Scents And Sensitivity - Sex Stories

Scents And Sensitivity

"Wait, you caught him doing what now?"

Joan sat across from me at our kitchen table. Light from the setting sun streamed through the patio doors, highlighting her still (mostly) natural blonde hair. Her smile was gentle yet curious, with an almost mirthful twinkle in her eye.

"He was sniffing our panties, Jo."

Joan sat back in her seat, her short silken robe slipping open just enough to reveal what I already knew of course; that she was completely nude beneath it.

"Tess, my darling," she smirked, "perhaps you need to start from the beginning."

***

It started earlier that morning, when I spotted Martin, our neighbor, in his yard. We'd known him and his lovely wife Ellen since we'd moved here eight years ago.

While they were roughly twenty years older than Joan and myself, we got on quite well with them. Ellen loved to cook and invited us over often for meals. Martin, meanwhile, was the handyman, always volunteering to help whenever we needed something fixed around the house.

When Ellen passed suddenly a year ago, Martin had been devastated. Joan and I did our best to comfort and support him, of course. But for the past several months he'd been reclusive, not answering calls nor even the door when we knocked.

So it was a pleasant surprise to find him outside, tending to his long neglected garden.

"Martin!" I called out. "So lovely to see you!"

Martin wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he approached the chain link fence that separated our ...

... properties. Leaning over it, we managed an awkward hug. The heat of the day had already left a sheen of sweat on our skin, yet neither of us minded. I was happy he felt comfortable enough to want contact. And while his scent was strong, I certainly didn't find it unpleasant.

"Tessa, good to see you. It's been too long."

"It has." I kissed him on the cheek before breaking our embrace.

I truly didn't want to do the typical "How are you doing?" thing. The man had lost his wife, the love of his life, at the age of sixty. He'd been through hell, but was trying to carry on.

And so instead I steered our conversation towards the mundane; the weather, chores, the usual minutiae that neighbors share.

Still, I couldn't help but worry about him a little. His salt and pepper hair was in desperate need of a proper cut. He'd lost weight since last I'd seen him, his usual stocky build now, not quite gaunt, but definitely undernourished. It was obvious he hadn't been eating. Nor had he been outside lately; his normally tan skin now pale and threatening to burn in the hot August sun.

Still, his steel blue eyes looked happier than last I'd seen him. I decided to take a shot at hopefully rekindling our friendship.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask," I tried to segue the conversation as casually as I could, "I ordered these new organizer shelves for our closet. They're a lot more complicated than I expected. You know I hate to bother you, but do you think..."

As I'd hoped, ...