What is different about women in my pain-wracked dotage?
When I was a young man, one would endeavor to get a woman drunk so that she would have sex with you.
Now, one gets a woman drunk so that she will pass out and the need for sex will pass from her pretty lips with an adorable whimper.
What remains the same?
A woman’s scent has always been an intoxicant for me, far beyond any physical drive to join with her, a thing of its own, a sweet sub-smell, which ironically waxes more delicious when she is afraid.
I enjoy the sweet taste of a woman’s fear just as I am rendered aggressive by the reek of a man’s fear. A man in abject fear, especially, stinks with a pungent bitterness that makes the hackles on my nape prickle.
Yes, the scent of a woman remains a fine pleasure.
(c) 2017 James LaFond