Airborne Stripper Scent

As I’ve said here before, I love Stripper Scent. That ubiquitous and distinctive smell that I mentally associate with strippers on contact in the club and that immediately puts me in the strip club state of mind. That close-up smell of shimmery body powder that is ever present in the lapdance. I love it. And I experienced it again this week in an unexpected place – in flight.

It was another business trip. Another airport. Another round of the routine: arrival gates, food courts, departure gates.

People watching:

- the Silly Cute Girl in her fashionable Capri pants playing relentlessly with a Slinky in the food court
- the Pretentious Boy with his baggy pants and 3 hats: a beat up baseball cap, with a sweatshirthood pulled up over that, and a bright red cowboy hat perched on top of it all
- the Gadget Boys and their high tech toys. Laptops and Blackberrys and Bluetooth wireless headsets looking like crazy people talking to themselves as they pace relentlessly solving the pressing business issues of the world.

And one wildly inappropriately dressed hoochie-mama waiting at my gate for our flight. It was as if she was flying somewhere to dance and didn’t want to wait until she got to the club to dress. Big hair. Florescent top barely holding her in. Deliciously sexy midriff. Tantalizing lowrider pants. All of it screaming “sex!”. And her scent, that distinctive stripper scent, washing over me as she walked by.

Oh, my. She had my attention, as no one has had my attention in an airport in a long time. She was beautiful. Sexy. Exotic. And extremely desirable. And I desired her, big time. She was pacing, worried about the flight, and she passed by me each way. There it was each time. That scent! I was immediately transported back to the strip club. To the dimness. To the pounding music. To the erotic scene of several beautiful young girls moving through the room – prowling and flirting and working. And mostly, to the intimacy of the private dance and the closeness and the contact with a beautiful girl.

All from a scent. And a sexy girl.

I wanted to be with her, but had to settle for sitting 4 rows behind her and letting the blowing of the overhead air nozzles bring that scent back to me. Which it did, for the duration of the flight. It was pleasing. Reassuring. And arousing. Not that a hard-on on an airplane is particularly useful, but it broke the monotony of the flight. Forget the laptops and spreadsheets. I was lost in the sense memory of the club, courtesy of that scent, and in impure thoughts….

Thank you, my airborne dancer.