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I owe GUY RILLA, the TECHWHORE as the inspiration for this post (N.H.B.).

I probably don’t give enough credit to my nose for all the good shit that it allows me to enjoy. I typically give my eyes top billing, then my ears, after that my hands, next would be my sense of taste(surprisingly though I am over three hundred pounds) and lastly, I credit my sense of smell. Although as GUY RILLA pointed out, there are few other guilty pleasures as sweet and erotic as standing behind a woman who has just shampooed her hair with something fragrant. I once dated this young Mexican girl from Cuba who had a small bedwetting problem. I just loved the way her cooch had the faint smell of pee-pee mixed with baby powder. Smells can also be a deal breaker as well. I can remember being very attracted to this young ladywoman, but when I smelled her inate pheromone odor I couldn’t stand her anymore.

I had been trying to smash this co-worker for years, and her boyfriend and I were semi-cool(no homo of course), but he knew that I wanted to wrangle his girl’s pussy, and he knew that she wanted to give it to me too. So when dude moved to Atlanta with all the other jig losers I got right to getting his ex-tail. I invited her over my apartment. We drunk a bottle of this faux classy cheap azz champagne called Friexenet. She went into my bedroom and started getting naked. I had to do everything in my power to keep from rushing into the bedroom and tackling homegirl. I was gonna kill this little petite piece of poon. I climb into the bed with her and then… WTF?!?

Where is that smell coming from? It wasn’t a nasty crotch smell, but something far worse. Her skin smelled like the hair grease that came in the blue container. My dad would use that stuff to pick out my hair once every two months and that shit would hurt. My olifactory nerves triggered a flashback so strong that I had to jump out of the bed. I told homegirl that she had to go because I had to leave the apartment. I made her get dressed right then and I took her outside to the cab stand across the street.

In the end I feel like I kept shit classy because I did at least pay for her cab ride home instead of instantly pummeling her because of all the repressed agression that I had stored inside from my dad grooming me.

This entry was posted on Saturday, January 14th, 2006 at 9:30 am and is filed under Black Bullshit, Lust = Love. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.