As the last of the select group of close friends and family arrived, the winery's proprietor made a grand gesture with his arms, drawing everyone in close. The setting Argentinian sun cast shadows around the tasting room, giant barrels peeking from the shadows behind them, as the man toasted the successful harvest and their first batch of Malbec. He uncorked bottles as he spoke, and his wife and son handed out glasses. A young woman caught the son's eye and gave him momentary pause as he gazed at her. She wore a black dress and a cardigan the color of pomegranate and had luscious, strawberry lips and large, deep, charcoal eyes. A look and an elbow from his mother urged the son over to her. As he handed her a glass, she smiled at him.
"Gracias," she said softly.
The son introduced himself, but before he had a chance to say more, his father pulled him to the front of the crowd and poured wine into his glass. As he listened to his father's toast, he kept stealing glances at the woman in the pomegranate cardigan; she smiled at him whenever their eyes met, and he began to feel a flutter in his belly.
A great "Salud!" went up among the crowd as glasses were raised, and everyone took the first sips of the beckoning Malbec. Its earthy, spicy tones danced on the lips and tongues of the guests, prompting murmurs of appreciation and pleasure. Glasses were raised once more to toast its achievement, and a guitar trio began to play.
Couples took each other's hands and began to dance passionately and gleefully. Celebration was in the air; romance seemed to permeate as well. The son decided not to waste the opportunity and he invited the young woman to dance. As they swirled sensually around the room, they made little conversation, but rather enjoyed the feel of one another's bodies and the feast of the senses they, and the room, provided. As the son pulled the woman in closer, the smell of her hair drifted toward him, earthy yet sweet. Another couple glided past: a chef, friend to his father, who smelled faintly of oven smoke, and his wife, whose plump, cherry lips pursed in a sly smile.
The son looked into the young woman's mesmerizing eyes, unintentionally drawing his own face closer to hers. Their lips were nearly touching when they were jostled abruptly by a round, jovial, and apparently tipsy man who clasped a hand on the boy's shoulder, bringing him off balance. The man slurred a congratulations and some other kind words as the pair looked at each other with amusement. The man smelled of salami and rustic bread, which to the pair's surprise, made them hungry. They made their way to the table of food.
As the woman picked up her own piece of salami and touched it delicately to her lips, the son began to feel passion stirring within him. He bit into a plum and moaned as the soft, sticky, sweetly viscous juice filled his mouth, before realizing, with embarrassment, the sounds he was making. The young woman giggled and touched his arm affectionately, then reached up and wiped a drop of juice off his chin. Her hands smelled of vanilla and the son smiled warmly at her touch.
They returned to dancing, this time a bit closer and more intensely than before, which, in a room of such close friends, drew the attention of those around them. The proprietor and his wife, impeccably dressed and with their noses buried in their wine glasses, began to watch from across the room, whispering to one another; noticing this, the son shook his head good-naturedly and danced them toward the edge of the room. They found themselves next to another couple, which the son recognized as his father's business partner and his mistress, both quite inebriated and whose visible affection was beginning to border on scandalous. The woman's eyes flashed passion and fire, then closed softly as the man began to kiss her neck. She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him sharply; they savored one another's taste and drank in more and more, each touch of their lips and tongues a new enunciation of their passion, different than before, delicious and intriguing. The son and young woman stared momentarily; then, both blushing at their voyeurism, moved in another direction.
They found themselves in the shadows between the giant oak barrels, the next moments almost a foregone conclusion. The son gently cradled the back of the woman's head with his hand, and as they leaned toward one another, her scent, an earthy sweetness like that of currants, intoxicated his senses. They kissed, softly at first; her taste and feel warmed him, the sensation velvety and luscious, moving all over his mouth like melted dark chocolate. As the passion began to build, her kisses darted playfully yet aggressively, surprising the son. She left the very tip of his tongue tingling as if he had tasted cayenne, and his whole body began to flush feverishly, his head spinning as he drank in her spice, her scent, her sweet yet powerful essence.
When finally their lips parted, they both looked away momentarily, breathing heavily. But soon their faces were drawn to each other once more and they embraced passionately. A wine glass was knocked to the floor but its sound was muffled by the celebration on the other side of the barrels. They took advantage of their temporary invisibility and slowly sank to the floor, drinking deeply from one another.
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