I dreamed a scent. I scented a dream.

In my dream there was an unfamiliar room with a subtle yet irrepressible whiff which I couldn’t locate.

Faintly familiar at its edges not the room but the scent.

Maybe I had landed up in a painting.

Like a hound I sniffed around almost hungry and desperate.

There it was.

On the floor.

A dress. Crumpled yet spread out as if discarded in a hurry.

Yes. That was the magnet.

The floor wearing the dress, way erotic than the woman wearing it or the woman without the dress.

And that aroma. That killing tantalizing murderous perversion of my senses.

I had the urge to touch it. To brush the tips of my fingers over it. To crumple the fabric in my fist.

Should I give in? Or should I resist?

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me now.

Should I undress the floor? And bring it to my nose and toss it in a corner far far away?

There it ended. With a gasp. I woke up with a massive massive hard-on.