There was Tommy, my boyfriend from the University who was as a sunny California white wine. A sweet Chablis bought in a big, green jug to be taken down to the beach and picnicked on. Everyone had a drink of him.

I thought of Andre. Definitely Champagne, light and full of sparkle and very fun at a party-- but nothing you could drink everyday or even face first thing in the morning without quite a lot of orange juice.

I met Joerg in Germany, in the great wine town of Ruedesheim on the river Rhine. That gentle river runs through German wine country like a silk ribbon through the velvety, vine-covered hills. Joerg seemed just like a bottle of the pale Riesling they produce there: light and sweet on the tongue, but with a bitter aftertaste.

We met by arrangement in a café on the river and sat watching the crowds of tourists go by, busloads of Japanese and Americans aplenty. I was there with my camera and laptop writing articles for a wine magazine. Joerg was the son of a famous wine-making family and so he brought me back to the family estate for a wine tasting and picture taking.

After a few days we could be found making love outside in the barns and stables. Joerg took me on the slopes of the sunny vineyard hills, dipping his clever and hungry tongue deep into my flesh while I sucked on him, bringing forth his own salty nectar. But he would not take me in his bedroom on the feather mattress. No stain of our sin touched the family linens, and he kept his liaison with me a secret.

At first, the clandestine nature of our passion thrilled me. How lovely it was to sneak out to the garage and meet Joerg in the black and silver Rolls Royce! He slid his hand up my bare leg, pushing aside my skirt, his manicured fingers probing me until they found the soft wetness of my mound. One hand cupped my heavy breast under my silk shirt and his ardor excited me so much that I was delighted when he ripped the shirt from me, ivory buttons scattering around the interior of the car like, landing like snowflakes.

His own clothes cast off on the floor of the car, he looked like an alabaster statue with his almost hairless skin and near-perfect musculature. He buried his head between my legs on those calves-leather seats, until I was so wet that my legs trembled and I pleaded with him. He flipped me over and entered me from behind, piercing me with his long, thick cock.Grabbing my hips, he thrust and grinded his way into me until we were both groaning and screaming.

Just as I was on the edge, a sports car drove into the roomy garage and Joerg pressed his hand firmly over my mouth. He pumped me harder than ever and fingered my clit too, forcing a wracking orgasm from deep within me. I climaxed just as a tall, beautiful woman stepped out of the car and walked a foot from where Joerg was fucking me in the Rolls. She had straight, blonde hair tied up in a knot and a lovely white face.

As she passed us, Joerg bent over me, and bit the back of my neck, thrusting one last time deep inside me, climaxing so violently that the car shook and he cried out in spite of himself. I could almost smell her expensive perfume as she sailed past us. The blonde woman turned on the door step and listened for a second while Joerg and I lay panting and sweating, his cock still deep inside me. We lay quietly, however, and the stately woman left.

"Who was that?" I asked as he withdrew and gathered his clothes.

"That was my fiancée, Marta," he said with a chuckle in his voice.

"Your fiancée?" My heart sank into my stomach.

She couldn't have been more different from me. I am American, rather short, not statuesque as she was. I have a small waist, heavy breasts and rather round hips and thighs. My brown hair flows down my back in frizzy waves that could never have been tamed into the tight blond coif that Marta wore.

"Yes. It made me so hard that she was there! I almost wish she had seen us. That would have put some color and heat in her face. I was not expecting her until next week."

He eyed me rather coldly. How could I have not noticed that hard, unforgiving line of his jaw and the submerged glint of cruelty and selfishness in his eyes?

"Can we do that again, Emily?" Joerg asked me, pointing to his cock, which had grown hard once again. "Perhaps she will come back and fetch her luggage."

I declined this gallant offer and removed myself from the area of the Rhine. The Riesling had left a bitter taste in my mouth.

My review: "A seductive wine on the first taste, but the high acid content prickles the tip of the tongue. Pale and a little colorless, this wine becomes quite mineral-tasting in the back of the mouth, with an oily texture. Lusciousness is trying to unfold on the finish, but this wine never quite gets there. It was probably opened about 3 to 5 years too early, although there is no telling that even maturation will help it. Disappointing."

Richard: he was a nice Tawny Port just like his beloved Cockburnes. Rich, sweet and buttery, but a little cloying on the tongue. Port goes so well with chocolate! And sometimes he was exactly the best thing after a heavy meal. But too much of him went to my head, and I always felt horrible the next day, as one does when overindulging.

Richard owned a wine shop that specialized in Port in a swanky section of London. I wandered into his shop one day, looking for a rare, vintage port as a gift for a friend. Richard and I hooked up in a pairing as natural as Port and pears. We would eat in a nice restaurant and talk about heady and important things and then stroll along the Thames back to his flat.

Richard had an endearing way of pushing my glasses back up on my nose. When I get excited about something they tend to slip down, and I end up peering over the top of them.

"Darling Emily, you have no idea how appealing you are when your glasses fall down your nose. I adore your sexy librarian look, all that pent up sexual energy smoldering just under your intelligent and proper exterior," Richard used to say.

Sex was always the same with him. He really enjoyed his routine. He very much enjoyed watching me take off my clothes, and I would sometimes catch him peeping at me in the bathroom as I disrobed for my shower, the door opened a crack, his hand on his shaft. He said once that the mere sight of a woman taking off her coat could send him into orbit.

With Richard, I would make a big deal of the disrobing while he lay there virtually panting, and then I would join him in bed. He liked to be on top, Richard did, but he was a sweet and attentive lover. He would always make me come first with his clever hands and his quick mouth before he would settle on top of me and thrust his short, but very thick cock into me.

He was set in his ways, but as I got to know him he revealed a kinky side that was a bit unexpected. One night after we'd had more than our usual amount of the tawny Port, he politely asked me if he could tie to me to the bedposts. It sounded delightful-- exciting, even-- so I consented.

He gently wrapped my wrists in silk cords and tied them to onto the bedposts. Then my ankles, each one, until I was spread-eagle on the bed, legs far apart. My pussy, with its dark, thick bush was wide open. It was a different Richard that appeared then, a wild man! He growled and bit my breasts and nipples. He shoved his face down into my crotch, biting and teasing my lips with his tongue while his fingers probed the depths of me. He made me come again and again with his mouth and fingers well before he mounted me. He fucked me good and hard, coming, for a change, within minutes of entering me.

After that night Richard added the bondage into the pattern. I would strip while he watched, and then he would tie me up and fuck me hard and fast. It was nice for a little while, but he was not interested in any variation of the theme. I soon realized that port was too rich for my blood to have on a daily basis and so we parted ways.

My Review: "This port is blessed with a copper-red-tawny hue. Fragrant, spiced aromas follow through on a nutty, silky smooth, palate with a lingering praline finish that is a bit cloying. Sweet and hedonistic up front, it lacks mellowness and depth and doesn't hold up over the long haul."

I was on vacation in Provence when I met Guy. He was a Canadian by birth, but had come back to France to live and work at the family's winery. They made a simple table wine, a rich, subtle yet very unpretentious vin ordinaire, that supreme beverage so beloved by the French. It was a happy, little wine, deep and earthy tasting, rich and thick in the mouth, with fine length and intensity. Subtle, though well structured which is exactly how Guy himself turned out to be.

I shall never forget the day he brought me down to the family cellars where the huge casks of wine stood in their wooden barrels.

"Most of our wine never actually does get bottled," he explained. We sell it in small casks to the other families and restaurants around here. I think there are only a few hundred cases that go out in bottles each year and never to the shops. They are all bought already by people that have been buying here for years.

I liked his brown hair flopping down over his forehead, and the deep brown eyes that matched the color of his hair exactly. Two spots of color appeared on his cheeks, as I looked him over and smiled. He was as honest and unpretentious as the wine his family made.

Guy filled a chunky ceramic jug from one of the caskets and we sat around an ancient wooden table, in the dark cellar, sipping the wine out of small ceramic cups. To me it tasted like mother's milk, and I told him so.

I took his hand in mine and dipped one of his strong, straight fingers into my cup. Then I lifted his finger to my mouth and sucked the wine from it. Flicking my tongue over the tip of his finger and then sliding my mouth down, I sucked hard. Guy gasped and looked at me wide-eyed. Deep inside his eyes, a flame kindled and warmed me, as well.

We kissed for the first time across that table, the taste of that vin ordinaire still on our lips. It tasted even better from inside his mouth. The table was in our way, so he pulled me across it until I was sitting in his lap. We went very slowly, gazing into each other's eyes as we explored. Soon his hand cupped one of my breasts inside my shirt.

I liked his style. He was in no hurry, and took plenty of time to appreciate every aspect of me, drinking deeply from my lips and tasting his way down my neck to my breasts.

My hands played over his chest, where I found he wore a pendant on a leather thong around his neck. The pendant was in the shape of a silver silhouette of the demi-god Pan playing a flute, grape vines adorning in his hair. A nice reference to the pleasures of wine, I thought and I smiled as my finger traced it.

He lifted me onto the long table so that I was lying on my back, shirt open, breasts tumbling out of my sheer, silk bra. Guy looked me over like a wolf about to devour a lamb, then he slid my trousers and panties off and over my hips. His eyes lingered on my exposed bush.I could feel the pink and wet lips of my pussy begin to unfold, opening under his gaze like a flower turning toward the sun.

He traced his finger around my plumping labia, lingering on my clitoris, and then he bent down to taste it. His tongue licked my lips, circled my clit and then dove deep into me. He drank from me as if I was a bottle of the rarest wine. My toes curled, my back arched, and I felt a hot, tight coiling in my pelvis.

Guy settled into sucking tenderly on my clit: lovely long, slurpy sucks and when two fingers finally stole into me, I came around his finger. It felt as though I was falling off a cliff.

He lifted his face from my sex and, looking deeply in my eyes, said "A deep, saturated red color. The perfume is exotic and amazingly intense jasmine, oriental spice, and black fruit aromas fill the air. Mind-bogglingly intense flavors, honeyed and opulent on the tongue. Other worldly in its power and persistence. This is approachable now, yet will certainly become richer and more honeyed with age. Hmmmm.. The best I have ever had." He licked my pussy juice from his lips and wiped his chin grinning at me.

I stared at him dumbfounded. I'd met my match.

He unzipped his jeans and let them fall to the floor. His cock sprang free, and I reveled in its appearance. It was long and straight, very thick at the base with a graceful curve upward and a nice, purple head. I fell in love with it on first sight.

Guy groaned as I fondled his penis softly with my hands. I bent over, then licked the top of it, tasting his sex for the first time. He was rich, and musky-scented, and I loved the salty taste of the small drop of pre-cum which eased out of him. I finally licked him all over, my fingers exploring his sack. Overcome, I wanted to see how much of him I could get into my mouth. He groaned, moaning as I took him almost all the way in.

He withdrew his cock from my lips, and, parting my legs as I sat there on the table, he guided his cock to my pussy then slowly thrust his way in. I grabbed him by the ass as he stood between my legs, and pulled him in as deeply as I could. I could feel my lips stretch around the base of him. Shivers ran up my back as he slowly withdrew himself-- taking his cock all the way out. I cried out as he left me, wanting more, and swiftly he thrust back in.

The feeling of his silky head entering me thrilled me to the core. I felt another orgasm building in me. I wanted it hard and fast.

As if Guy read my mind, he slammed into me as hard and fast as he could, until I was biting at his shoulder and he was growling into my hair. I came again, from somewhere very deep inside me. I felt him tighten everywhere; all muscles tensed as he climaxed.

We held each other: he panting I trembling on the old, oak table. I knew that I had found my man. And so it proved to be.

Guy was richly textured and complex enough to satisfy me everyday. He was real, down to earth and immensely satisfying. I settled down happily in Provence and was easily incorporated into the family fold.