pALEPHx wrote:

Nice visual AIDS, W0lfie. There was a gal named, I think, Janet or Diane at a friend's answering service in Albany about twenty years ago. My friend, Patrick, regaled us with stories of how they'd have to Lysol the little "delta of Venus" she left behind after her fat, sweaty thighs departed the company chair cushions. My guess is, to have suggested the idea that he inhale that piscine musk, would have made him throw up everything he'd eaten for a week.

Mmmm...piscine musk.
Actually, my large inverted friend, women with a daily hygiene regimen do not generally smell of fish, at least, not any more than your cock might smell of your best chum's lunchtime menu options. There is, however, a medical condition called bacterial vaginosis (BV), which creates discharge and a fishy odour. One of the tests for BV is appropriately called the "whiff test." The whiff test can be done slowly or quickly. The slow way involves a Lurker-shaped wodge of discharge and a few drops of potassium hydroxide. The faster method, SOP for pelvics in clinics with a paucity of resources and a surfeit of skanky clients, is for the doctor to use her hand to waft a little odour in the general direction of her nose. In general, however, cunts smell like cunts. It's an acquired taste, perhaps, but once you grok it, you grok it hard.

pALEPHx wrote:

Believe it or don't, I knew all that. Janet/Diane/whatever had huhsef sum hygiene issues, methinks. While both Patrick and I intellectually understood that this was NOT what women--even heavy-set gals--were supposed to leave in their wake, some gurlz cringe at the very mention of triethylamine. Call it a cognitive diss[onance] (besides, this was a "Time Before Purell"). I'm just glad I didn't work there, because I would most assuredly have been compelled to take her aside for some invaluable 'girltalk.'

This whole chair-sniffing fetish...doesn't surprise me. If I had a dollar for every depiction of some gay guy with a jockstrap front and center over his face...well, you get the idea. OLFACTORY BULBS...UR DOIN IT WRONG.

I freely admit to a panty-sniffing fetish. After I nail a lass, I get her to leave her undies behind for a little olfactory reminiscence. Most of them seem flattered by the idea of me jackin' ole johnson with their gusset over my nose. Chairs and bike seats, however, do NOT appeal. Why bother, when I can have the sweet white cotton that cups their lovely crevice?

Roger_That wrote:

This is all fine and good, as long as it doesn't occur at the gym where other people have to sit on the seat after you.  I don't care how good the gym disinfectant is, if I smell any odo(ur), I'm not sitting on a seat.

Perhaps this is why I run...

No, RT, you're doing it wrong.  That's why I swim.

whiskytangofoxtrot wrote:

Roger_That wrote:

This is all fine and good, as long as it doesn't occur at the gym where other people have to sit on the seat after you.  I don't care how good the gym disinfectant is, if I smell any odo(ur), I'm not sitting on a seat.

Perhaps this is why I run...

No, RT, you're doing it wrong.  That's why I swim.

God comes down and finds Adam and Eve looking guilty as hell.
Adam! Have you been having sex with Eve?
Yes Lord. Sorry Lord.
Eve! What did you do with the drippings?
I washed my vag in the river, Lord.
God damn it! That's not what I wanted the fish to smell like!

Badump...ba...yeah...lame...sorry.

Roger_That wrote:

Lame, but well placed and mildly humorous.

You know, Roger, considering how many men around here drool over you, without, I might add, having ever seen you, I'm pretty sure you could make a mail-order living selling your slightly soiled underwear. You could charge the cost of the panties (all cotton, please - retains the natural scent better than anything else), plus a hundred dollars...or even more. I'm not sure what the market would bear, but we could have an ongoing auction for the underwear of all the women of High-Street. Choad could get a percentage, even, and realize his lifelong dream of making money from the Internet. As for the auction thread, we'd have to make it a sticky. Mmmm...sticky.

Roger_That wrote:

God, I've missed this place.

But not enough to share my underwear.  Although if current finances, gas prices, and electricity bills start to continue to rise...one never knows.

I wonder if I could start a "RT will show you her boobs for money" fund...

Hmm.  I'd have to have a minimum of 500 bucks and no face included...

Shit, nevermind.

For 500 bucks I'd wanna slap 'em around a little. Well...a lot. I used to be a gentle lover, but then I discovered my Inner Misogynist - thank fucking god. I remember labouring for hours to give women orgasms, with a success rate of about 50% and a correspondingly low sexual ego. Now I slap their faces, ram my cock down their throats, twist their nipples till they scream and pound any and all holes till they walk like sailors. Orgasm success rate? WHO CARES!