More Scents of Sex

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More Scents of Sex

 

 

Dutch Mark

 

 

Copyright 2025 by Dutch Mark

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means ֠electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise, ֠without prior permission in writing from the author.

 

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental, and for which the author and the publisher shall not be held responsible. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

 

Printed in the United States of America

 

 

 

 

Adult Content Warning

 

Please be advised that this is a very adult story, and is not intended for purchase or reading for any person under the legal age for such purchase and reading within their own country. There are many unusual sexual situations and graphic descriptions of sexual acts between men and women contained in this story, including many elements of BDSM. The story is intended solely for the enjoyment of individuals who enjoy reading about such activities, and is not meant to be advocating such activities nor instructing the reader in any way. If such acts and language offend you, please do not purchase this book.

 

 

 

 

Other books by Dutch Mark

 

 

Erotica

 

A Hard Business Lesson

 

The Scent of Sex (Scent of Sex Book 1)

 

Further Scents of Sex (Scent of Sex Book 3)

 

Weatherby’s Boarding School for Young Women

 

Summer at Weatherby’s (Weatherby Book 2)

 

My Japanese Wife … and Concubine

 

 

Science Fiction

 

Future Tense (time travel)

 

 

Chapter 1

 

I have to admit most high school boys would have given their left testicle to have had my life up to this point (Dr. Sorenson made me a sort of threat to that effect, but I’m not going to dwell on that now). Hell, some of them would have been ecstatic to have what I now perceive as a serious problem. But this is probably very confusing to you, so maybe I’d better give a little background before I go on with my story … and my life.

It all started when I was born, but I only started to get a real hint by the time I started elementary school. For some reason (well, now I know the reason, but more on that in a bit), I was very popular with many girls, many of whom wanted me to engage in some authority-figure role-playing games like ‘doctor’ or ‘teacher’, although I wasn’t particularly authoritarian. On the other hand, I often faced bullying from bigger boys, possibly due to my being on the small, scrawny side and probably because of the attention I received from females. Even a number of moms said how attractive I was and liked to stroke my hair and … other places.

My parents – my mom is a VP of Marketing for a beauty product company and my dad was an airline pilot – were wealthy enough to try homeschooling, but were not around enough to monitor my tutor. After I was tested as being behind a year, they returned me to traditional schooling. There I got picked on a lot. To help me defend myself and build up my confidence, they enrolled me in martial arts classes.

Starting with taekwondo and later adding kenpo karate and Muay Thai, martial arts became a central part of my life. Training six days a week improved my physical fitness, mental focus, and, of course, deterred bullies, as I eventually became capable of defending myself and others even though I was still a bit short.

At the age of twelve I noticed signs of puberty, including physical growth and body hair.

Naturally, reaching puberty and working out a lot greatly increased my body odor (yeah, sounds strange to mention, but it turned out to be extremely important). This period also saw increased attention from girls, with many expressing physical interest more openly. By sixteen, despite being shorter than my peers at five feet six inches, my dedication to martial arts resulted in a muscular and resilient physique, marking a significant transformation from my earlier years. The only part of my body that was oddly large in proportion was … well, you can guess.

Anyhow, it was about the time I entered high school at the age of sixteen that my life turned totally bizarre. The summer before school started I was invited to the swimming pool by a girl I had known most of my life, Marie Santos. Her mother, Angelica, drove us there and then joined us.

Marie was at least a few months younger than me and very pretty, with huge brown eyes, long brunette hair, a slim figure, but very small breasts on her five-foot-two body. But her mother was a knockout.

Mrs. Santos was a few inches taller than her daughter, and her figure showed me what Marie would probably look like in a few years. Even wearing a pretty modest bikini her breasts looked like melons on her petite frame, seeming as firm as they were large because they hardly bounced when she walked like a ballet dancer. Her arms were lithe and toned, her tiny waist made those jugs seem to jut out even farther, and her legs made her look like a model as she glided around the pool.

Even though she was married, she completely shocked me by dropping Marie at their home before “taking me home”. Instead, she drove to a secluded park, admired my physique, and then gave me my first sexual experience, a blowjob that rocked my world. Angelica, as she insisted I call her, managed to find a few more times when she could get away from her husband and I could get away from my mother (who seemed to be getting jealous) so we could go visit her “beautiful park”. There we would kiss and pet and she would happily suck me off, but she would not allow full sex.

Then a few weeks after school started a couple of varsity cheerleaders, Kim and Opal, invited me to the cheerleader’s private locker room to find out which one of them I thought was more attractive. They wound up doing a striptease for me, then giving a joint blow job. Opal had a boyfriend she wanted to be loyal to and kind of dropped out of the action, but I continued getting this great treatment from Kim, a lovely Asian girl, who even offered to go all the way once although she had told me she wanted to keep her virginity for marriage. I said “no” for several reasons that I will explain.

A large reason was Ms. Eiskönigin, my English teacher. She was a tall, statuesque Nordic beauty, and all of the guys called her ‘the ice queen’ because she seemed quite cold to all of the boys. However, for some reason she was quite nice to me, and invited me to have a couple of private chats about my work in her classroom.

Then my world was rocked in a very bad way: my father was killed in an airplane crash. My mother and I would eventually receive quite a lot of money from insurance and other sources after probate, but we were both devastated by our loss. Not surprisingly, Mom got ultra-clingy, but far more sensuously than I could have imagined.

That was when Kim offered sex, but I didn’t want a ‘mercy fuck’, plus I was now getting involved with several women. When I returned to school after a couple of weeks bereavement, Ms. Eiskönigin invited me over to her house to ‘catch up on my studies’, and I accepted. To my shock I found out she was into BDSM, which I refused to take part in, but she stripped and offered me my second full sexual experience. (Yeah, I’ll explain my first one in a bit as well.)

That one I did not refuse. Not only was it totally incredible, but Gretchen taught me a lot about the female body and how to please a woman sexually.

Then you could have knocked me over with the proverbial feather. The second time Gretchen invited me over for some private coaching, in walked her roommate. It was Jacqueline Dague, the foreign languages teacher. I was in her French class, and she had always been very nice to me. Both of the women were maybe 26 or so, and Ms. Dague was also very attractive in a pixieish way, thin and delicate, with small breasts that only displayed their nice shape because she wore tiny, wispy dresses no matter what the season or weather.

To make a long story short, they had been roommates in college, and Ms. Dague had become Gretchen’s lover and slave because she was really a lesbian (or maybe bi?) submissive. Gretchen preferred men but couldn’t find the ‘perfect’ guy, so she and Jacqueline (as I now called her) found teaching jobs at the same high school and continued to room together in their BDSM relationship, even though Gretchen was still hunting for her ‘perfect’ guy. For her own reasons, she had decided I might be that guy, even though I was ten years younger than her.

So we did a threesome, with Jacqueline literally as the whipping girl. I had my first anal experience with her, and she actually enjoyed it.

Shortly after that, Angelica told me her husband was gone on a business trip, Marie was out at a soccer tournament and then pizza, and she gave me the big invitation. Unfortunately (or maybe not), Marie injured her leg and came home early. Naturally, she caught me in bed with her mother. But instead of being shocked or furious she insisted that I ‘make a woman’ out of her, right there in front of Angelica. Angelica protested, but Marie threatened to tell Papa, and Angelica was sure he would literally kill her, so she had to agree. So then I had the two of them.

Of course, by that time I had discovered why so many women fell all over themselves for me.

One day at school we had a ‘take your kid to your workplace’ assignment, and then we’d have to write a report on different aspects of the workplace. I went to my mom’s business, where it seemed the entire staff was female. During the course of viewing the building, I met many of the ladies who worked there. One of them was Mom’s assistant, a very attractive British woman of about thirty. Her name was Alice Radcliffe. She was the woman who introduced me to actual intercourse, right there in Mom’s office while my mom went to find Dr.Faizal and see what was wrong with her.

Dr. Narmin Faizal, a thin woman in her mid-forties, was originally from Saudi Arabia, where she earned a dual Ph.D. in biochemistry and molecular genetics from King Abdulaziz University. Ironically, she emigrated to the U.S. because they would never make a woman a full professor. Here she found a job with Hebe Cosmetics as Director of Research and Development.

While I was being introduced to Alice, Dr. Faizal entered my mom’s office and stopped cold. Her head lifted, her nostrils flared, and she took a deep breath the same as Alice had done. She looked directly at me and her eyes went wide. Then she practically ran out of the office muttering something that sounded to me like ‘fair moans’. She later told that me her dream – well, she said her Holy Grail – was to discover if human pheromones were more than a cave man myth, and could actually be used in the beauty industry as a real aphrodisiac.

I don’t want to bore you with all the details, as I’ve written a lot about Dr. Faizal’s explanations to me before. Anyhow, after hearing my history with women and doing some very basic testing, it seemed I really was some kind of massive genetic throwback to the days when humans were much more reliant on pheromones, just like virtually all of the other animals. Evidently, the human need for sensory communications atrophied as we developed speech, symbols, signs, and other stuff that makes our eyes and ears much more important than our noses.

For whatever reason (which she also explained to me, but I’m pretty weak on genetics), I developed this ancient recessive gene. What’s more, a lot of women still seem to have a pretty good sense of smell and react to various chemicals in those pheromones, which is why the perfume and soap industries sell primarily to women.

That’s one of the reasons Hebe Cosmetics almost exclusively hired women … well, other than the fact that the owner and CEO, Ms. Stevens, believed in women power. The main reason, however, was that she decided to hire people who were potential users, i.e., women who had a very strong sense of smell, so that Hebe could use them as their initial test group for new products.

And that’s the reason Alice propositioned me the first time I met her. And also the reason why Dr. Faizal at first tried to avoid me, but quickly succumbed to my scent. The more I sweated, the stronger my body odor, and the more powerful the effect of my pheromones. And the longer women with a strong sense of smell were around me, the greater the effect.

Dr. Faizal had me sign a contract that allowed the company to investigate if I really had this power and, if so, to see how she might be able to ‘harvest’ my scent and create some products that would make the company – and me, of course – a ton of money. Dr. Sorenson, the company medical professional, would be responsible for any deeply invasive harvesting techniques. Incidentally, she was also a lesbian, and a lot all lesbians were hostile toward me, as were a lot of guys, so I wasn’t looking forward to possibly having her get a scalpel or a large needle anywhere near me.

Dr. Faizal’s sense of smell, combined with her inherently submissive personality, were so strong that she almost immediately wanted me to dominate her, which I had never knowingly done to anyone. She begged me to be allowed to call me her ‘Sir’, and probably would have loved it if I accepted her as a slave. It had almost the same affect on Daphne, Dr. Faizal’s secretary, and we had kind of regular threesomes that involved some light BDSM and a lot of sex.

So that’s why you might think I was happy as a pig in slop (Dr. Faizal often made references to porcine pheromones when explaining things to me) about all of the females I had accumulated and how submissive many of them wanted to be toward me. And, for the most part, I was.

The only fly in that ointment was my mother. She had always been, well, excessively affectionate toward me. However, after my dad died, she became positively obsessive. You have to remember that she had been hired by Hebe for the same reasons of sense of smell and her strong reactions toward certain scents. What’s more, she found out about some of my liaisons and got jealous.

That’s when she came right out and asked me to have sex with her.

Okay, I admit that after my session with Gretchen and Jacqueline I was really thinking how interesting it would be if I could get Angelica and Marie to have an actual threesome, even though that would have been incest. But my own mother? Just the thought was causing me severe palpitations, both because it was forbidden and because I was incredibly tempted to make love to my beautiful, sexy mother.

Fortunately, Dr. Faizal was nearly as well versed in psychology as she was in several other sciences, so I was using her as a kind of shrink to help me overcome my problems and my lack of knowledge in many other areas. Now that my mom had come right out and made it clear she wanted to have sex with me, I needed all of the relationship and psychological advice I could get. So I decided to go and have a talk with her as soon as possible.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

I thought about the evening my mother propositioned me for the three days before my next scheduled meeting with Dr. Faizal. I had carefully avoided any close contact with Mom, even though it made us both miserable. In spite of all the sexual escapades I had recently enjoyed – including my semi-threesome with Angelica and Marie – I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that Mom had actually come right out and told me she wanted to have sex with me. It was no doubt ironic that I went to Dr. Faizal for advice, but she was the only person I could think of who could give me an intelligent, yet reasonably impartial and scientific opinion.

“I see,” she said, after I had fully explained the situation. “And what exactly is it that you want to do about the situation, Sir?”

I looked at her like she was crazy. “Well, obviously, I want to stop it.”

As usual, she was sitting behind her desk with me in the chair in front, and she leaned back as far as she could. “Are you certain that’s what you want, Sir?”

I jumped to my feet, my hands spread wide in protest. “Well, I –”

At my hesitation, Dr. Faizal raised her eyebrows questioningly.

Then I actually thought about it. Was that really what I wanted? I mean, did I really want to fuck my beautiful and loving mother? Sure, I loved her dearly and she was sexy as hell, but did that mean I should take advantage of her vulnerable position to satisfy my teenage lust? Didn’t I already have a very full sex life without tasting the forbidden fruit?

I slumped back down again. “Well, I mean, it’s incest. Right?”

“Yes, Sir, it is,” Dr. Faizal nodded. “But is it the incest you’re worried about, or the possible inbreeding?”

I squinched so hard I could feel my eyebrows hit the root of my nose. “Aren’t those the same thing?”

“Not necessarily,” she said matter-of-factly. “For example, from what you’ve told me, I doubt that Marie and her mother were naturally incestuous. However, without really analyzing the immediacy of the situation, they knew they did not have to worry about inbreeding, so their inhibitions about incest were probably greatly lowered compared with their mutual desire to please you.”

“Well, it wasn’t really incest …”

“Yes, Sir, you explained the circumstances. I understand they did not actually engage in sex with each other, but they were still in the same room. And I also suspect you will eventually … well, allow it to become that.”

I almost jumped out of my chair again, partly from a pang of guilt in that I knew she was right. I guess I got the distinction she was making, but that didn’t lessen my agitation any. “Well, I mean … she’s my mother! What if … well, what if –”

“If she got pregnant?” Dr. Faizal interjected. “But there are many ways to avoid that possibility these days.”

I threw up my hands. “Yeah, but ….”

“What if?” she finished for me. She shrugged. “Alright, Sir, let’s discuss avoidance of inbreeding.”

I nodded gratefully. Now I was glad I had previously described my entire sex life with Dr. Faizal, because otherwise this conversation would have been far too embarrassing. Well, first, it would have been impossible, of course, as her sound advice relied on her thorough knowledge. But, just as importantly, my business relationship with Dr. Faizal allowed us to be quite comfortable discussing other women and my past experiences with them.

“Right,” Dr. Faizal said briskly, nodding slightly. “So let’s go back to pheromones. It is well known that mice can distinguish close relatives from distantly related individuals on the basis of scent signals, which enables them to avoid mating with close relatives and minimizes deleterious inbreeding. In addition to mice, two species of bumblebee have been observed to use pheromones as a means of kin recognition to avoid inbreeding. So I suppose I could refresh my knowledge of the exact pheromones and see if you either have anything similar or if we could somehow generate an effective facsimile.”

I held my hands out. “Well, I don’t want something so powerful that it makes her stop loving me. I mean, as her son, of course.”

Dr. Faizal smiled indulgently. “I wouldn’t be too worried about that, Sir. As the Greeks described, there are many different types of love. At least, for humans. Our concepts of love are extremely complicated. I am certain that your mother will not confuse eros with agape or storge.”

In spite of my angst, I was intrigued by these new thoughts. Well, obviously new to me. “Okay, so tell me about those things.”

“Yes, Sir.” As usual, Dr. Faizal nodded in consideration of her thoughts before speaking. “Eros means feelings that derive from natural sexual urges and lusts. While it is intimately related to sex, Eros is a state of the heart, so sex can exist – and often does – without Eros enlivening it.” She gave a little shrug. “Then it’s just called lust.

“On the other hand, Agape is more of a parental, mature, sacrificial kind of love. It is a devoted love that will not let go, so it is usually at some cost to the parent or older person. That is what your mother undoubtedly first felt toward you. Agape puts the beloved first and sacrifices pride, self interest, and possessions for the sake of that beloved. Storge is the love of community and family. Often dutiful, sometimes unfeeling, but very strong none the less. It is a natural, carnal love, but powerful enough to be a real hindrance to spiritual growth, especially when family and culture are holding you down. Anyhow, that is what the Greeks believed.”

I rubbed my chin as I thought about that. “Sooo …” I wondered out loud. “You said something about only humans having such different feelings about sex and love from the other animals. What makes you think that?”

Dr. Faizal actually smiled at my question. “Science. Which includes metacognition.”

This time I frowned. “What’s that?”

“Metacognition? It means the ability to think above normal thinking, to analyze the way you think and even change your way of thinking if you desire to strongly enough. In many ways, humans overthink their feelings because they do have metacognition. Especially, perhaps, about sex.”

“Hunh. You want to explain that?”

“Which, Sir, how we use metacognition, or about sex?”

My face must have contorted in confusion. “Well, I …!”

Then I saw the faintest hint of a smile at her lips.

“Hah! Why, Dr. Faizal, was that humor I just heard from you?”

Her smile grew brighter. “I have been attempting to add it to my personality. Did it work?”

I grinned back at her. “Yeah, a great first try. You need to do more of it.” Then I became serious again. “But, right now, I really do want you to explain meta … uh, that word.”

“Of course, Sir.” She frowned briefly, and then launched into her explanation. “Because metacognition allows us to analyze our own way of thinking about things and then change our habits and even our attitudes, humans have developed an extremely eclectic set of viewpoints and behaviors. That is not only true about national topics, such as religion and politics, but also about interpersonal behavior. Of course, with humans, one of the strongest forms of interpersonal behaviors has to do with sex.”

While Dr. Faizal talked I stood up and started wandering around the room, including fiddling with the few items on her desk. Although her eyes followed me, she naturally did not say a word about it.

“Are you saying that only humans are all … well, weird about sex?”

She smiled enigmatically. “Pretty much. It’s my opinion that the ability for metacognition is what really separates humans from the rest of the animals. Although lower order animals use pheromones and displays to attract mates, only around five percent mate for life. Mostly birds, perhaps oddly enough. Also wolves, gibbons, and beavers, as far as we know. However, for most animals, it is just sex for procreation. For the most part they have either simple or non-existent mating rituals, then most of them go their separate ways.”

“Humph. So with us it’s more complicated. I can definitely see that.” I stroked my chin. “Why do you think that is?”

Dr. Faizal nodded. “With humans it’s actually much more complicated because of societal strictures on ‘love’ and monogamous marriage, which is at least as psychological as it is physical. Unlike the vast majority of animals, the vast majority of humans feel a need to justify their sexual urges to themselves as much as to others. Perhaps even more so.”

“Such as?”

She spread her hands, as though being compelled to tell me things she didn’t want to say. Nevertheless, she did not disobey.

“Well, such as those women who were attracted to you because of strong sexual desire, although they had no idea their compulsion was greatly enhanced by your unique pheromones.”

“You mean like Angelica, Gretchen, and Alice?”

Her brows furrowed a bit. “I don’t think Alice, no. She’s one of those modern females who are liberated about having sex with the men she’s strongly attracted to. I shouldn’t think that she’s a ‘swinger’, but she doesn’t seem to have a lot of inhibitions, even though I know she thought she was in a serious relationship at one point. However, I do believe that Angelica and Gretchen had to convince themselves that it was not just a sexual attraction to a 16-year-old boy that led them to seduce you. It had to be feelings that were much deeper, more meaningful and permanent, or else they would consider themselves to be ‘cougars’, sexual predators. Therefore, they convinced themselves they had an emotional attachment to you. They may even think they’re in love with you.” She shrugged more deeply. “In Angelica’s case, given what you’ve said about her marriage, it may even be true.”

“Hunh.” I thought about that for a minute. What she said made sense, I suppose. But then another thought occurred to me. I sat on the edge of the desk and leaned in very closely to her. “And how about you, Dr. Faizal? Did you develop some sort of rationale for having sex with me?”

She gave a wry smile and shook her head. “Oh, no, Sir. I think I’ve explained that pretty fully to you. I knew from the beginning it was your pheromones that attracted me, and given my personal background that I would be helpless to resist you. My feelings have only become deeper because of my submissive needs and your unwillingness to exploit my dependency on you. No offense, but I know I’m not in love with you in the traditional meaning.”

I smiled and scratched at my ear. “Yeah, I was pretty sure that was the case. So, none taken. It’s good you don’t love me, but I do love the way you explain things to me, making everything pretty clear.” Then I frowned. “You know, I did some thinking about what you said about maybe some of the women in my life are becoming addicted to me. But I remembered that a while ago you said that pheromones wear off after a while. If they wear off, how come the effect lasts so long, or is maybe even getting stronger?”

Dr. Faizal smiled. “Very perceptive, Sir. It’s true that I said pheromone reactions usually wear off fairly quickly in the animal kingdom. But you must also remember what I said about humans being very different, primarily due to our powers of metacognition.”

“Yeah, right, where we can deliberately change things in our life.”

“Yes, that’s right,” she nodded. “But I also discussed how it impacts the fact that humans internalize many things that most other animals don’t worry about. Such as their relationships, and definitely the rationalization of many of their actions. So many of human addictions are from psychological needs rather than physiological processes.”

I frowned. “Okay, I think I get it. The physical affects of my pheromones might wear off, but the women make the impact last a lot longer and stronger because of their thoughts and feelings?”

“That’s correct, Sir” Dr. Faizal agreed. “However, there may actually be a physical component with humans that we do not yet understand.”

“Such as?”

“Unlike most animals, these women – myself included – are receiving your pheromones very directly and in concentration. That is to say, in your semen. The more frequently we receive it, the more profound the impact may be on us.”

I thought about this and nodded slowly. Okay, so my cum was addictive. But then I sat up straight and frowned. “So, then, how would you describe what’s going on with Mom? She’s certainly never had any of my semen, although I have rubbed my sweat on her a number of times.”

Dr. Faizal sighed deeply and leaned back in her chair, perhaps wanting to create a little more space between us. I could see that her breathing had got a lot heavier when she was smelling me from a few feet away.

“For your mother it must be even worse, as her sexual desire for you violates the strict societal taboo on incest. The more all impacted women breathe in your scent, and especially the more they touch you, they seem to have absorbed your pheromones to the point where they are somewhat addicted, or at least have developed long-term needs to reinforce their exposure to the source – meaning you. Since your mother has spent her entire life with you – and especially since you matured, and also given the untimely passing of your father – it must be hell for her.”

“Yeah.” I could hear the resignation in my own voice. “So do you think there’s any hope for us to lead a normal mother-son life?”

Dr. Faizal gave a tiny shrug and smiled sadly at me. “Not until we develop a suitable repellant. Unfortunately, even that might not be enough for a ‘normal’ life. After all, who knows how your mother might react to a repellent?”

My shoulders sagged at the possibilities; none of them I could think of were really positive. She sighed heavily at my long face, but inhaling right in front of me turned it into a bit of a shudder. Her reaction was predictable.

“Oh! Uh, Sir, do you think I might be allowed to … well, to give you some comfort?”

I really didn’t feel up to sex right then (something I never imagined I would ever even consider), but I knew she sincerely wanted to comfort me, and was no doubt strongly in need of a fix. “Sorry, Doc, but I just don’t think I could find the energy for that right now.”

“Then, please, just let me suck you. You won’t have to do a thing.”

The pleading in her voice was too much to deny. I shrugged, which she happily took as agreement.

Dr. Faizal knelt at my feet and undid my belt. I raised my butt up high enough for her to pull my trousers and jockeys down to my ankles. My little leg lay limply, which was only to be expected. Undismayed, Dr. Faizal gently muzzled it with her cheek, and then started teasing it with the tip of her tongue. She was getting a little more creative in her technique … or maybe she’d actually been studying fellatio in order to please me more. I would not put it past her methodical mind to do that.

As Dr. Faizal sucked me, my mind actually drifted away. It was a terrible dilemma to be in, knowing that my presence in her house brought my mother such agonies. Half of her brain must be in physical torment from lusting after me, and the other half must feel deep guilt from what she considered her ‘unnatural’ desires. And now she knew I had enjoyed sex in her home with another woman! That had clearly sent her over the edge, trying to gain the sexual release she clearly wanted and needed from me.

I thought of her beautiful, desirable body, and the love I had for her as both my mother and best friend. I knew that to give in would deeply change our relationship, probably for the worst, and yet my raging teenage hormones were screaming for me to say YES!

It was this last thought that finally caused my flaccid member to begin to respond to Dr. Faizal’s continued tender ministrations. As I felt the first faint stirrings, she gave a little sound of pleasure. Her efforts escalated from tender ministrations to enthusiastic licking and sucking over the next five minutes. I vaguely thought of how much her technique had improved over the last month, and suddenly envisioned Mom kneeling in front of me and sucking my cock. I got rock hard in an instant.

“Oh, bloody hell!” I blurted out.

Obviously, Dr. Faizal thought I must be getting excited because of her devoted exertions, because her mouth went into a vacuum cleaner suction mode, and her head bobbed like a woodpecker drilling to the motherload of grubs. She must have been practicing on a huge cucumber, or maybe it was just her excitement, because all of a sudden her throat expanded and my cock went all of the way in until her lips were caressing my pubic hairs and the head of my cock was tickling her tonsils. It was fantastic! Another first in my sexual experiences!

She started to gag and backed off, but I grabbed her hair and forced her back down on my now raging rod. She willingly let me use her throat, slobbering and gagging in the effort to take it all once again and give me my final pleasure. She even wrapped her arms around my waist to help force herself into being throat fucked. The pressure built up in my balls as she started making sounds of distress, but refused to allow my cock to leave its tight, vibrating confines as she gulped continuously to drink her own fluids while trying to bring me to my climax to spew mine.

Just when I thought I would have to jerk myself out of that devoted mouth because I could no longer bear that exquisitely painful pleasure – hell, I don’t know how Dr. Faizal could endure it – my special sauce began spurting from my hose in a stream of rapid spasms. Her lips tightened, clearly determined that not one drop of my magic elixir would escape her growing addiction. When at last she was satisfied that she had gulped down the last lingering taste, she literally fell back onto the floor from exhaustion.

I sat there for several more minutes, panting as though I was the one who had put out all of that energy. Then I stood up, still a bit shaky, and straightened up my clothing.

“Well. I hope you were satisfied,” I said.

She just smiled up at me, clearly on a junkie high. I staggered out of the room, for the first time in many years not certain that I would not have the energy to get through a session at the dojo.

 

Chapter 3

 

The next couple of weeks were basically disastrous at home but extremely promising at school and work.

Mom and I were playing hide-but-do-not-seek. She was obviously embarrassed about her direct overture, and no doubt mortified that I had – at least in her mind – rejected her. She was working longer hours, partly due to the need to keep away from me (as I was doing with her), but also because of the continuing success of Dr. Faizal’s project with my pheromones. The trials were experiencing rapid and spectacular success, so the marketing department had gone into overdrive preparing for their marketing campaign.

Just in case everything Dr. Faizal predicted came true, there would be two completely new lines of products to sell, one to women, but the more lucrative one would be to men. That was very promising financially, as very few cosmetics companies made a huge profit selling to men. One of the unfortunate consequences of that was that I hardly ever saw Alice. In a way I guess that was good because it avoided any more potential conflict with Mom after she had discovered Alice’s panties in my room, even though she wasn’t really sure of who they belonged to.

At school, Gretchen and I were figuring out how to have a sleepover, or maybe even a long weekend so the three of us could spend some quality time together. Due to Mom spending so much time at work, both were a distinct possibility. Since Mr. Franklin retired, my new teacher, Ms. Finklestein, had been very encouraging and helpful. She was plain and dowdy, not at all the type I would want in my bed, but she also seemed to be distinctly affected by my scent, so I was happy to get the benefit of her easy grading.

I had already been getting an A in P.E. due to my natural athleticism, and the only challenge had been in science. I had never done well in either science or social studies, both coincidentally taught by men. It seemed that since the two beautiful single teachers had taken a ‘shine’ to me, it had become noticed in the teachers’ lounge. Fortunately for me, the two men must have been trying to have some dating success with Gretchen and Jacqueline, because they rapidly became much friendlier with me and gave me better grades. Whatever the cause, I wasn't going to complain.

Because the controlling Carlos was at home most of the time, there was no chance of meeting up with Angelica, and Maria was also keeping very low-key to avoid getting her father suspicious. She still flirted with me, but no more frequently than Kim, who was still wavering between making a full commitment to sex with me or just sucking me off while I played with her bare breasts. That was fine; I had enough things going on in my life that I didn’t need to complicate it more with Kim.

The only thing keeping me from doing something crazy with any of those women was Dr. Faizal – and, on most occasions, Daphne. Dr. Faizal was not only mentoring me on pheromones and my own psyche, she was also helping me out with science and psychology. A lot of our discussions about psychology involved how to deal with my mother as well as the other women in my life. All the while, she was working very hard to make herself famous and me very rich. And of course, the company. But a couple of times a week I still had sex with one or the both of them, ranging from a nice blowjob to a crazy threesome that usually included anal with one or both of them.

I was musing on all of this as I wandered into the cafeteria, not really noticing what they were serving that day. Suddenly Maria rushed up to me, her face all flushed and her breathing kind of ragged.

“Uh, hi, Maria. How ya doing?” I was a little flustered by her unexpected approach, especially as she seemed so wrought up.

She looked around quickly, as though worried that we were being observed. Well, what the hell, we were in the school cafeteria, right?

“Okay,” she panted.

“Uh, okay, great. You, uh, you wanna join me for lunch?”

She looked at me very seriously. “No. I just wanted to tell you my dad’s going out of town next week. On a long business trip.”

“Ooooh,” I breathed. My face lit up with expectation, but then I put on a serious expression. “Oh, well. I, uh, hope he has a real successful trip. Maybe we can get together sometime.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll let him know.” She stressed the ‘him’ to imply she really meant ‘her’.

“Okay,” I said. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t want to join me?”

“Yeah, I can’t now,” she said. “Maybe next week?”

“I’ll be around,” I promised.

She gave me a shy smile that radiated happiness. “Great.”

Then she walked off, as if afraid her father might walk into the cafeteria and catch us making out. Okay, that was a little weird, but I certainly understood that she was in a very new and weird situation. I would try to make it as easy as possible for her.

I didn’t taste a thing I was eating. After all of the turmoil of the past few weeks, both the ups and down, I was in kind of a euphoria at the thought of getting back together with Angelica and Maria. It wasn’t just the kinky sex; I really did have an affection for the both of them. Of course, it was also about the kinky sex.

Speaking of ‘kinky sex’, you could have knocked me over with something lighter than a feather at what happened next.

Right after lunch I had my free period, when I normally went to the library and either studied or read a book on some kind of martial arts I hadn’t tried yet. But, just as I was about to enter it, Gretchen walked up to me with a very agitated manner.

Her skirt, a touch shorter than the ones she had switched to after I asked her to dress a little more sexily at school, hinted at the powerful thighs beneath, and her blouse, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage, seemed to scream of promises I couldn’t possibly forget. But, since we were out in the open with a number of students around, she kept her distance. Nevertheless, I could see that her body was quivering with some kind of intensity.

“Mark,” she said, her normally strong voice only a velvety whisper, “you’ve been driving me wild. Every day in that stuffy room, surrounded by all those … children. I can’t focus, I can’t think, because all I can see is you. I know it’s dangerous,” she continued, her gaze burning into mine, “but I don’t care. I need you, Mark. Now.”

Before I could respond she turned and walked away. “Follow me,” she commanded over her shoulder, her voice brooking no argument. Any onlooker would probably think I was in some kind of trouble and ignore the situation.

Surprisingly, Gretchen led me to the cheerleader’s locker room, a place I’d only ever been in with Kim and Opal. As she produced a key from her pocket, I lifted my eyebrows in a question. “I’m one of the assistant coaches,” she explained as she unlocked the door. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and perfume, a heady mix that mirrored the turmoil within me.

“Are you sure --” I started to say, but she cut me off.

“This is one of the type of things my dream man would do,” she said in a kind of passive/aggressive manner. “Now we only have thirty minutes,” she breathed, her eyes gleaming with a hunger that I had been seeing in a lot of female eyes – including hers – in the past year. “Make it count.”

She pushed me against a locker, her body pressing against mine, her large, firm breasts crushing against my chest. Her lips crashed against mine, hungry and demanding, her tongue dueling with mine in a dance that left me breathless. I could feel her desire, a tangible force radiating from her, and it overcame some of my nervousness at this forbidden scene. My hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the defined muscles of her back. She moaned into my mouth, her fingers digging into my shoulders, urging me closer.

She broke the kiss, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I need you, Mark. Now.”

She dropped to her knees, her rose-gold hair cascading over her shoulders, and undid my belt with practiced efficiency. My jeans pooled around my ankles and she wasted no time, her lips closing around the head of my cock, her tongue swirling, her mouth hot and wet.

I groaned, my head falling back against the cold metal of the locker. Gretchen was a master, her mouth working its magic, her hands gripping my thighs, taking me deeper into her throat. The situation, the forbidden nature of it all, only heightened the pleasure. The possibility of being discovered, the thrill of the taboo, sent shivers of excitement through me.

Still on her knees she looked up at me, her blue eyes dark with desire, her lips glistening with my pre-cum. “Touch me,” she commanded, her voice thick with need. “Show me how much you want me.”

I hesitated, but her gaze was unwavering. I bent down and pulled her sweater up and reached behind her clumsily to unhook her bra, freeing those mammoth mammaries to my delighted eyes. I stood back up and stared down at her lovely face, now distorted with passion. My fingers tracing the curves of her breasts, I teased her nipples into hardened peaks. Then I pinched both of them, hard. She dove forward once again and moaned around my cock, her head bobbing faster, her tongue flicking, driving me closer to full hardness. Then she pulled back again.

“Now, Mark,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I need to feel you inside me right now.”

I pulled her to her feet, her sweater bunched above her beautiful big breasts that were now freed from their shackles. She was a vision, a goddess incarnate, and I wanted to take her like the assertive man she wanted.

I turned her around, pressing her against the lockers, her ass perfectly rounded, a target begging to be claimed. I yanked down her panties. I hesitated, my breath hot against her ear. “Are you ready for me, my slutty teacher?”

“Take me,” she whispered, her voice desperate. “Take me hard. I need to feel you, Mark. I need to feel your control.”

Her words, her surrender, unleashed something primal within me. I entered her from behind with one swift thrust, my cock sliding into her sopping wet heat, filling her completely. She gasped, her head falling back, her hair flying around as she shook in her desperate need.

I began to move, slowly at first, savoring the tightness of her, the way her vulva clenched around me. Then, driven by a hunger I couldn’t control, I picked up the pace, my thrusts becoming harder, faster, more urgent.

Gretchen met my rhythm, her moans echoing off the locker room walls, her body moving in perfect sync with mine. The sound of our flesh slapping together, the scent of our desire, the sight of her hands frantically clawing at the cold metal locker, all combined into a symphony of pleasure that threatened to consume me.

“Harder,” she gasped, her voice a plea. “Please, Mark, harder.”

I obliged, my hips snapping forward, my cock pounding into her with a force that bordered on brutality. She cried out, her body trembling, her walls clenching around me as she climaxed, her orgasm rippling through her, a wave of pure ecstasy.

But I wasn’t done. I needed more, needed to claim some sort of submission from her. “Turn around,” I commanded, my voice rough with need.

She obeyed, her eyes still glazed with desire. I pushed her back against the lockers, her breasts heaving, her breath coming in short gasps. “I want your ass,” I whispered, my voice a promise and a threat.

Her eyes widened, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. “I … I don’t have any lube,” she stammered.

“Use your juices,” I said, my voice firm. “You’re wet enough. I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

She bit her lip, her gaze searching mine. Then, slowly, she nodded, her trust in me – or her maybe her desire to be submissive – leaving her no choice. She reached down to scoop up as much moisture as she could, rubbed it into her soon-to-be-violated sphincter, and then turned back around to lean against the locker once more. I was thrilled at her obedience.

I positioned myself behind her, my cock pressing against her tight entrance. She winced as I entered her, her body tense, but I moved slowly, giving her time to adjust.

“Relax,” I murmured, my lips brushing her ear. “Let me in.”

She took a deep breath, her body softening, her muscles relaxing. I began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Gretchen moaned, her head falling back, her hands gripping the lockers, her body surrendering to the pleasure.

The tightness, the heat, the forbidden nature of it all, sent me spiraling towards the edge. Gretchen’s cries, her body arching against mine, her nails scrabbling at the metal like she wanted to scratch my flesh, pushed me over.

“Cum with me,” I growled, my voice hoarse with need. “Cum for me, Gretchen.”

Her body shuddered, her anal walls clenching around me, milking my cock as she climaxed once more, her cry echoing through the locker room. I followed quickly, my orgasm tearing through me, a white-hot explosion that left me trembling, my seed spilling deep within her.

We stood there, breathless, our bodies still joined, the aftermath of our passion hanging heavy in the air. Gretchen turned her head, her eyes shining with a mixture of desire and something softer, something that made my heart skip a beat.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.“Now we should go.”

I nodded, gently pulling out of her, my cock still throbbing, a testament to the intensity of what we’d just shared. We quickly readjusted our clothes, our breathing still heavy, the reality of what we’d done settling in.

As we left the locker room, Gretchen’s hand brushed mine, a fleeting touch that spoke volumes. We made our way back to our respective classes, our bodies still humming with the aftermath of our encounter, the scent of sex clinging to us like a second skin.

I staggered into my next class, my mind reeling, my body still buzzing with the memory of Gretchen’s touch, her taste, her surrender. My boxers, sticky with our combined juices, served as a reminder for the rest of the day of the forbidden fruit I’d tasted, a fruit that was both sweet and dangerously addictive.

 

Chapter 4

 

It was undoubtedly at least partially my fault what happened that night.

It all started at the dojo. It was pretty quiet, the usual buzz of training muted as the evening class wrapped up. I stood by the edge of the mat, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. My hair, damp from the intense sparring session, fell casually over my forehead, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Years of training had sculpted my body into a chiseled, muscular frame, and I had recently attained the ranks of third-dan black belt in Taekwondo and a second-degree black belt in Kenpo. I was feeling good, especially after my early ‘workout’ in the cheerleader’s locker room.

“Mark,” Sensei Nakamura called out, his voice cutting through the lingering silence. “I need your help with a couple of new students. They’re beginners, too green to join the regular class. Think you can tutor them for a bit?”

I nodded, my eyes scanning the room. That’s when I saw them: two girls, maybe nineteen or twenty, standing awkwardly by the entrance. They were both strikingly pretty, their athletic wear hugging their curves in all the right places. The shorter one had long, wavy blonde hair, while the other sported a sleek brunette ponytail. They looked nervous but eager, their eyes darting around the dojo as if trying to absorb every detail.

“Sure, Sensei,” I replied, stepping forward. “I’ll take care of them.”

As I approached, I caught a faint whiff of their perfume, and they evidently got a strong blast of my pheromones. It was a strange sensation, but one I’d grown accustomed to over the years. I could see it in their eyes already: a flicker of interest, a subtle shift in their posture. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the task at hand.

“Hi, I’m Mark,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “Let’s start with some basics. Kenpo is a great style for beginners. It’s all about efficiency and control.”

The blonde girl, whose name tag read “Emma,” smiled shyly. “Thanks, Mark. We’re really excited to learn. We’ve heard so much about you from the – uh, sensei.”

I raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback. “Oh? And what have you heard?”

The brunette, “Lila,” chimed in, her voice laced with admiration. “That you’re a total badass. Third-dan black belt, right? And you’re only seventeen?”

I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. “Something like that. Let’s just focus on getting you two moving, okay?”

We spent the next hour going through the fundamentals – stances, blocks, and a few basic punches. Their movements were clumsy at first, but they were quick learners. I could see the determination in their eyes, the way they mirrored my every move. It was refreshing, working with students who were so eager to improve.

As we practiced, I couldn’t help but notice the way they glanced at me, their gazes lingering a little too long. Emma’s cheeks flushed whenever I corrected her stance, and Lila’s breath hitched when I demonstrated a particularly fluid strike. It was flattering, but I kept my distance, mindful of the power dynamics at play.

Just as we were wrapping up, Sensei Nakamura approached again, this time with two young men in tow. They were both tall and lean, their muscular builds speaking to a lot of athletic activity. But there was an air about them, a cockiness that set my instincts on edge.

“Mark,” Sensei said, “these are Jake and Ryan. They say they’ve had have some training, but not formal. See what they’ve got, will you? Maybe they can join the advanced class.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t thrilled about the idea. The guys were already shooting smug glances at the girls, who seemed to have noticed their presence. Emma and Lila exchanged a look, their earlier enthusiasm dimming slightly.

“Alright,” I said, stepping onto the mat. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Light sparring, protective gear on. No need to get too rough.”

Jake and Ryan smirked, clearly underestimating me because I was younger. They stripped off their shirts, revealing lean, muscular torsos, and slipped on their headgear and gloves. I did the same, the familiar weight of the gear grounding me.

The first few exchanges were cautious, both of them testing my defenses. But it didn’t take long for their true intentions to surface. They began to gang up on me, their strikes growing more aggressive, their taunts louder.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Jake sneered. “Is that all you’ve got?”

I kept my cool, dodging and weaving with precision. My years of training kicked in, my movements fluid and calculated. I landed a sharp kick to Ryan’s side, sending him stumbling back, but I held back, refusing to hurt him more than necessary.

The girls watched from the sidelines, their earlier flirtatiousness replaced by concern. I could feel their eyes on me, their worry mingling with a strange kind of awe.

The sparring intensified, Jake and Ryan growing more frustrated as I effortlessly deflected their attacks. Finally, I saw an opening and took it, delivering a swift combination that left both of them on the mat, winded but unharmed.

“Enough,” I said, my voice firm but calm. “You’ve got some skill, but you need to work on control and respect.”

They glared at me, their egos bruised, but they didn’t argue. I made to help them up, offering a hand that they disdainfully ignored.

As the session ended, Emma and Lila approached, their earlier shyness replaced by boldness. “That was incredible, Mark,” Emma said, her voice low and husky. “You’re even more amazing than we thought.”

Lila stepped closer, her scent intoxicating. “We were thinking … maybe you’d like to grab a cup of coffee … or something … with us later? Just to get better acquainted and, um, learn a few more moves?”

I hesitated, torn between flattery and discomfort. My pheromones had clearly done their work, but I wasn’t interested in leading these girls on. “Thanks, but I’ve got homework to finish. Maybe another time.”

Their faces fell, but they nodded, respecting my decision. I gave them a small smile, feeling a pang of guilt for turning them down.

As I packed up my gear, I couldn’t shake the knowledge that my life would never be simple. My pheromones, my skills, my very presence – they all seemed to attract attention, both wanted and unwanted.

When I finally got back home, my body was heavy with exhaustion. The workout in the dojo had been tiring and every muscle in my body screamed for relief. The sweat clung to my skin like a second layer, my shirt sticking uncomfortably to my chest. Thanks to Gretchen, I was also still stinking of sex, which was a dangerous combination when entering my house these days.

Normally, I’d head straight to the shower, not just to wash off the grime but to neutralize the scent that clung to me … a scent that normally had a way of stirring things around the house that it shouldn’t, and doubly so in my current condition.

But tonight I was too tired to think straight, especially as all of the exciting thoughts of the day were still whirling around in my head. I kicked off my shoes by the door, the cool hardwood floor a welcome relief under my bare feet. Then I headed for the kitchen to get a glass of cold lemonade. I almost ran into Mom.

“Mark, you’re home,” Mom’s voice, slightly slurred, floated from the kitchen as if the words had trouble finding their way past her lips. I entered to see her standing in front of the fridge, a glass of wine in one hand, her silk robe loosely tied around her waist. Her hair was damp, curling softly around her shoulders, most likely from having just got out of the shower. As she took a couple of steps she was a bit unsteady, though not from fatigue. The scent of lavender and wine mingled in the air, a heady combination that made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

I nodded in her direction, trying to keep my gaze neutral, but her eyes – those piercing hazel eyes – locked onto mine, and I felt a flicker of something I couldn’t name. Okay, I could name it, but I sure as hell didn’t want to.

“Yeah, just got in,” I mumbled, turning to head toward my room. But as I passed her, the air shifted. Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened just a fraction, as if she’d caught a scent on the wind. She set her wine glass down on the side table with a clink.

My stomach sank. Why hadn’t I headed directly to the shower?

“Mark, wait,” she said, her voice thick with something I had heard too often in the past year. I hesitated, my mind screaming for me to get inside my bedroom, but before I could move again she held out both hands toward me and her robe fell open as she moved, revealing the curve of her shoulder and the swell of her breasts. My heart stuttered and I froze, my eyes moving down that lush figure from her firm mammaries to a surprisingly well-trimmed bush between her toned legs.

Mom took a step toward me, then another, her hips swaying gently, her eyes never leaving mine. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with something electric. “Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice a low, husky plea. I felt my resolve crack, just a little, as she reached out, her hand brushing against mine. She took my hand in hers, warm and soft, and placed it on her right breast. Her skin was hot under my palm, her heartbeat rapid beneath my fingertips.

Before I could stop what was happening she leaned in, her lips brushing against mine. Her kiss was soft, insistent, and I felt my body respond despite myself. Her scent – lavender and wine and something uniquely her, something I had known all my life – wrapped around me, clouding my thoughts. For a moment, I was lost, my promise to myself forgotten in the heat of her body as she leaned into me. But then, like a cold splash of water, reality crashed back in. I pulled away, my breath ragged, my heart pounding in my chest.

“I – I can’t,” I stammered, my voice hoarse. I turned and bolted for my room, slamming the door shut behind me. The lock clicked into place, a flimsy barrier against the storm of emotions raging inside me. I leaned against the door, my chest heaving, as I heard her soft sobs from the other side. The sound tore at my heart, a jagged edge cutting through the guilt already settling in my stomach.

I knew I’d hurt her, and the thought made me sick. Mom had been through so much: Dad’s death, the loneliness, the grief that clung to her like a shadow. And now, I’d added to her pain, my rejection a fresh wound on top of everything else. I slid down to the floor, my back against the door, and closed my eyes. The scent and sight of her lingered in my mind, a ghost of what could have been.

As I lay there, the silence of my room pressing in around me, my mind wandered back to her. Her body, soft and curvaceous, pressed against mine. The heat of her skin, the way her breath quickened under my touch. I thought about how her lips had felt against mine, how her hand had trembled as she reached for me. My body ached with unspent desire, my muscles tense with the effort of holding back.

I knew I’d made the right choice. Crossing that line would have been a betrayal of everything I felt for my mother. But as I lay there, the image of her weeping on the other side of the door haunted me. Had I done the right thing, or had I just made things worse? The question lingered, another pain in my brain, as I drifted into an uneasy sleep, her scent still lingering in my mind. And as I lay there, torn between guilt and desire, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mom had finally unleashed the beast that had physically separated us.

 

Chapter 5

 

On Monday afternoon I sat across from Dr. Faizal in her tidy office, the weight of my encounter with Mom pressing down on me like a physical force. The room, with its sleek, neutral-toned furniture and the faint scent of sandalwood, felt both comforting and intimidating. Dr. Faizal’s piercing gaze met mine, her sharp brown eyes seeming to see straight into my soul. I had always found her presence grounding, but today, her calm demeanor only heightened my anxiety.

“Sir,” she began, her voice steady and measured, “what you’re experiencing is not uncommon, but it is complex. Emotions, especially those tied to desire, can blur boundaries in ways that are difficult to navigate.” Her words were like a balm, easing the tension in my chest, but they didn’t erase the guilt I felt. I had fled from Mom, leaving her in tears, and the memory of her touch still lingered on my skin.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I love her deeply, of course, but I can’t ignore the social and ethical issues. I don’t want to manipulate her with my pheromones, but I can’t control how they affect her.”

Dr. Faizal leaned forward, her hands clasped on her desk. “In one way or another, everyone manipulates other people. Some do it with domination, but some use submission. Some do it with passivity, while others do it with brute force. But, one way or another, constantly or occasionally, we all do it.”

I thought about that for a minute, and, from everything I had experienced in my short life, it made sense. Most people probably weren’t even aware they were doing it.

She leaned forward and smiled sincerely. “Your pheromones are a part of who you are, Sir. They don’t define your intentions. What matters now is how you choose to act. Honesty is the first step. You and your mother need to communicate openly. Set boundaries, understand each other’s emotions, and decide how – or if – you want to move forward.”

There it was again, her giving me tacit permission to have sex with my mother, even though it violated her own cultural taboos. I guess the difference between what she would do and what she would forgive me for doing was mostly based on her subservience for me, so I wasn’t sure I could totally trust her judgment in that regard. Still, her advice made sense, but the thought of confronting Mom terrified me. What if I said the wrong thing and made everything worse? What if she absolutely insisted we have sex? What if she rejected me as her son? Dr. Faizal seemed to read my thoughts.

“Fear is natural, but avoidance will only prolong the pain,” she said gently. “Sometimes, the hardest conversations are the ones that lead to the most meaningful connections.”

I left her office with a mix of determination and dread. The dojo, usually my sanctuary, felt foreign that evening. The familiar sounds of sparring and the scent of sweat and wood did little to distract me. Once again Sensei Nakamura asked me to work with Emma and Lila, which I did, but they could clearly see my mind and heart wasn’t really into their flirtation, so they didn’t make any more overtures. New students got three free lessons, and maybe they wouldn’t be back after that, so I wouldn’t have to worry about another possible entanglement. I guess that was the positive side.

The negative side was that my mind kept returning to my mother: her tears, her touch, the way her scent had enveloped me. I knew I couldn’t keep running from this forever. I didn’t see her when I got home, so I assumed she had gone to bed early to avoid me. I did not sleep well.

Early the next morning I found myself standing outside Mom’s door, my heart pounding. I knocked softly, my hand trembling slightly. The door opened a crack, and her face appeared, pale and drawn. She had on her heavy robe, the one she used for cold weather, even though it was spring.

“Mark,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

She hesitated, then stepped aside to let me in. When I hesitated, she came out and we sat down in the living room. She sat on the edge of the couch, her hands folded tightly in her lap. I took a seat across from her, my back straight, trying to gather my thoughts.

“I’m sorry for how I left things the other night,” I began. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just … I didn’t know what to do.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes downcast. “I understand. I pushed you, and I shouldn’t have. I’ve been struggling, Mark. Since your father passed, I’ve felt so alone. And then I found out you had been having sex with some other girl and … well, I had a little too much wine and let my feelings and desires get the better of me.”

Her honesty disarmed me. I had sort of known how much she was hurting, because I was too, but of course not in the same way. Or to the same extent. “You know I love you too,” I said sincerely. “But we need to be clear about where we stand. I don’t want to take advantage of you, and I don’t want you to feel pressured. I mean, if you feel you need to have sex, I sure won’t blame you if you go out and have some experience with another man. I will still know how much you loved Dad.”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. Then a small frown appeared and she shook her head. “I’m not a child, Mark. I know what I want as well as what I need. But I also know that this situation is complicated. For both of us.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of our unspoken feelings and desires hanging between us. Finally, I spoke again. “Dr. Faizal suggested we set boundaries. Figure out what we both want and what we’re comfortable with.”

Mom smiled faintly, a sad but genuine expression. “Dr. Faizal is a very knowledgeable and wise woman, Mark. But she’s not part of our family, of everything we’ve been through.” After a short pause she added: “But maybe we should start there. No expectations, just honesty. See if we can work it out so that we can both be comfortable. And happy.”

I nodded, feeling a small sense of relief. This wasn’t going to be easy, but it was a start. We talked for a while longer, unraveling our feelings and fears, setting tentative boundaries. It was awkward at times, but there was also a strange new sense of intimacy in the honesty we shared.

The sun was fully up now, casting a warm glow through the now-open curtains, I realized that this conversation wasn’t an ending, but at least it was a beginning. Where it would lead, I couldn’t say. But for the first time in days, I felt a glimmer of hope. Then Mom dropped a bombshell on me in a couple of ways.

“I’m going to be taking a little break, Mark.”

“A break? What do you mean?”

“I have to go to this national marketing convention in New York,” she said. “It’s normally only three days, meaning four nights, but I think I’m going to take some of my long unused vacation time and spend a few more days there. Maybe a week or more.”

I was stunned. I don’t think she had ever been away from home for more than two nights in a row in my entire life. That would be a shocker, especially as I would be all on my own. The other half of the equation was that I would be absolutely free to spend nights with Angelica and Marie, or Gretchen and Jacqueline, or whomever else I wanted to be around. Maybe even see if Alice would accept another invitation, with or without the role play. The possibilities had me absolutely salivating. However, I still didn’t want to let my Mom think that I wouldn’t miss her – or the temptation she still offered sexually.

All she knew was that I was looking and acting like a moron who was probably shocked into silence by her announcement.

“It’s not like forever, Mark!” she hastened to assure me. “I just need a little time on my own to think things out and … well, quite frankly, to get away from temptation. As you said yourself a while ago, you’re certainly old enough to take care of yourself.”

She looked so distraught I immediately got myself back together.

“Oh, no, Mom! I’m not worried about me. It’s just that I was surprised you would actually think about yourself, your own needs, instead of me. I mean, I think that’s so great! Absolutely! You should take the time off, go enjoy the big city, take in some plays or shows or whatever, go dining and dancing on your own.” I tried to put on my happiest smile. “I’ll be just fine. I mean, especially knowing you’re having a good time doing what you’ve put off for so long. Uh, you deserve it. You know?”

Mom practically laughed at me, but obviously thought that would not be the right reaction. “Okay, Mark. I’ll do my best to have a good time.”

Mom got up and I followed suit.