Boiling Point

She was with a guy — but when she sat...

... at the bar stool...

... beside me...

... it didn't diminish the fact that she smelled like sex.

Not the aftermath of sex but, somehow, the precursor.

The come-hither of pheromones. An almost alien level of WANT carpet-bombing the real estate of the bar.

What did it smell like?, you ask.

Freshly-cut grass.

Don't ask me what that means but in the relentless 90-degree weather of the summer of 2013... SEX smelled like freshly-cut grass.

Deep. Musty. Thick. Coppery. Organic. Fertile. Metallic.

S.E.X.

I was at the bar to write but as soon as they sat down, my focus shifted, ever so slightly. And I swear, if her companion had been careless enough to leave her alone for a few moments... I'd have had no choice but to move in. With aggression.