Hawaiian

When we were fucking the air around us got warm and sweet and salty . . . like something delicious being cooked downstairs with just the softest warmest parts wafting upstairs to tease and invite us down to eat.

MY PUSSY SMELLED LIKE PINEAPPLE AND BACON INFUSED SLUTBUTTER and warm friction.

Not in an overpowering diner-greasepit at breakfast way (though I think the coconut oil we use as lube sometimes might have enriched the hot oil note) . . . it was just a suggestion of bacon (and I’m not just trying to capitalize on this century’s fiendish obsession with all things bacon). It was more of a salty canadian bacon / ham slice warming in a pan smell.

And it made Delia want a Hawaiian pizza. Which she NEVER wants.

I don’t know where the pineapple note came from either, because I hadn’t had any of that either.

Anyway . . . it smelled delicious. I wish I could convey the erotic subtlety of these aromas instead of what probably sounds like an overpowering greasy-spoon filled with construction workers jacking off on plates filled with crispy bacon. It was the kind of smell that makes you want to inhale deeply to get more of it, and follow the trail of scent to where you’d no-doubt find something delicious: MY PUSSY.