Last night, I read an expanded version of my short vignette “Pheromones and Fornication” at an author’s event in Denver. The theme of the evening was “heat” – and I made sure to significantly raise the temperature level in that room.
Pheromones and Fornication
There is something invigorating and remarkable about going for a walk, waiting for a latte, browsing through a bookstore, even pushing a grocery cart down the aisle and feeling an inexplicable aura of sexual energy emanating from me, prickling my skin, exuding from my pores like steam rising from a radiator.
Moist. Sizzling. Persistent.
A luminous, palpable heat that glides through the air in waves, enveloping unsuspecting passersby in a blanket of pheromones.
A second glance, a lingering gaze, a brief locking of our eyes, and he is entranced.
Unconsciously drawn into my intricate, mysterious web of seduction.
Wordless flirtations dance in the air between us, expressing all that is silently implied.
A mere few seconds of unspoken innuendos and the world is transformed into a temporary landscape, occupied by only two people:
Me… him… and the smallest fraction of a possibility for fornication that will never come to fruition but which feels enticingly delicious to consider.
Sometimes, if this passerby and I are standing close enough, the sexual energy resonates between our untouched flesh like invisible currents, causing the hair at the nape of my neck to tingle with static electricity.
Even, occasionally, triggering moistness to gather between my thighs.
I am ripe for the picking…
Ready to be plucked…
And although the moment is fleeting, the experience leaves me vitalized.
Alive in my own skin.
It is a reminder of my abundant femininity.
My female prowess.
My deep, sensual spirit.
And as I walk away from my spellbound passerby with my cup of coffee, my new book, my cart full of groceries, I am aglow, resplendent, in glorious harmony with the inner seductress traveling through my veins.
Photos courtesy of P. Illig and M.B. Lewis
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