Smell is the sense most closely linked to memory. I remember reading that somewhere. What I don't understand is how a smell could remind you of someone else's memory.

That's what the new perfume shop advertised: smell-able memories. They called them recreational fragrance. I had trouble believing anything like that could work, but I was too curious to write it off.

Now I was standing in line outside, waiting with all the other curious people in town. The shop was packed, but everyone leaving looked like they'd just had the time of their lives.

Finally I made it to the front of the line, and a friendly sales associate welcomed me in. "Good afternoon sir, have you tried one of our fragrances before?" They asked me, leading me to a wall lined with little glass bottles, each one labelled with a different name in a unique font.

"No." I said, keeping close so they could hear me through the crowded shop. "I just learned this place exists."

"Then you've got to start with a novel sample. Have you ever climbed a mountain?" The associate asked, scanning the wall for something.

I was a little confused. "No, no mountains. What do you mean by a 'novel sample'?"

"An experience you've never had before that you can try as a sample. Novel experiences are very popular, but people also like fragrances for memories. I always suggest new customers start with a novel one, just to clear any doubts." They explained, without pausing their investigation. "Ah, here it is."

I followed them to the end of the wall where there was another line of people waiting to try samples.

"I'm going to leave you here, there will be someone to help you when you get to the front of the line." They handed me a small glass vial with a little drawing of someone standing at the top of a mountain in the background of the label. 'Summit' read the text, in a bold font.

At the end of the line another associate helped prepare a smelling sample from a single drop of the fragrance. I held it to my nose and took a deep breath.

It smelled exactly like the top of the mountain, it took me right back to the moment. I could vividly remember cresting the peak, looking down on the landscape below, feeling the snow sting my face. The smell of cold air, the weight of my pack and winter clothes. I could remember it with crystal clarity.

Another breath and the illusion was shattered. I was back in the fragrance shop. "Wow." I said, thunderstruck by the experience. I stepped to the side and tried to process what I'd just been through.

"First time?" The sample associate asked me. I nodded my head. "Yeah, it's a real trip. There's some wild ones around here too, make sure you check out the back room."

I thanked them and started looking through the shop. The number of options was dizzying. There were so many I wanted to try, but none that seemed worth waiting in line for. Athletic Victory, Roller Coaster, Square Dancing, Childhood Nintendo, Gardening, on and on.

Eventually I got to a curtained off section at the back. I assumed this was the 'back room' I'd been told about. There were several 'Adults Only' signs posted around the entrance.

On the other side there were more shelves of fragrances, but with much more mature themes: Sex on the Beach, Sword-fight, Mutual Masturbation, War Hero; there were even memories of things too dark for me to consider, fragrances for taboos and horrible sorts of torture.

One label in particular caught my attention. It was in with some other sexual fragrances. The label had a female symbol on it, and the title read Horny Girl in a pretty handwritten font. I studied it for a moment before picking it up.

Was this fragrance only for women? I struggled to understand how something like that could work. I had felt like myself during the sample, I was just at the top of a mountain. Would this recall a memory of being with a horny girl?

I took the bottle back to the sampling station, covering the label with my hand out of embarrassment. When the associate prepared the sample I couldn't bring myself to make eye contact.

I took a deep breath and I was instantly transported back to my bedroom. I was sitting at my computer, staring intently at the screen. Between my legs, under my dress, my fingers played with my pussy. The smell of my arousal was thick, I could feel the slick of it on my fingertips. I was reading some sort of porn, but I could barely focus on it, my swollen clit had my full attention; it was all exactly how I remembered it.

Then I was back in the fragrance shop. I cleared my throat and tried to collect my wits. It had felt so real. I looked down at the bottle and considered the price.

One mildly awkward checkout experience later I was on my way home with the little glass bottle in my pocket. I was buzzing with an urge to experience the fragrance again.

Once I got home I made a beeline for my bedroom. I stripped off my clothes and sat on my bed. In one hand I held the bottle, in the other a clean washcloth. I carefully saturated part of the cloth with fragrance and laid back on the bed. I held the washcloth to my nose and sharply inhaled.

It was a different memory this time. I was in bed, my boyfriend was staying up to play video games. My hand was inside my pajamas, rubbing my pussy in circles. I felt so needy and wet it almost hurt. The smell of my body wafting up from under the blankets was thick and familiar. I took a deep breath and was pulled into another memory.

Now I was back in the bathroom of my friend's place, we had just been joking around, but I'd gotten so flustered. I'd just gone to the bathroom to pee, but now that I saw how wet I'd become, I felt an urge to touch myself. I stroked my finger around my clit, feeling the slickness. Then I could smell it, wafting up from between my legs. I breathed it in and fell even deeper into my memories.

This time it was when my vibrator had run out of batteries just as I was getting close. I pushed against it harder, but the vibrations were only getting weaker. I put the toy aside and used my fingers, but I could already feel myself losing the orgasm. I moved my fingers faster, trying desperately to compensate for the loss of stimulation; before I could finish, the smell of my needy pussy pulled me deeper still into another remembrance.

I continued on like that, jumping from memory to memory. Always playing with myself but never able to cum. After countless iterations of the same formula, I was ready for a break. I wanted to put down the washcloth and jerk off or something, anything to actually climax.

But there was nothing I could do. Each drop of fragrance was potent enough to trap me into a memory, and I'd soaked the cloth with at least a quarter of the bottle. I was trapped for hours, living one memory after another as a horny girl.

Finally, after what felt like days, I fell into a memory of myself smelling a washcloth. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't a memory at all, I was back in my bedroom.

I put the washcloth aside and sat up. My entire body felt sore. I felt the now familiar ache of arousal between my legs, and on reflex I reached down to start rubbing my pussy. It only felt natural after spending so long trapped in those memories.

My fingers found their target, sinking into my mound to play with my throbbing clit. I was nearly halfway to orgasm before I realized what was wrong with this picture: I shouldn't have a pussy, what happened to my dick!?

Thinking about my missing dick only got me closer though. I'd spent so long being denied in those memories, the urge to finally nudge my little clit over the finish line was overwhelming.

Before much longer I'd done it. My body twitched and moaned as my fingers played in my slick. The voice coming out of my throat sounded familiar, but higher. Not obviously feminine, but no longer masculine.

As I came down from my orgasm I noticed other little differences from when first I'd laid down. My nipples had become larger and thicker, and my hips were wider; the hair on my chest, thighs, and arms had vanished.

I got up to look in the mirror. In many ways my body was unchanged. I'd still look basically the same in my clothes. I studied my face and reached a similar conclusion, though it looked like I could no longer grow facial hair.

The biggest difference was between my legs. I rubbed at the front of my crotch, feeling the damp slit that had replaced my manhood. It felt so strange to cup my pussy with my fingers, to feel the absolute nonexistence of my dick and balls so tangibly.

Even though I'd just made myself cum, thinking about my penis was making me want to cum again. There was something crazy hot about the idea of me having a cock. After spending so long bouncing between memories of drooling over dick, the interest had taken hold of me.

I started stroking my clit between two fingers, up and down like I was jerking off. It was so soft and little compared to my dick; I couldn't hold onto it or squeeze it, push it into things or flex it. But the sensations it gave me were every bit as pleasurable.

More pleasurable actually. I had to lay down to finish because the feelings were making my legs tremble. Even after another orgasm, I kept my hand there, just fondling the wet parts that had taken permanent residence between my thighs.

The smell of the perfume came back to me, but in a new way. It wasn't a memory or a scented oil, it was the smell coming from my own slippery pussy. I put my fingers to my nose and breathed in the horny girl fragrance.