Debauchery

[garbagewitch]

A sinful, licentious scent: self-indulgent and luxurious. Mingled heady civet and red Egyptian musk, thickened with opium.

 

Starts out very sharp, with an almost fizzy quality to it--like a dark soda without any of the sweetness. It reminds me a lot of fizzy-rootbeer-y opening of Tabu, so I'm guessing it's either the civet or the red musk, since there's no opium in Tabu. It's also distinctly dirty, but I can’t quite put into words exactly how; not like sweat or cum or any other bodily fluid/substance I can put a name to, but there's definitely something living about it. That has to be the civet, and while it's kind of unsettling, I'm into it. It's heady, in a very literal way: breathing deeply makes me almost dizzy.

 

As it dries down, it gets warmer, softer, smokier; kind of sweet and burnt, but not in a bad way. The unsettlingly alive dirtiness is still there, and while I still can't pin a specific substance to it, it reminds me a little of the rough, animal smell of someone who's been on a bender, long enough that they definitely haven't kept up with their personal hygiene and it smells, but not so long that they're truly rank.

 

Licentious? Hell yes. Luxurious? Not so much. This isn't a scent that has the wealth or patience for silk sheets and slow, creative sex. It's too impulsive for that, too raw and rude and reckless.

 

This is a scent that occupies that space between two and three in the morning, black tarry asphalt under bare feet, leather jacket sticky with more rum than coke, and hair carrying the distinctly singed smell of someone who should have their lighter taken away. It's a lungful of smoke, chasing the burn of alcohol down your throat, not long before a mouthful of cum. It's the dirty thrill of getting fucked in a stranger’s bathroom, spiked with just enough clarity to wonder exactly how many instances of sex in a stranger’s bathroom makes for a pattern. It's the filthy, smug satisfaction that comes from flirting with a guy whose twin sister you're already intimately acquainted with.

 

The final drydown is a thick, hazy musk, faintly sweet and pierced by the lingering sharpness of opium; like a curl of smoke drifting over sheets that no amount of washing could make truly clean again. It's the kind of dirty that's more than just excess and indulgence, more than just especially devious sex acts; this is the filth of a line that's been well and truly crossed. This is trying to tease someone in a committed relationship into your bed just because you think you can. This is kissing both halves of a beautiful couple, separately and secretly, then waiting with bated breath for it all to crash down. This is driving out to the middle of nowhere with your best friend's ex at one in the morning because they're the only person you know who will bend you over and take their belt to you and like it. This is a scent that goes along with walking wide-eyed into bad decisions and bedrooms that you'd want to tumble into even if you were sober, that you won't tell anyone about even at your drunkest.

 

I can't think of any occasion where it would be appropriate to wear this, but if it were appropriate for anything, it wouldn't be anywhere near as enjoyable.

Edited July 4, 2018 by conflagrantThief