(Mrs. Hot’s titillating adventures return with the next post.)
IN WHICH I CONSIDER THE IMPORTANCE OF SMELLING LIKE A ROSE.
One of my fondest memories is at the age of five, lying in bed at the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu. Though the room was pretty dark, the hurricane shutters were open and I watched, mesmerized, as the shadow of an exotic palm tree — my first time seeing them — swayed on the wall. But what really stands out for me is the divine fragrance that was coming in on the soft breeze. I never forgot it — it was the same flower as the ones in the leis that had been put around our necks at the airport. Years later, encountering that smell in orange blossoms in Florida and California, I was transported back to my tropical childhood bliss.
When I was eighteen, I had a summer job at a fancy men’s clothier. One afternoon, a superbly-dressed, sophisticated, gorgeous middle-aged woman swept in to pick out an expensive Italian silk tie, a birthday present. I was riveted by her chicness, made more so by the fact that she wafted into the store in a cloud of heavenly fragrance. I asked her what she was wearing: it was “Joy,” at the time, the most expensive perfume.
The impression I got from that Joyous encounter stayed with me a long time. I knew when I grew older, I wanted to embody the same qualities this woman of quality possessed: Glamour, Attractiveness and Sexiness — the GAS — that powered her certainly hot life and seared her into my consciousness, a role model I’d never forget.
Beyond basic hygiene and smelling clean, there is fragrance. Fragrance is one of life’s sensual delights, and etches a powerful sensory memory of a time, or a person. As a young teen, I wore “Muguet,” a drugstore scent of lily of the valley; the smell of “Miss Dior” by Dior takes me back to high school; “Calèche” by Hermès was my favorite in college; then for a time it was “Shalimar” by Guerlain, a legacy from my mother, who wore nothing else, ever; I wore “Diorissimo” by Dior for years, and it still reminds me of the love of my life, my Russian soulmate who adored it — now passed away. Recently, I’ve sought to recapture my childhood Hawaiian rapture: after researching and trying several, I’ve found “Orange Blossom” by Jo Malone, as well as “Velvet Sublime” by Dolce and Gabbana — both conjure that magical South Seas night and my introduction to the romance of fragrance.
Similarly, all it takes is a whiff of cologne from a passing man to evoke a lover. The sheikh who was my introduction to the horizontal delights of the Arab world, had a home in Italy and wore “Acqua di Selva.” Whenever I catch a smell of that, I’m instantly transported to my view over Mansour’s shoulder: a desert night sky thick with stars, a visual revelation as mind-blowing as the sex we were having on a carpet beneath it. (I recommend, though, taking precautions against the dreaded scourge of Sand Crotch, always a possibility in this situation.)
Fragrance — from soaps, shampoos, bath gels, and perfumes — is the very essence of hot. Leave a lasting impression, one that smolders in the imagination a long time after you’ve left. Tip: I spray perfume in the usual pulse points but also over my hair. When I go out and he nuzzles his face in it, it’s another hit of floral moi.
Note to Him: Forget-Me-Not.
Yours truly,
