Call me strange if you like, but my mind reacts to certain things that are not normal. Some people react to visual stimuli, while other people react to sounds. We all, I guess, react to touch and taste.
Just the thought brings back memories of that cock I felt last night and how smooth his balls were, how stiff he got and how urgently he needed to fill my eager throat.
Which brings me to smell, we don’t use that sense so much, do we?
I didn’t think so either until I visited a museum exhibiting an artist’s work that was a little unusual to say the least. It wasn’t your normal art, or pottery, or statues, or abstract pieces of objet d’art.
No this was off-the-wall or should I say off-the-ceiling.
It was an exhibition on plastics. All kinds of plastics, displayed as art and as used in industrial areas. I had expected an exhibition on plastics and its effect on the environment, so in that respect, I had walked into something I was not prepared for.
I wandered around the exhibits taking in all the angles until I came across, what was called, the sea of erotica, a fabric installation by Veronique Expelier. The description insisted that I would feel the touch of the plastic on my body as I walked through the exhibit and would be aroused by all my senses. Bollocks, I thought.
The plastics were all made of different hues, hanging from the ceiling in a narrow corridor; all of them different lengths, different stiffness and all smelling differently. The exhibit was empty. Most of the people sniffed at it and made their way around it.
I sniffed at the first piece of plastic and found it intrigued me.
My nostrils flared at the first hint of a strange and different aroma. An aroma I had not come across in my entire life, which in itself is odd considering my advancing years.
I took a step forward and shrugged the plastic aside. I felt it slip over my body, brushing against my right breast as it flipped over my shoulder and fell behind me. Suddenly, the smell hit me. It was acrid yet sweet, intense, yet soft. It filled my nostrils to the exclusion of all other smells. I closed my eyes and walked further. More soft plastic bands caressed my nipples.
The intensity of the smell overcame me. I’m not sure whether it was the smell or the way the fabric caressed me but I realised I was wet between the legs. My nipples were like bullets pointing outwards.
I pushed myself against some harder plastic hangings but had trouble getting past them; parting slightly they allowed me through but only on their terms. I felt horny, erotically charged. The harder sheets pressed against my breasts as if squashing them, mauling them, feeling them up.