His scent. I think I smelled him long before we first spoke. He is the third person I’ve been with that smells fucking amazing. It emanates from him in waves when we dance, and I have to fight to keep my hands from exploring every inch of his skin.

He places a protective hand on my head when we sleep. I haven’t slept properly in a week, but I’m wide awake. As comforting as it is to be in his arms, I want to stay up just a little longer to breathe him in. When I turn, he turns with me and envelops me in his arms. We shift, I catch a whiff, and the whole world snaps into over-sharp focus. It’s a moment of existential exultation. Clean and masculine and subtle, it arouses something primal and visceral in me. He radiates it through his clothes and I whimper inside. Millenia of evolution make my body ache to mate with his, to produce progeny with a superior immune system.

The next morning, it lingers in my sheets. My favorite part of someone new: appreciating all the little things you forgot you missed. I’m dizzy drunk delighted at life’s possibilities. And happy.