>You're led by your hand into the Stego-lair. You brace for impact. It's just as bad as you prepared for if not worse.
>The smell hits you like a wave, a gag rises in your throat but you choke it back. Your eyes water. The smell is fierce and warm. The assault on your entire upper respiratory system only enhances as you take a few steps in over piles of filthy laundry.
>The smell is a mix of several things. Strewn trash, sweaty laundry and damp clothes. The overwhelming aroma of sweat is the first you notice.
>It's salty and creeps up the back of your tongue as it enters through your nostrils. It carries the rest of the stench as a vehicle, a sharp tone to cut right in as the rest follows.
>Next is the food rotting on several plates or sugary drink solidifying in the bottom of some glasses. It's rot and smells as you'd expect, vile and repulsive. The extra sweet smell of the sludge soda churning your stomach.
>Next is the dampness. You can tell this room is about twice as balmy as outside, not just through your skin. The heavy air carries the smell of slight mold and sits like a brick in your lungs, threatening to gag you.
>You fight it and follow suit as you're dropped onto Cynthia's bed, covered in clothes like the floor. These ones are clean and don't threaten your well-being.
>But she sure does. Now that she's this close you can start to get whiffs. She's more or less the same as the filthy clothes but over tenfold worse. As she leans in her warm sweat wafts right up into your nose.
>It's like she's sweating pure garlic oil. It coats your nose and throat like an aerated oil. It's strong enough to make you forget what neutral smelled like. Every gland in your nose tries to clamp shut yet it's too late, the defenses have been breached.
>And now she's cuddling into the nape of your neck. Her smell is on you now and it's mixing. Oh god it's mixing. Your own masculine smell, of which you are mostly blind to, is now bubbling into an ungodly new breed of fragrance
con