you walk into the men’s locker room and catch three men changing—shirtless, mesh shorts sliding down their waists from the release of drawstrings.  Tightening the belt around your jeans, you find yourself getting hard.  But it’s not just the sight of these men shedding their clothes, or the composite of their skin and your skin delineating scenarios in your mind.  No.  It’s the smell in the room.  The rusty metal lockers, the sweat on tired bodies, the misfired shots of urine, and the recently rolled on deodorant hangs in the air like a clever sigh.

And it smells so fucking good.