Author's Note: This is femmeslash, don't like don't read.
Also, the Italic parts are from the book Perfume, by Patrick Süskind. I translated it myself, if there are any mistakes they belong to me.
I do not own the rights to that book, neither to the translation or the perfume names mentioned. Those rights belong to their creators.
For those who love perfume as much as I do.
"That which we call a rose
by any other word would smell as sweet."
--From Romeo and Juliet-
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Perfume.
Everyone has a smell, something that makes you unique. You can mask it with perfume or deodorant, you can be very careful about not sweating too much. But everyone has that salty taste underneath that makes you a complete being. Most of us smell vague; wear perfume to mask their every day smell. But what a simple mind can do with the knowledge of mixing perfumes is something a brain cannot capture. It is said that a smell can bring back memories more accurate than with photos. A smell is stored inside one's mind to be cherished for a long time, and with it the memory will be brought back. It's true.
When she wears a particular perfume I remember the first time I smelled it on her, the things I said that day and the things she said back.
Her sweat smelled as fresh as the sea, her hair as sweet as chestnut oil, her privates smelled like a bouquet of lilies and roses and her skin as innocent and new-born as cherry blossom. And the mixture of all these components conjured a smell so rich, so balanced, so enchanting, that everything he'd smelled so far, every smell he'd created in his mind, suddenly appeared..ordinary. A hundred thousand smells were nothing compared to this one. It was a new divine, the example to which all the others should be modeled.
It was pure beauty.
She smells unique. With her mood a new smell fills me completely. She must be the queen of perfumes. Nothing like her smell. She matches her clothes and moods with her perfume. She doesn't have an everyday smell. Of course she has one, but hers is always different. Puma, Vanderbilt, Esprit, Marrousia, Darling. She's a mixture of salt and sweet, inviting and distancing, loving and arousing.
Baldine had thousands of articles. He had everything from oils made out of blossoms, tinctures, extracts, secretions, balms, waxes, and other substances in dry, liquid or wax like textures, from different pastas powders, soaps, crèmes, bandoleers, wart drops, beauty patches, to lotions, smelling salts, toilet vinegar, and uncountable sorts of perfumes in every smell you can imagine: He had perfumes that smelled like orange blossoms, or like pineapples. Perfumes smelling like grass and fresh air. Ones who smelled like wine and beer. He had those who smelled like fresh-baked bread, like salt and like candy. He had perfumes for males, they smelled like wood and smoke. For women there were innocent flower like smells, and for infants he had ones who smelled like linen and milk and talk-powder.
One day she smells like a sweet garden of flowers on a sunny afternoon, and the next day she can come in looking so utterly sad and lost and smell like a fresh night that seems to never end. She smells like fresh grass and like the dawn lighting the shores. She's like being on the ocean, and feeling the first sweet water drops falling on your face.
But that's just for outsiders.
If you want to know her real smell, you have to be close. If you can get into her personal space, you'll be able to capture that taste that is just right. Her skin is soft, and smells like roses and milk. But when you take her dancing, the cover of soaps will rinse. She'll smell and taste salt. Salt and sweet both at the same time. The thin layer of sweat that forms on her delicious body smells like sea. When she's dancing it's like small waves wash over you in a calm rhythm, but when she's begging for you at night, it's like you're riding the waves in a storm. She's got a heavier smell at those times, sweeter, and yet like nothing you've ever smelled.
I often imagine her as a child, how she'd capture people with her freshness and innocence. Her freckled body lithe and divine, and her gorgeous hair freshly washen falling onto her shoulders. She'll smell like a sun rising in a vine-yard.
She was playing a game with someone that required movement, with someone whose smell wasn't the least important. She had a white skin. She had sparkling blue eyes, freckles in her face, down to her neck and on to her… Wait, this girl did not have real breasts. They were a mere shadow of what was yet to come! She had a fragile and tender smell over them, causing one to conclude that they had only just started to grow since,.. maybe just days…what.. only mere hours…No, really only starting from this moment on. Might we dare to say, she was only a child. But what an unique child she was. This flower that was yet to open, already smelled so delightful that, when blossomed in all glory, she would create a perfume like the world had never smelled. In one, maybe two years this smell would be ripened, and everyone would fall under her spell. Men or women, nobody would be able to escape it. They would be overwhelmed, stunned, helplessly enchanted, and they would have no idea how it had happened.
Yes, that is what she'd have been as a child. Enchanting like a little elf. God knows she's not innocent, but what men and women have done to get to her. She knows she has the magic, but does she know the real impact of it? No living soul will be able to resist her when she begs you. Bound by the air she has around herself, no one can deny her something. She gets what she wants. And she's got me pretty bad.
There it is again, that faint wave that catches my attention every time she's near. It's mesmerizing, this is the scent she saves, just for me. It's that bedroom smell. It's the same scent that I'm wearing too. She's the reflection of perfection; tousled hair, swollen lips and only a sheet to go with the aphrodisiac that is her. She smiles and I can smell her even better when she comes near. I take her in my arms, kiss her neck and take in as much air of her as I can in one breath.
She's mine, I'm hers.
I knew it the first time I met her. Her scent that day is stored in my mind forever. A bit more spicy than normal, sultry, fresh. All Catherine.
'Hey honey, what are you reading?'
'Oh, it's called Perfume.'
'Ah, is it any good?'
'Yeah, it reminds me of how good you smell.'
'I love you, you know that, right?'
'Yes I do, and just for the record, I love you too.'
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I hope you like this story. I might start a serie called 'Senses' if you like. If you want me to continue, I'll post 'The sense of touch' as soon as possible. This one is 'the sense of smell'
Thanks for reading my story.