That's What I Savor

"What would you like to drink?" he asked her, as he stood in front of the liquor cabinet.

"What do they have here?"

"Pretty much a full bar, martinis, margaritas, there might be some wine, and then there's some beer..." As he offered the choices, she opened the refrigerator and reached into an open 12-pack of cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. She pulled the silver, red, white and blue can out of the icebox and set it on the kitchen counter. The cold can of Pabst took on a Middle Earth mist, a blurry whitish hue when removed from the refrigerator. She popped open the can, kerr-ACK, and lifted it to her mouth.

She left the kitchen, sat down, and reclined across half a couch, leaning into the sofa's right arm. Her tight, white-ribbed tanktop clinged to her supple upper body. Her long, slender arms laid across her stomach, with her right hand holding the perspiring Blue Ribbon in the inside of her left elbow. "This is the original Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer," says the can, "Nature's choicest products provide its prized flavor." The claim could equally apply to the girl with the dark, short-cropped hair consuming the 12 ounces of golden goodness. "Selected as America's Best in 1893." Not bad at all for a girl her age.

She again raised her arm, the thin upper arm flexing as her delicate wrist escorted the finest hops and grains down her throat. Qwup, qwup, ahh. She looked to her right, away from the room, and her green eyes glistened in the satisfaction of the red-sashed, hand-held barrel of honey-touched lager. She let out a soft sigh. She placed the can on her bare clavicle, resting the aluminum cylinder just below the bottom of a simple, white rock necklace. She took another drink of her PBR. She sat up some, curling her legs under her, and rested the can on the blue jeans covering her right knee.

Oh beautiful, lovely girl. Ye of hopsy hotness, malted magnificence. You sweet, effervescent soulful wonder. Simple, sexy, award-winning source of unspeakable pleasure. Satisfy this unquenchable thirst!