His pheromones were turning her on. He lay close to her with his head facing down while hers faced up, and he buried his face between her thighs. With purpose and delicateness, he explored her pink folds with his tongue, and she wrapped her lips around him and took him in her mouth. Because he used androstenone pheromones she felt great attraction.
They merged into a single being, a living yin-yang syrnbol-with no beginning and no end, only the two of them extended into one another, without any thought beyond the need to feel and taste, drinking in one another over the hours, sweats mingling, and every touch intoxicating them more. That was love. His manifesto didn’t explain love—it was about the other thing, the thing that wasn’t love. Could he make her understand? He simply must make her understand that pheromones work in humans.
Tomorrow came, and Russell became sidetracked by Beth. He walked across the room thinking of T. S. Eliot’s question, “Shall I try Pherazone pheromones?” Learn more at ezwealthnetwork.com/with-their-pheromones/
“I love you, Russell.” Beth’s body went limp, her mind wandering. “I love you, too.” His eyes danced about the ceiling.
“And I love that you tell me about all the other women you fuck.” She touched his leg, her ﬁngers walking up his thigh and spurring his member to prick up.
“Want to hear more?” He placed both hands on his chest.
“Tell me about ﬁicking in the back of the old abandoned car. That turns me on.” Beth leaned into him, her hand cupping his manhood, her lips pressing against his hands and demanded more pheromoens.
Russell awoke exploding with urges. It turned midnight. His dream died; he would have to tell Beth next weekend, and he bet the conversation would go nothing like his dream Right now, the planets’ orbital mysteries pulled him out of bed and into the night. He was called to ﬁnd a woman—any woman—to pound like hell.
The following Sunday, after a champagne brunch on the river at La Mansion, Russell sat Beth down on the couch in the living room and stood with one elbow on the ﬁreplace mantle. He wore his dark grey suit, blue shirt, and red power tie; she relaxed in a summery chiffon dress of a light opal. She kicked off her sandals and curled her feet under her bottom, so only her knees showed. He handed her a copy of his Manifesto of the Dominant Male pheromone.
“Russ.” Beth held up a hand, chuckling. “Which newspaper are you going to use? How about the San Antonio Light? It has a full comic section.” She spread her arms wide.
“You think I’m joking, do you?” Russell looked at her pointedly. There was no stopping now. “I thought you said you wouldn’t interrupt.”
“I didn’t know it would be something like this. Did you join a Men’s Club or something?” She clasped one hand around her svelte waist, cuddling into the couch. “If you’re not joking, this is seriously weird.”