The Smell! The Smell!

I’ve written before about ‘being in the moment’ during sex—that state of mindfulness in which all one’s cares, one’s jealousies, one’s worries, all the fretting about responsibility drop away. One forgets that bill that needs paying in the morning, or the argument with one’s parent from earlier in the day. All that’s left is the darkness, your partner, and the sweet sensations you’re making for each other. Being in the moment is about enjoying pleasure when it’s being given to you. Not thinking about it later and reflecting, or wondering if you might get something better later. It’s the here, and the now, and what’s in front of your eyes and between your legs.

I had a couple of really good encounters last week that were definitely of that quality of sex—and I was grateful for them. However, I had a couple more that were definitely not optimal. And since I try to record the vast majority of my sex life in my blog, I feel obligated to write about them. Both were with attractive guys. Both were duds, pretty much. And I realized earlier today, both of them were ruined, pretty much, because of my sense of smell.

Bad smells have a tendency to make me lose my sexual desire. The two times in my life I’ve been unable to get an erection with guys were because they stunk. One had a very, very creepy aroma that I associate with bodies in a funeral home; the other reeked of ass and pot. In these two isolated instances, I was happy to lie about my usual sexual prowess (“I’m occasionally impotent! Sorry! Bye!”) in order to make a quick getaway.

Mid-week, last week, I met up with a guy from the other side of town with whom I’d been corresponding off and on for several months. His photo was handsome enough. I really loved the pictures of his hole gaping wide open that he sent me privately. When he arrived, he turned out to be a great kisser. We tumbled around in my bed and made out and stripped each other down gradually. He sucked like a pro. I lubed him up, fingered him, and positioned him on his knees to enter from behind.

In I went. And almost immediately, I could tell there was something wrong. Sometimes, when you’re fucking a guy who’s not exactly clean, shall we say, it’s a little like plunging a limb into particularly sticky mud. When you try to withdraw, it sticks; it squelches. It resists. I felt that, and I knew I wasn’t going to like the results when I finally did pull out. But you know, I’m a pig. I wanted to fuck. So I stayed in deep, ground hard with my pelvis, and got the job done.

But oh, lordy. When I pulled out, the smell almost made me pass out. It was like sewer gas. It was like death. I had to close my eyes and think of unicorns and kittens in order not to gag as I grasped for a nearby towel I’d laid out, so I could get the muck off. He, in the meantime, wanted to loll about and talk about what a great fuck I was. Eventually I steered him to the bathroom with some desperate inquiries of, “Don’t you want to shower?!”, then waited for him to clean up and vanish so I could hop in the tub and scald myself with the hottest water possible.

The second-degree burns were totally worth it.

Friday night was the second encounter—this time with an out-of-town guy I’ve described with great affection in these very pages. I arrived to his hotel prettied up and ready for a long, fun evening of play. He greeted me with an “Oh my goodness!” and a hug like a puppy happy to see me. He grabbed my face with his hands and pulled me down for a kiss.

That’s when I recoiled. The guy’s breath . . . Well. It was if a skunk had musked itself and then died in his mouth. I had a sinking feeling of Oh, crap, I am totally not going to be able to go through with this as my dick shriveled inside my pants.

“Do you have any mints?” I asked, even though I’d had one on the elevator up.

He didn’t get the hint. “You taste so beautiful! So sexy!” he enthused, trying to pull me down for another kiss while I wrenched my face away.

It was really touch-and-go for a while. I didn’t want to leave abruptly. So I let him get me naked, and let him suck me for a very long time until I was hard enough to turn him around and fuck him. He kept trying to rear back and kiss me over his shoulder, which made me push him down into the pillows away from me. I’m afraid he took it as a sign I wanted rough play. But at least his attempts at dirty talk and bucking me off kept him from bringing his mouth within smelling distance. I was out of his hotel room in less than an hour.

It’s a shame, too. I would’ve enjoyed both men more if their smells hadn’t been an issue for me. I’m aware I’m doing nobody any favors by keeping my mouth shut about it, but men have a tendency not to react rationally when told they stink in a foul and off-putting way. And it’s not as if I require my guys to be perfumed and powdered, either. I enjoy a certain degree of natural man smell. With dirty asses and rancid breath, however, I have a little too much trouble coping.