The Scent of Red
by Amanda Earl
Sulfurous cinnabar causes her to ache. Earthy sienna sends shivers to her nipples. Ochre’s pungent odour of ozones travels an electric impulse to the base of her spine.
Her prints are black and white intaglio. She inhales, filling her nostrils with silver’s brine.
She is a known recluse. Rare visitors must wear neutral colours. Something about synesthesia: the blending of senses. At the last minute though, he puts on a red tie. A reporter who wears red gets noticed in a scrum.
But this isn’t a press conference; it’s a private interview in her studio. He tries balancing a coffee on his knee. She arrives as he scrambles to pick up smashed china.
A ripped t-shirt barely covers her. Tendrils of hair cascade onto her graceful neck. She exudes jasmine.
She helps him sweep everything up. They sit, then laugh.
She stares at his tie. Her cheeks turn scarlet. Throughout the interview he notices her nostrils flaring, her ass squirming.
“That smell,” she says. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“Smell?” He’d been careful not to wear cologne, knowing people were allergic.
“Your tie.” Her nipples stand erect through her t-shirt. He grows hard, wanting to touch her.
“Red…is the sexiest scent,” she says as she spreads her legs, tilts her head back.
“Shall I take it off?” He’s worried. He’s blown the interview, but now all he wants is to fuck her.
“Take it all off,” she says, “but leave the tie.”