I drank some wine, it was what Penny taught me to do when I was sad. Well, was I sad, exactly? Maybe it was more like frustrated. It was Sheldon. I wanted something more from him, some intimacy, some reciprocation. It was the third Thursday of the month and that meant date night. Would it be like it usually was? A dinner out at one of his approved restaurants, stifled talk about his work and mine while I craved to see adoration in his large blue eyes? What did I see? Mild like, passive putting up with the stipulations of the relationship agreement?

I used to be similar to him, keeping relationships and intimacy at arm's length. But now I wanted more and he apparently did not. What could I do to make him see that I had certain needs and desires that were not being satisfied? Was there anything I could do? I drank more wine.

I was a neurobiologist and I understood exactly what the alcohol was doing to my brain. It was lowering inhibitions, it was making me feel more awake but this was a false feeling, because it was depressing various functions, and if too much was drank too fast the essential functions of breathing and heart beat would be suppressed and death would result. But human beings have always like to change the state of their mentation. Alcohol was the social lubricant, and I was in need of this because sober I tended to be uptight and overly critical of my words and actions and the way I was perceived, and it didn't help that socially I was so stunted. Penny was a brilliant social being, laughing her little laugh like bubbles floating up to the top of a glass. She knew when to lean into you and when to give you a critical look, she knew what to do in all moments and I envied her. I envied her effortless beauty and her vivacious personality, and of all people I wished that I could be Penny for just one carefree moment.

I was not Penny. I was Amy, with my sharp nose and mousy brown hair parted in the exact center. I wore layers of clothing because it protected me. I spoke in a monotone, trying to fit my vast scientific knowledge into the casual conversation of the everyday and usually failing miserably. But this accounted for why I liked Sheldon. He could understand everything I said, and he didn't care that the rhythm wasn't quite right. Neither was his.

I heard the knocks on the door and let them play out, despite wanting to break him of this OCD habit of his. Penny had told me that some things you can't change about people, and these idiosyncrasies that Sheldon had fell into that category. Penny was wrong, of course. There were many techniques available for changing behavior.

I opened the door and was again pleased by his beauty. Sheldon was tall and slender, his eyes large and pale blue, his skin pale and perfect. I wanted to ravage him. Why didn't he want to ravage me?

"Hello, Sheldon," I said, stepping aside to let him enter. He nodded formally at me and echoed my greeting as he came inside the apartment.

The restaurant was a bus ride away, and I listened to him talk about work as we travelled over the bumpy roads, or maybe the shocks on the bus were old and in need of being replaced. Every bump jostled me and I could feel the slight electricity when I was forced by lack of decent shocks to lean violently into him.

It was a decent restaurant that featured American fare, and I got an undercooked steak while Sheldon got a crispy chicken pot pie. He drank coke with lime and I had more wine. Added to the wine I had drunk at home it was certainly making an impact. I stared at his lips as he talked, red and supple, and I saw his slightly off center teeth, and I wanted to bite his lips and run my tongue over his teeth. I blinked, feeling the desire much closer to the surface due to the alcohol that was racing up through my bloodstream to lodge itself firmly into my neurons. It wasn't the alcohol itself, of course, but the toxins that alcohol produced in the body. That was why it was called being intoxicated.

"Will you come back to my apartment? I made dessert and we can have coffee," I said, remembering as I said it that he didn't drink coffee, and I knew I would hear it again.

"I don't drink coffee," he said, "but I'll come over for dessert,"

The bus ride back was just as bumpy, and when I was forced to lean into him I stayed next to him for longer, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath his clothes. I wanted to put my hand on the long lean muscle of his thigh, but somehow I didn't dare. What is it that they say about alcohol? Liquid courage? And of course there is in vino veritas. In wine there is truth. Strip away the inhibitions of a person and what are you left with? Their true Id personality? It is all persona and shadow.

I was feeling the wine now, oh boy. I had no inhibitions left. In any normal relationship wanting to kiss your boyfriend wouldn't seem so scandalous, but this was Sheldon. Sheldon could barely tolerate being touched. Did that apply to me, his girlfriend? Was it still a relationship of the mind? But this mind of mine resided in a body that was beginning to crave something more than words and ideas.

Walking up to my apartment I was hyperaware of him. I could smell his light cologne and his anti-bacterial soap and the detergent on his clothes. I could see the way the light reflected off of his irises. I could see the delicate blue veins in his hands.

I went to the fridge to retrieve the dessert. He sat on the couch, having already shrugged out of his jacket. I brought over the plates with the pie and the whip cream, although the wine and the meal had filled me up and I wasn't hungry for this food. I pushed my plate to the side and watched him eat.

He was done and shifting his weight in that way that I knew meant he was ready to go. I wanted something from him tonight, and the wine had eroded my reason. Couldn't I try for just a little bit more?

I went over to him, not knowing what to do or how to initiate anything. Why did this have to be so hard? Despite the wine and the false warmth of the courage it provided there was nothing I could do. I watched him put his jacket on and stand up, ready to go.