Being Dunedin’s premier gay, I started my night by browsing my way through Tinder's flawless feed. Dodging the constant barrage of poor attempts at sexual ice breakers, I came face to face with the most handsome breather one could ever set their eyes on. His beautiful, sharp, chiselled jaw could very easily fulfil my brewing knife kink. I immediately hit him up and expected the night of my life. We started flirting straight away, and soon I asked him to come over. He said yes.
I jumped up and had a shower, deep cleaning every crevice he could possibly enter and abuse. My lavender-scented soap begged me to slow down as I reduced it to nothing but crumbs. I sat on my bed, ready, waiting for the Prince Charming to my Fairy Godmother to arrive.
The knock on the door sent shivers down my spine. I was ready. Opening the door I was immediately hit with… The smell. A smell that could kill. This seemingly perfect man’s BO ravished my unsuspecting nostrils. I promptly hid my gagging behind a yawn and invited him in. We sat on my bed in my room talking about our very limited things in common. He told me how cosy my room felt and how pristine it smelt - thanks Kmart $12 Candle! He then went further and complemented how beautiful I smelt, however, coming from this man this was not a compliment.
He attempted to further our night, gabbing my thighs and looking into my eyes he leant in to kiss me. I panicked and jumped up. I made the point that I needed to put music on to let my flatmates know of the ritual that was about to go down. The smell at this point was so bad I felt woozy standing up, I was not prepared to know how his unshowered cock smelt. This night 100% needed to come to a very, very fast ending.
I started my spiel. I ranted about my day, emphasising how rough it was. I had never so quickly come up with such a bullshit story on the spot, yet he continued to listen. I stood by my door giving very obvious hints for him to leave. He did not stop listening and talking, all while his potent BO spread into every inch of my room.
Eventually, he left, after I stressed how tiring my day was and how much I needed to rest. I immediately took off all my bedsheets and opened all the windows and doors possible. The smell lingered. As soon as I opened my door to waft the wretched smell out my flatmates all simultaneously gagged.
The moral of the story is: don’t judge a book by its cover, because the contents could have a BO that could knock a small child unconscious.
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