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later, after moving away for college and living together. I did love him, and although he lives in Hawaii now, I still do.
Anatomy Lesson I’d had enough. I felt like Sylvia Plath, my virginity a lead weight that I couldn’t wait to shed. After all, by junior year of high school, it seemed like everyone else had. The jocks with their chin pubes and swagger. My best friend Amelia. Even the most pious girls—the ones who crossed themselves when a siren wailed— even they’d gotten rid of it. I knew, because like good Catholics, they demurely skipped communion at school mass. Since the high school boys mostly thought I was weird—was it my dyed black hair with the orange stripe? the smell of Camel Lights on my fingertips?—it only seemed fitting that it should be someone older, more sophisticated. He was 22, had done a year of college somewhere in Florida and played “Wish You Were Here” on guitar. We sat on his bed, a black light lending an eerie glow to his white jeans. The way he held my gaze reminded me of how a priest fixes you with his sober expression just as he hands over the communion wafer. I was reaching for a cigarette, unsure of what else to do with my hands, when he guided them to his nipples. Now I was really confused. It occurred to me that being a virgin wasn’t that bad after all. I did my best to paw at him the way I imagined I was supposed to, but then he said, “Kiss me here,” pointing to just below his Adam’s apple. This was even weirder. Next up were his ankles. I found myself praying for a natural disaster, but hurricane season was months away. By the time it was all over, my head swimming with male anatomy, he excused himself to the shower. I spied a Cosmopolitan magazine poking out from under the bed and started flipping through it, my fingers happily grasping something familiar. And then I nearly dropped my
cigarette. The headline read “How to Touch Your Man,” and promised to reveal his six pleasure points. His nipples. The front of his neck. The dip under his ankle. He emerged dripping from the bathroom just as I got to the perineum. I exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and vowed to spend some time with my dictionary as soon as I got home.
Go Outside She lived in Utah. Not a Mormon, mind you, but not a skeez, either. The first time we made out, I remember, she made sure to turn out the lights, light a few candles and dial her bedside radio to the love-jam station. Everything was proper, in its right place. A couple years later, we were woefully less prepared. Not “less prepared” in the matters of the body. We’d done just about everything we could do without doing the actual doing of it. But “less prepared” in an altogether different sense. The “doing it outside in public on the side of the road with no condom” sense, if you will. The “wish we could have washed off the dirt and twigs and scent before having dinner with parents right afterward” sense. The “it will be awkward in three weeks when she is crying in the snow and blubbering that ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving me for a girl named Boof’” sense. See? Very unprepared. Being separated by two states was tough, and after two years of making it work, the autumn wind began robbing us of our young, wild, carefree first love. It only made sense to finally roll through the big rite of passage together. We walked up the road, found a semi-secluded spot roadside, made ourselves an ersatz bed in the bramble and . . . It was fervent, passionate, wonderful, ridiculous and short. When we were done, we looked up and standing around us, watching all along, was a group of very beautiful and confused deer. Read more stories we didn’t have room to print online at www.bohemian.com.
Valentine’s Day Wines
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n the untenable premise that all things pink and/or bubbly would be a welcome treat on everybody’s favorite and/or despised February holiday, here’s a small sample of eye-catching, pink and/or bubbly wines. Of course, you can’t go wrong with a good red wine—unlike, say, flowers and chocolates. Who knew? Yeah, it hurts when you go wrong with flowers and chocolates. Wines were not blind tasted; they were drunk alone, in the dark with the shades drawn.
From a sparkling house with an austere rep, the deep pink 2006 Iron Horse Brut Rosé ($50) has unexpectedly fruity, full cranberry and cherry flavors, a tart squeeze of lime and a lasting, delicious and dry finish. Recommended, especially with cheesecake. J Vineyards Brut Rosé NV ($32) gets points for presentation: that simple swoop over salmon-egg pink. Clean aromas of ocean breeze, a hint of yeast; light guava fruit flavor over assertive bubbles. Try making crab cakes—a project made for two—to pair with this salty sparkler. The Sofia 2010 Blanc de Blancs, Monterey County ($19) looks rosy in its pink cellophane gift-wrapping. But it’s straw-yellow, with sweet, Muscat-like and Riesling-like honeysuckle aromas. First impressions are often correct: Francis Ford Coppola Winery says the blend has dashes of Muscat and Riesling, with the balance in Pinot Blanc. Very foamy, with sweet flavors of apple crisp, white raisin, offset by bitter herb. Save this über-girly bubble-potion for a baby shower populated with sweet-toothed aunties. Nothing says “be mine” like wine in a can. Although the Sofia minis ($20 per four-pack, 187 ml cans) contain the same wine as the Blanc de Blancs, the cans tasted comparatively innocuous (although not put to a side-by-side comparison—alas, packaged in a shiny, metallic-red, hexagonal box, the little cans are just irresistible). With “bubbles” die-cut in the box for easy toting, and one short pink straw thoughtfully attached to each can, the handy Sofia says, “I’d love a hike-and-picnic date.” Gallons of ink have been spilled, billions of bytes squandered defending “dry rosé” against its treacly past, and now here comes a little problem called Sofia 2010 Rosé, Monterey County ($19). The sassy, curvy bottle promises unabashed sweetness, but dishes out dusty Pixy Stix aromas, and flavors of sour cherry, unripe pear. A nice enough, dry and tart sipper for warmer weather, perhaps, but for our purposes here, something of a tease. J Vineyards & Winery features treats from Miette Pastry Shop on Saturday, Feb 11 (noon–4pm; 11447 Old Redwood Hwy., Healdsburg; 888.594.6326). Iron Horse Vineyards pairs chocolates with their Wedding Cuvée on Sunday, Feb. 12 (11am–1pm; 9786 Ross Station Road, Sebastopol; 707.887.1507). And Francis Ford Coppola Winery offers complimentary Sofia tastings on the big day, Feb. 14 (300 Via Archimedes, Geyserville; 707.857.1400). —James Knight
Elizabeth Seward
NORTH BAY BOH EMI A N | FE BR UARY 8 –14, 20 1 2 | BO H E M I AN.COM
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