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I find words fascinating. Their sounds, spellings and meanings are just the beginning. It's the associations many words give rise to that are the real turn-on. For example:

The Oxford English Dictionary defines eschatology as "the part of theology concerned with death, judgment, and the final destiny of the soul and of humankind." This word in itself might raise an eyebrow or give rise to a yawn. But consider the similar word, scatology, which but for the absence of two letters (e, h) would be written exactly the same as eschatology. And even given the different spellings of these two words, the e of eschatology is so unnoticeable that if you say the words aloud three times really fast, they become almost homonymous; that is, though they mean different things, they sound pretty much the same. OK, the real word is homonymic, but my version sounds better and new words are invented every day, so my contribution to the human race is homonymous. You're welcome.

But do our two words really mean different things? Scatology means "an interest in or preoccupation with excrement and excretion." So while an eschatologist is concerned with death, a scatological person is interested in shit. Shit and death. The final destiny of the soul and what comes out of one's behind. Is there a relation? Is an eschatologist interested in things scatological? I can't speak for the general public. As for myself, I spend not a small amount of my leisure time wondering about death. What is the nature of death? Does consciousness survive the body? If so, in what form? Do you need the mind in order to perceive? Can the mind exist without the body? If you need a mind to perceive, and the mind perishes with your demise, can you be said to exist without being aware of the fact of your existence? As you can see I have given these issues a great deal of thought, or at least enough to raise questions, but not enough to generate convincing answers. A career in eschatology won't be calling out for me.

But scatology also interests me, because I am fascinated by excrement. I'm not sure why, but it always has. As a boy I used to enjoy running my finger along my bum and then smelling it. That hint of odor - which by the way comes from stercobilin, a break-down product of hemoglobin, which is the oxygen component of blood, mixed with billions of bacteria which helps us break down food, combined with your daily diet's portion of indigestible fibrous products. Your gross is my delightful.

Moreover, in one's anus are present numerous apocrine glands which secrete pheromones and oils with a signature all your own. In layperson's parlance, no two buttholes smell the same. And really, a convincing argument could be made that one's anus is the purest smell of the body, unadulterated as it is by toothpaste and mouthwash and other hygienic products (as is the mouth), or the armpits which are often deodorized, or the skin which is moisturized; the butthole boasts a smell purer even than the loins, which get a fair amount of lotions, perfumes and other cosmetic treatments. So your ass crack is who you really are, because there is really no disguising it. A butt where the hair is allowed to sprout (tastefully, of course) makes the scent even more unique, since hair follicles also produce secretions and the hairs themselves serve as a breeding ground for the beneficial bacterial in the area. 

As a boy how I used to long for the day I could marry and my wife would give me her panties each night to place lovingly beneath my nose. And then in the morning I'd poke my nose between my bonnie's cheeks and take a whiff to greet the day and awaken my lass with calls for more. Why these fantasies? Some obsession? It's hardly that, since I think of my beloved's backside no more than I ponder what to make for dinner, which is to say every day, but not constantly. If you believe in reincarnation you'd probably say I was a dog in a former life, since this behavior befits our canine brothers. I can understand why on greeting a person they go straight for the crotch, since this is where the fun's at, and because being low to the ground and going unnoticed, Fido can! But I don't believe in prior lives. I just like the smell of a clean rectum. Clean-ish. Really, it's better than any perfume on the market. Anyway most department store perfumes contain animal secretions, so if viewed correctly the smell of your sweetheart's shit is far more alluring. Can you say aphrodisiac? Baby's pheromones are waiting for you in the dirty clothes pile.

Of course, I've had gal pals who wouldn't let me have at their panties, or run my finger where the sun don't shine, or bury my face in their unshowered rumps. You've heard of you had me at hello? Well, those relationships were doomed from the word no. Because that's one of the great perks of intimacy. To know another, and be known yourself, like nobody else knows or for that matter would care to find out. To know another. Not to no them. And if you haven't given your butt or the butt of a loved on a good whiff, I tell you the aroma is intoxicating. It's better than coffee grinds or oak-aged wine or all the other things we're told smell so fine. It's better moldy cheese, that's for sure. The only thing I can compare the curious fragrance of a day-old bunghole to is a flower in full-bloom. So that will have to do. Because like Outkast sang, roses really smell like poo-poo.

My advice is to give a sniff, preferably after work on a long and somewhat hot day, so the aroma mixes with the natural oils contained in sweat. Be sure to shower that morning, but no fewer than four hours before or all you'll get is the smell of soap.

Do you find it odd, this yen of mine? Well, if it is, I am in good company, for hundreds of designers of women's panties make their brands go right up the butt. After a whole day walking around with a cotton strip up your crack, how not to expect a scent and possibly a sight. As for what goes on in the front of those same undergarments, I don't care much to explore. The comedian Amy Schumer said it best when she joked, "For once I'd like to take off my panties and not to feel like I just blew my nose in them." Amy wasn't telling no lie, especially around that time of month. Call me a connoisseur. 

But the backside of even the most soiled pair of panties...somehow that's so much more friendly on the eyes, dare I say dainty. So don't let the treat go wasted by throwing your day-old undies in the washing machine, or as the Brazilian beauties do, washing them in the shower immediately after wearing and then hanging them to dry. Instead hand them over to your special somebody and watch your relationship blossom like a rare flower (which like all flowers, and all holes, is sure to have an exquisite scent all its own.) Or like me you may wind up alone and waiting for the next smelly tush to come my way. But in the meantime, I have memories of my own.


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