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The Scent of a Woman


Here I am. Sat sitting in my lonely writer's garret. A trigger thought. Involuntary.

Overthinking this problem. Now all pervading. I have to run with it, to the bittersweet end. Or perhaps a new chapter will reveal itself?

This nudge has woken something deep within me. Temptations today. To change or not to change my signature fragrance?

I've stalked this new potential for weeks, resisting its heady tones and notes. A first encounter during a much-needed back massage. The masseuse was wearing this fragrance. It has haunted me ever since.

Now gentlemen, before some of you get the wrong, base idea. It wasn't the lady wearing the scent that did it for me, whilst lying on the couch in a darkened room. It was definitely the scent. And I don't mean her scent. It was not that kind of treatment. It was her perfume, new to me. Goodness how I want it.

Yet there I was today sampling, rejecting, revisiting. In a beautiful perfumery, new to me. Apparently, I have been under a rock to have missed this experience. I used the same methodology with these new perfumes as I do on here. Mused I with an ironic raised eyebrow.

And then I found her. Such an evocative smell. Pomegranate noir.

We ladies do have our signature fragrances. There is the one that makes me feel alive. The staple that people say is very me. One that is just for me on 750TC luxury. Plus, the cheeky one that isn't really me but I wish it were. Then there is the secret weapon. A veritable olfactory orgasm.

Funny how the sense of smell can take us back or wake us up to something new. It's a little like the song you hear on the radio, forgotten but stored away. You know all the words, dragged out of your memory to sing along and reminisce. Who do you think about when that happens, I wonder? Do you send them a provocative message?

I do. Well. The one or two who still make me tighten involuntarily at the mere thought. And the one who wasn't allowed to speak during our afternoons together. I made enough noise for two. A cheeky KIK, a WhatsApp nudge. I never expect a response. In fact, I'd rather he didn't. Just knowing there is a reaction back at the ranch. That's really enough for me. An unexpected trouser twitch to make me giggle.

Another fragrance nudge? The aftershave I smelled on Friday over breakfast. Heady diffusion over the porridge. He will never know what that did to me. Just drinking him in. No touching. A shy smile. An aromatic, musky smell. A contained reaction, trying hard not to move in closer to smell how good he made me feel. Willing him to sit a little closer so I could just be. Shameless hussy.

So, the secret weapon?

Aftershave. Men's fragrance. Eau de parfum strength. Never, never, never eau de toilette. You deserve the full oomph, surely? Ms Hrrera's finest.

I sometimes wear this pleasure treasure at networking events, or as I call them not working events.

The air 'kiss' to greet a long-lost acquaintance. Then, bingo. Discombobulation. Behind the eyes olfactory confusion. I catch a glimpse in the recipient's physog. It really is a sexy, animal instinct-inducing smell. Enough whiff of Ombre to tickle the nasal passages. Hell, I'd f**k myself wearing that.

A little souvenir from a long ago almost forgotten week in Spain. He wore it. And he wore it with such sexual aplomb that I needed a little take away. I wear it very, very occasionally. A now obsolete fragrance that has such hidden dominance. I search fruitlessly online and on Catalonian sojourns, hopeful that it will re-appear.

This aromatic musk can release the inner bi-curious in some. In others, they run a mile discombobulated by the confusing message. The visual says curvaceous confident woman rocking red lip stain, the olfactory says dominant... and oh no. I'm being aroused by a masculine kick.

Mind you, my very wicked twin has suggested they may have TS thought and I ought not to wear it at work!

Still with some very pedestrian events in Manchester and the south coast on the horizon, I need a little divertissement from the receptions filled with stuffed shirts, public school boy fantasies, cheap plonk and dead things on toast!

No, darling. I won't dress up as Matron for you. But I will confuse your erection.

You see, my scent may be your scent for all the wrong reasons.

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