			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
