I wear Clinique's Happy most of the time (even though I own more than forty perfumes), but when I'm going on a date, I prefer the number one man-eating perfume out there: Azzura. This stuff is powerful. No man can resist it. And when it's strategically sprayed in certain spots -- spots you know he will nuzzle and caress -- it's even more powerful.
Such was my evening last night. Azzura not only roused him, it drove Him MAD. Azzura was delicately sprayed on the inside of my thighs, the back of my neck, both wrists; I placed a gentle dab on my cupid's bow. I took a Kleenex and sprayed it with this magical scent and wiped it across my breast. I even used a spritz it in my freshly-blowdried hair. I then stood in front of a fan and let the air diffuse the intensity of the scent, so that I didn't go out smelling like a perfumery. (I don't recommend this amount unless you do the fan trick). What was left was a delicately scented woman, squeezing her thighs together throughout the whole evening.
I could have fucked Him. I wanted to. Really wanted to. But it would have only frustrated me. I'd be on the blog two days later, regretting it. However, third base and a half was reached. It took all the strength in my body not to head for home base, and He knew it. He tried to take me there, with his promise of multiple orgasms and how he could hold off from climaxing for hours. Swoon.
Composed I stayed.
Barely.
I did spend the night at his condo; a nice downtown bachelor pad with a great view. He wanted to make love with the lights out, in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I wanted to as well, but Good Girl Promise, remember? Instead, we set up camp in front of the windows, where we sipped the driest Cabernet Sauvignon, kissed, and talked about...of all things, work.
Two and a half glasses of wine later, I was on my tummy, the spaghetti straps of my dress pulled down for a much-needed massage from him. His hands felt amazing. "Can I be honest with you," he said, while massaging me.
I moaned.
"Your perfume is driving me crazy."
"I'm not wearing any perfume," I lied. "That's just my shower gel." I think he bought it. I think the scent was just delicate enough for the lie to go over.
We kissed for a while, and he suckled my nipples. He tried to head downtown, but I stopped him...reluctantly. He asked me if I was sure; I said yes. We laid together watching the city, cuddled, breathing the scent of fermented grapes into each other's face. He put on 95.5 WMUA and we fell asleep to jazz.
We both didn't wake up until noon, where we headed to Ann Sather for breakfast.
I'd say things went well.
Now I'm home, ready to take a hot bath, order in some Chinese. Then...I await His call.
The game begins.