It’s not something I’m usually conscious of:

His scent…

always subtly whispering…having secret conversations with my own…mingling to create the smell of us.

Of course, I was highly aware of it early on…not so much that it was there…or that it was good. The right scents are often like that. So right…possibly so like our own…so natural, we almost miss them at first.

It is always easy to tell when someone’s scent is wrong. When the chemistry is off.

But when it’s right?

Up close, His breath against my lips, under my nose…

inhaling the heat in the crease of His neck…

the softness of His chest hair…

the deep musk of His groin…

His sweat.

That’s when it became obvious for me. When I knew that He was…

it.

That subtle thing that wasn’t so noticeable at first, became…

intoxicating:

A siren’s song inhaled on the breeze between us….a silent incantation…an invitation.

And sometimes…a demand for attention…so heavy it entered my nose and coated my tongue in honeyed longing.

It cannot simply be demoted to chemistry. 

There is something downright religious that happens when two people smell their way into each other’s company, gravitating toward an almost imperceptible pull– emanating from their pores, writing invisible love letters in the air:

Find me.

I’m waiting.

Breathe in…

and you will hear

my soul.

And when the scents merge…when two bodies blend their sweat and cum and heat…filling the room…

that

is when the drug hits your core and the sweet addiction sets in.

 

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