# Short Story 746 words (mild language - mature content)



## Tealynn (Apr 7, 2016)

A writing exercise to challenge myself. The focus is on the five senses, scent being the driving force behind the plot.

The Scent of Dreams 


Sometimes they really piss me off. Seriously. We’re in New York, for God’s sake. We’re only here for three days and they wanna hang out in the hotel room. Nope. Uh huh. Not me. I'm taking more than just a bite out of the Big Apple. I'm gonna eat the whole damn thing.

So here I am, braving the masses and catching the 7 to continue exploring Manhattan on my own. 

The 7 is fairly empty so I grab a seat. So far so good. But I know the closer we get the more crowded it will become. 

As I sit and watch the world outside, more and more odors enter the car. It's amazing how many smells can be crammed into such a small place. Perfumes, both cheap and more than I make in a month, colognes, cigarette smoke, and a cornucopia of body odors from various  locations. I can even smell bad breath. I pop in a piece of gum and try to remember if I had put deodorant on.

Finally, 42nd street! I switch over to the 1, and I have no choice but to stand. Ug. I grab a pole at the back where there's fewer people.

At the next stop, more people crowd on. I feel a presence behind me. A hand grabs the pole above mine. I study the hand. Distinctly male. Nice fingers. Clean fingernails. It's a strong looking hand. There’s a fine covering of dark hair, starting just at the wrist. The wrist is naked. I like this wrist.

The heat from his body seeps through my thin summer clothes. He's not touching me; no contact whatsoever, but I can feel him. An inch away? Maybe. If this car jostles, I will undoubtedly bump into him. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

A pleasant smell wafts through the odors, enveloping me in … Neroli Portofino? Yes. It makes my knees weak. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. My heart begins to race just a little.

We come to our next stop, and I hold my breath. I do not want this smell to leave. We go; he stays.

I surreptitiously let my eyes travel up the arm. It's lightly tanned, muscular, so undeniably masculine. I get lost in the sunlight playing in the dark hairs sprouting from bronze skin.

 I imagine what it feels like to have that arm slowly wrap around my waist, palm lightly grazing my belly, the heat from his skin searing through my cotton top, hand cupping my hip, and bicep nestled between my arm and side of my breast. I breath deeply. 

One step. Just one step and I could be absorbed into this scent. 

I feel his breath, right behind my ear, tickling that spot, that sensitive spot. I won't turn my head. I won't because I don't want him to stop. 

This is crazy! What if he's Quasimodo? What if he's twenty? 

How long has it been? I don't even want to go there.

The car jostles. We touch. Oh so briefly. But long enough to know we fit. 

Touch. His hand is touching mine. Little electric shocks. My heart is no longer racing slowly. I am mesmerized by this contact. He has to know. Why doesn't he move his hand? This is not proper car etiquette. I'm not moving mine. 

I breathe deeply. I envision that beautiful hand covering my own. The unseen arm snaking around my left side. His other hand wrapping around the pole. Cradling me between his arms in his warmth and smell. I lean into him, and he rests his chin on my bare shoulder. It's sensuous with stubble lightly scraping my heated skin. His profile is every beautiful face I've ever dreamt of. 

I listen to him breath. I feel each inhale. Exhale. Against me.

His body is more summer sun than fire. Heating my back, the warmth a trickle down my spine, down..

The car stops. My eyes pop open. I'm flushed. I can feel the heat and I don't know if it's from the weather, the stuffy car, the man behind me, or my desire.

I feel him leave. I need to see this man who’s scent just took me places I haven't been in such a long time. I turn, he's standing right there. Adonis. Demi-God. He smiles and says, “You smell like vanilla and summer rain.” Then he's gone. 

Dammit. I missed my stop.


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## bdcharles (Apr 8, 2016)

Heh, I really like this. Passing moments of light-tough consensual frotteurism reminding me that sometimes I miss public transport.  I did get the impression that the focus was more touch and physical sensations like warmth than smell, but that might just be, oh, I dunno, the way in which this struck a chord. Either way, it worked, and as a story I found it very engaging. I wanted to find out who was this mystery man behind your narrator-I. Would he even exist? Would his gentle proximity be an illusion, dredged up from the fathoms of the I's desire? Nope, he's the real deal and parts on a perfect one liner  Great stuff!


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## kaminoshiyo (Apr 8, 2016)

Tealynn said:


> A writing exercise to challenge myself. The focus is on the five senses, scent being the driving force behind the plot.
> 
> The Scent of Dreams



The whole time reading this, I'm like... "Is this what girls are thinking about on the train?" 

I liked this. You really get drawn into her moment right there.


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## FunkyNed (Apr 9, 2016)

I really liked this.  I felt like I could smell the guy, feel your hands touching, and even feel the embrace that was only imagined.  Very good job with the sensual descriptions.


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## denmark423 (Apr 19, 2016)

I love how you started it. You should be having more short stories.


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## JustRob (Apr 20, 2016)

As a Londoner who's never crossed the pond I had to tune in to this story as I didn't know that the numbers refer to what I assume are subway trains. Once I overcame that hurdle I understood the context. The equivalent in London is the "Tube", a network of deep cylindrical tunnels bored into the London clay, which require trains with similarly curved profiles to run in them. These can get even more snug than trains designed to run in rectangular tunnels, what we call the "Underground" if we are being precise. The Underground was built in the very early days by cutting trenches and then roofing them over rather than by using deep boring machines. In fact the first London Underground trains were pulled by steam engines and the passengers coughed a lot, therefore not so romantic a setting but nevertheless very popular as a novelty. As sections of the Underground are open to the sky one doesn't get the same feeling of entering another closed world that the Tube evokes. Hurtling through tubular holes deep below the city shoulder to shoulder with other passengers, one's only refuge from a feeling of helplessness is within one's own imagination. The imaginations of the unwary must really be stimulated when their train unaccountably dives even deeper into the ground at St. Paul's to stay well below the cathedral's crypt and then rapidly rises back like a roller coaster, throwing them against each other. Yes, I understand this story and you present it very well.

The details seen and the conjecture about those unseen are pitched well and you choose the words economically. I like it.

I was surprised by the ending, not the fact that the character missed her stop but that that elicited a curse. Wasn't the experience worth it? What had she hoped to encounter in a busy city if not people? I can understand your wanting to return her to reality with a bump but would have expected you to offer us some lingering glow of satisfaction rather than just annoyance. 

In my corny way I would probably have entitled this piece "Heaven scent", but even I would consider that to be too out of place here.

My signature contains the statement that sharing an experience creates a reality and you have demonstrated that sentiment well here. Revealing that the man had been sharing it with her all along is a key element to the story, turning her fantasy into a reality, albeit belatedly. Well done.


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## lvcabbie (Apr 20, 2016)

Nicely done.


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## bdcharles (Apr 20, 2016)

JustRob said:


> The equivalent in London is the "Tube", a network of deep cylindrical tunnels bored into the London clay, which require trains with similarly curved profiles to run in them. These can get even more snug than trains designed to run in rectangular tunnels, what we call the "Underground" if we are being precise. The Underground was built in the very early days by cutting trenches and then roofing them over rather than by using deep boring machines. In fact the first London Underground trains were pulled by steam engines and the passengers coughed a lot, therefore not so romantic a setting but nevertheless very popular as a novelty. As sections of the Underground are open to the sky one doesn't get the same feeling of entering another closed world that the Tube evokes. Hurtling through tubular holes deep below the city shoulder to shoulder with other passengers, one's only refuge from a feeling of helplessness is within one's own imagination. The imaginations of the unwary must really be stimulated when their train unaccountably dives even deeper into the ground at St. Paul's to stay well below the cathedral's crypt and then rapidly rises back like a roller coaster, throwing them against each other. Yes, I understand this story and you present it very well.



I love the whole aura of mystique that surrounds the tube, what with all the abandoned stations and lines that lead nowhere. I was watching Hidden Britain By Drone the other day and found out that there is a separate underground rail network, used by the Royal Mail. Was decommissioned a few years ago sadly - but is set to open in 2017 as a museum! \o/ 

Didn't know that about St. Paul's crypt though. How neat is that


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## JustRob (Apr 21, 2016)

bdcharles said:


> Didn't know that about St. Paul's crypt though. How neat is that



However, I did hear another story that it was done to avoid the ancient plague burial pits around St. Paul's. Either way it was a region to be avoided.

This picture from Wikipedia shows what I mean about Tube trains being snug compared to "sub-surface" underground trains. The curved roof can cause particularly tall people to lean inwards over shorter ones, increasing the feeling of having their personal space invaded. At least, that's probably their excuse for doing it. I assume that subway trains are more like our sub-surface ones. 


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## EmmaSohan (Apr 30, 2016)

Fantastic. Takes my breath away. I will IM you.


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## Aquilo (May 1, 2016)

It's a cracking voice you have here. Very clear and quirky and a good way of looking at life and condensing the moment.

The challenge with senses is a tough one. In 1st pov specifically, once the pov is established, it's clear to the reader who's doing the feeling, seeing etc, so it's not the senses themselves, but what's being sensed that should ideally take focus. Recommend just looking to see if the sensory guiders can be filtered out to sharpen the imagery.

I can even smell bad breath / Bad breath sneaks in over the others

I feel a presence behind me / a presence behind me raises a shiver

I like this wrist. Good place for sensory!!

Maybe. If this car jostles, I will undoubtedly bump into him. This is excellent!

I imagine what it feels like to have that arm slowly wrap around my waist / What it would feel like to have those arms wrapped around my waist

I feel his breath, right behind my ear / his breath kisses behind my ear,

Oh so briefly. But long enough to know we fit. Good!!

Touch. His hand is touching mine. Good place for repetition and sense guiders here!! 

 Why doesn't he move his hand? This is not proper car etiquette. I'm not moving mine. Excellent!!!

I can feel the heat / heat burns right through to my fingertips

I feel him leave. Close repetition of feel. Recommend an alternative here. 

Adonis. Demi-God. Just be careful not to over-emphasize. Sometimes you don't have to know what the man looks like to make him appealing. Just having: He smiles and says, “You smell like vanilla and summer rain.” Then he's gone. Is perfect, and denying the reader the final sensory allusion could have worked wonder here!

Dammit. I missed my stop. Wicked Ending!!


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