Ah, this is a fabulous topic… because I think the most divine scent is that of a man.
Ah, men. I love men.
Black hair, brown hair, blond, ginger, bald–it doesn’t matter.
Tall, short, average height–I don’t care.
Hazel, or brown, or blue, or green or gray eyes–as long as he’s only got eyes for me, and I for him, I’ll find them breathtaking.
For me, it’s about appeasing my sense of smell. There is a biological reason, of course. The idea of passing on genes, procreating, etc. I know this. But when I get this whiff of sandalwood and citrus I feel my mouth salivate, yet throat go arid. Blood rushes to my ears in a thunderous wave as my skin prickles. A sigh, another inhale, desperate to catch another hint of those damn pheromones.
A great time to catch this earthy musk is when a man is a little closer to me than maybe he should be. The element of surprise makes it even more desirable. But when he backs away, and the aroma disappears, I am too stunned, speechless in this ocean of yearning to string together a coherent thought…
But the situation in which I catch this cannot be surpassed by smelling it on the man I’m in a relationship with. To sneak up from behind and wrap my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck, inhaling the cool tones of the sea, the feel of his scratchy neck on my cheek, the warmth of his body radiant and intoxicating…
Thanks to the Daily Post for the topic.