Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice by April Sinclair Page B

minute.
    â€œOK, I was laughing because … I could smell you, OK?”
    My throat felt tight. “You could smell me?”
    Traci nodded.
    â€œWhat do you mean, my perfume?” I asked, knowing full well that I wasn’t wearing any.
    Traci shook her head.
    I held my breath. Was Traci trying to say that I needed deodorant?
    â€œI’m not funky, am I?” I smelled under each arm to be sure.
    â€œNo, you don’t understand. I could smell your pussy.”
    I stared at Traci in horror. It felt like the room was caving in on me. I wanted to throw on my pants and run home. But home was two thousand miles away. Besides, I was too shocked to move. Had I heard this woman right?
    â€œI beg your pardon?” I mumbled hoarsely.
    Traci had the nerve to repeat. “I said I could smell your pussy.”
    I cleared my throat. “Maybe you smelled something in the rug. Has it ever been cleaned?”
    â€œIt wasn’t the rug, Stevie.”
    â€œDo you all have a cat?”
    â€œYes, but Stevie, this was you,” Traci insisted. “I know this kind of pussy when I smell it.”
    My face was on fire, my breathing had stopped. I couldn’t feel my legs. I was torn between homicide and suicide. Somehow, I managed to stand up and grab my pants.
    Traci stood up and stared at me in silence.
    â€œI take a shower or bath every day and I’m not even on my period!” I blurted out.
    But didn’t those women in the magazine ads for feminine-hygiene sprays and douches claim they showered or bathed every day too? And didn’t the ads make it clear that washing with soap and water simply wasn’t enough? What if other people smelled me, and Traci was the only one who had the guts to say anything? A chill ran down my spine. What if the feminists were wrong? What if women did need to douche after all?
    â€œTraci, you have a lot of nerve. As far as I’m concerned, you’re worse than a man! I refuse to stay here any longer and be insulted.”
    â€œWorse than a man!” Traci shouted, folding her arms. “What the fuck does that mean?”
    â€œA man would’ve shown me more respect. You don’t know me from Adam. You had no right to talk to me like that.”
    â€œLike what? What are you talking about?” Traci asked, looking surprised.
    â€œDon’t play dumb with me. Hey; I’m sorry for offending you. If I can use your phone, I’ll call a cab and get the hell out of your apartment.”
    Traci walked toward me while I zipped up my pants.
    â€œWhoa, wait a minute, Stevie, I wasn’t offended in the least. I like the way you smell.”
    â€œYou mean you weren’t trying to say that I stunk?” I gulped as I reached for my shoes. I jammed my feet into my sandals.
    Traci shook her head. “Quite the contrary, I think you smell wonderful. It has nothing to do with being dirty. I wish women would appreciate themselves more.” She sighed. “Don’t you ever smell yourself sometimes and like it?”
    I hunched my shoulders. “Not really. I guess I never thought about it one way or another.”
    â€œStevie, it wasn’t like I could smell you from across the room. I practically had my nose between your legs,” Traci reminded me.
    I felt myself relax a little. “It’s just that it’s so personal, that’s all.” Maybe I had made too much of it. But I still couldn’t believe that I was talking about something so intimate with somebody I barely knew.
    â€œStevie, the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable.” Traci’s dark eyes looked as soft as melted chocolate.
    I felt my stomach quiver. On one hand I was a little tipsy from the wine and feeling attracted to Traci, but on the other hand I still couldn’t accept the idea of getting it on with a woman.
    â€œTraci, this has been educational, but it’s late and I’d better