After a series of heartbreaking losses, including much of my hearing, I felt totally disconnected from my body. Then I went out to eat.
waitress crawls along the massive wooden table, fishnets and impossibly short, black skirt moving rhythmically as she inches toward me. In her hand is a glass of cool, cloudy liquid, which she presses against my neck. I feel the soft down of my neck hairs rise and my skin prickle from the cold glass. She instructs me to smell the liquid, which is sharp and citrusy and pops in my nose. From here, she tilts my head back and presses the glass to my lips. The sweet, acidic tang of the drink rushes over my tongue and I taste lemon and ginger and something crisp, possibly apple. She has barely touched me, and yet, as each of my senses is brought glaringly—intimately—to attention, it feels as if this stranger and I have had sex. A kind of sex, at least.
- Vice
