She seems nice

Later you accidentally by design meet at the bar. She seems nice. You
offer to buy her a drink and she accepts. Her hand brushes yours, you
touch her shoulder.

Much later you have two breakfasts to worry about.


The attraction across the bar is based on looks. Some women go for men
who are good looking. Some women go for men with quirky looks, or ugly if
you want to be rude. Average men like myself are last in the queue. Looks
are decided by genes, plastic surgery and collateral damage.

When you get in close and decide you like each other, that’s down to
pheromones and that’s where I come in. I’m a research scientist with a
medium‑sized cosmetics company. I’m extremely good at my job and I
could walk out and get a `name your own salary’ position at a large company
tomorrow. But one of the perks I negotiated with my current employer is
use of the lab facilities out‑of‑hours to carry out my own
research while retaining the IPR of any discoveries I make. The Revenue
don’t know, and what they don’t know doesn’t cost me.

Pheromones are mixtures of complex chemicals that are subconsciously
analysed by the nose to determine a possible partner’s suitability for
breeding. We are programmed to be attracted to people with significant
genetic differences in order to minimise the effect of recessive genes and
inbreeding. The exact composition of pheromones reflects a person’s DNA,
the time of the month (for women) and whether the person is taking any
hormones or hormone‑production influencers. The latter also impacts
a person’s ability to correctly analyse pheromones, as does something as
simple as a blocked‑up nose or taking steroids (for hay fever, for
example). From my studies I came up with a pheromonal equivalent of a
color‑wheel. Basically you work out what mix of pheromones a person
is emitting, then they should be most attracted to a person emitting
pheromones on the opposite side of the circle. Women taking the
birth-control pill emit a modified set of pheromones that misplaces them on
the wheel depending on the estrogen/progestogen mix and also impacts their
ability to correctly analyse a potential partner’s pheromones. Most cases
of long‑term consensual incest occur after the female starts taking
the birth-control pill.

But I’m digressing. I’ve worked out how to estimate a person’s
approximate position on the pheromonal wheel based on certain physical
characteristics, with a success rate of about 75%. I’m not going to tell
you what they are, you’ll have to wait until I publish the paper. I’ve
reduced the wheel itself to 8 different sectors, and I’ve been synthesising
the pheromonal mixes for each of the 8 sectors. I’ve just finished the mix
for the eighth and final sector and now I want to test them. Ideally I’d
set up a large double‑blind study involving equal‑sized groups
of people from all 8 sectors who are not taking hormones or steroids.
However the only way I could afford such a study would be through the
company and I don’t want to share the results of my research with them at
the moment, although licensing the results is a possibility for future

I’m going to test the mixes on the public at large. I’ve decanted
samples of the mixtures into tiny scent sampler bottles which I’m carrying
in my jacket pocket. I’ve chosen a local park as my first venue and it’s
turning out to be a really bad idea. It’s a sunny Saturday morning with no
wind and yet the park is almost empty. There’s a kid of 11 or 12 playing
on a swing – chestnut hair tied back into a ponytail, white t-shirt, jeans
and sneakers, but she’s stick thin and undeveloped and obviously too young.
I wander round the park for a while but encounter no‑one, not even
dog walkers. I sit on a bench while I consider where to go next. Perhaps
I could try the local coffee shop.

“You got the time mister?” The suddenness of the kid’s voice startles me
and I get to my feet. Close-up I see a couple of small bumps at the front
of her t‑shirt. Perhaps she’s worth a try anyway – at least she
won’t be on the pill. I guess what she will look like when she’s grown up
and which sector she belongs in, then I choose the bottle containing the
mixture from the opposite sector and surreptitiously squirt a generous
measure onto the back of my watch‑wearing wrist. I hold out my watch
to the kid so she can see the time, deliberately holding it closer than
necessary for the pheromones to have maximum effect. A frown comes over
her face as though she’s having some sort of internal struggle, she starts
breathing deeply and loudly and I can see her nipples erect against her
t‑shirt. She grasps me round the waist and starts humping my leg,
rubbing the crotch of her jeans against my outer thigh. Harder and harder
she presses, her face turning pink and panting noisily from her exertion,
until she suddenly grasps me with all her strength, squeals and goes rigid.
I feel a fluttering sensation from the belly pressing against my leg. I
catch her light frame as she slumps towards the ground.

My first thought is to call for an ambulance, but I have second thoughts
when I see the wet patch at the crotch of her jeans. That’s something I
don’t want to explain. I lay her down on the grass, making her as
comfortable as I can. I check her breathing – it’s labored but slowly
recovering – and her pulse – racing, but slowing even as I measure it. She
has merely fainted and is recovering without medical attention so I hotfoot
it from the deserted park, hoping that nobody has seen me.