In the spirit of, uh, obscene goofiness, we’re doing something a little different this week. Today’s featured fragrance is Bella Bellissima’s Perfect Night, which Lee and Louise discovered on their London sniffage. Here’s the blurb on the back of the fragrance box:
“Dancing in the moonlight under an endless sea of stars… whispers of promises that thrill the senses… touches that linger, gentle caresses, mystery, passion.
This intoxicating, seductively spicy parfum lingers on the skin creating a beautiful, sensual statement and an unforgettably captivating impression.
An opulent composition, unconventional and hypnotic, blending heady incense, ginger, oriental vetivert and precious amber with a surprising twist of grapefruit, subtly laced with delicate midnight flowers.
Elegant, sexy, dynamic and daring. Perfect Night.”
You’re laughing now, right? Aren’t you sure whatever’s in that box is crap? Here’s the thing: it wasn’t. It was great. We all gave it a sniff, and decided to write our review in the florid, bodice-ripping style of the folks who wrote that fragrance blurb.
It was a dark and stormy night. She hunched over her manuscript, deep in thought, a tousle of hair obscuring her features. The pulpy smell of grapefruit clung damply to her skin. Her nose embraced the heady incense, waiting for the bloom of the night flowers. There was a sound outside her turret windows that interrupted her fragrant reverie. She rose languidly to see what it was, and just then, lightning flashed, and she saw a figure down below, what looked like a man with chiseled features and broad shoulders. Her hand flew to her mouth in fear… but wait! She had seen this man before!
She listened as the door to the tower beneath her flew open, bringing with the sound the vibrant scent of manhood, wafting like amber on the sultry air. Before long he was there — standing in front of her. She gave him a long look, full of meaning. It was indeed the young groomsman from her stables, wearing riding breeches and high leather boots, the smell of horses still clinging to him like a shining miasma, his rumpled cotton shirt carelessly untucked and only partly buttoned, allowing her the briefest glimpse of his muscular abdomen.
“Madam, I have something to tell you,” he said.
“Yes?” Her eyebrows arched. What was his name? She couldn’t remember. But she remembered the way his young, muscular hands held her rein taut when she mounted her horse that morning. Her eyes slid speculatively along the damp trail of hair, barely visible in the room’s dim light, that ran straight south from his navel to the top of his low-slung breeches. She was seized with the uncontrollable desire to bury her face in his neck, damp with rain and sweat from the sultry evening air and some unnamed exertion. The candle flickered and her vision swam as he approached her. The lightning flashed again and the very walls around her seemed infused with the earthy, sensual smell of vetiver.
“The stud is gone from his stable,” he said hoarsely. “It is my belief that he has been…. stolen.”
“Why do you think that?” she asked, trying to calm her breathing.
“The smell of incense. But wait, it is easier to show you than to explain it. Would you please come with me to the stable?”
He lowered his eyes deferentially, and turned his head. She watched his lashes bow, and the sinews of his magnificent frame awoke in her an animal longing she could barely name. If only he’d turn again, and come to her! The thought lasted only a moment, but while it was there, she felt the heat of the day press once more against her, flushing her cheeks and elsewhere. And as it did so, all the trials and exasperations of luncheon and supper with Lord Curmudgeon evaporated. To be in this moment was all she needed.
“I’ll certainly come,” she exhaled, her parted lips moist with anticipation. As he left the room, she stood, and her diaphanous nightdress clung to her; testament to the humidity the storm was now, finally – at last! – breaking. It had been so exasperatingly hot. She heard the rain thunder against the window, and realised she would be drenched on the journey to the stables. No matter, she thought; the dampness would remove the last vestiges of the day, as though the rain itself called to her more primal self, a self rooted in the fecund odours of desire.
The groomsman was already descending the stairs, and she hastened to follow him, as though he was now her master. She had already tripped twice, distracted by the flexing and releasing of his buttocks as he leapt from step to step! In minutes, they had left the great hall, crossed the courtyard and reached the stable doors. Catching her breath, the potent waft of animal made her nostrils flare as the groomsman opened the entrance for her. She thanked him and walked in. As she did so, he shifted position and she brushed against him; he still held onto the door, firm hand on firm knob. She hesitated momentarily; that was all he needed. The sepia light of the stables irradiated his features, and the hair of his forearms glowed with a preternatural presence.
“Madam,” he stated, his bold voice contrasting with his face, which avoided hers – as was expected from his status – “I fear I have lured you here on false pretences. Forgive me.”
Was the incense nothing other than a benediction, a hope that some holy intercession would come between this wonderful man and his desires? She prayed it was not so.
“Dear magnificent man…” She smiled as she spoke, and lifted her hands to his face so that their eyes met, “…forgiveness is only required after sin. And we have yet to do that. I think it is time we started, don’t you?”
And with that, she pulled his mouth towards hers, and felt the heat of his burning loins warm her damp skin, as he lowered her onto the straw…
dirty book cover: www.mysteryandimagination.com