Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Smells An erotic sort of story by Paige Turner

   Have you ever wished that you were irresistable to women?

   Be careful what you wish for.  I am the living proof of that.

   I am a research biologist.

   Or should I say, I was a research biologist.  Now I am a hermit, living
alone in this isolated cabin.  Every week an airplane flies over and drops
my supplies off.  I have luxuries that no other hermits have had, for my
former company does all it can to make sure my existence is as pleasant as
possible.  After all, I do own a major position in the company and its
phenomenal successes are built on the patents I developed.

   Molecular biology is a field that a few dozen years ago was not very
popular, but I was always interested in growing things.  Not growing
things, as a gardener or a farmer is, but rather in the methods that nature
uses to make new plants and animals.  After Watson and Crick, biology had
the tools to find out answers to these questions.  We biologists developed
ways to pry into the secrets of life itself.  And we do.

   I made a name for myself while still in grad school, developing a
process so esoteric that it would take me several papers to describe it to
someone who knows bio science.  My thesis advisor told me that I should
patent it, which I did.  He also suggested that we start up a company to
develop applications of this new technique.

   Wel, I never finished my dissertation, but that is not important.  I
became wealthy before my thirtieth birthday.  Today the company sponsor PBS
specials, endows chairs at major universities, sponsors promising students
in their studies.  Last year we gave away more money than the university I
attended had put into their entire life sciences department the year I
dropped out.  You might imagine that new wealth had made a major difference
in my life.  It did, but only in that it allowed me to do things that
interested me.  I have always thought that what was going on in my mind was
more important than what was surrounding my body.  The trappings of wealth
have no lures for me.  Indeed, if it hadn't been for my friend Barry, who
had been my faculty advisor, I would have still been living in the back of
the drafty old converted house I'd lived in through college.

   I had gotten a cold, one of those stay in bed for days flat on your back
kinds of colds, that allows you to do nothing but sneeze, sniifle and
suffer.  I had called Barry to make sure that someone would take care of
some experiments that I had in progress.  Barry brought me the results and
been appalled at the way I was living.  He had also called an ambulance and
had me admitted to the hospital.  The cold was really pneumonia.

   While I was recovering, he visited me.  He scolded me, telling me that I
needed someone to take care of me.  The squalor of my apartment had deeply
offended him.  Well, after seven years, during which I had never washed a
wall or a window, I could see his point.  Of course, I had never really
noticed it while I was living there.

   He bought me a three-bedroom condominium in a nice building, not too far
from our companys new laboratories.  He hired a live in cook/house keeper
named Maria to take care of me.  She made sure that I ate, had clean
clothes, fresh linen and an immaculate environment to come home to.  At
first it took a little getting used to.  In my old apartment, I could leave
things wherever they were.  I had some rather slovenly habits that were the
exact opposite of my laboratory habits.  Of course, I had to share labs
through school and knew that if things weren't put away, the next person
couldn't find them.  After all, I was someone elses next person.  I had lab
tidiness, but it didin't carry over to my apartment.

   The solution to being able to find something inside the apartment was my
assistant, who would come in three times a week and shelve books, file
reports, do data entry and keep the home environment functioning.  Maria
couldn't do it, because while she was a whiz with taking care of my bodily
needs, she couldn't have figured out where a report on peptide molecular
properties went into the files.  That was Shelli's job.

   Shelli would file the reports, bookmark and reshelf the books according
to a plan that we had worked out together.  If it wasn't here, then it had
been three weeks since I had used the book and I knew that it had been put
back in its place on the big book cases that occupied most of the wall
space in the condo.  Every six months or so, another wall would be covered
with new bookshelves.  Shelli took care of that too.

   My life was defined by my work and the home that these two women made
for me.  I was the typical absent minded professor, although still a young
man.  Maria would check me on my way out the door every morning. 
Mismatched socks were okay.  It just meant that I had put on one dirty one
and one clean one.  I was doing work in those days that occupied my mind so
completely that I was only vaguely aware of the world.  She would poke her
head into my study, call my name, and when I finally looked up, she would
tell me that dinner was ready.  I would say that I would be right there, as
soon as I finished this, thank her and go back to my work.  I noticed that
the meals were cold more often than not.

   What did they look like, these women who took care of me?  Maria was
about my eye level and had dark hair and beautiful skin tones.  She was
nicely rounded, in a motherly way.  Even if I didn't eat her cooking while
it was hot, it was still good.  I noticed that my clothes were tighter
around the waist.  Then she started to buy me bigger pants.

   Shelli was long and angular, a gawky giraffe.  She was a brilliant young
grad student that had taken a sabatical from her PHD program to make enough
money to continue her education.  Barry had hired her and she never went
back to school.  Working for me, she had shared in my work and her name had
appeared as co author on several papers.  She was much more than just my
personal assistant, she was a valued colleague.  She wore gold rimmed eye
glasses, round circles that stood out from her dark face.  She would light
up with the most wonderful smile when she was happy, purse her lips in an
unconscious pout when she was concentrating.  I think that our
conversations would be gibberish to anyone else, even someone in our field.
We had developed shorthand that was our own special vocabulary.  Whenever
there was a conference, the three of us would be driven out to the airport,
get on the company jet and it would take us wherever we were going. 
Sometimes when the research was going well, I would almost have to be
dragged aboard the aircraft.  More than once, I had to ask where we were.
Sometimes the first clue I would have would be that all of the people were
talking in a foreign language.  After a particular humiliating experience,
Marie would always put the address of the hotel in my coat pocket, along
with enough local money to get me back to it.  I was hopeless at dealing
with the real world.

   The only reason that I attended these conferences was to talk to other
biologists in the field.  That is where the real sparks would be struck. 
Ideas bouncing off other people would ignite ideas of mine.  Barry was
furious once when I discribed (in detail) a procedure that we were
patenting.  It was in answer to a 'yeah, and how in the hell would I purify
it?' question in the hotel bar.  I didn't care, but Barry scolded me about
proprietary information and stock holders and I promised never to do it
again.  It led directly to a Nobel Prize though: For the woman in the bar.

   A bird in a guilded cage, I was the goose that laid the golden eggs.  It
was a very strange existence, but it satisfied me.  I know now what a
stunted human being I was, but I do not regret the life that I lived. 
After all, it is beings such as I was that make humans progress.

   Oh?  I can prove that.  Only people who are obsessed with things to the
exclusion of all others make progress happen.  Political people are
obsessed with power, inventors are obseesed with their fields of interest.
Christ had his obsessions.  Q.E.D.  The thing speaks for itself.

   Well.  That was my life.  I was only vaguely aware of my outside world.
Maria's mother died and she was away for a few days.  Shelli's brother got
married.  I can't even tell you what year those events took place.  My own
family had died while I was still in prep school and my uncle, who had
taken over my upbringing, had died when I was in college.  I was very cut
off from the normal human ties of the world.

   To give you an example, I had never been on a date, never had a sexual
relationship with anyone other than myself.  A few quick tugs, a few vague
dreams.  I was very asexual.

   During the last part of that life, I began to do research in phonemes.
Smells, for those of you that don't recognize the word.  I was curious
about how ants made their trails to their food supplies.  It was pure
research, but I had always done 'pure research.' Barry had been the one to
spot the enormous commercial potential in my work when I was working on my
dissertation.  That lead to a process that every biological lab in the
world uses extensively.  I won't tell you what it was, because you could
just look up the patent and find out who I am.  I do not want that.

   Phonemes are the way that animals and insects attract each other.  I
keep up with my reading in a dilettantish sort of way and I see that there
are companies that are trying to perfect what I was doing six years ago.  I
hope that they don't make the mistake that I made.  There are people who
have followed up on things that I had spoted back then, but they all seem
to be safely branched off from the trail that I took in my research.

   Sexual attractants seems a strange field for me to have stumbled into. I
can't (won't) tell you how I, a virgin, wound up doing all of this research
and development.  I will give you a broad over view of where I went wrong
and let it go at that.

   When an animal is in heat, they produce phonemes that attract mates. 
Humans are the only animals that are in rut throughout the year.  It is an
odd fact of nature, one that has many curious implications.  Perhaps it is
one of the major reasons that we became intelligent in the first place.  I
will leave that train of thought for someone else to follow up.

   While a female animal is aroused and producing these sexual attractants,
males of the same species will come flocking around.  A curious side
development to this is that it increases the production of testosterone in
the male.  Along with the testosterone comes aggressive behavior patterns.
There are a lot of socio biological ramifications of this.  Male animals
fighting over who gets to mate with the females, butting heads and locking
horns for dominance.  The word 'horny' comes from these testosterone driven
male competition displays.  I'm becoming pedagogic again, aren't I?

   Well, the pheromones that are produced by the females are short lived.
After all, they are complex, long chain molecules that disintegrate in air.
Once the fluids that protect them dry, they deactivate.  People in hot,
humid climates are more sexually active than people who are in desert
climates.  The molecules are not destroyed as quickly in a tropical forest
as in a desert.  Cultural patterns reflect this.  Curious as to how shaped
by smells our societies are.  It isn't our brains that are running our
lives, it is our noses.

   If you don't think that this is so, I will give you one example that
will prove my point.  Men that have had their sense of smell damaged
(mostly through exposure to causic chemicals in industrial accidents) are
impotent.  Everything may work fine physically, but they do not produce
erections spontaneously.  Now that you have the background, I will tell you
the story of why I am a hermit.

   * * * * *

   It was a dark and cold December day when I had my lab accident.  I had
been working on my latest batch of samples and had left the little plastic
tray on the bench while I was writting up my rough notes.  I had reached
for a test tube to get the number written on its side, my sleeve caught on
the tray, and pulled it onto my lap and upset the whole batch onto me.  I
sprang up, cursing and brushing the goop off my pants.  I think that that
was where I was infected.  Through my hands.

   Well, it was a only a few steps to the shower.  I pulled the chain and
the water came on.  I rinsed the stuff off, stripped off my clothes and
threw them into the contaminated bin that is next to the emergency shower.
Then I scrubbed myself down very thoroughly with neutralizers.  It was a
stupid accident and I was more concerned with having to repeat the work
that I had been doing than with any harm I might have caused myself.

   I was using the brush to clean my nails when Shelli came into the lab.
She stopped inside the door and I glanced up at her.  Being naked in front
of her wasn't embarrassing me as much as the fact that I had ruined the
results of all of our work for the last month.  I asked her to dump
nutralizer on the floor where the tubes were and she sprang into action
while I continued my scrub down.  Modesty is a low priority when a lab is
possibly being contaminated.

   She sprinkled and swept the spilled tubes into a pile, covering it with
nuetralizer.  Then she put away the other trays that were still out on the
bench.  She brought a clean lab coat off the rack for me to wear and a pair
of shower shoes.  She put them near the shower and went out the door,
leaving me to finish my shower.

   By the time that I was done and dressed, the biological decontamination
team was in the corridor.  Having them there is part and parcel of working
with biologically active agents.  The potential of a catastrophic release
means that we have to be prepared for many things.  It is a federal law and
the sight of the contamination suit clad squad furthered my embarrassment.

   I was lead down a hall and into the major decontamination area.  Shelli
was already there, being scrubbed down and subjected to the sprays and
bristle brushes.  I told her that I was sorry, just before getting my own
dose of treatment.

   A very long forty minutes latter, we were passed through into the
isolation rooms where we would spend a mandatory seventy two hours.  The
isolation rooms are set up for fifteen people to live in, everyone having
their own room.  Each room can be sealed off from the others and have pass
throughs for food.  There are thick blue isolation gloves hanging from the
walls for drawing samples.  One set where you can walk up to them, another
set over the bed in case you can't walk.

   We got dressed in the surgical scrub suits that are kept there for those
unfortunate ones that have been exposed.  I finished dressing and went out
to the lounge.  There are phones and terminals in each room and I was busy
for a while making out reports on the incident as the protocols demand. 
Shelli came out of her room and ordered lunch for us both while I was busy
making the reports.  I apologized to her again for the mishap.  She brushed
off my apologies, recognizing the incident for what (we thought) it was. 
An unfortunate occurance that we would have to put up with for a while.

   We spent the next five days as lab rats.  Drawing each others blood,
taking throat swabs and passing them through the airlocks to others who
would perform tests on them.  Shelli came down with a cold while we were in
there and I brought her soup and fluids, kept track of when she should take
her meds.  I read until my eyes were bleary from looking at the screens. 
It was very boring.  For a while, we thought that we might be stuck in
there for a lot longer.  The concern was that Shelli's cold symptoms could
be something else.  Instead of seventy two hours, we were extended until
everyone knew for sure what she had.  The medical people finally diagnosed
it as Hong Kong G flu and we relaxed.  I was sorry that she was feeling so
rotten and wound up spending time talking to her to help cheer her up. 
During this time, I found out more about her private life than I had known
during the years we had spent together.

   She'd grown up in Detroit, an inner city child whose teachers had
recognized her intelligence and encouraged her.  She was allowed to skip
several grades and was sent to the best public high school in the city. 
She'd graduated close enough to the top of her class to be given a
scholarship to the University of Michigan, had excelled there and been
granted another scholarship to MIT.  She had had a problem with her
dissertation, giving up her first project and then taking on another. 
She'd taken a job with the company to allow her to go back and finish her
Ph.D.  We talked about our different life experiences and I came to realize
that she had had a very difficult path to follow.

   My parents had been, comparatively speaking, very well off.  My family's
estate had paid my way through the best schools that money could buy. 
Privilege and postion had never interested me, though another branch of my
family (who were really wealthy) had their names on several buildings at
some very prominent universities.  (And no, they weren't all the same
names. Several were under maiden names of women in the family.) I was
appalled at the way life had treated Shelli.  Because of those
conversations, there are a dozen small foundations that disperse funds for
inner city scholarships and we have made some major donations to improving
schools, especially in the sciences.  It's funny how life works.  What use
is money to me here?

   I heard stories about her family, her cousins and aunts, her brothers
and her mother.  When I asked about her father, I learned that he had
gotten into trouble and left them to fend for themselves.  Shelli now
supported her mother.  She felt it was deserved, as her mother had been a
maid who had made sure that they had all graduated from high school.  One
brother had qualified to Annapolis and become a naval officer.  The other
was a CPA.  Her mother was a remarkable woman.  I wish that I could have
meet her and thanked her for raising such a wonderful daughter.

   She asked me questions about my life and I answered her honestly.  She
asked me why I wasn't married and I explained how I had missed out on that.
She seemed to be sad that I had such a solitary existence and told me that
her family was the most important thing in her life.  I envied her that, I
think.

   The night we were released, I went back to my condominium in the
chauffeur driven car that always brought me too and from the labs.  I let
myself in and raided the refrigerator.  I'd given Maria the week off with
pay and she'd flown down to her country for a vacation.  I enjoyed being by
myself after a week cooped up in isolation.  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't
glad to be away from Shelli, just glad to be away from the constantly
monitoring cameras.

   When Shelli had gotten home, she still had a stuffy nose from the cold
and had spent the next day pampering herself, she told me later.  We were
(are) both very work orientated people, but after spending a week in the
lab, we were both glad to be out of there.  So we both enjoyed the next day
just being by ourselves.  The day after, it was to be back to the
grindstone.  The doorman called up when the car arrived.  Shelli had
brought printouts from her house for us to go over in the car.  It probably
saved my life.

   I put the cereal bowl in the sink and grabbed my brief case.  It took a
minute or so for the elevator to arrive after I pushed the button.  One of
the other tenants, a blonde woman who lived down the hall from me came out
of her door and walked up.  She saw that I had pushed the elevator button
and stood there waiting.  I had seen her a few dozen times during the past
few years.  She was very pretty in her blue jogging suit.  She'd figured in
a few of my nocturnal dreams, but I really hadn't paid much attention to
her.  She'd returned my hellos and given me polite smiles when we'd see
each other.

   This morning, while she was waiting for the elevator with me, she'd
glanced over at me once after the polite hello.  Then she'd glanced again.

   "What's that you're wearing?"

   "Wearing?"

   "Your cologne?"

   "I'm not wearing cologne.  Maybe it's my shampoo."

   She'd leaned in closer, making me a little nervous.  She sniffed my
hair. A little sniff.  Then she'd leaned even closer and sniffed deeply.  I
was horribly embarrassed, like I was a child being checked behind my ears
for dirt.  The elevator bonged and I was glad for an excuse to get some
more room.  She was well inside my personal zone.  I moved aside and past
her to the elevator car.  Inside I pushed the button and turned around.

   She put her tongue up to her lip and gave me a very unsettling stare. 
Then as the doors were closing, she put out her arm and came in too.  She
walked up to me and I backed up.  What was the matter with her anyhow?

   My back hit the rear wall of the car and she was suddenly on me, her
arms around my neck and her lips locked on mine.  She shoved her tongue in
my mouth and moaned, pressing herself against me.

   I didn't know what to do!

   Outside of a few kisses from my mother and aunts, this was the first
woman that I had ever kissed in my life!  I froze, my brief case dropping
onto the floor of the car with a thud.  She brought her hands around and
ripped my shirt open, then her hands were fumbling at my belt.  She moved
down me and pulled my pants and underwear down violently as she sank to her
knees and her mouth lunged for my groin.

   I was trapped against the back wall with this crazy woman.  I grabbed
her head as her lips sucked in my genitals.  I thought that she was going
to bite them off!  I really did!

   She was in really supurb physical shape, while I had spent my whole life
in sedentary pursuits.  The only exercise that I got was walking and not
much of that.  I was not very strong and the bizarre nature of the
experience had me in shock.  Trying to pry her away from me wasn't working.

   But what her mouth was doing was.  I don't know how many floors passed
before the elevator stopped.  It was less than two minutes, but I was
getting erect in her mouth.  Feverishly erect.

   The elevator doors opened and two women took a half step forward before
stopping in shock.  Their mouths literally dropped open and they gasped.  I
looked up at them and I can still see them in my mind.

   "Help!" I whimpered as the blonde swirled her tongue and plunged her
head up and down on my penis.  They stood there for a second, looked at
each other, then moved forward to save me.  Or so I thought.

   One of them pushed herself onto me and began to kiss me, while the other
bent over the blonde on her knees and bite my nipples.  I was pulled down
like a cheetah attacking a gazelle.  What was going on?  Had the world gone
crazy?  Was I having a nightmare?

   One of them must have had enough presence of mind to hit the stop
button, because the elevator didn't continue it's decent.

   The three women attacked me, ripping my clothes off of my back.  When I
say ripping, I am not exaggerating.  There were claw marks on my back,
arms, legs and buttocks.  I was stripped naked faster than I could undress
myself.  The blonde woman was still fastened to my groin.

   The women who had gotten on had been dressed to go out shopping.  One of
them, as soon as my head hit the floor, grabbed her skirt and pulled it up.
She pushed her crotch down over my face, pulling her panties aside.  My
mouth was suddenly covered by her wet labia!  She started to hunch herself
over my face, working against my mouth and chin, sliding herself up and
down on me!

   I was vaguely conscious of my penis being in the air, then something
else encircling it in a warm, slippery grasp.  Not a gentle sliding, but a
sudden plunging down all the way.  It felt like a sack of cement was
suddenly dropped on my lap!

   I was trying to free myself from the woman who was trying to smoother
me, when I felt my left hand grasped and pulled towards a hot, hair covered
split.  My fingers were held together and rubbed against a stubby, stiff
little piece of slippery flesh.  Whoever had my hand, she was squeezing it
so that it was painful.  The fingers were all mashed together and the
little flesh shaft was brushing up against the fingers.  I kept struggling,
but it wasn't doing any good.

   I opened my mouth to shout for help and my chin was suddenly engulfed in
a hot ring of slippery flesh.  I know now that it must have been her
vagina, but I really begin to panic.  I heard, "Lick me, lick me!" through
the thighs clamped to my head.  I thought that I better do as she said and
franticly began to lick up with my tongue.  The weight on my face shifted
and my nose was being squashed, pressed flat by pubic hairs that ground
around on it.  Fortunately, she started to work her hips on my face and I
was able to get air to breath!

   My hand was being pulled and my fingers forced up into a tight passage.
My thumb finally stopped that, but I thought it was going to break.  The
woman who was on my hips was slamming herself up and down relentlessly on
my penis.  Then my hand was pulled back a little, the thumb folded down to
my palm and the whole hand was forced into the passage.  I could hear
someone screaming through the thighs clamping my ears, then my hand was
suddenly inside the tight wetness.  I could feel bands of muscles clamping
down on my wrist.

   This was horrible!  I was struggling for my life, almost being smothered
and these women were attacking me like a pack of wolves!  Totally out of
their minds with lust, they didn't care if they killed me, as long as they
could satisfy their lust!

   I have since found out a lot of information about sex.  The male of the
human species, in the presence of imminent death, for some unknown reason,
frequently has an erection.  There are documented instances of hanged men
ejaculating as the rope snaps their necks.  People smother each other in
search of new sexual kicks.  I was fighting for every breath of air while
being raped.  Yes, men can be raped.  The madness in the elevator went on
for I don't know how long.  Shelli finally got concerned and had the
doorman call up to the apartment again.  When there was no answer, he saw
that the elevator was stuck.  He used his passkey on the control bank and
brought it down to the lobby.  When the doors opened, there I was on the
floor, loosing my virginity.

   'Jesus, Mary and Joseph!' He yelled.  The three women tearing at me
didn't even look up.  Shelli being there and knowing what we had been
working on thought fast and grabbed her can of mace out of her purse while
holding her breath.  I shudder when I think what would have happened if she
had drawn a breath or hadn't have had the can of mace.

   She pressed the button and got the two women on top of me with the first
pass.  She waved it at the one with my arm inside her and then jumped back.

   "Close the door!" She yelled at the stupified doorman.  The gas swirled
out of the elevator and she hit him hard on the shoulder.  "CLOSE THE
FUCKING DOOR!" She screamed at him.  He turned his key, following her
instructions out of shock.

   She pulled him back and told him to get the chauffeur.  The driver was
also a body guard and he ran in with his gun out.  She told him no one was
to enter or leave the building.  "Shoot them if you have to!"

   Kevin, our driver, knew what kind of things we worked on.  She pulled
the doorman in and had him secure all of the elevators while she called
Barry.  He wasn't in yet, so she called the Center For Disease Control, the
FBI (told them that it was a bio-terrorist attack.  It wasn't, but it was
something that they could get their minds around.) Soon, the building is
surrounded, traffic is being rerouted for blocks around and men in blue
rubber suits are moving into the building.  The fan inside the elevator was
sucking the mace out.  I was the only one who hadn't gotten the full blast
of it, having my head covered by a skirt.  The blonde jogger had her water
bottle with her.  I recovered first and rinsed out their eyes.  There is
nothing faster than mace for stopping a woman in the throws of passion.  I
now carry it with me everywhere, just in case.

   Well, we were soon out of the elevator and forced into bio isolation
suits.  No body knew what the hell was going on, except that it seemed to
be some kind of bio hazard.  They were crying and having hysterics.  Well,
you might say that they had had their minds raped by my pheromones.

   The bio decontamination squad covered us with solvents, sprayed down the
elevator and the lobby until they were sure that nothing could survive. 
The women and I were driven to the labs and shoved into the isolation rooms
that I had just been released from the day before yesterday.

   I feel sorry for the women now.  After all, they were going out to have
a normal day and then they meet me in the elevator.  Right then, I wasn't
feeling that way towards them.

   But being stripped and sprayed and shoved into stainless steel rooms by
total strangers, especially after the truly bizarre behavior that they had
displayed in the elevator.  Well, no wonder they were having hysterics.  It
certainly must have been scary.  I was scared and I knew what was going on
a great deal more than they did!

   There were several people in the biological isolation quarters with us.
They did skin swabs, nose swabs, vaginal swabs, drew blood and took
temperatures and blood pressures.  The women were struggling and fighting
them every inch of the way.  Finally someone stun gunned one and the others
stopped struggling.  They threatened us with lawsuits and screamed at us.
They only calmed down when one of the medical people told them to shut up
if they wanted them to save their lives.  That calmed down the physical
assaults a bit.  They started to realize just how serious their predicament
was and that it wasn't over yet.

   Shelli came to the big window in the lounge area and explained to them
that they had been exposed to a biological agent and they had been brought
to the lab for treatment.  She must have been talking to the lawyers before
she talked to them, because she never admitted that we knew anything about
this 'new agent' that they had been exposed to.  Well, they had seen all
the blue FBI raid jackets across the street when we had been brought out
and it was sinking in to them that it was best to cooperate.  They
certainly hadn't planned on their day being spent starring in their own
personal version of 'The Andromeda Strain'or that their career paths had
suddenly been changed to lab rats.

   The behavior that they had exhibited in the elevator was atypical, which
is say that none of them in a million years would have sexually attacked a
man they barely knew, especially within five seconds of first seeing him.
Yet that is exactly what two of them had done.  It seems that the amount of
skin exposed had a direct effect on the release of pheromones.  Certain
parts of the body have greater outputs.  Now where would you expect the
greatest area for releasing sexual pheromones would be?  When the blonde,
whose name I found out was Elizabeth, had torn my pants open, it had filled
the elevator with enough scents to affect the other two, who had been
standing in the hall when the door opened.

   Of course, I am giving you the short version of our research over the
next month.  The blonde woman collected ten million dollars for her ride.
One of the women who got on the floor we stopped on collected seven, for
grievous bodily injuries (to her groin muscles) and if she had had a better
lawyer, she could have collected much more.  The woman who raped me (well,
they all did, but the only one that I penetrated) collected twenty five
million dollars.  She conceived during this incident and it was thought
prudent that she have an abortion.  Oddly enough, she had wanted to have a
child, but everyone was afraid that the trait could be passed on.  That's
what finally convinced her to terminate the prgnancy.  A truly bizarre note
is that the two women who got on were (and are) lesbians.

   I guess I don't know my own powers.

   Sorry.  That was truly tasteless.  It's not a joking matter, is it?

   So.  All of that was six years ago.  Or maybe it was seven or five.  It
doesn't matter to me out here in the middle of the desert.  I just don't
want to leave any trails for others to follow.  The incident did make the
news, but it was passed off as a toxic release of an overheated chemical
used in air conditioning systems.' 'It's better to over react in these
situations than risk lives.' That's a quote from another incident, but it
seems to apply here as well.  It was passed off as a precautionary measure.

   So now I live in the desert.  I can watch strange aircraft flying
through the sky.  I have every entertainment channel known to man and then
some.  Any book I want, any food I hunger for, any wine I want to drink.  I
took up smoking pot a few years ago.  The government drops that in for me
too.  It helps my cooking.  I've become a good cook.  A very good cook.

   Shelli was out to see me a year or so ago.  A big helicopter brought her
in in a sealed box with an awning on the side for me to sit under.  She'd
strapped a cooler on the side of the box.  We talked about how the research
was going.  I've lost my place at the top of the ladder and the cutting
edge has passed me by.  All I am now is a very highly classified secret. 
Shelli is the only one that is doing any research on my problem and she
tried to tell me there were still some avenues of research that look
promising.  After all, the frontier of science marches on and I haven't
been active in my field.  I hope I lied well enough to convince her that I
believed her lies.  Barry gives her whatever she requests, but the security
aspect of this situation makes it hard for her to bring in outsiders.  We
talked about many things and our old jargon was dense enough for us to talk
honestly and openly without being understood by the listening devices we
assumed were there.  She's been getting inquiries from Ft.  Derthick, the
bio warfare people.  She's brushed them off, but understands that they
might be following up on the work that I had been doing when I had my
accident.

   I am irresistible to women.  The stuff that I had accidentally dumped on
my lap had -well, exactly what it did isn't important, except if you're a
weapon maker.  Sufficient to say that it is permanent, locked into my DNA.

   I live here in the land of UFO's.  I have a very nice home, if you like
converted underground structures warranted to withstand twenty kiloton
direct hits.  It dates back to the fifties and was built just before the
ban on atmospheric tests.  The place has a small house on top of it.  Out
of my sight, there runs a razor wire topped fence.  There are mine fields
and hi tech tv watching the whole fence.  Deadly force is authorized.  The
fence is kind of a quirk.  The only thing on the other side of it is the
most secure military research facility in the United States, Area 51 of the
Groom Lake test range.  Dreamland.

   I have the most flimsy shoes known to mankind.  Socks with cardboard in
the bottom.  I think they want to discourage me walking away.

   That last visit with Shelli, we had had a conversation under our
conversation.  My contact with the outside world is limited.  Shelli is the
only one I have any kind of contact with.  It's a direct connection to one
terminal, in her lab.

   The problem was one of being able to take her data, encrypt a message in
it and get it back to her in a way so that could be decoded.  There is a
lot of data and you can do some amazing things with matrix analysis.  It's
taken me a few years to work it out.  I still have a good brain and I think
that this will work.  Sometime in the future, she will send this out.  It
makes a good story, doesn't it?

   I hope so.  Because it will probably be the only chance that I get to
warn people.  Sex is the most powerful drive we have.

   Take my word for it, it makes a hell of a weapon.








   Shelli