He took a sniff himself. "Pathetic!" he mocked. "This is why I put you in panties because you don't even smell like a real man. That could be pussy...juice I'm sniffing. So now that you've smelled your own weakness, it's time for you to experience a real Man. Get on your knees!"I complied without hesitation. I'd come this far, and I wanted to see it through. I descended into my knees and looked up for guidance."Excellent. You're being such a good little aimee. Now remove my pants and. Anxious to sample the stuff, I hurried back to the jam session and grabbed my sister and headed home. Miming a syringe, my sister had tried to get one. No one had a spare. They suggested snorting. We did. Harsh on the nostrils and the immediate rush absent and the stuff overly cut, we still got stoned, helped by the reefer one of the Negro musicians had given her. Later that night we journeyed to the East Village in search of pinned eyes and curved elbows and men nodding or scratching on stoops. A knock at the door preceded his entry by seconds. I gasped silently when an attractive young man entered my room with a stethoscope tucked his lab coat’s pocket and a tablet in hand. Suddenly, I felt uncharacteristically self-conscious about letting him see my older naked body, with its years of wear and tear. I exercise fiendishly (yoga, Pilates, weight-training) but the passage of time is relentless. He sensed my apprehension but his bedside manner was instantly disarming. He explained that. I took them out and looked at them and saw in the white gusset a thin yellow stain. I lifted them to my face and smelled the most gorgeous smell of pussy that I had ever smelled. In fact the only cunt that I had smelled before was my wife when I had given her a kissing down there. I could feel my erection rising and dropped them back into the basket and put the lid on. Over the years as we visited Emma and got to know her better I made regular trips to her bathroom and to enjoy the smell of.