Inklings: Smelling Pretty

I have decided, as a project, to start writing little posts throughout the week, to help improve my writing. For the moment, I call them inklings.



I get out of the shower, having cleaned myself thoroughly, and I look to my bathroom counter. There's a small bottle of perfume, Daddy's gift to me. His most visceral sense, smell. So much of his life is based on smell, the smell of leather, the smell of rain, the smell of sex.

This is completely opposite to me, of course. My life is lived through sight, it dominates every aspect of my life. I see my Daddy, see his brilliant blue hair, see the tattoo on his neck, and I know I'm in safe company. It's lived through touch, through my Daddy's embrace, through running my fingers through his hair, through feeling his warmth, his heartbeat.

But this moment? This moment is where I live for him. I am dry, naked, looking at myself in the mirror. I take  the bottle, close my eyes, and push the button, just once, aiming at my chest. I open them again, take in a deep breath, and savour that first moment, embracing the scent I am marked with.

It doesn't matter, really, that for most of today my Daddy will not be in my presence, that I know I he won't be the one to take in that scent. It only matters that when I come home, and he comes to the door to embrace me, we'll both be in our element. His in smell, me in touch and vision, together we fill our senses with each other.