(via Daring Sex Pictures)
Scent
Scent has always been one of my poisons.
The first time I really noticed it was in highschool, my first serious crush on a girl (or on anyone, at that.)
She always wore this deodorant. She had the locker next to me and I’d know when she came up and stood next to me not because I could see or hear her but because I could smell her. It was an intoxicating scent. It sent my nerves wild.
I casually asked her one day what she used. She told me. And then, you know, the non-creepy person I am, I went straight to the shops and bought 5 cans of the stuff. Then I went home and I covered myself in it and tried to bask in it but something was different. There was something missing.
That’s when I realised it was the smell of her sweat mixing with the perfume of the deodorant.
Then from that day on all I could think of was that missing ingredient, the thing that set her scent apart from the other girls.
I had a mad crush on her for three years. Then one day she kissed me long and hard at the cinemas and we went out for 8 months after that. She used to give me her jersey to wear home when it got rainy and cold. And I would swim in it because she was taller than me, and I would sleep with it that night, and bury my face in it and smell her.
Even now when I go away on long trips I take a few of S’s shirts. Well worn ones I know he’s worn for 4 or 5 days without washing. Sometimes I sneak them into my bag, sometimes I ask for them.
Then on my trip, I make my spare pillows wear the shirt and hug it to sleep with my face buried in it, imagining it’s him. It’s a tiny bit pathetic, but that’s how much I love how people smell.
Nothing so directly speaks to my subconscious.
Sometimes I feel strong pangs of emotion or love in the middle of nowhere and it’ll be a few moments until I realise that somebody had walked past with the same perfume as somebody I hate, or love, or have been turned on by before.
It oversteps all the steps most triggers go through and goes straight to your brain, before logic or recognition kicks in. You’re wet before you know why.
I know every single scent of every single part of my partner’s body, at every point of his arousal or fluctuations in function or emotion.
… and I think that’s love.
Hello world.
First and foremost, this place is not for the lighthearted.
This is not my life - this is just one aspect of my life. I do not consider it a darker aspect of my life, though some might. But let’s not get into big speeches about feminism and what this all means - I’m simpler than that.
I like sex and I like pain.
I don’t like either of those things because it makes me feel weak, or strong, or accepted, or wanted, or any of that. I like it because it fucking feels good.
So here I am. At 23 I’m a brand-spanking-newbie in the BDSM scene, and I figure I should keep track of my progress, so that maybe one day I can show somebody I really trust all of the utter pleasures and agonies I am going to experience.
Also I was broken for the first time today, by the boy I so love. I think it worth noting. The bruises and welts still hurt. I cannot even sit on my chair. I’m curled up in a ball on my bed feeling like a puddle of the happiest goop and all that escapes me are sighs of ecstasy while I eye him sitting at his computer playing Star Trek Online as though none of it ever happened.
You don’t know where I am. You have no idea. This is life, and this is love, and this is pleasure.
