Tucker ruins a wine tasting
by: Tucker Max
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STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT. FUNNY AS HELL, BUT EXPLICIT.
I went to a wine tasting event recently. I hate those goddamn things; every
wine tasting I've ever been to is filled with troughs of idiotic, pompous hard-ons.
Wine tastings attract the worst kind of semi-intellectual know-it-all; the
person who knows nothing and thinks they know everything.
Somehow my fuck-face friends suckered me into going to this event. So what did I
do? Shut up and deal with a few hours of discomfort in a mature, adult manner?
Stand quietly by myself in the corner until it was all over? Have you read any
of my other stories?
Once I got there, I quickly made myself persona non grata at said event. The
people checking your tickets aren't going to give great responses when you ask,
"Exactly how much wine do we get here?" No one is amused when, after being told
that you can drink as much as you like, you bellow, "SOUNDS LIKE A WAGER TO ME!"
And the people you come to the event with don't get excited when you say things
like, "Put the women and children to bed, I'm gettin' loaded!"
In addition, vintners aren't amused when you tell them you like both colors of
wine, red and white. Nor when you tell them their wine reminds you of a nice
Franzia [wine in a box] you once had. Furthermore, they don't smile when, after
asking the price of their wine, you exclaim, "$90 a bottle?? I pay $6 a gallon
for wine 'round the corner!" And the average sommelier is not amused when, after
trying some of his wine, you comment, "What am I supposed to do with this stuff?
Kill termites with it?" Furthermore, it is rare to find anyone who laughs when
you ask them for directions to the Boon's Farm table.
Similarly, the women who attend these things don't like it when, after making
small talk, you offer to get them a glass and ask "What flavor?" Nor do they
find it amusing when you inform them that when out on date, you usually pick a
wine by waiting for the girl to look away, closing your eyes, and pointing
randomly to the wine list. And they don't even smile when asked if they are up
for doing some "shots of that Pie Not Know Ear" (Pinot Noir).
For me the "wine tasting" event quickly became a "wine drinking" event. I
staggered from booth to booth, greedily pouring anything I could grab down my
throat. People were staring and whispering. Crowds would open wide swaths in my
path wherever I walked. Judging by the general reaction to me, one might have
thought that the town drunk had found a way in, and no one had the heart to ask
him to leave.
In that physical state (some would have referred to me as "drunk"), the only
person in the entire room who found me to be humorous was a stunning black woman
named Stacy, who looked, to me at least, very similar to Vanessa Williams. Of
course, I was blitzed, and had earlier mistaken a topiary for Calista Flockhardt,
but the important thing to remember is at that moment in time, I thought she was
I met her when I ambled over to where she was standing, in front of a booth
serving a white zinfandel, and wondered aloud if this wine wasn't supposed to be
over in the "Assorted Hooch section" of the event. She giggled, and I asked her
if she wanted a straw for her "fancy looking pink juice," further adding that
the mark of a great wine is the degree of fruitiness in the nose. She thought I
was hilarious. Who would've thought?
We started talking, and somehow the topic of my employment came up. I wouldn't
tell her what I did (I didn't want to ruin the mood, which a truthful answer,
"Not a fucking thing," would have done), and she offered to hire me as her
"House Boy." I told her I would work pro bono for her, as long as I could watch
her undress. She told me that she was a lesbian, and that her girlfriend would
Tucker "Well, Stacy, there's a quick way to catch my interest."
This made her laugh even more. I asked if her girlfriend was as attractive as
her. Stacy told me she was the "femme" in the relationship, and that I wouldn't
find her live-in girlfriend nearly as alluring. She even went so far as to say
that her mate vaguely resembled Pete Rose. I asked if her girlfriend was a
switch-hitter like Pete, and the conversation just went downhill from there (her
girlfriend was not at this event, thankfully).
I had endless questions for her--I mean honestly, can you imagine this couple?
Being a little tipsy herself, Stacy answered all of them, some with astonishing
Tucker "Why'd you go lesbian to begin with?"
Stacey "I don't know. It was kind of an accident/experiment at first, but then I
realized I liked it."
Tucker "What's with the butch/femme thing?"
Stacey "Hot girls are too much maintenance, and butch girls are better in bed."
Tucker "So that means you're high maintenance and you suck in bed?"
Stacey "Hehehehhehe. You are funny."
Tucker "You should see me naked."
Tucker "Who does the housework?"
Stacey "We allegedly split, but she does most of it. I work more than her."
Tucker "Could your girlfriend beat me up?
Stacey "Maybe. She's built."
Tucker "Do you two ever watch porn to get in the mood? And if so, what kind?"
Stacey "No, we really don't watch much porn. Sometimes Red Shoe Diaries, but
usually only if we're high."
Tucker "When you and your girlfriend hook-up, is it really like the lesbian
hook-ups portrayed in most porn movies? I mean, if I want to get a mental
picture of you and your girlfriend, could I use lesbian porn as a template?"
Stacey "Yeah, I guess. I haven't seen a lot of lesbian porn, but I can't imagine
it's much different. Maybe different music. She likes the Indigo Girls a lot."
Tucker "Do you two use a dildo?"
Stacey "Of course. How else am I supposed to get dick?"
Tucker "Do you want me to hit that softball? Well, I guess your girlfriend is
probably a better softball player than me."
Stacey "She did play in college."
Tucker "Of course she did. So what is the dildo situation, i.e., who is the
fucker and who is the fuckee?"
Stacey "It all depends on our mood, but normally I'm the one getting fucked."
Tucker "Strap-on or hand-held?
Tucker "Different colors and types? Different sizes and textures?"
Stacey "Yeah, I have a lot. My favorite is the one made of Pyrex."
Tucker "Anal penetration?
Stacey "Of course, but only with the smaller ones. And I need to be drunk."
Tucker "Alright, but here is the big question, at least for me: Is your
girlfriend with the dildo better than a guy with a penis?
Stacey "Oh yes, definitely. Dildos are the shit. The dildo lasts forever, does
exactly what it's told, can change sizes, is disease free, won't get me
pregnant, and my girlfriend's only concern is making sure I come. Can you show
me a penis that does all that?"
Tucker "I now have a new a goal in life."
Tucker "Do you and your girlfriend ever include guys?"
Stacey "No. She's not the 'include a guy' type."
Tucker "What type is she?"
Stacey "More of the 'shot and a beer after the game' type."
Tucker "So you're dating a guy without a penis?"
Stacey "Sometimes I feel that way."
Tucker "Do you date the ‘include a guy’ type?"
Stacey "I have before."
Tucker "So, is this lesbian thing permanent, or are you just a lesbian tourist?"
Stacey "I don't know. Maybe. I just kind of go with what feels right."
Tucker "You want to hook up with me, don't you?"
Stacey "You have to start at Cabana Boy, and work up from there."
Honestly, I don't think I've ever been more attracted to a woman than I was to
Stacy at that point. I'm not exactly sure why. It might have been her rare
synergistic combination of startling physical beauty and sagacious wit. Perhaps
it was because she had just discussed anal sex and lesbian threesomes with me.
Maybe it was the 3 gallons of wine I had in my system. Probably a strange
combination of all of the above.
In one of the greatest coups of my life, Stacy gave me her number (her cell
phone, not her home phone), and told me to call her, that she thought I was
hilarious and would love to hang out with me.
And in perhaps one of the biggest disappointments of my life, at some point
later that night, I lost Stacy's number.
I couldn't leave my apartment for like three days after I realized what I had
done; I was that upset. Stacy, if you ever read this, or if any readers know a
super hot black lesbian from Chicago named Stacey, please, PLEASE email me. I
will do anything, "House Boy" duties included.
Anyway, the secondary highlight of the evening (other than one of the people we
shared a ride with asking a cabbie "where can we find some big women, like 260
or so?") came at the late-night diner. I was drunk and decided to go back out to
give this homeless guitar player a buck (don't ask me why; it was a moment of
weakness). Apparently as I opened my wallet, my driver's license and a credit
card fell out, and I didn't notice.
So I get back, and the two people I'm with [who had picked up my credit card and
license, but didn't tell me] are like: "You know Tucker, there's a lot of
pickpockets that are homeless, you should make sure you have your wallet." I
checked and I did. "Well what about your credit cards?" I noticed I was missing
the two cards.
I kicked my chair, shouted "I'm going to KILL that homeless motherfucker!" and
stormed out the door.
They caught me and showed me my stuff approximately 3 seconds before I beat the
living crap out of a helpless street musician.
Maybe it's time to cut back on the drinking.
To get in touch with Tucker, visit TuckerMax.com!
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