One of the stand out memories of my childhood is my brother pinning me down and using his teenage boy smelling shoes to try to torture me.
It never worked though, and I would always come out laughing. I’m sure that is the reason I can’t tell when milk is on the turn or chicken has gone off. For all of the abuse that my poor nostrils endured at the feet of my brother, and my later habits as a party girl I still find my positive experiences and memories intrinsically linked with nasal pleasure.
I guess I have always had a connection with different fragrances.
Of my top five favourite books two were chosen because the copies I own have that musty well-read smell. I can be transported to a different space and time just by baking a Dorset apple cake, and stormy walks by the seaside are just magic. Even the smell of muck spreading evokes beautiful memories of a well spent youth!
There are definitely certain scents that get under my skin… That fuel my fires of passion, keeping them burning…
For me the strong association between sense of smell and desire was only recognised when I began my journey into submission. Blind to His actions everything else became magnified: the taste of His sweat; the cool touch of His hands as they stroked my blushing bottom; the sound of His voice and His scent. Entering his space, his dominant presence enveloping my senses always felt like coming home. The pheromones emitting from Him coupled with His cologne was a heady mix.
Our first meeting after that long break had me right back there, with that scent which had lingered in my mind.
Since then I have become aware of how freshly sawn wood can transport me back to a certain place and time with M, my former lover; freshly cut grass puts me back in touch with my 18-year-old self and the time I got an allergic rash after spending the night frolicking with a lover in the grassy field near my home; the way fumes from boat engines make my heart pound in my chest with hard-wired memories of lusty evenings spent at fake sea with R…
More recently however, I have begun to form fantasies around particular aromas…
Fresh Tarmac, for example, makes for some interesting scenarios, as does rain falling on hot dry ground… and the smell of smoke from extinguished fire poi never fails to get my heart racing.
Picture taken from Cinders ashes entertainment