CW: Some Fatphobic comments within a fat positive post
“I love smelling you.”
A statement that fills me with joy, whenever H says it to me.
“I love you smelling me.” I reply, because I’m always caught a bit off guard by the sincere lust in their voice and the intensity of their investigation of my scent.
They don’t know, I don’t think, about my complex feels about my body odour. In sexual contexts I love it. I love it when I can smell me on their fingers. I love it when I can smell me on their beard. I love it when they feed me the wet fingers they’ve just fucked me with and I can taste and smell my musk. It’s hot. It’s really fucking hot.
However, I have had some negative experiences in my life too. I’m a profuse sweater. Always have been. I sweat a lot and also when I am turned on I get wet, really wet. I mean, super wet. I’ve had negative mentions of these things throughout my life.
As a teen, I hated doing PE, I hated when it was hot, I hated taking off my blazer because often there would be sweat marks under my arms. It got pointed out to me quite a lot and not in pleasant manners. I don’t think I need to go into detail but fat and sweaty were insults I heard all the time and often in conjuncture with each other.
I’m working to lose the sting of being called fat because it’s just a descriptor and I am fat. I never heard it in a positive context in my childhood and teens, in fact it’s probably only been in the last 10 years or so I’ve seen or heard much fat positivity. And of course, everyone sweats, it’s very natural.
In the kink community you kinda get used to bodily fluids. Especially in the summer. Sweat happens, especially in windowless small rooms with vigorous activity for example. I’ve embraced my sweaty mess more since being on the scene. Bodily fluids are expected and people clean up after play because, in part, this expectation.
A while ago our local dungeon banned a member. I’m not going into the details of that, this isn’t the place for it. But in response the member wrote something on fetlife that spoke about the terrible, woeful dangers and gross behaviour of those at the dungeon he’d been banned from. In it, he went into great detail about certain sweaty people, being all naked and sweaty and stinky and not cleaning up after themselves and how vile and disgusting that was.
He was talking about me. I was mortified. I always, always, always clean up after play. Always. That was a lie and it hurt me but to mention my sweat and my odour? That was done to make me feel bad.
And it did. It really did. Although the community rallied around and were so kind to me, I felt dirty and not in the good way. I felt self-conscious. And it put me off playing a time or two. If it was hot or if I knew I was particularly wet. I’d not want to get undressed. I’d add more perfume as the night went on and feel self-conscious in my wet skin.
I’ve worked through it and my eagerness to be hurt has generally broken through my worries about sweat and smell and wetness but it’s always there, in the back of my mind.
H has told me they love the scent of me many times since we got together. They mostly wax lyrical about the scent of my cunt. Telling me they can smell me as we walk along a street, holding my knickers to their nose and inhaling deeply when they remove them, pausing and inhaling before going down on me.
I burn with blushes every time but I love it. I love it so much.
Recently, they’ve complimented me on my scent more generally. They buried their face in my armpit once and I must say my instinct was to panic, but they enjoyed it so much that I relaxed.
Last time I was there, they waited at the coach station with me before I had to leave. They buried their head into the space between my shoulder and my ear and inhaled.
“You smell so good.” They whispered. “I love smelling you.”
“I love you smelling me.” I replied as I always do. Wanting to acknowledge the compliment but not knowing how to, really.
“I love how you smell, but I love the smell of your cunt the most.”
I blushed, I was embarrassed but I was also thrilled. As they continued to whisper in my ear about how and why and when they love the smell of my cunt I couldn’t help but smile. Something that I’ve spent so much time worrying about became something I was thankful for.
I’m not going to tell you all of what they told me because even I need my secrets and some things I just want to greedily treasure all to myself. But they were filthy, dirty, sweet and endearing things that made me feel humiliated, embarrassed, proud and loved in equal measure.
I might still occasionally worry about my odours and my wetness but I will remember those whispered sentiments, how much H loves how I smell and that will help me embrace my smelly self.
Because they love smelling me.
And I love them smelling me.
I can love my smell, too.