Warring Senses
She smelled of coconut oil, which wasn't bad, not really, never unpleasant. Made him think of beaches, palm trees, mermaids rising out of the sea. He just wished she wouldn't smear it on her face and lips. Even a quick kiss left him feeling he'd just swallowed a health food drink--liquified kelp and the probiotic grain of the month.
All in his head, of course, made up to swirl around, add to the list of odors he couldn't bear. She'd given up aloe, shea butter, any cream with olive oil in the ingredient list, and all the supplements with no identifiable source. All natural now.
Au naturelle, she said. Tout naturelle.
Why did she talk like that? Her mother was Norwegian for God's sake. She could at least work a few Scandinavian consonants into her speech.
Or he could teach her German, something low, guttural, authentic and human.
He smiled at the thought, practiced a few ochs and ein, vie, drei before the mirror, slapped on his alcohol-based after shave and hoped the bracing odor preceded him for the rest of the day.
