colecting smells

Lately I have been thinking of smells.
I remember the wonder it caused me when, after my first sexual encounter (which I, naively, had called love-making), I discovered a new smell. Sweat, bodily fluids and gasps intertwined and created the strangest and most enticing bouquet I had ever encountered.
I became obsessed.
Love-making, which was the axis of that relationship, was overthrown by the creation of that new perfume. I could almost skip the first part as long as I could inhale for hours that wonderful, delightful and strange new aroma.
He found it funny, even cute, that I could spend hours after the act, naked as we were, smelling the bed, smelling him, smelling myself, breathing all that had passed. My eyes rolled back and I inhaled deeply, expecting that new powerful aroma to impregnate my body, to stay with me. It only lasted a few hours, and then, it was gone as magically as it had appeared.
So I decided to keep it, to create my own little perfume brand.
After the naked gymnastics I would ask him to stay put, not to move, and I would go all around the bed, or the floor, or wherever we were, and start putting all the fluids I could find into a little bottle.
I was saving the creative fragrance for later, for my own use, for my own pleasure.
I didn't stop to think that maybe, just maybe, bodies were necessary to withhold that essence, to create the powerful scent that made me orgasm once more.
I didn't care. I had my fluids, and in my mind, I could open it up and take a sniff whenever I wanted to, keeping the most precious of the sexual act inside a glass bottle.
Now, years later, I wonder what happened to that precious item, where it went, and if anyone found it, if they would think it as enticing and delicious as I had.