Unscented (Inspiration Point) -I don't know how to do IP posts right

A majority of the clerks at work are female.  They do the administrative, secretarial shit.  An even bigger majority of the workers who unload the cargo ships and all that unloading entails are male.  The males take a bill of lading to a window of the administration office and the smell coming out is like a candy store or a bakery.  Even last week, at my second job, when I stood at a female’s driver’s side window and took her information I smelled what I thought was angel food cake.  So, when did sweets become the dominant choice of perfume for females?  I smell it everywhere now:  both jobs, grocery store, pet store, gas station humma humma.  They smell like cake, cookies, cotton candy, pastries, hell, one female walked by me and I suddenly got hungry for waffles doused in syrup.  

    I don’t wear cologne.  I don’t like artificial smells.  Even my deodorant is unscented.  Alright, alright, I know that there’s a tradition of smells:  females are flowery and fragrant, or used to be; now they’re warm and sugary and males are leathery and musky and I guess we’re all living according to the nursery rhyme:  What are little boys made of?/snips, snakes and puppy dogs’ tails/that’s what little boys are made of/what are little girls made of?/sugar and spice and everything nice/that’s what little girls are made of.  

    My ex, well, okay, there are a few, so, the ex liked the smell of my ACU which had to be kept clean and ironed.  Said she especially liked its smell after I’d been working sweating posturing in it.  Sometimes she didn’t want me to get out of it, just unbutton.  Helluva fetish, yeah?  I get, I really do, there are worse things to assault you than that of glazed donuts or strawberry licorice or cherry cheesecake but what’s wrong with smelling like your own clean natural self?  For a short while I smell like the soap I used (I’m an Old Spice man, myself) but it eventually fades, goes away and then I just smell … well, like I smell.  The best smells are natural:  the air after a thunderstorm, a freshly mowed lawn.  Why the disguise?

    And it goes beyond smell.  I don’t mind a female wearing makeup.  The ex indulged in makeup.  Her skin care routine was off the charts!  And smelled of the lotions and creams.  Eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, you name it and she applied it.  Sometimes I gave her a hard time:  You don’t need all that, honey.  No, she said, I’m just highlighting.  Making her green eyes look greener, her high cheek bones higher, dig?  When I kissed her I tasted cucumber and mint or peaches and cream or honey and vanilla when I just wanted to taste her.  Her naked lips.  I still don’t know what they taste like:  she never let me kiss her before she finished her routine.  Most of the time she set her alarm so she would be in the bathroom getting all dolled up before I even opened my eyes.  So superficial.  Fragile.  Insecure.  Even now.  Sends me songs that suggest the end of it was my fault (e.g. the latest:  Heartbreaker, by Dionne Warwick) so she can feel secure about her faultlessness.  I listen (hell, I love Dionne Warwick) and reply nothing.  She can send me all the music she wants, has great taste, I’ll give her that.  

    She doused herself with all kinds of synthetic smells when she had her period.  Convinced I could smell her menstrual blood.  Somehow embarrassed her.  Here’s the thing, females:  we know the body smells.  For better or worse.  Our bodies smell and produces smells and sometimes you can’t cover it.  Know when you spray potpourri air freshener in a bathroom after taking a shit? - smells like potpourri and shit.  

    The body is and produces.  I stink after my first job.  Outside, in the elements.  So I shower, go home, check on the babies, go to the second job unstinking only to be assaulted by birthday cake or candy cane (tis the season) or cinnamon spice.  

    Blood smells metallic.  Hardcore.  Reptiles (at least my snakes) smell like trapped evolution.  Rabbit smells like hay.  My car smells like Black Ice Little Trees.  My hands smell like a cartridge-slap.  My throat smells like a guttural swallow.  My chest hair smells like rinsed soap.  And body heat.  And my body heat smells like, ah, well, heated, just heated.  Pumped and heated.  Ventriculation, maybe?  Or testosteronic circulation?   -  reminds of a few days ago when the temp dropped without warning, below freezing, and I was out strengthening the shelters for the cats and squirrels.  To the latter:  you like nuts, wait a minute and you can have mine because they’re about to freeze off.  

    Just a funny moment.

    Now, nothing against females spraying themselves to smell like a donut shop.  And wear all the makeup you want.  But I read that the sense of smell is the most sensitive when it comes to conjuring a memory.  So when I smell a donut I want to remember a donut, no an ex.  I want to remember an ex when I smell . . . yes . . . the absence of smell, just her own clean self.  Unidentified.  Undeniable.  Unscented.

    And the primary points should be unscented.  Perfume is sprayed, I have seen more than one female do it, on the inner elbows, behind the ears, on the throat, all the sacred places where I like to kiss.  The sensitive sacred unvulgar places.  But to kiss them and taste fabrication . . . you, you, I want to taste you.  Smell you.  Breathe in you.  Press against you.  You.  Not fabricate or indoctrinated with progressive fashion.  What do you smell like, woman?  Taste like?  In all your soft places and all the other places in between?  Dig, what I mean?  The obvious points of penetration and fornication, well, they’re there.  Always will be.  But the shadowed places?  Above the navel or just under it or right on it, between the clavicles, on the blunt sharpness of the hips, that dip after the throat, before the tits, what is it?  I ain’t good at anatomy?  Leave yourself alone, female, alone and natural, clean and natural.  

    Naturally or not most females, according to all the females I have ever known, shave their entire legs.  Some just below the knees.  Huh.  Okay, so males just shave their faces if they shave them and the smell after the shave is whatever aftershave he uses.  I don’t grow a lot of facial hair for reasons that are none of your business.  So I spot shave where the facial hair grows.  Fucked follicles from burns, understand?  Now shut up.  So, shaving and smelling have a relationship, solid and profound.  But what if a female has shaved it all away?  What’s to smell?  

    I don’t understand a bald pudenda.  That’s for prepubescent girls.  An adult female has pubic hair.  Point blank period.  And if she keeps clean it smells clean.  No perfume necessary.  I want a female to smell like a female.  Receptive.  Clean and receptive.  That’s that best smell for a female.  But what do I know?  I can’t speak for females.  Whether vanilla cupcakes or Boston cream pie, the scent she chooses is what she chooses.  

    Opening the windows for half and hour to air out the place ant let in the smell of a stubborn Floridian fall.  Then I will close the windows and turn on the fans to spread the smell of me and the babies.  Human and nonhuman alike.  And the smell of absent female fragrancy.  A smell stronger in its absence.   You can always smell when a female is around.  Smell it stronger when she isn’t.  How does she do it?  The bitch.  The doll.  The aroma queen.  Yet - am I at work or at a bakery?  

    Breathe in.

    Breathe out.

    Smells are what it’s all about.

    It.

    Connection.

    Reflection.

    Contemplation.

    Idolation.

    So - 

    Intrigue me - 

    What do you smell like tonight?

    The air through which you walked?

    The meal you cooked?

    The fantasy you urged?

    The connection you imagined?

    The tea you sipped or the cocktail you swallowed?

    Are you shaved and lotioned or clean and natural?

    Are you cowered and clean or imbedded and progressive?

    Hey, you might ask, when did you learn to plank yourself so as to not suffocate her, smother her smell when you’re on top?

    Hey, I might ask, when did you learn to mount yourself so as to not suffocate him, smother his manhood when you’re on top?

    Both smelling . . .

    ….

    What?

    Like eagerness or anxiety?      

    Relax

    I know where and when to penetrate

    Your smell already demonstrates

    Your hesitation

    Hesitant

    Requirement

    For penetratrion

    Demonstration:

        Weight held above you, you, you

        You

        Small and under

        Whose smell will not 

        Asunder

        Though cake or cup of or

        Doughnut

        Or cupe of

    Just spread and accept because the smells, exes or the ex, will not hinder or splinter or retract or force surrender and now here comes the rant the taunt, the bullying the jaunt from gentleman to man who won’t be gentle if you demand aggression

    -afraid of hurting you

    -hurt is fine

    -afraid of harming you

    -harming is sublime

So here’s the gist - smells overwhelm and I will take the helm if you wish but if not then you gotta

    Ditch

    That

    Shit

I want to smell you as you are

Mouth to mouth and hips to hips

I want you to smell like I am the man you want

Behind your ears

On your lips