As soon as I stepped off the train I was soothed by the scents, even in the middle of town. I could smell the sea, a light, crisp edge to the cool breeze and the fish and chip shops left a vinegar tang to the air. The smell took me back to my childhood, when we used to come here for our holidays. We spent a week in Scarborough each year. My parents loved the sights and sounds. I fell in love with the smells. The sweetness of donuts, the sharp salt on the breeze, the comforting odour of the damp sand beneath my feet. I regularly visit my childhood sanctuary to rest in the comforting scents and take in the familiar sights. It is my escape when work just becomes too much for me.

Despite being late September, the town was busy. I walked down the main hill, enjoying the thrill of being on holiday. We all get it, from being a kid to being a pensioner; that surge of joy and energy as we realise this is it, now we can do what the hell we want. We’re on holiday.

I dropped off my bag at the small bed and breakfast I always used. I craved the scents of my childhood, but as I aged I also craved the softness of a real bed and the warmth of brick. I was well past the age of caravanning even ten years ago, and now I appreciate the comforts of life all the more. I do have my attachments to The Empire, though. The first time I stayed here, I fell in love with the clean smell of polish and old pot-pourri. The first morning I woke in my room at The Empire to the smell of bacon, sausage and egg clinched it for me. It pervaded every floor of the tall building in the mornings. It smelled like a home. I met a guy, that first time I roomed at the Empire. Tom, he was called. He was a young lad, around eighteen, and he was reluctantly on holiday with his parents. We met up in the lounge one morning, where I was seduced by his sweet, soapy smell and his candour.

I took his virginity, in the middle of the day as he faked a headache to avoid the monotony of a wet afternoon looking at museums. He was willing and eager and oh so pliant. When I think of him, a shot of desire runs straight to my pussy and I get the urge to stop and masturbate wherever I am. His innocence was delicious and the scent of his new, barely used cock was a delight.