, it doesn’t. I promise. Cleaning out the liquor cabinet just let me down a path and made me giggle. I don’t know what made these connections in my mind. I don’t mind the connections though. Sometimes we struggle describing people in unique ways. He is nice. She is strong. They were friendly. I liked being able to use something else to describe the special people in my life. I know that my ex wouldn’t have minded the connection. This guy, I am not sure he would get it, maybe he wouldn’t mind. My ex-wife, she would probably tell me how creative I was and smile, if she was still talking to me.
The spilled liquor in my life leaves a mark. While this post is a little cheeky, it does resonate a bit with me. My spilled liquor of the past has a direct correlation to the people I choose to spend time with. Spilled liquor, broken relationships and shattered hearts. Stings way more than the smooth taste of any alcohol.
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