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.

I reached into my loose slacks and I could feel the gusset of my panties were soaked. I quickly looked around me. There was no one behind and no one in front. I slipped my hand inside my panties and cupped my sex. My finger lingered a little too long on the wet patch and before I knew it, it had slid in between my lips and then up inside my pussy.

I moved forward a little and onto the next set of hangings. The smell here was even nicer, an intensely sweet scent that permeated my mind. I almost doubled up trying to get my fingers in deeper. The harder plastics surrounded me and pressed between my thighs. My fingers eased out a little and I inhaled deeply. The smell was intoxicating, to me anyway. I wanted to come and I rubbed my clit while pressing my nose tight against the wall hangings and sniffing and sucking in the air that seemed to extract the scent out of them.

I came hard.

By the time I had completely recovered another woman had caught me up and asked me if I was alright. I nodded and carried on. She must have smelt the sex in the confined space that I occupied or on my fingers.

I carried on through the exhibit. The sexual excitement from the aroma increased rather than decreased. Although sated, I was still erotically charged. As soon as I came out of the room I headed to the shop with only one thing on my mind.

“Where can I buy the kind of plastic that hangs in Room 7b please?” I asked the young girl behind the shop counter.

She smiled at me, pursed her lips. “Is that the room where you walk between the sheets and the sweet smell engulfs you; grabs hold of you and then transports you to another world?” She twirled her fingers in the air.

I looked at her, “Sounds like the place,” I nodded.

She leaned forward over the till and motioned me towards her. I leaned in to hear her whisper in my ear. “Did it bring you off too?”

I sucked in the air around me as she pulled away smiling profusely. She had her answer and I had a firm inkling that I was not alone in this strange world.

“I have some at my flat,” she said, “a couple of metres of it,” she added, biting her lip, “I finish at five.”

I looked at her, hard. As far as I was aware, I was heterosexual, but the thought of what she offered, in the confines of her flat, seemed too good to be true. I looked at the clock, it said four-thirty.

“I’ll wait,” I replied, pointing to the bench in the foyer. I turned to leave the shop and felt her eyes bore into my wiggling backside. I felt my pussy moisten at the thought and secretly wondered what else might be boring into me by the time the evening was over.