know_the_feeling

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Back here - nearly a decade later. 
          	
          	Holy shit the growth. 

know_the_feeling

He smelt like buns. Hot cross Buns. Gooey Dough and studded sultana's.  Maybe girls love the smell of baked goods. They smelt of butter and sugar. Sometimes a touch of sexy Cinnamon. 
          
          Whatever it was, it smelt hot. And whilst they exhaled and inhaled in that tiny basement room discussing the non interesting particles of plants. All she wanted to do was taste enzymes. 
          
          
          Either that. Or his Denmark slash Ukrainian Accent.

know_the_feeling

okay, that is ... okay. Maybe the Danish thing was irrelavent but... whatever
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know_the_feeling

OMG. I could sooooo improve that. Here we go: 
            
            I usually fall for the aftershave. As it diffuses through the air, invading my sense. But he smelt of the bakery. Hot cross buns, a gooey dough - mimicking my knee caps. And studded sultana's. Maybe he could make me feel like a Sultana, whilst he be my Sultan. 
            That marriage of butter and crystal sugar was the alcohol (denant). Solvent bringing it together, pulling me apart. And cinnamon, its never felt more sexier than now. 
            
            In the basement, with the exam tables and chairs, she could imagine a dinner. Where the textbooks became table clothes. The pens and pencils became knives and forks. The Purple pack of Pringles became the main meal and the water became white wine - classy. But they were discussing the anatomy of a plant. Only if they weren't discussing, and if it wasn't a plant. 
            All she wanted was to taste enzymes. Sample those maybe. 
            
            Not to mention that Danish accent, maybe next time I'll imagine a cinnamon swirl. So the enzymes intertwine.
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