Love Stinks

"So what'll it be, miss?" It'll be a long night, I thought, if a better class of guy doesn't start walking in here soon. Zoe had recommended this bar to me, telling me it was a great place to meet guys, but I remembered right around the time the bartender asked for my order that I'd bummed a whole pack of cigarettes off of Zoe over the course of last weekend's bar-hopping and forgotten to replace it. This had to be her way of getting me back. The guys wandering around looked like a collection of losers, scrubs, wannabes and sexual predators, and the guy-to-girl ratio looked to be something along the lines of ten to one--which would be a plus if they were better guys, but no such luck. They were all hounds on the make and I was (not to flatter myself) the only decent-looking woman in the place.

"Scotch and soda," I said. "Make it a double." I handed him a ten, said "Keep the change," then checked my watch. Eight-thirty. I figured I'd give the joint a half-hour, just in case Zoe hadn't been scamming me, but I definitely planned to get out of here while I was still sober enough to drive to a better class of bar. I was already trying to decide where to go when he walked through the door.

The first thing that struck me about him was his Adam's apple. Maybe it was just that he was a skinny, gangly kid of a guy, barely twenty-one if he wasn't walking in here on a fake ID, but that thing stuck out like Adam had eaten the whole apple, not just a piece. It bobbed up and down like a nervous sparrow as he looked around the room. With an unerring instinct and a sinking feeling, I knew he was going to head my way.

The second thing that struck me about him was his glasses. I know that they say those big, chunky horn-rimmed things are coming back into style, but most of the guys wearing them don't have skinny faces and big jug ears. They looked comically big on him, magnifying his eyes to a ludicrous extent as they fixed on me, just like I figured they would. Sure enough, he started walking over to me. I could tell he was one of those guys who had no concept of what his dating league was--instead of going for one of the girls in the room who was maybe a little flat-chested, or buck-toothed, or something that would make her willing to settle, he went for a gorgeous blonde with a great rack and legs to die for. (If I do say so myself. I'm not vain, but I don't see any point in false modesty either.)

The third thing that struck me, as he walked over to the bar, was the smell.

It was strong, definitely. It was also very definitely very unpleasant. Sort of like what you might get if you crossbred a skunk with a ferret, then ran it on a treadmill for a few hours and ran it through a juicer out onto an unwashed gym sock. There was also kind of a hint of burning rubber to it, I think, but I sure as hell wasn't inhaling deeply enough to find out. In fact, when the wave of stench hit me like an advancing wall as he approached, I was breathing as shallowly as I possibly could. My eyes were watering, and only the knowledge that I was waiting for a drink I'd already paid for kept me from sprinting out the door right that second and sucking in deep lungfuls of fresh air.

He must have seen the expression on my face, because he said, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it." I didn't see how that could possibly be true, but explaining that to him would involve speaking, and that would involve breathing, and I was trying to minimize that.

"My name's Stan," he said. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"No thanks," I said, looking down at the bar. "Got one on the way." I tried to keep to short sentences. No point in sucking in any more of that...ugh, it was like cologne that had been sitting for twenty years and gone rancid. I looked desperately down at the bartender, but he was taking his sweet time with an order down at the other end of the bar. I didn't blame him. I wouldn't have wanted to voluntarily enter the stench zone either if I was him.

"So what's your name?" Stan asked.

"Anji," I said shortly, hoping to signal that I wasn't interested in prolonging the conversation. I just wanted to get my drink, make my excuses, and get to someplace that wasn't right next to Stan, swimming in his funk. God, how much of that stuff did he put on? Did he just buy a gallon of cologne from the bargain bin at Wal-Mart and then pour it all on at once?

"That's a pretty name," he said. That seemed to exhaust his conversational skills for a long moment. He just stared at my boobs in a way that suggested he didn't realize I noticed.

Waiting for that drink felt like the longest two minutes of my life. I just sat there, trying to breathe through my mouth and feeling that stink seep into my pores. It wasn't making me nauseous, I had to admit that. It wasn't a rotten smell, like garbage or roadkill. It just made me dizzy, like I couldn't get enough actual oxygen through the miasma of...fuck, I don't know. Polecat urine, maybe. Every accidental sniff brought whole new sweeping vistas of nasal horror.

Finally, the bartender set down my scotch and soda. "I'll take a whiskey and water," Stan said, handing over a ten. The bartender nodded, then scampered back to the opposite end of the bar. Pretty much everyone within sniffing range was giving me a sympathetic look as I sat there, miserable, but I knew I wasn't going to be sticking around much longer. All I needed to do was to suck down my drink as fast as humanly possible, excuse myself to go to the restroom afterwards, then slip out and I'd have extricated myself from this with a minimum of social awkwardness. I took a long gulp of my scotch, and grimaced. I could actually taste that smell in my drink.

"So what do you think of my cologne?" Stan asked.

That was about the limit of my politeness. I was willing to not bring it up, but if he was asking... "It's terrible," I said, trying not to sound mean. "Sorry, but you should really just go home and wash it off. Whoever sold you that stuff suckered you big time." I took another gulp of my scotch.

"Oh, nobody sold it to me," Stan said proudly. "I made it myself."

"You made it?" I said in astonishment. "On purpose?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning like an idiot. "I saw one of those ads for the colognes that have pheromones in them--you know, the ones that are supposed to attract women?"

I couldn't help myself, I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come on, Stan," I said, taking another drink. "Everyone knows those don't really work."

"Well, no. Of course they don't. They're junk." Stan looked over at the bartender, dawdling over Stan's order. "They just use mass-produced synthetic pheromones. What's needed is specifically tailored human pheromones, a scent that's actually unique to the person using it. I distilled this out of my own sweat, and then broke down its chemical balance to reproduce it."

"So why did you splash so much on?" I asked. I knew this whole line of conversation was idiotic, but I couldn't help but exhibit some morbid curiosity about the whole deal. "I mean, if it's that hard to make, shouldn't you, I dunno, use smaller doses?" Ones that aren't likely to choke the women you're trying to seduce?

"Because it takes a lot to have an effect. If I just dabbed a little on, you wouldn't even notice it. You'd maybe think I'd just gotten back from the gym, and maybe you'd have a little extra smile for me, but even that's only if it didn't get blown out with the air conditioner. No, if I want a girl like you to pay attention to a guy like me," he said with a sheepish grin, "I need to use a ton of this stuff."

"Sorry, Stan," I said, turning to face him and putting my hand on his shoulder, "but it's still not working. All it does is make you smell terrible." I tried to make it sound as nice as possible. Poor kid obviously had self-esteem issues to have come up with an idea this bad, and I didn't want to make them worse by ripping him a new one in a public place. I figured I'd just give him a nice dose of 'soulful honesty' and a little physical contact to soften the blow.

Stan's face fell for a moment. Then he smiled. "So if it's not working, why are you still here? I mean, if it smells that bad, why haven't you moved down to the other end of the bar like all those guys?" He gestured down to a collection of scrubs who had congregated as far away from the smell as possible. "They don't react to the pheromones, of course. Not wired for it. But you, you're sitting right next to me. Why is that?"

I frowned. "I hadn't planned to bring it up, but since you ask, I was just going to finish my drink so I could leave gracefully." Which was now shot, as a plan, but I could always blame my spontaneous outburst of honesty on the scotch. I actually did feel a little light-headed, but that probably had nothing to do with a couple of drinks and everything to do with vital oxygen being cut off by the smell of distilled body odor.

"Oh," he said, crestfallen. "But you haven't had any of your drink for five minutes now."

I looked down. "Yeah, I guess I got kind of distracted by the conversation." I picked up the drink and tossed back another swallow. "But come on, Stan, take my advice and give up this crazy idea. A cute guy like you doesn't need 'pheromone cologne' to attract women anyway."

Stan blushed. "Aww, you're just saying that because your brain's deeply under the influence of a powerful aphrodisiac." He grinned. "But it's sweet anyway."

I set my drink down and gave him an angry glare. "I am not 'under the influence' of your cologne, Stan! You're a very attractive man, and that's all there is to it!" Guys with low self-esteem like that just frustrated me. All they needed to get girls was to believe in themselves, but no, they all relied on stupid gimmicks. 'Pick-up lines', or 'seduction techniques', or...well, this stuff. "Any girl in this room would be happy to screw you. Well, once you'd washed that stuff off, they would."

The bartender sprinted down the length of the bar, dropped off Stan's whiskey and water along with his change, and barely managed to hang around long enough to hear Stan say, "And another scotch and soda for the lady." He nodded, clearly holding his breath, and moved as far back as he could.

"You really think so?" Stan said.

"Really think what?" I asked. I'd lost track of the conversation while watching the bartender's odd behavior. Sure, the smell was a little bad, but did it really justify that kind of desperate avoidance? I'd been sitting here with Stan all this time, and I wasn't gagging or running away.

"You really think that any girl in this room would be happy to sleep with me?" Stan asked, looking around.

I looked around too. I suddenly worried that it might, in fact, be the case. The guys had all retreated as far away from the smell as possible, but quite a few of the girls kept turning their heads to look in our direction, giving Stan dreamy and flirtatious smiles. My eyes swept over the other men, and I felt a sick chill in my gut at the thought that one of these other women might steal him away from me and leave me with the decidedly lesser choices.

"Well, I don't think you should go around and poll them," I said, trying to keep my voice light, "but yes, you're definitely very sexy and desirable, Stan." God, was he. I could feel a little dampness starting to seep into the fabric of my underwear. "You shouldn't feel like you need these gimmicks to attract women. All you need to do is be yourself."

Stan chuckled. "But I am being myself! The cologne is made out of pure 'me'!"

I laughed at the thought. "Okay, fair point," I said. "But, um..." I finished my scotch. "Now I can't think of where I was going with this."

"Back to my place?" Stan asked.

"Um..." I hadn't really been looking for a one-night stand when I came in here. More of a fun environment, good music and maybe a guy I'd be interested in asking out on a real date tomorrow night. But I looked around, and saw a couple of women barely restraining themselves from getting up and making a move on Stan, whether or not he was currently having a conversation with a more attractive woman. I took a deep breath to answer, not sure what I was going to say...and in that moment, my clit made up my mind for me. "Yeah, sure," I said, my next drink forgotten in that instant.

We took his car, and I was glad we did. I was way too distracted to drive by then. My pussy just kept getting itchier and itchier. I squirmed around in my seat a lot, trying not to think about how horny I was getting and how long the car ride seemed to be taking. Stan helped a lot. He suggested focusing on my breathing as a way to keep calm. I just took in slow, deep breaths, letting the air in and out. (It helped that I was finally starting to get used to that cologne of his.) I only wound up frigging myself off a little before we got back to Stan's place.

He actually turned out to have a nice little house out in the suburbs, just a few miles away from the bar. He said as we pulled into the garage that he'd made his money in the pharmaceuticals industry, and I felt a quiet little glow of happiness. I had lucked out tonight--found a guy who was sexy as hell, smart, funny, and rich to boot!

For the moment, though, I just wanted to focus on 'sexy as hell'. The second we got into the bedroom, I was taking off his clothes as fast as my fingers would let me, pulling down zippers and undoing buttons. That heavenly scent just seemed to fill the air as more and more of his outfit hit the floor, and I found myself on my knees sniffing away at his crotch like a bitch in heat.

"Mmm, yeah," he said as I took his cock into my mouth. "I splashed on, ohhh, a little extra down there...just for you..."

I nodded...well, actually I just bobbed my head up and down the shaft, licking off that musky taste. It seemed to linger in my mouth, and I could hear myself making whimpering grunts as I sucked his dick. My pussy was absolutely aching with need and I wanted to be fucked so bad it was almost criminal, but I couldn't move my head away from that wonderful fucking smell. Instead, I just stuck my hand down my panties and slid my fingers in and out of my cunt as fast as I could while sucking him.

He came hard, filling my mouth with his load, but I wasn't finished with him. Once I'd swallowed it, I pushed him back onto the bed and just lay there, tonguing his balls and sucking in great, heaving lungfuls of 'Essence of Stan'.

Before long, he was hard again. This time, I managed to keep my head together long enough to straddle his crotch and impale myself on his cock. I didn't need to be right up next to him now, the smell of him filled my mouth, permeated my lungs, filled the air itself. I could understand how Stan had gotten a little confused and called it an 'aphrodisiac', it just smelled so wonderful that he probably assumed that was why women were attracted to him. It smelled thick, musky, powerful; it smelled like sex, and all I wanted to do was breathe it in forever while we fucked.

But eventually, even the most virile men get tuckered out. We fell asleep in each other's arms, and it felt just perfect. The next morning, I woke up just staring at his sleeping face, so pure and innocent and handsome. His eyes fluttered, and he smiled to see me smiling at him.

"Come on, lover," I said. "Let's go take a shower together. I can think of some very dirty ways of getting clean."

Stan smiled, then his eyes went wide in panic. "I, um...I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he said.

It was cute the way he was still shy about little things. Guess we'll have a few issues to work out together. But isn't that the way love always works?

THE END