Fragrance

Pure sin. That was what I thought as he rubbed against me in the dark heavy heat, in that chair-sized closet space. But that was enough for what needed to be done. He'd left his mark on me with his writhing, fragrant body. It was some kind of perfume. Or maybe body oil. Taking the subway back, legs still unsteady, I was careful not to stand too close to anyone. I was afraid that if I did, they'd somehow know. I had tangled with sin. But that was not what preoccupied my mind, afterwards. What unsettles me more than anything else was the realization that I'd smelled that fragrance before... on someone else, in a different time and place. It could not have been mere coincidence. Coincidences aren't found in dark, vibrating rooms full of desperate, aroused people. Coincidences don't linger like a sweet scent on denim jeans or make sudden cries in the middle of the night, leaving wetness behind. There can be only two explanations - either my mind has decieved me into drawing association where non exists, or alternatively and more disturbingly, the man that I thought I knew was not quite what he seemed.