There are fragrances I adore.
Red wine and the earthy aroma of a mature Rioja. Pepper, smoke, leather, pencil lead, tobacco and oak.
The pungent, salty, briny, fishy, seaweed, damp sand, ozone smell of a small working harbour when the boats have returned with their silver, flapping catch.
Patchouli, and musk and sandalwood, and the magical promise of marijuana, reminding me of stoned nights lost in music and poetry.
A garden awash with flowers, wisteria, alyssum, gardenia, magnolia, sweet pea, jasmine and glorious rose.
The smells redolent of summer and my childhood – new-mown hay, cotton candy, melting tar, honey, horses, chlorine, cinnamon, chocolate, the drifting smoke of a barbecue.
And others too – coffee beans roasting, peaty Irish whiskey, wild garlic, the evening after the rain and storm, and the familiar breath of home when I open the door.
The rich leather of cuffs, collar and blindfold, whips and flogger
And most of all, women.
A thousand fragrances, every body different. Her fresh washed hair, her make-up creams and oils. Her sweet perspiration. Her soft breath. Her purchased perfume made unique when it meets the personal aroma of her warm skin
And that heady, wondrous, eloquent, wild, delicate scent
of pure arousal
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic
I am still delving among some of my past and almost forgotten writings. This one is still so very true.
Art by Fabian Perez
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