There’s a certain natural scent I love on a man. Inhaling it elicits a primal and evolutionary response. It’s a drug that I crave. I need to keep whiffing to get that next dose, and I fear if I don’t, I may drop dead.
This alluring musk isn’t to be confused with body odor. If you just ran ten miles and have sweat dripping down your hairy body, I will love your wet look, but I will not enjoy your smell. To me, BO is exactly what it describes: a bad odor.
But man musk is different. It’s also very finicky. The slightest change in scent determines whether I want to lick every part of your body or whether I leave the bar alone.
This all speaks to why I love a good armpit. The mere sight of one and I pop a fat erection. It’s Pavlovian conditioning. I no longer need to smell the pit to be aroused—simply seeing it, and I begin to salivate.
Scent is one of the most powerful senses. Alas, it’s a shame that humans, when compared to most other apex predators, have a very weak olfactory system. Still, it will rear its head in powerful ways.
When I first started masturbating, I jacked off in the shower using Garnier Fructis’ Sleek and Shine conditioner as lube. Seventeen years later, I can now smell that conditioner from four feet away, and every time I get a whiff, I involuntarily get a boner. (I’m just lucky it’s not as common a conditioner as it was in the mid-2000s, otherwise, I’d always be walking around town with a woody.)
I remember the first man whose pits captivated me. It was before I was out as bisexual, but I was still sucking dick and sticking my penis in their butts. (Very straight of me, I’m aware.)
I was alone at A-House in Provincetown when I saw a man with a feather earring and bulky chain. His shaggy blonde hair gave him beach bum vibes, but his attire was very queer Brooklyn—cut of jean crop top and baggy leather pants. I complimented his feather earring, and an hour later, I was on my knees, servicing his meaty 8-inch cock, while he laid back, relaxed, with his hands behind his head.
I was slowly deepthoating him as he moaned, but I needed a break from his sizable cock, so I licked up his body, starting at his cum cutters, then moving to his abs. I had planned to continue to his neck and then kiss his full lips, but I got distracted along the way. As I licked up his sternum, I accidentally got a whiff of his pits—of him.
I felt possessed and took a pitstop to pit-town. I breathed him in the way that one twink breathes in poppers a little too eagerly. You’re almost concerned he has a problem because you see how his bug eyes fiend for more the moment the high subsides.
I never ended up making it to his lips. I was so aroused and needed his cum desperately, so I licked back down his tight body and sucked hard and fast. He shot almost instantly, and I swallowed every drop. I then slept over, falling asleep with my nose directly in his pit. The entire night, with every breath, I took long whiffs.
The next morning, I woke up thinking I may love this man. Who knows? I may have actually loved him. The scent of an armpit is that powerful.