we always grin knowingly when a man offers up appreciation (devotion) for bras and ranties; sheepish at his admittance, as if one click of a mouse in a thousand somehow matters. we immediately reassure him that it doesn’t make him seem gay, that he is in fact is one of many bras and ranties’ boys and send him on his way. but not after he admits to us that there’s too much fashion for his liking. pssh.
we will save the opportunity to rantie about the lack of stylistic vision the men in this town possess, as we had intended this post to be one for the boys. proof positive of the their compadres. their needs addressed, desires attended to. as always, it comes back to the vagine.
thank you to a kindly man-reader for introducing us to a whole new level. ideas amaze us, even in vaginal form evidently. introducing vulva: the scent of a woman’s vagina (actually) captured in a bottle for your recreational use.
though we do believe we’ve found one of the world’s sexiest scents (we’ll never tell) we’d also be the first to wax philosophic earth mother about chemistry, pheromones, animalistic attractions. but this shit is, like, actually vagina juice. that you roll on. sniff sniff.
the prudes dismiss it as niche: sexual hobbyists, fetish fulfillment, private use. after all, what women wants a man that smells like someone else’s pousse-pousse? but lest we not forget: there are a lot of weird dudes out there. there are dudes who fuck flashlights, dudes who marry pillows. soon enough, there may be dudes all over town bathed in bottled cum. sorry mom.