Cleopatra

She sits in front of me. My nostrils get a whiff of her perfume. I don't wear perfumes or deodorants, I am tolerant of other people's body odours and I keep my distance from people so that they don't have to tolerate mine. I let my kind of women find me, as they say those who are genetically compatible to you find your body odour attractive, though one should make it a point to not let their body odour turn into an abomination that makes people retch. Her scent was attractive, no doubts about that and her body odour mixed with the scent of her perfume was doing things to me. Attraction is such a thing, you never know who ends up attracting you. Last time it was that cute idealistic ground reporter who deals with morbid things like rape. I came to know about her, wanted to know more about her and she kept on getting more and more attractive for me. The task at hand was not getting pulled by this babe who was wearing a kind of perfume that had the capacity to attract me, of course mixed with her body odour that was making my chromosomes jump around in the nucleus of my cells. I felt like I wanted to procreate with her. I have known a few women and I have known their souls. This was different, I didn't know anything about her except her body's smell and her choice in perfumes. I try to calm myself. I start actively thinking about the idealistic reporter I liked so much. I'm somehow sure that she would have smelled good too had I known her. Could the reverse be true too? Could this perfume wearing, what they call now a days, baddie, be my kind of a woman? That's a topic for research. Would have to check PubMed after reaching home to see if someone has already explored it. I haven't got to see her face, but at this point I'm not afraid of getting disappointed. My nostrils and through them my brain and the rest of my body have already declared their verdict. All my theories about being sapiosexual and soulmate finder are at stake here. Maybe things actually are primal. My brain at this point has stopped braining, it just feels that I want her to sit on my face. Sitting on the face denotes power dynamic and I don't even know her enough to deduce the political and financial power differences, I just want her ivory ass on my fucking face. Maybe genetic superiority is really a thing. I reject it though. I will always reject it. I get up and walk in front of the bus without giving her a look. I don't want to see her face. I get down from the bus. Life can't be this simple, I can't let it be this simple.