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Semen and Wine
My name is Michael, and I was born in 1989 in Malibu to a fairly wealthy family. I had many close friends as I grew up, and our families would often host parties and events. For us kids, it was a nice opportunity to learn about manners, wine and, inadvertently, network with others for our own future.
I went to Berkeley to pursue a degree in business, where I found the atmosphere of other young, egotistical wealthy kids a bit boring by comparison to home. While they dealt with Adderall and partied in their dorms I took a mostly quiet approach to college, reading in the library in the early and late hours of the day, admiring the sunrise and sunset, and the scent of old leather-bound texts. I would think deeply, and I found this made the various essays and personal anecdote assignments trivial. Like many others from Malibu, I also had an interest in personal health. I would sometimes skip the more dreary lectures in favor of an extended session at the gym and made sure to focus on the aesthetic as well. Squats, pull-ups, sprints, etc – and a typical meal afterwards would include chicken, zucchini, and red peppers.
One advantage of not partying a lot is the distinct lack of beer belly. I had rock hard abs in those days, and arms that swelled with every movement. Horny, rich sluts would make passes at me daily, and I just pretended I didn't realize my piercing gaze, protruding neck bones, and bulge in the front of my pants were visible. Of course, as a teen with my own needs I occasionally enjoyed a night with the ones more similar to myself. That is, until I met Adriana. Adriana was a beautiful brown haired girl with big round eyes from Chile. She was on a student visa and her exceptional academic merit earned her a scholarship. She was about 5'9'' with a narrow frame, very wide hips, and a round butt. She was quiet, thoughtful, and even a little artistic. I fell in love with her.
But, this story isn't about her. In fact, Adriana is my wife, and I'm living now with her in Santiago, where she owns the cutest little Latin restaurant – she imports Californian wines, the finest avocados, and only the best Mexican american recipes. Her place is famous even to locals for the best pozole, and even central american visitors praise her enchiladas. Meanwhile I work in a local office building overseeing the companies operations and supply line. We live a quiet life at home, growing our own grapes and making home-made wine for our own fun, and occasionally having friends over, contrast to life in Malibu.
Rather, this story is about Michelle. Michelle grew up with me – specifically, our mothers were best friends, and we would often go together snorkeling in our early teens. Michelle is two years younger than me, about 5'5'' with pale blonde hair, and the best damn smile you've ever seen. As kids we didn't get along all that well – she reminded me of our mothers, and I found her interests to be singularly american and closed-minded. She and her mother are vegetarian and quite feminist, which also contrasted to my own upbringing of steak, sushi, aggressive sports, and otherwise chivalry in public. These days she's working as a publisher and author in Santa Barbara, living on the beach alone, and traveling at every chance she gets. Her personality also attracts others more so than myself, and she has friends everywhere. I found out in January that she would be coming to Santiago to visit her friend Maria, an author and professor at the local university. I found this out through her mother, who basically demanded that we seize the opportunity and meet up.
To be honest I was quiet excited to see her – apart from the few couples we know here, Adriana and I spend most of our time alone, and although I love her more than anything in the world, I guess somehow the idea of a loud american being in my presence seemed refreshing. Michelle was here for a week, and we arranged to meet on precisely two nights: a Friday and a Sunday. I drove across town to La Casa Reunion, a tiny little hole-in-the-wall cafe with BYOB and famous tapas. I brought in a bottle of red, but, since Michelle and Maria had contrasting wine tastes, they had a bottle of each, and they seemed to be enjoying them rigorously. We exchanged hellos with a big hug and kiss on the cheek, her unbelievable american smile piercing me with her excitement – which, even if fake, is beyond my capacity to distinguish. In fact, it's utterly contagious, and even thinking of it now makes me grin. Maria seemed quite nice as well, and we had a light chat over our recent travels, and agreed on the various places each other had to go next. I knew in advance that Maria would be going home afterwards, as she works mornings, and I had prepared a couple of places to take Michelle. I spoke to the owner for a few minutes, offered him the bottle of our home-made red I brought, and paid the bill – which, to my surprise, didn't seem to upset Michelle – I guess she wasn't as volatile anymore, and the rest of our night revealed this was true.
We walked abreast in the warm spring air down a couple of streets to a place called Biblioteca (which is actually a bar) – there was a live guitarist, 20 beers on tap, a medium level of chatter, and her smiling face staring at me asking for advice. I found out what kind of beer she typically drinks, and procured us a pair of options from the selection: a Belgian cask import, and a local double IPA made with south american yeast. She loved the Belgian, and I loved the IPA – no surprise there. We took a seat at a big wooden table, side by side, and I began trying to catch up with her wine while she spoke about 80% of the conversation, no different from the old days. We talked about Maria, her friendships, life in Santa Barbara, life in Santiago, and a bit about our parents. She laughed that her mom was harassing her to have children, but she didn't feel that she was in any rush, and I agree – Michelle is in peak condition and absolutely flawless. We changed the subject to psychology, philosophy, and our perceptions of life and our futures. I had finished two beers to her one, and we headed to the next place, again walking side by side and talking all the way. She seemed to appreciate that I held doors open for her and bought her drinks without making a big deal out of it. I guess as we matured and traveled more our personalities became more in line.
When we arrived at "El Cobertizo", the atmosphere was a quieter but the tables were a bit more secluded. In line with her excitement for the next beer suggestion, we both had bottles of "Flying Dog Raging Bitch", whose name we laughed about and our conversation became more lax. She told me about her relationships, and expressed her excitement to meet Adriana on Sunday. I told her I was glad they would be meeting, and pointed out that Adriana gets jealous and probably won't be in the best mood when I get home. For the first time Michelle's smile ceased, and she seemed to have mixed feelings about whatever was going on in her head. I broke the silence, trying to bring the lax conversation back by bringing up the beer again – she seemed to like it, and told me about how her friends had been getting her into beers recently. She was excited to hear I'm planning to buy a brewery this year with a business partner of mine. The conversation steered back to life, and eventually parenthood. I asked her how she feels about marriage, and said she just wants to marry the one who will be her best friend for life, and who will share experiences and thoughts with her. She was being honest, and I found it very sweet, and felt that we had a mutual trust and confidence in one another.
But then she revealed to me something more interesting – she wouldn't mind having children before marriage, as long as it's a natural pregnancy with the seed of someone she considers flawless. I joked that sperm banks probably don't have what she's looking for, and she told me I'm probably right.
Eventually I walked her home and said goodnight. She kissed my cheek and as she turned to walk away, my fixation on her eyes and smile broke and I admired her soft features – medium, round breasts under a conservative black top, angling slightly apart, her midsection peeking between her top and her shorts, and, as she finished turning, the most perfectly round butt I'd seen in a long time – and attached to nicely shaped legs with tight, tanned skin. I walked fast back to my car, my heart beating fast as I thought about her smile and her voice, but when I got in the car I suppressed the feeling – my wife really is the more flawless creature, and her emotions and opinions are more in line with mine.
(Continued in comments)
AngelsInMyUnderwear
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