The Scent of Vanilla by Misty Cogburn (books on motivation txt) 📕

The technical term for 'sense of smell' is olfaction.

As zealous as I'm sure you are to know that, I have my reasons for saying it as such…

'What's so important about that? Why should I care? What's it to me?'

You ignorant buffoons may ask, and to answer with all honesty it has nothing to do with you at all.

It's called sarcasm, a redundant quip in short, I really couldn't care less if you -my audience- knew what a Otorhinolaryngologist was not-!

The simple fact of the matter is- THIS- is my story.

I'm a Doctor -not a scholar, but an ACTUAL Doctor who can drug you and remove your organs- and for years I've studied the effects smell has on an unconscious specimen.

Each scent can produce a synthesized reaction from the test subject at hand, depending on the developmental factors of the subjects past.

Some researchers hypothesize that there are only seven primary odors: musky, putrid, pungent, camphoraceous, ethereal, floral, and minty.

To waste time categorizing scents into set barracks is almost as useless as telling you the definition of olfaction, in all honesty who cares, I'm sure some of you don't even know what 'camphoraceous' is -'tsk.

Offended as I'm sure you are, I'm sure by now you've become aware of my point.

I specialize in scents, and quite frankly I'm an asshole.

Narcissistic, arrogant, and bigoted are all terms one can use to describe my charming personality, being helplessly in love is one as well...

I've worked with scents since I was a child, all with one set goal in mind: To insert myself into my mentally stagnant specimen's unconscious mind.

Difficult as it is, I'm in love with an idiot. -Who doesn't even realize it- I've learned a great deal along my troubled path, even some interesting things, such as: It's been identified that each person has their own scent markers, each is unique unto themselves -with the exception of identical twins of course.

-If you need ask why, then you're just a complete idiot who's wasting my time-

My reason for such elaborate course work is because I want my specimen to be completely devastated at the loss of my scent, I want to be so ingrained into it's unconscious mind that it could follow my light scent through a stench-filled crowd of sweaty men.

-Is it wrong to want to be the obsession of the idiot I love?

The average human being is able to recognize approximately 10,000 different odors.

-If he can't notice me physically, then cognitively can he recall me by scent?

Olfaction is handled by the same part of the brain- the limbic system, to those anatomically daft morons- which handles both memory functions and emotions.

Because of this connection, you get what's called 'odor memories.'

-This was my goal from my experiment-

Odor memories frequently have strong emotional qualities and are associated with the good or bad experiences in which they occurred.

Studies show that 75% of emotions are triggered by smell, which is linked to pleasure and well-being, along with both emotion and memory.

My hypothesis was if dim-brain could subconsciously remember me by scent, maybe I could -with time- invoke the powerful emotions that come with these 'odor memories'?

Interesting fact to know: We have the full ability to smell even before birth -you also drink you're mother's amniotic fluid as well, which is full of your own urine, so don't think that either is much of an accomplishment.

Yet, by the age of twenty… your sense of smell -and taste- declines with age, today was our birthday… and he had turned twenty-four.

I'm sure some of you are saying, 'Why not tell him how you feel-" or some stupid sentiment on that line or so, well that's one thing I can't do…

There's no mathematical way to predict what would happen, I stick with facts NOT theories.

As children, he had said he loved the smell of vanilla, because it reminded him of his mother.

After his mother died when we were fourteen I started my experiment on the basis of his preference of scents, particularly of vanilla.

We grew up together as neighbors, he and his mother lived next door to my family -a broken family who had already lost one spouse to war- as if it couldn't get any worse his mother was tragically killed in a fire.

He was two years younger than me, an adorable kid small for his age, he didn't understand how nerdy I was or why others avoided me, but instead, he worshiped the ground I walked on.

What I knew was science, he thought was magic, every experiment filled him with glee.

It was almost sickening how young I was when I realized I loved him in a way that others would never understand, it was frightening...

After the accident, my parents found out he had no other family we adopted him into ours.

Of course my parents had no way of knowing how I felt about him, or how I would torment him for the years to come after his mother's death.

They saw only a child in need of a home, and we shared a birthday so it made the two of us like brothers anyway -in their eyes at least.

The object of my desire put just within my reach, like a specimen I could only observe, but never study with the full intentions I had planned.

He was my brother now and there was nothing I could do or say to make him want me the way I wanted him, I could never chase after him… but he could chase after me, and it was with that thought my experiment and years of torture began.

The smell of vanilla… his mother's perfume.

I wore it lightly as a cologne, and would spray his bed with the fragrance, knowing it would remind him of his departed mother.

He would cry at night, and at first he suffered alone, crying himself to sleep as he forced himself to lay in the scent of his mother's perfume.

He'd wash his bedding often, but each time I would spray it again.

Soon his pride dissolved and just as I had hoped he came to me one night.

Crossing the planked floor of our room, he wordlessly crawled into bed with me, curling against my back and hugging me close, like the last thread of sanity he had managed to grasp.

I smelled of the same perfume, but it was different than some artificial smell that lingered over his bed, I was real, I was there, he could hold me close and know that he wasn't alone with some lingering memory that haunted him both day and night.

He had me to hold on to and remind him he wasn't alone, -he had his brother. It was only then that I realized my mistake… night after night he would cling to me in tears, yet easily fall asleep within moments of holding me to his chest.

When I was fourteen, my body was beginning to rage with hormones, and I was in love with my brother, who had no idea of my feelings.

Peacefully sleeping as I lay enduring my own touch of sweet irony. He was so close, yet completely withheld from my grasp.

I'd lay there night after night, aching because of his nearness, feeling the heat of him soak into my back, smelling his husky scent, and knowing I couldn't touch him for fear of waking him and letting him discover my arousal.

I stopped using the fragrance on his , each night he would come to me, seeking something he couldn't identify, and despite my disappointment, I knew why… I still wore the scent of vanilla.

For some reason, I still hoped to attract him with the fragrance.

He was my complete opposite in everything.

At fourteen I was considered a genius, by fifteen I had graduated high school, and by the time I was twenty-three I graduated med-school.

When I started college, I moved out and got my own apartment, determined to forget both him and the experiment, -which I had assumed had failed…

Yet, within a week of me leaving he showed up at my doorstep.

Wet from the rain, with a restless look in his eyes made him seem like a totally different person.

He walked in without saying a word, stopping only to drop his bags by the door, then he went to my bed, and instantly fell asleep in what looked like the first time in weeks.

With our parents blessings, I enrolled him into a local high school close to my apartment complex, where he graduated three years later at eighteen, with a full athletic scholarship.

He excelled at everything he did, yet choose not to continue an academic career.

By the time he turned eighteen, we were night and day from one another.

From the age of sixteen my brother had always been larger than me, but as the years past he grew to tower above me, his body a mass of rippling muscle.

By the time we were adults, I hadn't really change by much, I was still pale, almost a foot shorter, and much thinner than him, with black-hair and blue eyes, rimmed by thick prescription glasses that took up too much of my face.

He however, had changed dramatically from the cute kid who once looked up to me… Now a towering, tan, muscled MMA fighter, covered with tattoos and piercings, his innocent eyes were now fierce, yet the same cinnamon color.

He'd even grown his dark brown hair out to the middle of his back; clearly, he wasn't the tender specimen I so closely studied anymore…

-Except, my heart still thundered at his every step-

What time I wasn't studying, he was working at his part-time job, the only time I had to see him was at a few of his fights, and late at night when he would get home and come to bed.

It was the only thing that had remained the same about him, he wasn't able to sleep without the smell of a vanilla scented body.

In that aspect, I was replaceable, as I had now found out...

One's sense of smell grow accustomed to scents after prolonged exposure to the point of not even smelling a prominent scent after the sensory organ has made the adjustment; however, when a new scent is added your senses are immediately alerted.

Vanilla… I would always remember this particular fragrance of perfume. Spread across our room, across our bed, was the scent I had hoped to forget… yet, I recognized the subtle scent instantaneously.

It was the brand his mother wore, the scent I had taunted him with for years, but most notably it was the scent of a woman in their bed…

The difference between a woman's perfume and a man's cologne is only a subtle variation.

-More often than not, the two have the same scent, and the only real difference is in the strength of the two fragrances when exposed-

Yet, this wasn't the scent of my vanilla cologne.

I'd stood by and watched the women come and go from my brother's life, but my brother had never brought a woman to our bed.

My chest tightened, and I could feel the tears begin to roll down my face. Love shouldn't be this painful… it was just idiotic.

As accomplished and intelligent as I was, I never thought this far ahead.

I've had enough of this costly experiment, I can't make my brother love me, yet I had hoped for years … -and all for naught.

My glasses fogged from the heat of my angry tears, so much so that I ripped the delicate lenses from my face and threw them across the room, vigorously wiping away the tears from my eyes.

The door to their bedroom opened and a blurry figure of a man walked into sight.

I knew without a doubt who it was, it was my brother Cole, but as my mind raced I was hit with an idea sure to turn against me, but I resolved myself. Squinting my eyes harshly,

"Mark…?" I asked hesitantly sounding