The book told the story of a pair of sisters who lived in a small cottage in the woods. The pictures showed the sisters brushing each other’s long hair, helping each other take baths, and helping each other dress. Their hands would linger over each others breasts and pubic hair, and eventually led to photos of the sisters kissing.

The most striking visual memory is the sisters laying the grass nude, except for white and black striped thigh high stockings with bows on the front. They were lying as if they were sleeping on their backs, with their hands on top of each others pussies. The very last image is of the sisters walking back to their cottage hand in hand.

Soon I could hardly wait for the opportunity to be alone in the house and run to his bathroom and get the book out. I remember lying on my stomach on the cold floor, looking at the book, and bringing myself to orgasm as quickly as possible. I remember the smell of my father all around me, from cologne and tobacco to the faint smell of urine from the adjacent toilet. I also remember the fear of being discovered, and how I knew that I needed to finish quickly so the book would not disappear.

To this day, I like to be in a bathroom that smells like a man. When my husband fucks me from behind in the bathroom, I put my stomach on the cold floor and my hands in my pussy. I breathe deeply, remember that book, and come within minutes.

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This post, The Beauty of Women and the Smell of Men, originally appeared on Minivan Libertine on 04/26/2009. If you are viewing it anywhere other than in a feed reader, it was scraped illegally and without my permission. Please email minivanlibertine at gmail dot com and let me know.
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