Cock Metal.

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Spring Season (CHAPTER 13: ORAL FIXATION)

I scan my kitchen counter: A half-full bottle of Skyy Vodka…maybe; a bottle of Monogamy cab—definitely not; and a black bottle of 1994 Colheita Porto that my dad sent me for New Year’s Eve—to celebrate my engagement. I pick up the black bottle. My dad, who drinks this stuff every night while knocking back a large cigar, still thinks I’m going to develop a taste for it. The stuff typically makes me gag, but it’s strong, and I need to get rid of it before it brings back any more bad memories of how my New Year’s Eve should have turned out. I open the bottle and pour two glasses. I stroll over to Ben.

Ben is reclined on one end of my couch; his jacket is draped over a chair, his shoes are kicked under my coffee table, and he’s recounting the night he and Yvonne strong-armed her ex-husband over recipes. Her ex got the bar in the divorce, but she refused to give up the title to the dishes she’d helped perfect.

I hand one of the glasses to Ben. “So the large white envelope I saw you holding was filled with…”

Ben nods. He hands his cigarette to me.

“Stealing recipes, Sopranos-style…nice.” I take the cigarette, kick my heels off, and recline on the opposite end of my couch.

I place my feet near his crotch, take a drag, then take a sip of the port—and wince.

Ben starts rubbing my feet with his free hand.

“Somethin’ like that. Yvonne’s stubborn. She kept saying: ‘He’s got the best pub grub thanks to me, and that’s what everyone wants right now.’” Ben takes a sip of his port—and winces. “But, like, fries with six different dipping sauces. You know: fancy stuff.”

I hand the cigarette to Ben, who takes a last drag and then drops it into his glass of port. “This stuff sucks.”

We both laugh, looking at one another through the spirals of leftover smoke.

“I’m told you eventually develop a taste for it,” I say. “So, Wiseguy, back to the night of the Great Recipe Caper, were you packin’ heat, or what?”

Ben tilts his head and winks. “Sopranos-style.”

He grabs both my feet and tugs me toward him. I have just enough time to set my glass down next to the couch before he reaches over, grabs my hands, and pulls me onto him. His hands run up the length of my jeans and grab my ass.

I straddle him and beeline for those plush lips. Ben is such a great kisser…

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