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ConSensual
ConSensual

Episode 8 · 2 years ago

Sweeter than a Chocolate Stout

ABOUT THIS EPISODE

A trip to a Brooklyn brewery quickly becomes a trip back to Soho, where things heat up between our favorite old flames.

It's not until we've been in the Uber for twenty minutes that I realize how bold this move is. Like somewhere between this is the best idea of ever had, bold and she'll never speak to me again. Bold, but no turning back now, I guess. She tucks her bronze waves behind her ears and stares out the window, squinting to read the street signs as we zoomed down a narrow one way street. So want to tell me where we're going? All sense of adventure has drained from her voice, her dough Brown eyes wide and uneasy. I take a peek at my screen and see where. Only two minutes away. Finally, that would ruin the surprise. My head bumps against the headrest as the car hits a pothole. Damn, you'd think the greatest city in the world would at least fix its roads. Ingrid Leans...

...forward. You know, Terry, you could tell me where we're going, and then you and I could both accuse this cowboy of kidnapping us. The two of them laugh, but all I can manage is a fake chuckle. Seriously, Ingrid, if you could just trust me for once in your life, if you would have told me where we were going, then maybe I could have provided an alternative that wouldn't have required us to cross any bridges. Might do you some good to get out of your own borrow for once. Ingrid's eyebrows shoot straight up to her hairline, her mouth forming into a near perfect upside down. You look, who's been reading up on New York Lingo? You're not the only person from our town with the ability to change, you know. Our Eyes Lock and her expression softens from surprise to curiosity, just in time for us to arrive at our location. The car stops and the UBER DRIVER TURNS AND ASKS YOU'RE okay? Without looking away from Ingrid, I reply here's perfect. The two of US thank the driver and climb out...

...of the car, the Summer Sun Somehow Hotter and less forgiving on the other side of the East River. We stand in front of the huge brick building, a handful of slightly grimy looking people in berets leaning against the wall smoking cigarettes. Ingrid takes a quick look around. So we are in Williamsburg. I scan the building for an entrance. Why? Just follow me. I lead her around the side of the building where we find a large industrial door and a small line of people waiting to get in. We get in a line which moves quickly and the bouncer checks our IDs. As we walk through the door, we are immediately greeted by the sight of three giant ferment or tanks. Oh God, you took me to a brewery, didn't you? Taking a deep breath in, I survey the scene around me and I'll be honest, it's even better than I imagine you the tanks, the equipment,...

...the sweet smell of yeast, fermenting word, every part of it makes me feel calm and elated at the exact same time. I don't trust myself in the merge section, so I take Ingrid's hand in mine and lead her over to the crowded bar to check the menu and see what they've got on tap. She clears her throat and I realize I've been so caught up in the thrill of being here that I haven't said a word since we walked in. I take back my hand, running it over the nape of my neck. Sorry, guess you could say I'm a little starstruck to be here, starstruck by this place. Her voice is incredulous as she peers around at the long wooden tables, the crates decorating the walls, but I don't even care. Nothing she can say can ruin this moment for me. Yeah, they're behemoths in the industry. I've read so much about them I can't believe I'm actually here right now. She nods slowly, crossing her arms. As we move forward in line. I scan the beer list desperately, trying to decide what...

I want to taste first. What are you thinking? The description of their latest IPA catches my eye. Meanwhile, Ingrid shifts from one foot to the other that I need a wine list. I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at her like she just grew horns and a tail. Please tell me you're not one of those girls who doesn't drink beer. Please tell me you're not one of those guys who shames women for Not Liking Piss Water and grid. I press my hands to my temples. But you're from Indiana. How the hell do we do you wrong in all kinds of ways? Her eyes are wide, but I cut her off before she can do any more damage. No, no, no, fucking wait, man, we're fixing this. We're fixing this today, when it's our turn to order. I get us two flights, sampling everything this place has to offer. We carefully walk our trays to an open spot at one of the long tables and gingerly set them down before sitting across from each other. Ingrid stairs to the different shades...

...of amber before her. You can't expect me to drink all of this. No, but I'm asking you to at least try each one. I take the lightest colored one in my hand, give it a quick swirl and take a sip. Light weedy goes down easy, the perfect introduction to beer. I reach out to hand it to her, but Ingrid shakes her head. HMM, I'm not drinking that Shit. Come on, please just try it. She sighs and takes the glass for me, downing it all in one gulp. Her nose crinkles and she squeezes her eyes shut, coughing a bit once the liquid goes down. That was not great. Okay, okay, not a fan of the Wheat Ale. You want to try something a little fruitier? We go through the flights drink by drink, and while it would be a stretch to call Ingrid a beer lover, by the end of it. I think I did a decent job of opening her eyes to what's out...

...there, or at the very least she's tipsy enough that after a while she doesn't really mind the bitter bite of the hoppier options. We finished the last beer in the flights. Her eyelids droop ever so slightly. So what is this? The big shiny dream that made you finally pack up and leave that shit hole we grew up in? She spins her fingers and circles pointed at the ceiling and easy smile on her lips. Yeah, Kinda. I take a deep breath, looking around. If I could be half as successful as this place, I'd be fucking set. And what makes you think you have something different to offer? It's an honest question and coming from anyone else it would sting, but coming from Ingrid it just feels important. I pause, looking down at my hands and decide to give her an honest, important answer. You know, you may not be the biggest fan of where we come from, but I had a different experience with it. In College, things...

...weren't going so well between my parents and my dad walked out on us for a little while. Oh my God, Noah, I had no idea. I'm so sorry. No, it's fine. We weren't super open about it, but you know how that town is. Everyone found out eventually, but instead of shutting us out or treating us like we were weird, everyone was just so nice, making us dinners, chipping in to help keep the lights on and never asking for anything in return. They came together for us in a real way, and it's not something that I've ever taken for granted. Is your mom okay? Yeah, she pulled through. The divorce was official a few years ago, but they've sort of made amends. Things aren't hostile between us and my dad, but they're different now. I pause and glance up at her, unsure of whether I've shared too much, but she's watching...

...me intently, her eyes insisting that I go on anyway. I've always wanted to find some way to give back, but I wasn't sure what I had to offer. And then it hit me. I've always been pretty okay at brewing, and Lord knows those people like to drink, you can say that again. And I figure I'll keep everything local, all my weed, all my hops, you know, really invest in the small local businesses around me. If we get to a place where we can start distributing statewide. Then maybe we can even get people to start coming in from other places, make our little Shit town a tourist destination. Ingrid stares at me and shakes her head, a small smile slowly forming across her lips. Well, shit, Noah, I didn't know this brewery thing ran that deep. I mean, who the fuck knows if anything will even come of it. Don't say that. I think it's a great idea and you'd be an idiot not to at...

...least try. She reaches out and places her hand over mine on top of the table. My whole body tenses at her touch, my heart rate instantly picking up pace. Without even thinking, I leaned forward, my eyes trained on her lips. She meets me halfway in. Her Lips are even softer against mine than I remember when we part. I'm in a daze, but Ingrid's eyes are laser focused on me. On my mouth. Want to get out of here. I can call an Uber. You had to my place and like minds nicer. She cuts me off, already standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. But you're all the way back in the city. I trail behind her as she walks at a shocking pace out of the building. Once are outside, she turns so abruptly our faces are suddenly less than the foot apart. No one, trust me, it'll be worth it. We can't keep our hands off each other the entire Uber ride to her apartment, and I swear I've never cursed New York traffic more than in that thirty...

...minute drive. It's torture, being so close to having what you want but not quite being able to do it, not if you don't want to be arrested for a public indecency, that is. Once at her building, we practically sprint to the elevator, immediately resuming our breathless, heated makeout. Taking her head in both my hands, I crushed my mouth into hers and back her up against the wall, the fabric around my zipper beginning to strain. Is this okay? I ask the question while moving my lips to the velvet skin between her ear and shoulder. Her hands slide over my back, pressing her hips into mine. We stumble out of the elevator and down the hall to her door. She quickly unlocks the door and clambers through it, grabbing my hand and leading me to her room. I take quick stock of her place on the short walk through it. Sleek, modern furniture, lots of natural light. It would almost look sterile if it weren't for the Plethora of...

...house plants on virtually every surface. Somehow this feels perfectly ingrid. When we get to her room, she turns to me. Give me one second. I nod and she slips into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. I hear the Faucet turn on. As I look around the room, which is admittedly more feminine than I was expecting, I'm surprised by the number of pictures hanging on her walls. Most of the people in them I don't recognize, save for a couple of familiar faces from high school and her parents, who I still see every once in a while at football games and state fairs. I'm looking at a holiday photo of Ingrid and her parents and matching knit sweaters when the bathroom door opens and I hear her footsteps behind me. Ingrid, how are your but before I can finish my question, I turned to find her inches away from me, her eyelids heavy and inviting. She loops her arms around my neck, as her lips meet mine again, her tongue sliding into my mouth. Our bodies meat causing a violent twitch between my thighs,...

...the kind ingrid definitely notices. Should I? She leans back, her finger tips inching under the Hem of my shirt. I nod and she pulls it over my shoulders. She does the same with her cream silky top, gently tugging it loose from the waistband of her jeans. We continue and dressing until we're down to her underwear, chests heaving all the blood in my body pumping straight between my legs. Staring at her now, I realize just how much I've wanted this, how good and right it feels that we should be together now. Placing one hand on her cheek, I pull her to me and kiss her, softer and slower than before, savoring the feeling of her plush lips against mine, the heavy floral scent of her shampoo. She guides me to the edge of her bed and we fall onto it, our bodies curling together. I look down at her panties. Can I help you out...

...of those? Only if I can return the favor. Her Skin is soft and supple beneath my fingertips as I slide the lavender fabric over her hips and down her legs, tossing them into the corner. My skin lights up where her fingertips touched me, brushing my hips as she stretches, the elastic grazing my thighs as she pulls the briefs down. My Cock Springs Free, straining for her, my mind spinning with all the images of what I want to do to her. But none of that matters if she's not into it too. Ingrid, we don't have to have sex. I pull back a little to look her in the eye. I know we don't have to go any further. I know. I just want to make sure. Noah, she wraps an arm around my waist and pulls herself closer to me. I want you to fuck me. You don't have to tell me twice ten week.

Turnabout is written by Amelia J rose, produced by consensual creating steamy feminist first romance for riot girls. Special thanks to baby money and the down payments for the use of our theme song. Oh Boy, head sound engineer, John McNeil, mixing by Spiral Light, creative mastering by aiding Guavoora. Follow us at consensual pod on instagram and follow at the Noah Bloom and at the Ingrid Wheeler to watch this love story play out on your instagram feed. This episode was performed by Alison Grichau and Travis Donohue. Tune in next week to hear Ingrid decide. I don't care how good the sex is. No Man is worth getting a fucking UTI.

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