The Summer of '89
I stormed down into our basement and sat stewing in my misery. That BITCH, I thought. Everything seems to go her way. After a while I began to regain my cool, and I got up and began the task of sorting the laundry. I hated doing laundry, but not nearly as much as the dishes, so I began to think that maybe this isn't going to be so bad.
As I began loading the whites into the washer, I noticed a pair of Angie's underwear in the pile. I picked them up, wondering how I might use them to somehow get back at her. I was thinking about some particularly nefarious uses for chili powder as I idly turned the panties inside out.
Suddenly, I felt faint when I saw the lightly soiled, and slightly damp, crotch. I felt an involuntary stirring in my crotch, and even as I railed against these erotic feelings, I brought the dampened fabric up to my nose as if in response to an irrefutable impulse. I felt stunned at the unbelievably pleasant scent. I felt ensconced in the aura of her sex, so natural and feminine. Musky and very sexy. Forgetting my vendetta against Angie, I rubbed my nose into the thinly crusted cotton, and felt my cock grow rock hard in my pants.
As I sniffed her dirty underwear, I felt a growing conflict stir inside me. These underwear belonged to my snotty cousin, whom I hated. Yet, she was so hot! I allowed my mind to pour over the details of her sweet body. Her breasts were a little oversized for such a slim frame, and they had a great shape to them. Her nipples were big enough that if she were cold, you could tell even when she wore thick bras. And I hated to admit it, but her ass was even better than Jeanine Fitzgerald's, and I loved Jeanine Fitzgerald's ass. In fact I'd often stroked myself thinking about Jeanine's ass.
I pressed the obscene stain firmly into my nose and took a deep breath. The sweet musky scent of pussy was intermingled with just a touch of piss. God, how could piss smell so good, I wondered! In the erotic heat of the moment, I thought that maybe she really was a goddess of some sort. I felt shame at the thought that Angie's sex, even when coupled with faint traces of her urine, turned me on so much. I pulled down my pants and began to jerk off with my cousin's underwear pressed into my face. After a few short minutes, I spunked all over my hand.
Suddenly feeling overwhelmingly ashamed and self-conscious, I quickly cleaned myself off with the underwear and finished my chore with the laundry. The whole experience filled me with self-disgust, and I tried to put it behind me and forget about the whole thing.
Nevertheless, I had crossed a threshold to a completely different view of my cousin, and ignoring my new-found awareness of her body and intimate knowledge of her personal odors was now impossible. I managed to put her underwear into the washer without giving it any special attention just once, and then each time I did laundry after that, I spent more and more time fondling, studying, smelling and even tasting her underwear. It filled me with guilt and shame, but I couldn't help myself. This was especially frustrating since I felt so at odds with Angie. She already seemed to think I was little more than an amoeba. What would she think if she found out that faint strains of her piss were enough to make me do incredibly degrading things with her underwear? Angie's underwear varied, but sometimes they were very strong with the smell of her pussy and urine. Somehow this drew a compellingly submissive reaction from me. I felt like I had secretly become enslaved by her.
However, I made sure not to let my private change in feelings toward Angie show. My dirty little secret began to have strange side effects though; her snotty demeanor now seemed oddly enticing to me now. Quietly, I had stopped expressing resentment at her constant presence around my friends, since it meant she was also around me. Sometimes I would just look at her while thinking about the scent of her pussy. If only she knew how I had grown to love doing her laundry, pathetically sniffing the traces of her bodily fluids and waste!
The submissiveness of it grew very clear to me as I realized one very important thing in the next few weeks: I enjoyed her underwear the most when the smell of her urine was strongest. I enjoyed it even more than the smell of her pussy. I actually got off on the fact that it was her piss, and that sniffing it made me some sort of dirty pig. I had grown to crave the smell. I considered it a special treasure when the scent was strong, and even kept at least one pair of her underwear for myself at all times — the pair with the strongest urine scent. Luckily, she never seemed to make the connection when a favorite pair of her underwear would disappear, then reappear a week or so later.
One time, a pair of her underwear was still wet from what was clearly pee. She must have had some sort of accident, and I felt an odd mixture of glee and a mild revulsion at that glee. I almost came before I got my pants down.
About mid-summer, sometime after July 4th the way I remember it, I started noticing a change in Angie's laundry. Her underwear seemed to be coming down to the laundry basket dirtier and dirtier. If the first time were an accident, she was starting to have accidents more often. Sometimes the underwear was so dirty, it seemed that she must have worn the same pair for a couple of days in a row. It was so out of character for her to be wearing dirty underwear, and it made me wonder what might be going on.
Her socks also seemed much more rank. The first time I noticed that, I hadn't even brought her socks to my nose. Even at arm's length the reek was an overpowering sweaty, almost cheesy scent. I rubbed the socks into my nose and was amazed by the sense of worship they invoked. They smelled so bad, and I felt quite humiliated at the erection they produced. After I came smelling my cousin's stinky socks, I smelled her rank foot odor on my face for the rest of the day, keeping me in a state of continual semi-arousal and shame.
Coincidentally, my cousin and I began to get along better, though I noticed she still acted like she was too good for me. Maybe it was because I was accepting that attitude. Sort of like that bumper sticker that says, "We'll get along just fine when you realize I'm God." I wondered if she had any idea how I had grown to have a secret affair with her body through her clothes, and that I adored her in a most degrading way. I supposed she didn't, but on more than one occasion, she actually covered for me with my parents, and so I reciprocated the treatment. We seemed to come to an unspoken understanding and maybe even began to enjoy each other's company a little.
In spite of the pleasure I was gleaning from this series of events, I became increasingly troubled as thoughts about my very nature began to pop up ever more frequently. Why was I enjoying things others (including myself, I thought) would find distasteful? I'd always kind of went with the flow when guys would joke that women smelled like fish, but had never really believed it. I liked the smell of pussy.
What I found most disturbing about this whole thing with Angie's underwear was the fact that my enjoyment didn't stem from thinking that Angie's underwear didn't stink; it stemmed from the fact they DID very much stink! Especially when the scent of her urine was strong, I could not in any way objectively rationalize that the underwear really smelled good. And yet, the foulness of the scent drew me more than ever to want to smell it, to taste it, to...
On rare occasions, Angie's underwear were soiled by more than just piss, and when that happened my pleasure was never greater. Once, I could smell a definite farty, anal scent toward the rear of her beloved underwear, and when I came, I remember distinctly concentrating on the fact that that smell meant traces of Angie's waste were literally inside my body. Up to that time, it was the most intense orgasm I'd ever felt.