The Senses

I’m not sure exactly where this places me.  It somewhat makes me think of Al Pacino in “Scent of a Woman”, breathing deep and experiencing the senses he has left and the intoxicating complex smells of women he encounters.  The other side of the coin makes me think of Burt Reynolds sniffing Demi Moore’s dryer lint in “Striptease”. I’ll leave it to the reader to decide the camp in which I belong.

I have many “friends” on the internet.  I feel fortunate in that respect.  Some remain fairly anonymous, and I know nothing of their identity beyond their screen name.  Many of the anonymous friends have shared some fairly deep secrets and feelings with me and for that, I’m lucky to know parts of them that may be hidden for others.  More of them branch into the catagory where I know little bits of their identity.  A first name, and perhaps an occupation or hobby.  These friends engage only my mind through text on a computer screen.  Very one dimensional, though enjoyable.

More friends have sent pictures of what they look like.  This adds sight to their persona.  More than doubling my concept of who they are.  Yes, sometimes I get pictures of parts of them without the face.  When this happens I try to explain, I know what a vagina looks like, I want to know what YOU look like.  Most get it.  A very few don’t.

Some will elect to talk with me using the phone or some form of VOIP.  The sound of a voice, the accent, the inflections, begin to round out a personality.  Some with talk on video chat with me (there’s a couple of kinds, yeah, but for this discussion, get your mind out of the gutter)  The ability to see facial expressions, here the inflections in the voice, as well as know what is being said and reacted to truly bring this person to the status of a real person and friend.  Just one I haven’t met in person, yet.  Conversly, in some cases, the lack of this level severely limits the development of a friendship of a real level.  They remain as “internet friends”, not quite real people.

Here we escalate the senses.  What’s left? Touch. Taste. Smell.  The easiest to engage next is the sense of smell.  I’ve been fortunate enough to have been gifted a woman’s panties.  Something about an intimate as can be delivered and remain decorous.  So what’s there?  The smell of raw cunt in heat?  Sex dripping from the crotch?  Pharamones to drive a man wild?  No.  Well, depending on how and when they were last worn, perhaps a bit of that.  Overwhelming that is the pure smell of the woman, not her pussy, but her, the shampoo that ran down her body when she washed her hair, the soap that washed her in the last shower, the moisturizer, the lotion, the perfume she applied, the womanly smells of her panty drawer where they lived before beginning their journey to me.  The smells of her body. Intimate smells she shares with only a few.  I breathe deeply and enjoy. 

Al or Burt?