Sambuca: The Good
Once upon a time, I went out on the lash and did nothing but shots of sambuca for the whole night. It made me so, so violently sick, and the stuff now makes me shudder to even think about it. Despite being more drunk than I think I’ve ever been in my life that night, I can still remember every minute of the retching, vomiting, and falling asleep with my arms around the toilet.
Oh, so much vomiting.
Shudders.
That’s what Sambuca was to me. He was the new guy on the scene, and to be perfectly frank, he was everything I said I wouldn’t ever do again. Sort of. But he was definitely sambuca. I got horny, sloppy, emotional, and occasionally rageful whenever I took a hit of him. And, once again, my sambuca experience has left me saying, NEVER again.
I didn’t expect to like him as much as I did, what with all my previous sambuca experiences, but once we started talking… well, we never stopped. I took one sip of sambuca, and I liked it. And now I’m a sambuca-holic.
Sigh.
Ladies, gentlemen, non-binary, and the damn fabulous, allow me to introduce you to Sambuca.
Sambuca: The Good
It started innocently enough. He was seeing someone. My relationship status was, “It’s complicated.” Within a few weeks, though, it became apparent that my feelings towards him were not innocent. Nowhere close to innocent. I’d always kinda liked him from afar, but I never could’ve imagined that we’d actually end up talking. As in, talking-talking. And when we did… wow.
Hot as fuck, strong enough to throw me around the bedroom, intelligent, witty, and with a sense of humour that left me crying with laughter – it’s safe to say that I was smitten. Like, in the grossest of ways. From a very early point.
I decided to be honest with him, spilling the beans about my feelings. Our friendship was no longer platonic on my side. I couldn’t stop myself from flirting with him. It was kinda embarrassing. Schoolgirl crush-style stuff. Totally ridiculous for a woman of my big ol’ age, but that’s how he made me feel. Giddy. Excited. Happy.
I never expected him to say exactly the same right back. Reading his message filled me with genuine surprise, but also joy. The hot man that I liked, liked me back? I’ll take it!
Over time, we ended our respective unhappy relationships, exchanged phone numbers, shared snippets of personal information, and grew closer and closer. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed talking to someone so much – and we could talk about everything. Absolutely everything. Abortions. Paedophiles. Marriage. Not wanting kids. Sex. Aliens. Past lovers. Future dreams. Travel hopes and life plans, the theory of relativity, justice system reform, embarrassing moments – everything. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to talk to a man in quite the honest and open way that I could with him.
Conversations started at five in the evening and carried right through until five the next morning. Quick phone calls turned into eight-hour marathon chats. We started talking one day, and never stopped. All day, every day. All night, every night. And, well, you know… those nighttime conversations soon turned into something else…
Oooft. I lusted after that man.
I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him. He was practically perfect in every way. And I mean every way. Every single part of him, spoke to every single part of me, and not just physically. He was so on my level, and he seemed like such a good guy. Generous, too!
For my birthday, he named a star for me/us. He was always sending books, murder mystery puzzles, and more… which are, of course, all things that I positively adore. He wouldn’t let me pay him back for zoo tickets that we didn’t get to use (because of me,) and he had a little box of gifts waiting for me at his house… when I eventually got there, of course.
He seemed to really get me.
When I asked him to get himself STI checked, he did it without a single grumble. I did the same, of course, and we exchanged all-clear results whilst excitedly planning our immediate future. It felt like I had hit the jackpot, like all of my dreams had come true – kind, funny, friendly, intelligent, passionate, and man, did we have some serious chemistry.
I really wanted him, and I hadn’t really wanted someone for a really long time.
I thought my libido was gone.
Done. Never to return. Switch flicked; no more sex for me. I’d been celibate for so damn long, I’d started to think it might never happen again.
Unsexy. Unwanted. Ugly. Fat. Disgusting. Repulsive.
That’s how it feels, so I’ve learned, when the only person you want to have sex with, doesn’t want to have sex with you. A little piece of your soul actually dies. That’s a tad dramatic, I know, but it’s the only way I can describe it. I couldn’t have worn more sexy lingerie, sent more naughty little nudes, or tried any harder. Every single recoil from the ex, broke my heart a little more.
Sex is important in a relationship, apparently.
And somebody actually wanted to have sex with me… apparently.
I’m not going to lie, I really wanted to have sex with Sambuca. Over and over again. In every single way, doing every filthy little thing, trying all the kinky little fantasies we’d never dare ask for. I wanted to know every single one of his unspoken fantasies, with the sole intention of making them come true.
In essence, I wanted to blow his damn mind. He was already blowing mine.
I hadn’t really given a shit about anyone for a while. I was at almost five years of celibacy, and it had been pretty good for me. I’d focused on myself, started running, lost some weight, became a vegetarian, quit smoking, quit Diet Coke, got my well overdue medical shit in check, learned to make myself come in a myriad of new and interesting ways…
I was turning into someone I actually liked.
And then, I liked Sambuca, too. (Despite my best efforts.)
Well, shit.
Everything clicked into place for me. Life, work, health, my mental health, then him. One message after another the words just flowed. Daydreams and fantasies of our life together made my heart happy and hopeful, but there was one big thing that held us back…
We hadn’t met yet.
Yeah, we could talk for hours and hours and hours on the phone. We could talk about everything and anything. We had phone sex that still makes me blush at the memories, and I fiended after his dick pics like nothing before. Oooft.
But what if we met and the chemistry wasn’t there? Or he thought I was ugly? Or my snort-laugh put him off? Or we weren’t compatible when it came down to skin-on-skin in-between the sheets?
I’d seen what he was into (repeatedly… but that’s another story for another day,) and I’d gotten the impression that he liked slimmer women. Like, smokin’ hot women. Curvy, but just the right kind of curvy. Curvy in all the right places, if you know what I mean.
What if that wasn’t me? What if I wasn’t slim enough? The wrong kind of curvy? Not toned enough? What if I’d accidentally catfished him with my well-angled photos and videos?
Fuck it, I thought. Let’s just do it. I’d been gushing about him to basically anyone that would listen, so I felt the need to see it through to the end. Y’know… just to see how it ended. Everything fit too perfectly for me not to give us a chance. Our life goals seemed aligned in so many ways, from not wanting kids, to Nerf gun wars around the home.
It was perfect.
Or, it was too good to be true.
The first time we should’ve met, I’d double-booked myself, and if I had the choice to piss off Sambuca or my scary little sister, it certainly wouldn’t be the latter. Did I mention that she’s scary? Terrifying.
I apologised, obviously. Truth be told, I was super disappointed and disheartened. It had taken me a hot minute to finally feel brave enough, only to have double booked. Fuck.
I tried not to make a big deal of it. It was what it was. Couldn’t be helped, and all that. Looking back now, though, I think that was the moment it all went wrong. Sambuca took it like a champ. He was disappointed, of course, but he agreed to plan another date, which we then did.
And that, I think, is where we need to end The Good… and start The Bad.
To be continued…
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
If you’re in the market for something a lil’ spicier, why not check out one of my smutty favourites:
