The Power of Pheromones

It felt like this had become our nightly routine. We were lying in bed together, and Michelle was scrolling through Instagram on her phone. I reached over to caress her leg. She ignored my touch. I moved closer, attempting to kiss her. She knew what I had in mind. "Not tonight, honey. I'm not feeling it."

Not tonight, not *any* night. I thought to myself in frustration. I considered saying what I was really feeling, but I decided against it. It's not worth causing a fight over, I told myself. I'll just wait until next week when her period starts. That's when her hormone levels make it more likely she might want sex. Although I didn't enjoy having sex on her period, I'd grown to accept it. I'd lay down a towel and shower to wash the blood off afterward. Besides, it wasn't all bad. The blood makes her feel extra wet down there. In my mind, I would sometimes fantasize that the extra wetness was not from her blood but rather because I turned her on so much. That thought usually brought me to orgasm.

Still, it had been weeks since we last had sex and I wanted it badly. "Please, honey, I really need you." She instantly swatted my hand away, "Babe, I said not tonight," she scolded me.

I sighed. Fine. I'll just get myself off so I can focus on other things. I closed my eyes and began to imagine my wife. Despite her rejections, the truth is my wife remains the only woman who has ever truly turned me on. I imagined she was full of lust and passion for me. I recalled what our sex life had been like when we first started dating. I began to covertly stroke myself under the bedsheets. As my pleasure intensified, my mind went to my secret fantasies. I imagined us doing things together that I knew she would consider far too dirty to do in real life. Things I could never even speak about with her. Things I only imagined--

"Are you masturbating?!" Her harsh tone of voice broke my concentration. I must have been too obvious. "Can you please do that in the other room? I'm trying to watch something." The Instagram video she had been watching finished and began once again to repeat the latest celebrity gossip about Blake Lively. By now I was past the point of not finishing, so I rolled out of bed and shamefully walked into the other room. I quickly finished myself off and returned to bed. She continued to stare at her phone without acknowledging my return. I fell asleep to the all too familiar sense of self-loathing that came from the crushing realization that the woman I wanted so badly didn't feel the same way about me.

The next day was our weekly appointment with our marriage counselor. We'd been in couples counseling for a few months now. I had found Bethany Miller Marriage Therapy from her reviews online. Reviewers raved about her, describing her as having a particular talent for assisting relationships that struggled with bedroom intimacy issues. A few mentioned a particular prescription she had offered that had saved their marriage. I found that odd since she was a couple's counselor and only psychiatrists could prescribe medication. I just shrugged it off, assuming it was referring to some useful piece of advice she had given.

During our therapy session, I brought up what had happened the evening before. I explained how her rejection of my sexual advances made me feel unloved and unattractive. To my surprise Michelle didn't argue with me. She promised that she loved me and still found me attractive. However, she explained how her physical desires had waned over the years and how my advances made her feel pressure to perform something she wasn't physically able to do, which in turn made her feel inadequate.

"Time's up," Bethany Miller announced, concluding our session for the day. As we were leaving her office, Bethany Miller pulled me aside, "Could we speak in private for a moment?"

That's odd, she's never done that before. Michelle waited outside. When we were alone, she spoke quickly. "There's something that has helped a lot of married couples in your situation." She scribbled a note on a piece of paper, folded it, and handed it to me. "There's an address on the paper. Go there tomorrow morning. Alone. Bring the note along with both of your wedding rings. Don't tell anyone, including Michelle. Trust me on this." Before I could ask any questions, she pushed me out of the office.

"What was that all about?" Michelle asked with a mix of curiosity of suspicion.

"Something about billing." Bethany Miller had told me not to tell anyone. This was the best I could come up with on the spot. "She wanted me to know she's switching to a different billing service." Thankfully, Michelle seemed to accept the explanation.

As soon as we got home, I went into the other room. I unfolded the paper she had given me and stared at it:

5218 NE 195th St

Gunton, CA

Weekends. 9-12

Signed,

Bethany Miller, LMFT

Don't forget to bring your wedding rings.

Just as she had said, the note contained an address along with specific instructions to bring our wedding rings. I looked up the address online and it appeared to belong to a small unmarked storefront sandwiched between two larger buildings. Very strange.

The next day was Saturday. I told Michelle I would be out running some errands that morning and I offered to have her wedding ring cleaned while I was out. She happily handed it to me without a second thought.

I followed the directions on my phone. As I got closer, I realized this wasn't a safe area of town. What had I gotten myself into? I parked on a nearby street and followed the walking directions on my phone. It took me down a narrow brick alleyway to worn metal door. I was tempted to turn around and forget about the whole thing but I reminded myself that our therapist had told me to trust her. Besides, I was already here.

I knocked and the metal door produced a sound much louder than I had intended. From inside came the sound of movement. Shortly thereafter, a small slot on the door slid open. "What can I do for you?" a man asked with a firm voice.

"You know, that's the damnest thing," I said. "I actually don't know what I'm here for. I was just given a slip of paper with an address and told to go there."

"Do you have your prescription with you?"

"My what?"

"The paper. Did you bring the piece of paper that sent you here?"

"This?" I held out the folded piece of paper that had the address, along with the signature of our therapist.

"Yes, that. Very good. And did you bring the rings?"

I answered cautiously. "Yes, I have them."

"Good. We require those now. Show me."

"What?"

"May I see the rings please?" His firm tone of voice forced me to reach into my pocket and produce the two rings for him to see. The opening on the door slid shut. I heard the deadbolt click and the door swung open.

Before me stood a middle-aged man, balding, and impeccably dressed in a suit and tie. His small stature contrasted with the firmness of his manner. He beckoned me inside. I entered what appeared to be a small office with a desk against the back wall. He took a seat behind the desk and motioned for me to sit down. Completely baffled, I blurted out, "I'm sorry, what is this place?"

"Did your marriage counselor not explain it to you?"

"No, she said there wasn't time to explain. I'm sorry, how do you know our marriage therapist?"

He ignored my question. "Fine, fine. It's probably better if I explain everything myself. We are a type of pharmacy that specialize in marriages that suffer from intimacy issues. With a referral from a licensed marriage therapist, we offer a type of... formulation. A product. One that has had a lot of success with certain types of marriages. Marriages such as yours."

"What do you know about my marriage?" I shot back at him.

"You have a prescription. That is all I need to know."

Despite the bizarreness of the situation, something about his demeanor indicated he was a man worth taking seriously. I pressed him for further details. "You said you offer a type of product. A formulation. What exactly are you selling?"

Without directly answering my question, he responded with a question of his own. "Let me ask you a question. Have you ever heard of something called a pheromone?"

"A pheromone? Isn't that sort of like a hormone or something? Something animals do to communicate?"

He nodded in agreement. "That's the general idea. Our founder, the man who started this company, believed pheromones were the key to the way certain species in the animal kingdom interact. Yet humans, we lack that ability. Our founder discovered a way to genetically modify animal pheromones in such a way that they work in humans. In the right formulation and dosage, the results can be quite... shall we say, powerful." He stopped speaking and the final word hung in the air.

"Oh no," I groaned. "What kind of snake oil sales pitch is this? Look, sir, I don't know exactly what it is you're selling, but I'm not a fool and I'm not about to get ripped off by some back-alley scammer."

I stood up and began to leave. Yet something inside stopped me. I recalled all the positive reviews Bethany Miller had received online raving about a particular prescription that had saved their marriage. The man had used that same word, prescription. Was this what they had been referring to?

I turned around and took a seat again. "Look, I'm not saying I believe you. I'm not saying I'm interested. But I am willing to hear you out," I said.

For the first time, the man showed some emotion. He broke into a wry grin, chuckling softly to himself. "I've seen many men--and women--in that exact seat give that exact same reaction. Yet it never ceases to amuse me. People are so confident about the things they know so little about."

His smile vanished and he continued in his same stoic manner from earlier. "If I may continue. Our founder, he was a great man. Truly a genius. Yet, believe it or not, he too was once in a position like your own. He was in love with a wife who had lost her interest for let us say, the more passionate side of life. The English word that we use for 'love' is such a poor description of the thing. The Ancient Greeks had different words to describe different types of love. And a marriage lacking in one particular love, what the Greeks called Eros--the erotic form of love between a man and a woman--well it can be the cause for much heartache in a marriage. Our founder having experienced this lack of Eros in his own marriage, sought a way to rekindle his wife's lost desire for him. After much experimentation, the solution he discovered, were pheromones."

He continued. "Of course, the technical details of how the pheromones are engineered are quite complicated. In practice it works like this. When the pheromones are applied to an object you are in physical contact with, your desires imprint upon the pheromones which then transmit to a set of receiver pheromones. Think of it as a form of one-way communication. That's where the rings are involved. Strictly speaking, any object that you're in physical contact with would do just fine. Many years ago, we would apply the formulation to anything provided to us. As you could imagine, it wasn't long before people were using it for all types of purposes. Very problematic purposes. Our founder's intentions were always very clear. This must be used only to improve otherwise successful marriages that are lacking in intimacy."

"Just for the sake of argument. How much does all this cost?" I asked warily. If this thing actually worked as claimed, it would be worth huge sums of money.

"Our founder was an extremely wealthy man. He left us a sizeable endowment in which to operate. As I said, his intentions were quite clear. With a valid prescription from a licensed marriage therapist, the service is yours free of charge. And so, the offer is yours to accept or refuse." He stopped speaking and waited for me to respond.

I thought it over. Despite his forthrightness, the whole thing seemed absurd to me. Then I remembered the crushing feeling of rejection from a few nights ago. If I felt this way now when we were still occasionally having sex, what would happen if sex became even more rare? What if at some point sex stopped altogether? Could I live with a marriage like that for the rest of my life?

Without saying a word, I reached forward and placed the wedding rings on the table. He took them and immediately went to work. I watched as the man carefully applied a clear liquid to the interior side my wedding band. He then applied a separate liquid to the inside of her wedding ring. After inspecting them closely, he handed them back to me.

"That's it?"

"That's it. Wait until you are together before you put them back on. Remain within a hundred yards of each other for at least one hour to begin the bonding process. I remind you, the pheromones are very powerful but they are only temporary. Within 8-12 hours they will wear off. I trust you to plan accordingly."

During the drive home, I kept replaying the entire meeting in my mind. It had been the strangest encounter of my life. What he said couldn't possibly be true. Could it? Yet if it were a hoax, why such an elaborate setup? And for what purpose? Only after I had pulled into the driveway did I realize that I had completely forgotten my whole reason for asking for her wedding ring in the first place--to have it cleaned. I braced myself as I entered the door. She hated it when I didn't do something I said I was going to do.

"Hi honey, I'm home," I announced. I handed her the ring and watched as she put it on. As she did, I surreptitiously slipped on my own ring. She frowned. "Did you not have it cleaned? It doesn't look any different."

"I'm sorry baby. The jeweler was so busy today. She said I'd have to leave it there over the weekend and I didn't want you to be without it for that long. I promise I'll take care of it during the week when it's not so busy."

I could tell she wasn't happy. "As long as you promise to do it this week."

"I promise." I told her. She returned to the couch to finish watching her episode of Real Housewives. I went upstairs to leave her alone, wondering what might happen next.

A few hours later, I was playing video games when I detected the delicious aroma of food cooking. I snuck downstairs to peek and my jaw drop at what I saw. My normally reserved wife was in the kitchen, completely naked except for a cooking apron. In my surprise, I must have made a noise because she turned around and was beaming at me. "Hi my love, I thought I'd cook dinner tonight. I haven't made you my chicken abodo in a while, and I know how much you like it."

"I like your apron," I stammered, attempting to compliment her on her choice of outfit.

"Thank you. I hoped that might get your attention," she giggled happily.

"And the food, it smells great," I said. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh no, I want to cook for my man tonight. Don't worry about me. I have everything under control. But you can do one thing for me. Sit right there and keep me company so I can see your handsome face while I cook."

I took a seat at the counter to enjoy the view of my semi-nude wife at work in the kitchen. She reached over to grab something from a lower drawer when something shiny caught my eye. In shock, I blurted out, "My gosh, babe, are you wearing a butt plug?" I stared at her aghast. I had given one to her long ago. But she hated anything anal-related and had adamantly refused ever to try it.

She blushed in embarrassment. "Is that OK? Earlier today, I was thinking it would make me feel so sexy to have it inside me while I cook for you."

I sat there speechless. She walked over and put her arms around me. She looked nervous, as if she worried how I might react. "I was wondering... Maybe after dinner, if perhaps you would want to take that plug out and try fucking me there?" She hurriedly finished, "After I've finished cleaning up and doing the dishes, of course."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I had fantasized about us having anal sex many times. But it was never a serious possibility. She had made it very clear that that area was off-limits. She must have picked up on my confused reaction. "I know that's unexpected. We don't have to do that if you don't want to? For some reason, today, I can't stop thinking about it."

"I guess, yeah, maybe, we could, do that?" I stammered back, still in disbelief.

"Oh, thank you, baby! You're the best husband!" She threw her arms around me, sounding genuinely appreciative. "What a relief! God, I really want to finally feel what it's like to have a dick in my ass and I was worried you might not be into that."

"And just so you know, if doesn't feel good enough or if you don't like it, you don't have to finish in there. I'd love that of course, but no pressure. You can finish in my pussy as usual. Or just cum on my face or anywhere else if you want. Anyway, hey, I need to get back to cooking. Thanks again, baby. Now, you hurry back upstairs to your video games. Let me know if I can bring you anything. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

She shooed me back upstairs, where I tried to collect my thoughts. What in the world just happened?! As unlikely as the idea of mind-controlling pheromones seemed, even that seemed more likely than my sexually uninterested wife suddenly transforming into a sex-crazed nymphomaniac. The only conclusion I could come up with was that the man must have been telling the truth. If that's true, I wondered, just how deep into my thoughts do these pheromones go? I hadn't thought to ask. I kept replaying the man's peculiar sounding voice in my head, "The results can be quite... powerful."

Dinner was waiting on the table when she called me down. Throughout the meal, she lavished me with compliments and paid full attention to me, never once glancing at her phone. As promised, after eating, she cleared the plates, loaded them in the dishwasher, and then returned to grab me by the hand to lead me back to the bedroom.

It dawned on me that perhaps for the first time in our relationship, she needed sex more than me. The sexual power dynamics were reversed, and I found this new power exhilarating. I couldn't resist the opportunity to experience what it was like to be in total control for once. Just as we were climbing into bed together, I said "I was thinking, maybe we shouldn't do anal after all."

She looked disappointed. "You're still going to fuck me though, right?"

"Actually, not tonight, honey. I'm not feeling it." It felt so good to fling those exact same words I had heard so many times from her back into her face.

She wasn't used to being rejected. "I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, I'm just tired, that's all. I think I'm just going to lay in bed and look at my phone tonight."

She sat there in hurt silence. Hesitatingly, she suggested, "At least can I suck your dick while you lay there and I'll masturbate?"

"Hmm, maybe." I sounded non-committal. When I saw the look of sadness on her face, any exhilaration I had been feeling vanished. What the hell was I doing? I was putting my own petty vindication ahead of something we both wanted.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I don't know why I'm pretending I don't want you. Of course, I'll have sex with you."

Her face immediately brightened. "So, you will fuck me then?" She looked unsure. "I'm so confused!"

"That's my fault. I'm sorry, I was being stupid. Look how sexy you are. How could ever I deny that?"

"Don't joke with me like that," she warned, shaking her head at me. "Not today."

"I'm not complaining, but what is it about you today? You seem a lot more interested in sex than usual?"

"I don't know, maybe it's a hormone thing? Ever since this afternoon, it's like I can't think straight. My thoughts keep going back to sex. And not just any old sex. I keep thinking about dirty sex. Things I'm too embarrassed to say out loud. Things I want you to do to me... disgusting things." Her voice was full of desire. "Dirty... raunchy things. God, I want you to make me feel that way. Make me be your filthy whore. Just talking about it, it's making me hot." She slid her hand down her body and started rubbing her pussy as she spoke. "I want you to treat me like a whore. Anything you want to do to me. Tie me up. Shove your dick down my throat. Make me gag. Fuck me in the ass. Violate me." Her body quivered as she kept speaking. "Call me names. Call me filthy names. Degrade me. Pull my hair while you fuck me in my ass. I need all that. Please baby. Can you do that for me?"