As per normal all characters are over eighteen. This is based on a recent holiday to Boston. I've tried to be as accurate as possible with the area where I stayed. The holiday is true, the cider house is real but nobody got sick from clam chowder and all of the bar staff were very professional.
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I could feel the icy bite of the Atlantic wind as it blew across the harbour. I was on a well deserved holiday to Boston. It was somewhere I'd always fancied visiting, during a wine filled evening a friend and myself had decided to book a last minute break during thanksgiving week. The city was everything I had thought it would be, historic, friendly and so very pretty. The stunning brownstone architecture and old historic buildings that mixed in with the rich fall colours were just stunning.
The day before we had taken the short train ride to Salem, as a slightly weird teenager I had developed a strong interest in the occult and the macabre, an obsession with the witch trials had ensued, so a trip to Salem had seemed obligatory. My friend had eaten some dodgy clam chowder and ended up spending the night and half the next day with her head down the toilet. So after being stuck in a vomit smelling hotel room for twelve hours, I found myself wandering the local neighbourhood for some fresh air and something to do while she slept it off.
Our hotel was located near Logan airport in east Boston, just overlooking the harbour with views across to downtown Boston. I couldn't be bothered to hop in a water taxi to cross the harbour so just stuck to strolling around the local area. I walked aimlessly enjoying the cold fresh sea air and wind. I wandered through a boat yard and I was just drawing level with a warehouse type building as a door opened and a group of people came out. The smell of cider and beer hit me at the same time as the sound of laughter and chattering people enjoying themselves. I saw a sign that said it was a cider house so I decided to check it out.
I walked in and I was stunned that a place so big could be so warm and inviting, I took a stool at the bar and was confronted by a shocking variety of barrels lined up in front of me. I asked the bar tender what he could recommend and he hooked me up with a seasonal winter brew. The sweet spicy flavours warmed my soul as much as my stomach as we chatted. It made a pleasant change from the Sam Adams lager I'd been drinking all week.
He asked what I was doing in Boston as he'd recognised my english accent. I explained I was on holiday and told him about my friends encounter with the "chowder of doom" we both laughed over the situation and he promptly poured me a refill on the house to help fix my holiday. He was an incredibly attractive guy I had already decided I liked his easy smile, blue eyes and wild curly hair with a full beard. But the more I drank the more I noticed the thick arms and chest, toned and muscled from the lifting of barrels, his thick Bostonian accent was sending my frustrated hormones into overdrive too.
I quickly found myself flirting with him as he simultaneously moved around the bar serving customers and keeping the conversation flowing. A few times his fingers brushed mine as he passed me a fresh drink and our eyes met. I could feel myself getting wetter with every hot stare. I noticed his gaze kept drifting down towards my chest, I glanced down and spotted that my now very stiff excited nipples were clearly showing through the bruins jersey I'd hastily thrown on earlier. He met my raised eyebrow with a guilty grin.
