User Unknown

Chapter 6: Truths

anon~girl: I need to tell you the truth about something.

unknown*user: Oh gosh, what?

anon~girl: After you told me what cologne you were wearing yesterday, I did what I suggested to you: popped into the perfume shop and got a tester so I could smell it.

I almost didn't send the message, but I bit the bullet and did it anyway. I don't really know why I felt the need to tell him I'd done such a ridiculous thing, or what felt like a ridiculous thing at the time, but something inside me compelled my fingers to tap out those words. 

unknown*user: Why did you do that?

anon~girl: I wanted to know how you smelled.

unknown*user: And how did I smell?

anon~girl: Nice. I like it.

unknown*user: That's not very enthusiastic ... ?

anon~girl: I very much liked it. That's all you're getting out of me.

I wanted to say a lot more. I wanted to tell him how the fragrance sent my heart racing; how I treasured the little paper tester stick like it was my most prized possession for the entire day, keeping it in my pocket to smell it when I had a moment to myself at work; how it had been the catalyst for my outstanding orgasm the night before – but how could I? 

unknown*user: No, come on. It's starting to feel like you're dodging the question. Did you not like it?  What words come to mind when you think of it? 

I thought back over the way his scent had made me feel as I was reaching down in between my legs and admiring the image of myself climaxing in the mirror. There an almost spiciness to it that made it a very exciting fragrance, and a passionate and sensual one, but there was also an underlying 'grownupness' to it that made me feel safe and protected in a strange kind of way. The scent was definitely a dominant one. It made me wonder if that was the kind of man he was: dominant, silently strong, masculine. My vision of him was certainly starting to come together that way.

I could think of just one word to describe Fahrenheit. 

anon~girl: Intoxicating. It has an intoxicating smell, I think. It's the kinda fragrance you get fuck-drunk with. Once it's associated with a sex memory, that's it; that's all you'll remember when you smell it forevermore.

unknown*user: I actually laughed out loud at "fuck-drunk", but I know what you mean when you say that. It's definitely a thing.

anon~girl: It is! What fragrances get you fuck-drunk?

unknown*user: I don't want to talk about other fragrances. I want to talk about you being fuck-drunk over my cologne. 

anon~girl: Well, I didn't actually say I was fuck-drunk, did I? I said it was the kind of perfume one might get fuck-drunk over.

unknown*user: But you wouldn't have said that if sex wasn't on your mind somewhere, right? Is sex on your mind?

I was shocked when I read his message, and then double-read it for good measure. Good-shocked, but still, totally shocked. After his usual skirting-the-subject, respectful responses whenever we talked about anything remotely sexual, the bluntness of his question really took me by surprise. There was no denying the direction in which our conversations were starting to go; they were getting increasingly steamy and flirtatious, each evening taking us a step closer to whatever imaginary boundary we hadn't yet agreed upon because neither of us knew we would get to this point. I didn't mind it, of course, and I was assuming he didn't, either.