By no other name smells as sweet

In a beautiful valley in Germany where the lake reflected the sky was born a flawless child that smelled as sweet as heaven to women but of nothing at all to men.
"Let's call him Rose" Said his Mother.
"That's a girls name." Said his Father.
And the child ended up with no name since he was all the world to his mother and nothing at all to his Father.

As he grew to adolescence he devoloped a crafty sloth and would do none of the work of the home or the village. He spent several years in bed complaining of subtle maladies. His beautiful smell to his mother was the same to all women and women everywhere found his lounging indolence adorable.
"I can't help with the harvest today" He would say, with a crooked smile and a flip of his golden hair, "I need to lie under a tree and examine my nails, see how they change in appearance before and after a jug of beer."
And the women and the girls would giggle and squeal and look at each other as if to say, "What an adorable creature!"

His lack of smell to his Father was the same for all men everywhere, and no men in the village ever noticed him at all, or knew who he was. They didn't miss him in the fields, on the work benches, in the Forge or in the Mill. He could walk right into the store house and help himself to a sausage, some cheese, a loaf and some berries and they wouldn't notice. Not that he was a glutton, he scarcely seemed to eat at all. He was a weedy boyish young man and the women would love to feed him up.

As he attained manhood a flaw became apparent. He had one oddly protruding tooth. But this was made up by the perfection of his penis. It stood out large languid and proud from his body like a lions head.

Being so lazy and lacking in means he had little status in the village. The girls would collectively dismiss him as silly. The men would ignore him completely. But one sunny afternoon, Rosalin, the most vuluptuous girl in the village, tasted that which smelled so sweet in a hay barn. Later in the evening when the women were mocking our sweet smelling hero, laughing at how they would never dream of marrying such a useless, charming duckling, Rosalin blushed pink, and the girls as one turned to her in delight. She nodded her head and they all giggled and squealed. Thus it came to be known that there was one equisite pleasure to be had in the village that could be had no where else in Europe.

Village life can be idyllic but the ways of the wide world intrude. A war, some silly matter of men, swept the nation. The men gathered round the well bright eyed serious and brave, made manly pacts and went their seperate ways to tell their wives and sweethearts that they were needed by the Fatherland and would have to part from the village and their loving breasts, to return crowned in glory. The men of the village who were not already married became married that week and it was a week of tears, veils and rings.
Our nameless duckling, who had acquired the monica "toothy", watched languidly from the roof of the church where he could rest undisturbed. No one asked him to come away to war, and no one asked him to marry. So neither did he do.

The war, predictably, was longer than expected and much more terrible than imagined. The women did all the work of the village for a long summer while the men confronted the true horror of this violent world we have made. The men returned bedraggled and crowned in thorns, their eyes dull to the happiness of their wives. Nor did they notice that their wives were bearing fruit.

Twenty years on, the war forgotton, we find the village very peaceful indeed. The shops never open, the fields aren't tilled, and everywhere are sleepy men lounging under trees, by the banks of streams, on the old church roof. And they all seem to have one thing in common.

An oddly protruding tooth.