Pheromones are vastly overrated

Pheromones are vastly overrated. Like a fish finding spawning grounds, an Aboriginal mystery, I caress my atavistic endeavors. My pheromone attraction cannot be called “aroused” because this word implies some form of complicity, as if I myself am pleased by the state of things; no, I myself stare in horror at what this drive has done to my life, relationship with my wife, sleeping cycle. It captivates me, sends me hurtling onwards endlessly, and all society has to say about this urge is “fight it.”

Fight it? Learn more about pheromones at https://www.rebelmouse.com/bestpheromones/pheromones-for-men-896923685.htmlandhttp://sundowndivers.org/?p=82urge is not something to be fought, but a piece of humanity to embrace real pheromones ad their magical powers. This urge is less inner demon and more inner angel, trurnping our traditional notions of self-preservation for the sake of preserving our very species. It is not an urge, but part of our solar system—it is the moon. Yes, the moon, always with us, sometimes viewable and other times hidden away on our other side. It generates millions of new people into the world’s emergency rooms. And when the time is ripe, it turns me into a werewolf at night. It alters the landscape. High tides wash over previously dry land, dragging with them the sensation of living. Secrets buried inside me detonate. I am flooded by hormones. Learn more about pheromones athttp://pheromones-work.weebly.com/home/long-range-pheromone-mating-orientationThey wash over me, into me, through my every VNO.

I am beaming, an unquenchable thirst hanging in my throat. The moon beams down on our street, on me, and I beam back. I am the moon, and I am also the beast called forward. My howls are the howls of highland wolves. They ricochet across foggy terrain. Here, in this night, under cover of darkness and lit only by the moon, I dominate, manly and chock-full. Breaking into a run, I am duty-bound, leaping majestically over obstacles and knolls. I am the wolf, the moon, the path I travel on. I journey, my senses honed on finding my quarry, hastened by a full-on gust from a powerful drug gripping my loins.

Animal reflexes waterfall inside my body cavities, welling up with supreme power. I attack with unpolluted energy and she attacks back. Sex ensues rough and hard. She’s absconded and left quivering in a post-coital ecstasy, dazed and undulating. She has been taken like she was never taken before. I forget her now.

I leave. No emotions stir. I look back, knowing she is a kindred spirit. If I am the wolf, she is the deer.

Pheromones are the secret to increases attraction.

There are no words. Time holds no relevance. There is only the pursuit. Only after I am sated do I notice the time, notice where I am, giving recognition to my growling stomach. The quest is ended. Only then do I imagine my warm bed, the light covers, and the soft pillow. Only then do I consider my family; only after such intercourse came and went do I think of my wife.

My wife is not like the preyI feast upon in the night. There’s no love at night, just sex. I don’t think of how I look nor does it matter to me how the prey looks as I am wrapped inside of it. I feel nothing toward her. She might be pretty, she might be ugly. I don’t take note. I’m caught inside a pheromones mixture.


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