Maxcorn

It’s supposed to be a nice evening. The guys asked if I want to go out again, and it’s been way too long since I’ve really been out. The clothes fit, sporty casual. Everything else just doesn’t suit me. Every attempt to dress more maturely has failed. Two spritzes of Ralph's Club go on my neck, public transport, the ride to my buddy's shared flat. Greeting at the door, a blonde smiles at me friendly. A little flat sit-in with pre-drinks. I don’t know her, but I think she’s great. Does she think I’m great too? A lot suggests so. Hug, kisses left, right. She smells amazing. City night, going out to party later. I grab a beer. The sweet note of Ralph's Club pierces through my nose with the first sip of beer, and I imagine that the women love the scent. The blonde goes out to smoke. I don’t smoke anymore and follow her to the balcony, bumming a cigarette. The others are all in conversation, I make bad small talk, a few half-baked jokes. We stand close together and look into the distance. She says, "You smell good." One or two hours later, I’m drinking my fourth beer. The mystical sweetness has faded, leaving only intrusive synthetic notes. We move on to the club, the blonde has since disappeared. The guys are standing around me. I’m drunk and dissatisfied, accidentally bump into a guy next to me, who pushes me back. A clear thought. I need to end this sad spectacle, I grab my jacket from the cloakroom. Outside the door, I hold back the cigarette. I don’t actually smoke. I don’t actually like partying either. Subway ride home. In the morning, I wake up with a hangover. Regret, alcohol, guilt. I was an intrusive guy with intrusive perfume. My lungs scratch, I have to cough. The remnants of last night come up, I gasp for air. The remnants of Ralph's Club press through my nostrils when I breathe in, so uninvited and insensitive. I want to change, take a headache pill, and step into the shower.

A hot summer evening on the yacht. My wife is just getting ready, applying the final touches of her makeup and putting on her light summer dress. The boat shoes fit like a glove. The linen shirt gently hugs my toned upper body as the wind from the Adriatic coast slowly sweeps along the shore and glides between my skin and the fabric. "Honey, are you ready? Our shuttle is coming soon," I call down. A hint of Polo Blue rises from my chest into my nostrils. Light citrus notes, with wood music in the background, knowing its place and not being intrusive during the concert. The smiling face of my girlfriend emerges from the wet cell, she looks simply wonderful. "Just a second," she says, before turning off the light and coming up. The marinero approaches slowly with his speedboat, stopping gently and docking at our yacht. I help my girlfriend over the railing before I take the first step into the speedboat myself. The marinero shifts into reverse and gradually increases the speed as we leave the yacht behind us. My wife sits next to me and smiles. "You smell good. Is that Polo Blue?" I nod and smile back. She slowly leans against me and I hear her visibly relaxed exhale. I wrap my left arm around her while holding onto the starboard side with my right arm. The speedboat is now cruising at a solid 40 knots through the calm sea, the sun is low. Nothing can disturb my peace. Life has never been easier.