The Bloodhound

Dear Butch,

When I was a child my grandfather used to call me “The Bloodhound”.  I have an unusually strong sense of smell, almost to the level of a superhero.  Despite his best efforts, I never joined him during hunting season.

So when you show up for a date with smelly stale cigarette breath or a winter jacket that hasn’t been washed all season, I notice more than the average femme.  And when you bathe in body spray or fabric softener, my nose burns.  Combine all four and I promise you there will be no second date.  I never want to mention to a butch that I am bothered by their scent, I am not a rude individual.  However, I want to privately advise before you are publicly criticized.

Here is the basic rule: I want to be tipsy off your scent, not drunk.

I work hard to make sure that I smell nice for you.  My hair product, deodorant, and laundry detergent doesn’t compete with my perfume (which I keep five in rotation).  I keep my clothes clean and brushing my teeth is one of my favorite non-sexual body sensations.  I smell good so that you want to melt into my neck, so you can get tipsy.

I want to smell a hint of you and a hint of an additional scent.  One of the sexiest smells is a butch who went to the gym right after work.  There is this intoxicating aroma of sweat and cologne.  I could press my nose into their neck and sniff all day.

One of my ex’s smelled of salt and her signature cologne, I could melt into her chest and inhale for hours.  This scent is so memorable to me because she was not a smoker, washed her clothes in detergent free of heavy fragrance, and wore unscented lotion.  There was no competition for my nose, nothing to deter from the salt and cologne.

So ask yourself, could you pass the bloodhound test?




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