Malfeascents

There are many native talents one can have that should receive a decent supply of pride. For instance, i am naturally ambidextrous. Both my left and right sides can handle physical agility with comparable dexterity. When i discovered this about myself, i was quite excited, but didn't languish too long in my celebration. I immediately saw practical applications for it, testing myself on various menial tasks from each pole. I would insist on doing things on my left side that were weaker than my right, and vice versa. I foresaw using this talent to prepare for the possibility of an injury to one side. Being able to wield inherent skill to my benefit made me quite proud. I do not hold the same fealty for my hypersensitive sense of smell.

I live in a city where in the summer, even the dullest sense of smell suffers from the raw stew that pools in the gutters and simmers into the air. My olfactory can sometimes cripple me during a heat wave (yet another reason why i don't enjoy the summer), making it nearly impossible to pass along the sidewalks where all of the restaurants have hauled their greasy trash to the curb. I recognize that these mighty gifts can be used to enhance my life, enrich others, perhaps even save those from impending doom. However, what keeps me from feeling blessed with this trait is my singular ability to detect feminine smells. Every single one of them.

Before every pop star, fashion icon, and hotel hussy decided to splash the essence of exotic flowers, rare spices and nature-sounding words like "oak" and "yling yling" into a technicolor bottle, thus flooding the market with their punch, i could deduce the perfume of any female i encountered. Now there are too many fragrances to learn. In the past, I could be on a bus, and a pretty girl would sit next to me, and the first words out of my mouth, without making eye contact would be the declaration of her signature perfume.

"Allure."

"How did you know?"

It had its obvious advantages. But that fits into the "enrichment of others" facet of this ability. What odors the perfumes are used to cover up are what cause me the most distress.

From a very early age, before i even positively identified the source, i was able to detect the odor of a female's cunt by just standing next to her. Some pussies are blessed and truly do offer a honey and nectar distillate. When i encounter these ambrosial cunts, i can spend all day breathing them in. Others are the equivalent to a punch to my gut, and make me worry about the owner's overall health. I can usually determine the quality of a girl's bouquet in a few minutes.

It's usually the heavy mineral presence i pick up first, dominated by the time of month which determines how much iron is involved. The next scent comes in either a sweet or a sour cloud, which depending on the cleanliness of the female's vulva, will enhance these two fragrances. During the best exposures, i'm left with a salty whiff, like i'm standing on the edge of the ocean on a blistery day, mist spraying me in the face. The experience that leaves me disgusted usually caps off with the pungent odor of sun-baked meat. These are the times i wish to God i didn't have such attuned senses.

Encountering this has cropped up in the most inopportune moments. I'm someone who has always held that i determine when a level of intimacy will blossom between a girl and i. Having my nostrils fill with the moist aroma of a girl's sex before that point, comes off as an affront. I've ended dates. I've terminated crushes. I've stopped conversations at a party in mid-thought.

There are days that i adore this quality of mine. Especially when i am standing behind a beautiful girl in the line of a cafe, and i get just a tickle in my nose of her delicate effluvium. Then there are those days when it's too much to bare, when i'm trapped on a subway car surrounded by malodorous females.

I haven't yet figured out how i might be able to use this to my benefit or for my own survival. Someday i hope to sniff out the purpose for it.