Down my way, spring has sprung. We’ve had non-stop sunshine for four weeks now, without a drop of rain. Temperatures in the high 60s or even 70s. The local heifers chase each passer-by with the hope of a quickie but usually end up in headbutting contests or kinky play-mounting in apparent disappointment; swifts, generally expected mid-May at the earliest, are already filling the sky with their joyous swoops and ungainly wails; the hyacinths have finished blooming, replaced by the silk petals of dark-hued tulips, emerging from the lime crowns of euphorbias. It’s a wonderful time of year.
I suppose my sap is rising. I’m always tactile – at this time of year, I can’t get enough of cuddles, kisses and general loving. If that’s too much information, be not concerned, as I don’t think I’m going to turn this post into an exposé of the sex life of a rural homosexual; instead, it’s to praise long-term commitment and the beauty of love that lasts. Matt, who’s been in my life for over 15 years, is, in every clichéd sense of the word, my rock. I’ve had a crappy few years, but he’s been unfailingly supportive, generous, warm, compassionate and loving. He doesn’t always have the right words and he doesn’t always understand the inner workings of my messy mind (I don’t either): it’s not as though we’re typical soulmates. But he’s unstinting in his love. And still as frisky as a goat in April. Life’s pretty good.
Perhaps to humour my obsessive traits, Matt has now been experimenting with wearing a different one of my perfumes on a daily basis. In spite of the hyperbole of the title, there are three particular scents I own that bloom on Matt’s skin in ways that I can’t define. They’re beautiful scents, undoubtedly, but on him they take on a truly exceptional quality that is absent when I wear them. Afterwards, on me, they seem flat by comparison. Rather than being a shield or mask around him, they seem to merge with who he is as a person and make him somehow a more expansive version of himself.
The first is Poivre Samarcande. This is his superhero genius scent and emphasises his intellect, magnaminity and the damned sexiness of a superbrain at work. It’s pretty much a thinker’s ‘fume, but has enough of a peppered steak aroma and a hint of muskiness to let you know of the horned lovegod under the brainiac suit…
The second is M7 Fresh. This is his default setting. If you don’t know it, M7 Fresh tones down some of the medicinal qualities of the original, and gets rid of much of the powdery drydown. Like its forebear, it’s reasonably sweet, but with its emphasis on citric astringency and clean skin with a besmirching of dirt running through it, it won’t give you toothache. Though it might give you something else… Forgive me if I imagine Matt emerging from the sea a la Daniel Craig…
Finally, the latest discovery. He wore this to work a couple of weeks ago, with a pink shirt (icy pink, if you want to know). In this combo, I didn’t want to let him go; I had other plans. However, when he returned, he commented on how women wouldn’t leave him alone all day. He became a lovegod. I said it was probably something to do with his shirt (in the UK at least, women seem to love men in the right colour pink – I guess it’s skin tone flattering, as well as symbolically significant – or something), but he said they all unfailingly commented on his smell. It’s a scent I love, but not because it stands out. In fact, when he smells it on me, Matt’s usual response is ‘It’s ok, but I prefer other stuff. It’s not very interesting.’ Still, on Matt it’s the quintessence of beautiful. Iris, myrrh, incense, honey – it was Bois d’Argent by Christian Dior.
So tell me, which scent(s) do you love on your OH? And, if you don’t have an OH (and you so deserve one, beautiful!), how about on the imaginary (wo)man of your dreams?
Minette – you’ve won a sample of Sel de Vetiver from last time round – check your mail.
Thanks to kelimages.com for the hare photo (I love hares, don’t you?)