Chapter 12

The following week, Steph couldn’t understand why Min was so subdued, and I was nice to her. She knew something had happened, but it would have been beyond her understanding (and betraying Min’s privacy) to explain. Min was also rather nicer to me than usual. She even complimented my technique in an experiment. Steph made a ribald remark and I smiled at her. She had no idea that my technique in that respect was Alpha plus already.

And the weekend that followed, I had to go on a sudden visit back to Aunty Jean; I had to talk to someone. As it happens, that was a bridge night and four older heads listened, spell-bound and disturbed at the story (with the names changed). They were far less shocked than we had been.

“I had the same experience. Not the same, similar. No, don’t look like that, not as the mother, as the daughter. My daddy told me that our secret was special. He said it would only hurt to start with. He was wrong on that. One night my mum found him. She told him to leave, she had a carving knife. He lunged to get it, and ran on to the knife. The police decided that it was self-defence and took no action. I learned, slowly, later, that my daddy was not well liked in the area. He wasn’t hugely missed.” This was Mrs Randall speaking. We were all silent for a while. “I’m saying that he, your friend’s father is an evil fucker and needs to be stopped. Dead.” She meant that last word I think. I wouldn’t pass that suggestion on. But I would tell Min that she wasn’t alone, and that she must stop acceding to his demands, she was a grown woman, he had no rights over her. He never did, but now she had the power to tell him.

“Are you thinking of Harriet?” this was Ursula Turner, well yes, her and a few others, yes I was thinking of them. “I wouldn’t be too concerned, young man. You actually taught them, and me, something important. I know that on occasions you did that macho thing of ‘cumming, ready or not’” she laughed “but you also gave us all, Harriet, Mandy, and Jo included I assume, a hell of a lot of pleasure too. You taught us to expect to receive as well as to give.” The other women nodded thoughtfully; each, I was sure, trying to work out just how much Ursula knew about what I did with her daughter – none of them knew the seedy and delightful depths we had been to. “And that has stood Harriet, at least, in good stead. She told me why she broke up with Stevie ... he wasn’t so keen on making sure she was happy after.” I read between the lines, I assumed we all did, and didn’t ask for more details. “And as for me ... yes. My life at home has become much more satisfying, my bedroom life, I mean.”

I smiled, maybe I wasn’t wholly a selfish bastard then. The next day – Sunday – I rang Jackie. She was surprised to hear from me, but I needed to know she was okay. That I hadn’t left her scarred. Her mother answered the phone “Oh, is that John? I guessed it must be because of your accent. How are you?” we talked about inconsequentialities for a while and then she said she’d call Jackie. “By the way, I think I have you to thank?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You are sorry? Oh, you mean pardon me? You want me to repeat. You Brits! I said I think I have you to thank. Perhaps she was a little young, but it sounds like you introduced her to the joys of sex rather well. We both, well, never mind, but a girl could do worse. I did. It took me a while to ... well never mind” I heard Jackie arrive, the phone was handed over. Yes, they still had a family phone, and Jackie was forbidden to hand out her number to boys without permission. It was a wise approach, I think. There are some real scumbags around.

Jackie was defiantly happy. “Wanting some more sweet and sour pork? Relax, I’m in my bedroom. I’m pretty sure Mum has guessed more than I told her, but not as much as we did. Anyway. I’m up for a week soon, will you be over to see Naughty Jean?” She’d started calling her Naughty Jean instead of Aunty Jean, her little joke. I explained that Aunty Jean was now spoken for. I had been asked to go on a ski trip, but since it was a drunken fuck-fest and I hardly needed drink to achieve the same end, I wasn’t sure. If Jackie was coming for a visit before Christmas, I’d stick around. She did – as her mother said – sound like she was decidedly happy with what we had done.

The only one I was really concerned for was our young neighbour in England. It took me a while to summon up the courage to ring; not least because it would cost a lot of money – and I felt I had to pay for this (though Aunty Jean said it didn’t matter, she understood that some things just needed to be sorted out). It will sound strange, but it took me ages to work out what the correct time to ring was, somehow back calculating from the time in UK to the time in the US made it all very odd and I kept being unsure – or maybe I was just chicken.

“Oh, hi Debbie. I ummm.” I was tongue-tied straight away. I had rehearsed what I was going to say, how I would lead round to it. Why the fuck was the boy next door ringing anyway? Wouldn’t any parent ask that obvious question. But it turned out that Debbie and Tracie were alone in the house. That made it easier, kind of.

“Hi. When are you coming back to Brighty? We need you.”

“It’s Blighty, and I suppose it will be next hols, or the summer. Look. This is weird. I just ... well I ... I need to know you’re okay. You’re very young.”

She cottoned on quickly. “Oh, I’m fine. Sophie was a little shocked, but she decided to keep it. We both think it’s a boy. I go to the ante-natal classes with her. Mum’s not happy of course.” Then she let it hang, for ages ... and ages.

“Oh, right, I ... I’d better speak to her and work out what we can do. I...”

Debbie started laughing, roaring with laughter, literally. “You think you are so masculine that one night would get her pregnant?” Well, yes, actually. Perfectly possible. “Here’s Sophie, Come back soon. I miss you”

“We both do.” chimed in Sophie. She said that they had assumed I was getting a big slice of sexy pie (her words, not mine) and had forgotten them; so she was quite pleased that I’d rung. So was I. It was plain that, though I’d taken advantage, the girls weren’t offended. It probably helped that I was young and reasonably fit, not some wrinkly git, or a nerd.

When I hung up, I was happy. I’d escaped from the possible bad effects of this chemical, so far. I needed to be much more careful; I couldn’t just go around laying girls for fun (their fun too – in my defence), without consideration of their age and vulnerability. “Damn!” I said out loud, as I realised that the safest women I was boning were the old, mature women, not available for pregnancy and mostly very clear about what they wanted. I was freeing them from the straitjacket of sexual respectability that they had grown into. But I didn’t want to only fuck fat women with big tits; I wanted younger, firmer, flexible women too, was that too much to ask?

Jackie came to stay, and our aunt gave us a careful talking to. She wanted to be absolutely sure that Jackie was fine; so did I. Getting a second opinion that the randy little slut was also surprisingly well adjusted was a good thing to know. She let me know that she was on the pill, that she had tried the local talent (a boy two houses down who was a year older than her) and found it wanting. “He was unimaginative, pushy, and lacked skill.”

“So, I’ll do?”

“Until I can train someone local up to deliver what I want, yes, you’ll do.

Mum knows I have a vibrator.” Apparently Jackie didn’t know her mother had one too “She caught me using it before school one day. What? I was feeling sorry for myself and it cheers me up.” I suppose sex can do that. “She knows about you, but I haven’t told her about Aunty Jean and you.” Phew, thank goodness. That would surely freak a mother out, or am I out of touch with what mothers want their daughters to know? “I won’t tell, nor that you are perverted little sex god. Oh, I see, maybe not so little then.” She had pulled off her teeshirt, what did she expect? Her shapely nips were standing up, both of them bidding to be the first. Jackie didn’t need any pheromone, she was the randiest bitch I ever met, I think. “Oh, yeah. Mum says she wants to meet you. She’s going to visit you on campus. Oh, yes, that’s nice.” I had my mouth on her left tit, and my hand down her open jeans. I was, however, a little distracted. Her mother wants to come to the uni to meet me! Why? Is she going to switch and go psycho on me?

I woke in the night. A woman with a large knife had me standing at a table, my todger tied down with cheese wire which would strip the skin if I moved. Then she started to slice from the end. That’s, thankfully, when I woke up, sweating profusely. Jackie held me close, it didn’t make me feel better.

For the rest of the term, I didn’t use the spray. I went for long runs and took cold showers. The lectures hadn’t yet caught up with what I already knew, so I was coasting. Only the practicals were new. It isn’t easy to extract the digestive tract of a cockcroach in the average kitchen in the UK.

At the end of term there was a party. Jerry came. “I am on the verge of a breakthrough! I have found a gay gene! Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, Jerry. I think I do. It would a) prove that being homosexual was not a choice but genetic programming; and b) enable governments to identify the gays, even closet ones, and exterminate them.”

“But, but if it’s natural, how can anybody object?”

“Because, my dear friend, people come to a conclusion first, and then look for evidence after. So ‘gays are wrong’; look at all the gay crime – ignore the non-gay crime; exterminate. It wasn’t their fault that they were Jewish, it didn’t save them in 1940 did it?”

Jerry went quiet. “But, it’s a real breakthrough! What should I do?”

“Find a cure for drunkenness. If people could drink all they wanted and then take a pill to drive home sober, they’d make the inventor a millionaire, a billionaire!.”

Well, of course Sartosh Inc did just that, so you can guess who led the research team.

I ended up in bed with a young lady, whose name I have regrettably forgotten. We were both drunk, she was too drunk to give real consent I guess, and I was too drunk to realise. In my defence, I had not used the pheromone, just good old fashioned alcohol. In the morning, I wasn’t even sure if we’d had sex; it isn’t something you can ask a girl. She probably wouldn’t remember either.

Jerry had been fascinated by my reports, I think he realised then just how potent, and how dangerous, the pheromone could be. He opted not to publish anything. Later in the evening I saw him with his arms around a young man who I had assumed to be gay with no certainty; it was pretty well confirmed then. Jerry thanked me for the invite to the party, said he’d be in touch and disappeared. I hope he enjoyed his night.

By this time I was realising that there was little challenge in getting a girl when she had no brain cells left to say no. There is no real pleasure in winning a running race if you are allowed a motorbike. I started weaning myself off. I won’t say I never used it. I still got an upgrade on the flight home, but I used just enough and no more. Amazingly the stewardess was Genine Waterstone, she recognised me straight away. She was wary, thinking I would expect the same service. I was politeness itself. By the end of the flight, she came over to me. “So, not interested this time? It did make the flight go faster. Still, glad that you didn’t try and use that against me. Having sex on duty is a sacking offence. A pilot and stewardess were sacked last week – of course he was meant to be flying the plane at the time, and it didn’t help that her sitting astride him in the pilot seat flipped the plane address system.” She laughed, so did I. They had both been given full notice to keep quiet, and the passengers who heard (before another stewardess went in and switched it off again) were told it was a film relay that had been wrongly transmitted. Whether they believed it or not, the airline was going to deny anything and everything. Genine gave me her number “I’m in town for five days. It might be fun.”