“Whiskey, like a beautiful woman, demands appreciation. You gaze first, then it’s time to drink.” – Haruki Murakami
The blinds divided the late afternoon rays of sunlight, sending splinters of light all about the room to mimic a vertical prison; the setting sun drawing its own conclusions that we had chosen to be indoors on such a gorgeous day. The smell of cider and smoke rose to join the heat in the room as the whiskey bathed over the ice; the perfect mix of summer and fall. He peered into the glass for a moment before he breathed in the unmistakable scent, closing his eyes and savoring the heady aroma. I watched as he raised the glass to his lips, vapor rising in a small cloud as the warmth of his breath met the icy contents of the glass. He looked up at me in that moment, the light glinting off his lashes, and his eyes, like the whiskey, were sensuous and inviting.
He lowered the glass and swirled it to the right, clinking the extra large cocktail cube against the side of the glass. The mere sound of it just felt seductive; the ice asserting its place as the dominant mass, the whiskey surrendering to being slightly watered down and thus quieting its pungent notes.
In the brilliant words of Mark Twain, “Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough.” As is the sexiness of the man who drinks it.