Sheer sensuous fantasy. The powdered top note evokes a woman who dresses for seduction — a soft trail of lipstick, the rustling of lace. The intimate ritual of a femme fatale who sees right through the fragile armor of men. Her sophistication is intriguing, as is the commerce she makes of her body. Under the bitter-sweet touch of almond, like a secret that unfolds, comes a hint of supple leather, fluid and flexible, that introduces what is to come: a boudoir, fingers that tighten on a leatherette sofa and the palpable presence of raw desire. Doesn’t every woman have the fantasy of being a temptress in a hotel bar, of yielding to desire in the intimacy of a lift or of giving way to sensuality in silk sheet luxury?
For one night only, one thrilling night, there are forbidden pleasures and delicious dangers behind the doors of a boudoir. She is a woman of fantasy in a real world – you can see her, hear her, touch her and smell her – and then she’s gone. The thrilling moments may never be recaptured. And you don’t even know her name.
This is not love. But you’ll never forget her.
