It’s been scientifically demonstrated that body odor plays a huge part in sexuality and attraction between humans, and thus should not be underestimated. I, learned that my peculiar way.

One of the first guys I had sex with said he was really into my smell, so much to the point that he dumped his boyfriend and moved countries to live with me. Months into our relationship he kept saying that he was addicted to my smell, that it made him go crazy and it shot him to the Moon and Mars. Months later nothing had changed, and it got so bad that he started cheating on me for fears that he might have actually been ‘hooked’ on me, you know, like crack. As you could already predict the whole affair started following a psychopathic pattern and so I fleetly dumped him.

Olfaction is not only the most primitive of all senses; it also reaches the emotional part of the brain faster than sight. So the same way that it might be the deal breaker in dating, by working as a repellence filter, it will also make it harder to fall out of love with someone, even if they happen to be abusive assholes.

Our bodies’ scent is created by human leukocyte antigens (HLA), the outward manifestation of immune-system genes, together with fluctuating asymmetry (FA), which affects body symmetry. We tend to be more attracted to genetically dissimilar HLA types and that’s why we don’t usually fancy shagging our siblings. And FA, which affects our body size and stress tolerance, is the reason why we smell differently when we’re under pressure.

Months’ worth of dating went by without one single incident of someone being specifically attracted to my body odor. But one day the roles reversed. However, I wasn’t drawn just to body odor; I was into the real stink. The day I was awoken to the pleasures of strong body odor was one time at Pork, a party in Berlin. I was dancing, concealed in the sweaty and oppressive walls of the sex club called Ficken 3000. The dance floor was not very full and some sort of electroclash anthem was on. Slowly a whiff came travelling into my nostrils. I couldn’t figure out what it was. Minutes later it became obvious that it was some very strong armpit sweat or a mixture of feet, bum crack and armpit sweat. I looked around me to figure out where it came from. There was topless guy who had his arms up and it became clear that the stink came from him. What I did not know was whether that was disturbing me. I was not supposed to like a scent that ‘stank’, I guess I had never been asked that question. The scent of his body challenged my olfactory receptors and the more I tried to figure out what was happening, the more I, liked it. It didn’t take long til I was dancing around him and took even less time to start snogging and hugging and sniffing him: his neck, pits and crotch. The cocktail of body odor was almost repulsive but for some reason it really turned me on. The guy in question had light brownish body hair and looked like what we’re supposed to think punks look like: tattoos, piercings, green hair, suspenders. I was completely absorbed by his scent, I couldn’t get enough of it, but I also didn’t dare lick him - he definitely didn’t smell and look like he washed very often.

The second stage of my infatuation was when I started noticing that my olfactory nerves had been shock activated: I behaved like a hound dog whenever I went out and there was sweaty people around me: the barman, the cloakroom girl, the kebab seller, the stinkier the better. And their scents made me shit horny. The third stage was when the smell of my own sweat made me horny. I sniffed myself while masturbating. I was horrified! Scientifically that was not supposed to happen! But that cooled off. I then noticed that not all type of sweat turned me on. It had to be the right amount of stink and the right amount of say, deodorant. I tried different amounts of deodorant and came up with the right recipe: half roll of Dove roll on deodorant for men. And bang, I suddenly started looking at the Perfume (novel and film) in a totally new light - I was the protagonist.

That, had been my personal discovery. But of course smelly bits have been a fetish for some time. In the last five years or so there’s been a growing wave of gay blogs (I’m still yet to find an older blog) dedicated to men’s feet and feet attire more closely connected to sneakers’ fetishes. This one is quite particular because it revolves around sneakers (trainers) that working-class sporty European young men normally wear: Nikes with soles that bounce being one of the most idolised (judging by the frequency of online appearances). There are also gay parties for sneakers’ fetish only. The dress code keywords being sneaker, skater, chav (UK), proll (Germany), scally (UK) or soccer.

Feet fetishes are often associated with old men perving on women’s shoes but this sneakers’ fetish has a huge following of young European pseudo-working-class gay men. Jordan Fox, the french porn star being its biggest bastion.

On dating sites If I mention I’m into sneakers then I get asked what kind of (white) socks I wear: colour variation, brand, and how strongly they smell. But this part doesn’t turn me on so much as I find it difficult to get aroused by coordinates devoid of emotion.

Stink, like pretty much with anything else that gets fetishised can be taken to the extreme, codified and commodified. There are so-called guys with web shops who sell their dirty socks and you even get to choose the type of socks from a catalogue and how long they need to be worn for. Does that mean that they have to wear five socks or more on top of each other if demand is really high? I never got into that. But once my devotion to stink led me to play feet slave with someone whose smell I really loved. He had lots of dark hair and wore full on sports attire. At his place he ordered me to sniff and lick his dirty socks and feet. I wasn’t as ardent as he hoped so he stomped my face. I called him a cunt for doing that, and he said that wasn’t part of the game, so we swapped roles. I was wearing Adidas high tops (I know..) and he started licking them passionately. Very passionately. He took the left shoe and sock off and, no joke, he stuffed them with his face at least ten minutes. I guess that was the second time someone got enamoured with my body odor, even if through my shoes (I suppose my FA and HLA are that powerful, it’s genetic, can’t help it). He didn’t come back for the second pair; or anything else for that matter. He was lost in scent.

After a few more minutes I got bored. Was the sex ever going to start? Surely my smelly shoe was just an expedient to get the rest of my smelly self. But before I could panic his mouth seized my foot, leg and thigh, slowly like a feline, and we had the smelliest and wettest sex. Soon I began to realise that the thing of scent doesn’t need to make sense; there is no formula to it, so there should be no expectations, regardless of science.