Sheena was teasing the tense Henry.   It was time to terminate.  The first time she tried this tactic she nearly tossed.  Now she teased a beating just to watch the guys’ expression change.  She smiled as Henry unclenched.  Sheena wasn’t alone.  Women were puzzled by men.  Give men what they want and they leave in triumph.  Withhold it and they stay in hope.  She didn’t know why this worked but it did.

“Can I offer you a drink?  Wine?” asked Sheena.  Cut and scene.

“Yes, do you have Pinot Noir?” asked Henry.  I knew she was kidding.  He checked his trousers, first back then front.

“No, I don’t drink red wine, it turns my lips blue”.

Is that how you do it?

“In fact, I don’t drink any grape wine.  It weakens my inhibitions…”.

Good to know…that she knows of such things.

“But I do have other types of wine.  Fruit?”.

She spoke a drop of potion.  She gestured a motion of entrance.  She excited his thoughts, accelerating them. He recollected walking into the room.  He remembered his senses racing as she teased him.  Now, he conscious give in to abandon.

Abruptly, Henry snapped back as Sheena pulled a short sturdy stool toward her tall, lean fruitful rack of wine.  She perused the necks. She twisted them with purpose. He listened to the lilt of her indecipherable comments.   He wasn’t sure if her whispers were intended for his ears or for his imagination.  Sheena continued her murmuring, her mouth sometimes moving close in, her lips changing color as the ambient light diffused upon them.  Is the Princess from Pandora is revealing herself unknowingly?

Abruptly, Sheena spoke, “I have a nice raspberry.  You surely won’t be feeling any pain…after a couple of pours”.

So are you offering to beat me again?

“I have a nice hibiscus. It helps to regulate body temperature”.

At this point in time, I seriously doubt that.

“I have a nice prickly pear”.

Indeed!

Henry’s stunned silence bade acceptance. Sheena grabbed the “Cactus”.  Surprised by its color.  The rich fluorescent purple spirits evoked romance and nostalgia.  She poured, the flow more like nectar than wine, the long stem exquisite like this woman, the Crystal clarity and veiled motives contrasted as enchantment always presents.

Sheena handed Henry his.  She picked up the prickly pear cork and put it somewhere deftly behind her, this bottle’s destiny predetermined.  Perhaps he wished his were as obvious.

As Sheena advanced, Henry noticed the cork had been placed in an extra large, “giant”, wine glass replica, 750 milliliters, filled with 751 milliliters of normal sized wine-corks.  She had it placed it atop this monument to merriment.  Knowing she was being watched, she had straightened, and turned, like a ballerina, ready to begin her next part, and approached Henry with her stemware held delicately between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

“Enjoy” said Sheena, sitting her glass on the table beside his, then reaching across to pinch him.

“What was that?” said Henry, sipping and squirming.

“I wanted to see if you were still breathing”.

Indeed.