Jack Daniels and cigarettes

The very first thing I noticed was that he tasted like Jack Daniels and cigarettes.

It was strange, the obnoxious outbursts in the local patron’s conversations was transformed into a warm drowsy hum of background noise as I was enveloped by his smell, his feel and his taste.

 

What never struck me as odd was why I was kissing him. It was one of those things that happened. We were both there at the bar at the same time. I said it had been a while, he said it was good to see me again. We both bought drinks and then, he leaned over and kissed me.

 

He tasted like Jack Daniels and cigarettes.

 

In the end, it wasn’t who I was with that captivated me, it was what he was.

Strong, thin fingers that delicately gripped my neck and the base of my skull, he was a musky scent that infused my blood. He was the long body that was so close, so warm and so insistent.

 

He was perhaps a mistake.

 

A broken soul, he was those things in life that were prohibited under any circumstances. He was the bits and pieces you indulged in when no one was looking.

 

He was Jack Daniels and cigarettes.

 

And I became addicted to both.