The Bottle, the Bourbon, the Pain, and the Prayer [M/F]

The following is written with my own memories, and edited for clarity, truthfulness, and to remove unnecessary dialogue by my partner. This happened two nights ago, in our living room in Texas, around 10 at night.

The rain pattered softly against the window.

I set the bottle down and groaned.

My world did that thing again, where my eyes shook a bit and it rotated just a few degrees.

Fucking world.

Fucking gravity.

Fucking inner-ear balancing bullshit.

Today would break a string of sobriety that had lasted a year and a half. A year and a half of careful, calculated avoidance of that lovely lady who sat at the bottom of the bottles in our pantry. She was lithe, dark skin, and a smooth talker.

The taste of the bourbon on my lips was so sweet. It tasted of vanilla, fruit, late nights, shaving in the mirror with a straight razor, and a guitar gently crying into the darkness.

I put my hands in my hair and muttered to my partner, coming through the doorway of the hall,

"Why didn't you stop me?"

She sat lightly on the arm of the chair, her tight black shirt against her skin, her dark pants creased. Still dressed from work. Still beautiful. Still in one piece, so perfect. An angel.

"Sweetie," she said soothingly, "You've always stopped yourself from drinking too much since we lost the…"

"I know, I know," I said through gritted teeth, "I can't forget anything. I'm already having trouble with the stuff from a few months ago. If I get drunk, I'll forget. I'll fucking forget them."

I felt that rising tide inside my chest, sadness and tears threatening to spill over. Words flashed through the air in front of me.

Ab Imo Pectore.

"From the deepest chest," I breathed out, barely audible. "Huh."

"What?"

"I keep seeing things again," I said, lifting my head. The whole room shuddered, and the lights all shifted around. I blinked, trying to get it to focus, before looking to her eyes.

Eyes so deep. So inviting. A pool in the rock, asking you to jump in and forget the heat burning your lungs. Eyes that lifted you up. Eyes like amber.

"I keep seeing things."

"Shhh….."

She put a hand, so gentle, against my back. Her touch sent rivers, cooling, out. Her touch cascaded over my bare shoulders, my chest, my neck. She always had been able to calm me.

"Maybe what you need isn't clearer eyes." She stood, and walked around the arm of the chair to stand in front of me.

"Maybe you just need brighter memories."

I blinked. "How so?"

She took another step forward.

I took another breath.

The world was quiet here.

Her coolness still lingered on my shoulders, pooling above my collarbones.

"You've been so obsessed with what you can control."

She took the bottom hem of her shirt.

"You've talked endlessly about the bottle as if it was a friend who wronged you."

She pulled upwards, over herself. A ribbon of pale skin grew wider, her taut stomach shifting as she moved. Her hips, wide, calling for my fingers. Her ribcage, her breasts, heavy and full, her collarbones so sharp like ivory, her lithe arms, her neck like a ring missing its jewel, her face again, the shirt dropping behind her, a curtain in the breeze, a totem of herself, a black flag waving in the wind.

"You said it yourself: There is no happy liquor or sad liquor or angry liquor. You get drunk the same way. It's what's inside of you that comes out. And you aren't even that drunk. You pass out when you're too drunk. You're exhausted right now, that's all."

I breathed. She wasn't wrong. I flexed my chest and back, checking it. Bruised shoulders, knotted muscles, cut arms. Tokens from working too hard.

She stood still.

The earth kept turning, slowly slipping into evening.

"You want to forget."

"No I fucking don't, why would I want to…"

"Because you're afraid if you drink you will."

"I don't want it."

"Admit it."

"I'll… I forget things since the accident."

"You forget things, or they leave you?"

"I forget them."

"So you're scared?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I might forget. Are we just going in circles?"

"No. Because I think there's a part of you that wants to forget. Ignorance would be easier, after all. But another part wants to remember."

"I…"

"You know I'm right."

The earth turned some more. I could feel it now, like it was slowly shifting under me and a larger body was actually pulling me towards it. Or maybe, if I lay down, I could fall up forever and escape this.

Fucking gravity. Could someone smarter than me finally figure out what makes gravity work? I sighed.

"I think you could be."

She stood still. I couldn't see her face well, the light didn't cast quite right.

I breathed.

The earth turned a bit more.

I swore at it under my teeth.

Her gentle voice stopped me.

"Stop fighting whatever you're irritated with."

She stepped and knelt in front of me, her chin on my knees.

"Make brighter memories. Ones that you won't forget as easily."

"That's not exactly up to me…"

"It is and you know it. Stop arguing, apathy isn't sexy. You used to take action. Do it again. I liked that you, not the sad you."

She sat up, and slid her pants low on her hips.

"Fine. I make memories that glow brighter so I can be a manic-depressive drunk again?"

"No."

She put her hands on my thighs.

"We make memories that you can't forget. Then you forget the rest. But what happened…"

She slid her hands up slowly. It felt incredible.

I felt a sob well in my throat. Oh please, no…

"You've pulled away from your other partners. You haven't called up Lauren or Jacob in three weeks. You're running."

She grabbed the hem of my pants.

I felt tears start to flow, hot and salty down my face.

She was right.

She pulled my pants down slowly, revealing my soft boxer briefs.

I leaned my head back and let the tears flow down.

The world spun as she gently lowered my underwear.

I couldn't look as she pulled my cock out.

The rain drummed on the roof.

The lights dimmed as my eyes closed.

Fucking gravity.

The room shook as her hand gently caressed me, petting me. She always touched my cock like it was something precious, or valuable.

Like I was worth something.

I let go.

The tears ran, silent, as I felt her gently knead and caress my shaft, moving up to the head to trace her fingers around it, then back down, past the bottom to cup and cradle my balls. I felt her hot breath quicken, and the world turned faster for me.

The rain sped up, harder now.

The force beyond the earth pulled me upwards now. My chest rose slightly, but she kept me down.

Bright.

Brighter.

A memory.

She was right.

I could befriend the bottle again. Wine on stage while I played guitar. A cold glass to hold against my forehead when I got off of work at midnight.

I wept as her warm chest enveloped me.

Her breasts, so soft and heavy, full and deep, cradling my dick and gently massaging it. Not rubbing up and down, but holding and pressing around it. Gentle motions, sending shivers up my spine.

I would remember this.

I felt a heat flush through my chest, my spine, my hipbones.

I gasped as I felt a sensation I hadn't in days sweeping through me.

Arousal.

Pure lust, like crystal water, flowing through my beaten bones.

I moaned her name as she held me in her chest, those life-giving breasts around me.

She smiled. I could hear it in her voice as she asked me if I enjoyed this.

I tried to nod, but the world was turning again and the rain was tapping a beat to a song I hadn't quite finished, so I just moaned quietly.

She understood. She always did.

I felt the cool air on my shaft as she pulled her chest off, but only for a second.

I felt her lips, warm and full, kiss underneath my head.

I felt the tears stop.

I felt like myself again.

I let go.

She enveloped me, and I sank into her.

Pleasure.

The rain.

The gravity pulling me to heaven.

And here I am, days later, the cool of a November morning.

I remember it all.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/3rn38s/the_bottle_the_bourbon_the_pain_and_the_prayer_mf