I was filled with anticipation for what the night might bring, but that excitement quickly evaporated when an overwhelming odour filled the air. "What's that smell?" I inquired. Alex*, my potential romantic partner for the evening, looked utterly mortified – a reaction I had anticipated. However, lying there on his bed with him positioned above me, I simply couldn't tolerate it any longer.
The Unfortunate Turn of Events
"Do you need to use the bathroom?" I asked next, feigning ignorance, though the truth was painfully clear. I aimed to be polite and considerate, recognising this was a delicate subject to broach. Yet, something was evidently amiss, as he had been emitting the most pungent aromas throughout the entire evening. I had finally reached my limit, bewildered that he expected intimacy to proceed despite the lingering stench.
The Evening's Promising Start
The night had begun on a completely different note. I had joined a group of university friends for a meal in Soho, one of whom was Alex, someone I wasn't particularly close to. Our paths rarely crossed, and we shared little in common. Nevertheless, I had always found him incredibly attractive. His chiselled jawline and strong arms were captivating, and he sported the kind of hair that flopped over his eyes reminiscent of a boyband member.
He had never given any indication of interest in me, so I admired him from a distance – until this dinner. As eight of us gathered around a large table, the drinks flowed freely. I sat between Alex and a good friend, Cassandra*. Initially, I caught up with her, but after about an hour, aided by growing tipsiness, Alex began to look especially appealing.
Flirting Amidst the Fumes
I turned my attention to him. He shared news about securing a job at an architecture firm and moving into a new place nearby. As he spoke, I detected a slight, unusual smell around us. Dismissing it as possibly coming from a peculiar dish at another table, I continued flirting. I smiled at his every word and occasionally brushed his arm. At first, he didn't reciprocate, but after a more deliberate second brush, he finally caught on and returned my smile.
Periodically, I would nudge my leg against his, just enough to make him blush. Another hour passed, and the smell persisted, fading only to return stronger and more potent. At one point, Cassandra chimed in, "Can you smell that?" receiving a mix of nods and shrugs from the table. Alex responded loudly, "No, what smell?" "That very strong one," I added, half-laughing, half-puzzled, but he merely shrugged.
A Stolen Moment
When he excused himself to the toilet, I quickly followed, seizing the chance to steal a kiss away from prying eyes. I pulled him aside near the restaurant kitchen, and we shared a passionate snog. Initially surprised, he soon melted into the kiss. We made out for several minutes until a chef calmly instructed us to "go sit down." Giggling, we returned to our table – notably, neither of us visited the bathroom.
For the remainder of the evening, the odour permeated our gathering, though I believe we all grew somewhat numb to it, aided by another three bottles of wine. Under the table, our hands kept finding each other, and sometimes his hand ventured to my thigh. The message was clear: we were heading home together.
The Harsh Reality Dawns
As we bid farewell to our friends, tipsy and giggling, we walked off arm-in-arm. However, upon arriving at Alex's flat, I could no longer ignore the smell. Perhaps the brisk walk in the cold air sharpened my senses, or maybe it had intensified. I realised the common denominator. After a drunken moment of questioning if I had soiled myself, it dawned on me: it was him.
Amidst the wine swirling in my brain came a eureka moment: Alex was farting. It was severe, and he clearly desperately needed to use the toilet. I was at a loss on how to address it. Had I been emitting such odours, I would have been mortified if pointed out. Yet, I wouldn't have engaged in making out if I were producing them. It felt as though he thought he could get away with it, which seemed absurd. I believed I deserved fart-free intimacy.
The Awkward Confrontation
So, as he lay on top of me on his bed, I broached the subject. He stared at me, utterly humiliated. He turned bright red, laughed nervously, appeared on the verge of tears, and then quietly left the room. I sat on his bed, calling after him gently, but couldn't help feeling relieved as the assault on my senses ceased.
I waited for ten minutes, then half an hour, eventually falling asleep. A couple of hours later, in a hungover daze, I awoke alone in his room. Stumbling out to find him, I discovered him asleep on the sofa. A wave of a nuclear bouquet, akin to a potpourri of ass, hit my nose as I watched him sleep soundly. Confused, I tiptoed out, gathered my belongings, and quietly left his flat.
Reflections and Aftermath
I couldn't comprehend what had transpired but was glad to be gone. Cassandra texted me: "Are you with Alex? ;)" to which I simply replied that we had made out and I went home. He may have been expelling demons, but I didn't wish to shame him – he was, after all, a friend. We didn't speak much afterward and avoided each other at uni gatherings, more due to our schedules than anything, though it was a relief.
Given his reaction that night, I doubt it was a conversation he could have handled. I only wish I hadn't intercepted him on his way to the restaurant bathroom that evening – and that he had valued me beyond someone to have sex with when he evidently just needed to relieve himself.
*Names have been changed to protect privacy.
