I lift up the glass in my hand and swirl the luscious red liquid around. I take a sip. My favourite: a Rioja Tempranillo. It has delicious hints of vanilla that make it taste more like eating a sensual desert than an alcoholic beverage. Mmmm, I feel good. I am in my prime, I can feel it; still young enough to be attractive, yet old enough to carry an earned confidence. I am charming; the words flow from my mouth, as ripe as the grapes in my wine. I am surrounded by people who love and respect me.
I have a captive audience of willing admirers, who hang on my every word. No subject is too deep for me: religion, philosophy, theology, ethics. I am an equal in mind to the people in the group forty years my senior and would you believe that I am educating them? I talk with such candour, my body poised, my cheeks flushed with life. I am laughing and cavorting with the very air that surrounds me I have such energy.
That handsome man with the accent and the dark hair is giving me a look that should have a certification. My, he is an attractive man: tall, dark skinned with luxuriously muscular arms. I am sure he is simply entranced by me, I can tell by the smile on his face. I will just have another glass of wine and sit here seductively until he makes a move. Have I finished that wine already? Where is the other bottle? I think I will just go over and speak to him myself, I have the balls for it and he has been looking at me all night.
Oh god, my head is pounding. Water, I need water. Surely there will be a glass there beside my bed. Oh. What is that? Oh god, I’ve been sick. I don’t even remember getting home. The last thing I remember is going over to that French guy. Something is not right. I can’t remember what I said to him. Oh god, I have that awful foul feeling in my stomach, how did I get home?