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Is that some kinky sex thing?

"Would you care for a Mondeause?" He asked, huskily.

I tried to twist my grimace into a smile. Frantically, I asked my inner goddess, "Is that some kinky sex thing I should know about?" She was silent (that bitch, I swear she is constantly on vacation in Bali or Goa or wherever those hyper-flexible, sexually ambiguous figures vacation). 

"Yes?" I finally answered, tentatively.

He pulled out a bottle. I inwardly sighed in relief. No kinky sex. Well, at least for now. 

The wine was inky purple; it could have passed for petite sirah. But there was no mistaking the nose. When I closed my eyes, it was just like that one time I was shuffling through a Chinese street market, pressed between approximately one million tiny old grandmothers, the smell of rotting meat, sweat, and Chinese five spice overwhelming my senses. 

On the palate, it was sour plum and bitter cherry. In fact, when combined together, it was like the best parts of Peking duck. Huh. Turns out I really…

Bigger is better?

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It was big. And smelled like athletic socks that have been left stewing in a gym bag for weeks. Pungent. I bit my lip. Could I really do this? Closing my eyes, I plunged ahead. My life motto is "never say never." Actually, it's "look both ways before you cross the street," but safety isn't sexy.

Bracing myself, I went for it. I swallowed. I shouldn't have. It was like licking a fencepost wearing a home-tanned deerskin shirt. In case you've never had the pleasure: rough, dry, and gamey.

"This isn't quite what I expected," I choked out, trying to find some way to restore moisture to my mouth. I'd been promised silk and satin, not Daniel Boone.

He smirked at me over the rim of his wineglass. "I like it rough," he whispered.

What we drank: 2006 Barbaresco

Scoring: 3 out of 5 handcuffs

With a name like lemberger, you'll never get laid

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I was there for a threesome. When he pulled out the bottle of Lemberger, I thought to myself, "this is a very bad idea."
"It's actually Blaufränkisch," he said, noticing my grimace. 
"Gesundheit," I mumbled, not liking the direction this evening was heading. 
With a smirk, he filled up my glass. The inky purple was still vibrant, young. "I don't know if this wine is even of legal drinking age," I snarked, as I watched him fill the other glasses. 
I stuck my nose in the glass. It smelled like stinky cheese. "No wonder it's called Lemberger," I laughed to myself. Sometimes, I'm my own best company. 
I took a tentative first sip, worried it would taste like the backside of a horse. Instead, it popped and fizzled on my tongue, like a virgin bridegroom on his wedding night. Bright raspberry burst forth across my palate like a flirty smack across my ass. "I might actually like this," I realized. The threesome, not …