The Scent of a Woman

I enter the gallery, attracted by the photos in the window, escaping from the unexpected downpour outside in the hot, SoHo street. Admiring a huge, dramatically lit cityscape, I‘m soon joined by a gallery staffer, cute with trendy black glasses. This must be her first job, too enthusiastic and unguarded to have worked there long enough to pick up any affectation. She shows me her favorites, describes the unique camera used.

I become increasingly aware of her scent, nothing that could come from a department store bottle , something lush and human you would normally only experience in a shared bed. I take her proffered business card and then . . . nothing else. Her interest was always professional and I, accordingly do nothing to suggest that I would like nothing more than to bury my face between her thighs, exploring for the source of her alluring scent with my tongue.