When she asked him "What are you wearing?"
He insisted"Deodorant."
She scoffed and chalked it up to him being secretive about his scent. She'd met men in the past who didn't want to disclose their scents for fear of them being found everywhere.
One day after they'd fuxked like teenagers on his sectional couch, smashed a lamp and destroyed his living room, she rifled through the assorted clothes piles while he went excused himself to clean up.
She found the remnants of her panties, torn away at the crotch, and chuckled as she tossed them into the waste basket. Fortunately, they weren't expensive.
As she flung the shredded skivvies, a waft of her latest nasal narcotic.
She picked up the heather grey burn-out tee that had clung to his musculature almost like paint when he wore it, making her pant over their alfresco margaritas earlier. The tee shirt fit him so well, she cursed herself for wearing panties that day else their frolicking would have begun in the restaurant.
Tacky, sure, but she didn't care. He made her not care about protocol.
She sniffed the shirt, smelled the pits, the collar, the hem, taking in all of his smells.
There was certainly a deodorant smell, mixed with his scent, but there was another fragrance that made her dizzy again with want.
He walked back into the room and raised his brow when he found her sitting naked on the floor, legs akimbo, face buried in his tee shirt.
She looked at him standing in the fading sunlight of his living room and still couldn't believe a man that fine was hers.
His shirt smelled so good she wasn't even ashamed to be caught sniffing it. She smirked at him over the fabric.
"What are you doing?" He asked her smiling that glorious smile at her.
The sun cut speckled his abs just so...Between that view and that scent, she wanted more.
"I was smelling you. You smell soooo good. It can't just be deoderant."
He chuckled as he straightened the sofa cushions. "Maybe it's my soap?" Once the couch was fixed, he laid onto it, took her hand, pulled her close, and the two of them nestled into an afternoon nap while SportsCenter droned on in the background.
A few days later, she was in the grocery store sitting cross legged on the floor of the soap aisle, sniffing boxes of every and all brands trying to find the one that bore the closest resemblance to her new favorite smell. A older woman with a seated walker and a C.Delores Tucker turban cocked her head to the side upon seeing the woman on the floor snorting soap. The older woman decided it none of her business, shook her head and pushed her burgundy walker along. There were sales items in the circular that demanded her attention. This strange soap obsessed woman was not her problem and would be little more than an interesting anecdote when she spoke to her daughter long distance later that evening, after Wheel of Fortune of course.
The floor was cold. She should have more clothes on, but since the gym and the grocery store are so close, there was no time like right after her work out to find his fragrant cleaner. When she was younger, and the boy she fancied wore Drakkar Noir, she'd gone to a department store perfume counter, in the men's section, and soaked a bandana with the smell. She kept the rag in a bag and would pull it out before she went to sleep so that he would be the last thing she thought of before falling asleep. Later in life, when she missed her long distance beau, she would go to Sephora and beg for a sample of his smell. This she carried with her like smelling salts. Pulling the vial out provided her a brief olfactory vacation from a day-to-day existence without his arms.
Smelling them, even at a distance, made missing them a tiny bit more bearable.
Smelling them, allowed her to feel close.
Smelling them, she felt complete.
She inhaled another cardboard box, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Finally, she found the box she was looking for. She grabbed a family pack and skipped to the register to pay.
Once home, she used a bar to bathe with. The warm water sloshed over her body and she lathered his scent over her shoulders. She allowed the foam to course down across her nipples and slowly trail down into her navel. She imagined the warm soapy water was his mouth gobbling her up, trickling down to her thighs. Her hands became his as she rubbed herself, slowly. The water oozed down the backs of her thighs, cross her knees, into her toes.
She rubbed, slowly...remembering the first time he stood in that shower with her, palms caressing her from the blow out he wet up down to her ass.
She always liked the way he touched her there.
Liked how when they would be on the subway, his hand would slide from the small of her back, to cupping one cheek to keep her from falling with the stop starts of the subterranean train.
She placed another bar in a pillowcase and laid it next to her in the bed.
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