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Liquid of Illusion

Liquid of Illusion

The lasting relationships we make...
Sighing, I reach for the glass. It is heavy in my hand. This beautiful crystal glass, short, stout, has become an old friend. Its weight, heavy in my hand, a comfort, a symbolic rock. Grabbing a few ice cubes out of the freezer, I drop them into my glass. They clink and twinkling up at me, clear crispness with a speck of cloudiness. Reaching for the Canadian Whisky, the cap spins off quickly and smoothly. I tilt the bottle, watching the warm golden amber liquid spill over the frozen cubes. It splashes up the side of the glass, only to cascade down upon itself. I fill the glass to the line I know to be an ounce and a half. As I begin to ease the bottle back, I decide it is a two jig night, and I double the rich liquid in the glass.

Walking to the desk, I ease down into the large leather chair. I place the glass onto the blotter, still holding its side. I swirl it, watching, mesmerized at the deep lustful tawny color of the liquor. My tongue flits out to moisten my lips. I inhale deeply through my nose, the hint of sweet velvety alcohol waifs in the air. I am able to subtly taste the comforting warmth of the Whisky at the back of my throat, causing my mouth to water.

I wonder how I have gotten into such a quandary. The marriage has been bad, for years, yet I cannot leave, especially now with the news. I close my eyes and do a rewind in my brain of when exactly it all went downhill. No idea. Thinking about it all, each day always seemed so much of the same, never changing, yet to look back, everything is different. He is different, I am different. Things that were important fifteen years ago are no longer important and things that were taken for granted back then are now front and center. Proof positive, things change.

I raise the heavy crystal to my lips, tilting my head back, the drink passing over my lips. I feel the smooth heat pool on my tongue. I hold the liquid in my mouth, savoring it, welcoming it. After a moment, I swallow, enjoying the velvet intensity as it eases down my throat, leaving behind its rich lingering finish.

Returning the glass to the desk, I lean back. In the search for an internet escape from my less than stellar personal life, I found a society that has become my near reality, my companion. I look forward to the friendships I have formed, the ability to talk to another or many without an argument, without judgment. When we are together, we are in the here and the now, the outside world ceases to exist. We are in a common place, each place of our own making.

Then, there is that one, that unique confidant. Throughout the day, I want to tell him of my accomplishments, my day, my life. Does he even understand the importance of his role in my life? He has begun to awaken things that I thought were long dead. Emotions and secret desires that were buried deep are now surfacing. Our chats are hot and erotic, sexually charged. His commands pulse through me. My orgasms are like never before, harder, more forceful, all consuming. I need his imagery, the spell he has woven. His sexual web of demands and urgencies has pushed me to unfathomable bliss. I, often times, find myself needing release in the middle of the day, nearly cumming with thoughts of our last conversation. In many ways, he has made me look at life differently, appreciate things. He has helped me realize I am worthy of happiness. It is even due me, to a certain extent. Like my drink, he is burning yet soothing, urgent yet lingering. And…this scares the shit out of me.

I raise the glass for another swallow, pausing, I exhale. Enjoying my drink and feeling the warmth creep down my arms and across my chest, my lips curve into an ironic smirk.

Yes, this secret society of mine is quite the transient sort. I must take today for all that it is, for the gift that it is. I must tell these new friends they have touched me, made positive marks on my hardened heart. That they are truly the special ones as they are now real friends, as real as this drink in my hand, as real as the weight of this glass, as real as this Whisky. They have enriched my life, made it more robust. I would love to have lunch with each one, to laugh and chat it up, to bring my near reality to the completion of realness. I am better for having had you touch my life, all of you.

To that singular special one, although I love you in my fantasy world, it breaks my heart to say, you must remain there. In real life, well, what if you are not all that you appear in the fantasy, what if your strength is not as strong, your commands not as commanding, your demands not as demanding. My heart will break. No…you are in the perfect place, my fantasy. I cum for you because of the fantasy. I love you because you are the fantasy.

I lift my glass to my lips. I pause and notice the condensation on the glass. The small beads of cool water glistening with a twinkle, telling me I am right. A sign, an omen. I take the last long pull of my drink. Sighing…

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Copyright ©2014-2015 Wonderway All Rights Reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author, wonderway.

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