Alex

“You see this one on the left?”

I nodded, intently scrutinizing the image of an array of cilia under high magnification Dr. Dodbele was regarding.

“These are the pheromone receptors of a human female that has been infected with the virus.  Here…” he cut off, pulling out another image.  “…are the same receptors ones from a healthy, uninfected woman.” 

I goggled at the juxtaposition; the difference was remarkable.  The first image showed chemical receptors that were an order of magnitude larger than those found in the second.  The color of the tissue surrounding them was also flushed, I assumed from increased blood flow.

He continued, “My research indicates that is not the only contributing factor.”  Sliding out several more magnified images on the desk, he selected two and set them next to one another.

“As you recall, I collected samples of your pheromones in multiple scenarios.  This was done using swabs taken from your sweat while subjecting you to a series of stimuli.  I prepared and analyzed these samples using a gas chromatograph/mass spectrometer.  Here are the mass spectra from these samples.” 

There were at least a half dozen charts with spikey lines on a Cartesian graph.  Each was labeled with an emotion, except one – that indicated “UNINFECTED MALE” at the far right of the series.

“Each of these spectra correspond to a particular stimulus you were exposed to.  These stimuli roughly correlate to an emotional state, to the extent that peer-reviewed medical journals have been able to discern.”

I must have looked confused, because I was.  It looked like a lot of squiggly lines. 

“See these?” He indicated some of the peaks on the spectra. 

Nod. 

“Those are mass lines that indicate the presence of a particular chemical element or molecule.” He pointed to one above the number 32.  “This one is oxygen, for example.”

He slid the chart with the word “AROUSED” at the top next to the one on the far right.  Sitting side-by-side, the disparity was immediately obvious – the one for my aroused state had two pronounced lines to the far right, indicating some complex molecules that were present in my sweat and not in that of the normal male.  Wow, this was pretty cool stuff. 

I was eager to demonstrate my understanding. 

“So, I take it these compounds are the pheromones I’m emitting?” I pointed to the two lines on the right that were absent in the other spectrum.

“Exactly” he grinned.  “You catch on quick.”

Then he arranged several of the emotional states in a row – AROUSED, ANGRY, INJURED, HAPPY, CONTENT, DEPRESSED.  Each subsequent chart showed the same two lines, but with generally diminishing intensity. 

I asked the obvious, “So then, if these are correct, my pheromone output is linked to my emotional state?”

“Right again.”  His eyes twinkled.  “What’s interesting here is that there may be a way for you to actively control the intensity of your emissions.  That is, assuming you can control your emotions.”

Woah.  I thought of the implications.  So, lust causes my body to create pheromones at an accelerated rate, engendering a proclivity for sex in female infected, which reinforces my emotional state, leading to an even higher pheromone concentration… A classic reinforcing cycle. 

Now it made sense – sometimes I felt like an animal around Elise when we were physical.  Other times, when she was tender with me, my passion was more of a smolder than an inferno.

“Professor” I said, my mind working to make the next deductive leap.  “What about the aggregate effect of multiple sexual partners on my pheromone output?  As I mentioned, I’ve been told that this is increased with each infected partner I take.”

“Hmm, interesting.” He turned, pondering to himself. “While I have no evidence at this time to support a theory, the only reasonable hypothesis would be that intercourse with infected women is acting to increase your pheromone output, so I would deduce that your producing glands are in some way altered.  It may serve as a type of gain for the dynamic system created by your partnership with female infected.”

A sobering thought.  I would have to be careful in the future.  “But what about the other analyses you’ve performed?”

“Quite right” back in lecture mode, he continued, “The semen analysis indicated you are normal in all the ways we typically evaluate male potency.  Sperm count is average, motility is good.  All metrics quantified to within a single standard deviation of the mean.

“In order to dig a little deeper, I used spectroscopy to evaluate the DNA makeup of the sperm in your semen.  That was where things got interesting.” He laid out two charts, presumably my sperm makeup and that of a normal male.

“As you can see, the makeup is subtly different between the two.  Unfortunately, I do not have matching analyses from infect women’s gametes, but the only reasonable conclusion here is that these characteristics are critical to bonding with the female infected eggs.” 

“Professor, this is incredible!  Could this be used to assist in correcting the fertility issues humans have been experiencing?”

“Possibly.  I cannot say with any authority; that’s really beyond my field of expertise.  However, I’ve taken the liberty of sending a sample of your semen to Dr. Sharon Gilles for a detailed workup.  She runs a lab specializing in DNA analysis and gene splicing.”

Hmm, I didn’t know how I felt about my little Alex juniors circulating amongst the scientific community. 

Noticing my troubled look, the Professor mollified me, “Don’t worry, there is no risk of any offspring from this.  The semen will be used strictly for lab analysis, and all appropriate documentation has been filed.  In addition, your samples were not sent with any personally identifiable information, so the results cannot be traced back to you.”

That made me feel a little better.  At least I wouldn’t have an army of scientists and doctors trying to harvest my sperm.  Then again, if this could really help save mankind, shouldn’t I pursue it?  I decided to wait and see what Dr. Gilles came back with. 

I glanced at the clock.  1:45! 

“Professor, I have to run to my last final.  Thanks for going over the results with me.  This is fascinating stuff.  I’m heading home for the summer directly after this final, but I’d love to continue assisting you in the fall if you’d permit me.”

“Absolutely, I’d love to discuss a formal internship for you in the fall semester.  These results are groundbreaking, and I plan on submitting them for the consideration of the American Journal of Medicine. 

I’ll be citing you as a key contributor.” He smiled, anticipating my elation at the news.

What a break!  I’d be published – kinda – at 19! 

“Wow!  I don’t know what to say, Professor.  Thank you!”

Cruising out of the room, I headed off to take my last final.  Three months of as much Elise as I could handle, an internship with the esteemed Prof Dodbele, and an article citation in a peer-reviewed medical journal in the offing.  Not a bad start to summer break.

********************************************************

As I drove back into town, I couldn’t believe how much everything had changed.  I really needed to get home more often.  With Elise’s visits and mountains of schoolwork, I just hadn’t had the chance this semester. 

The new cars built for women were everywhere on the road; driving was becoming somewhat difficult due to lack of visibility.  I felt like the only normal vehicle in a sea of huge cars, each nearly the height of a tractor trailer and as long as the old 15 passenger vans.

Abandoned shops, restaurants, and bars greeted me as I motored down Main Street, heading toward my old neighborhood.  Elise had talked about the new planned community built for both sexes on the other side of town.  I guessed that was where all the business was heading.  

Mom and Dad hadn’t moved, but our street was changing nevertheless.  They had vented to me on our weekly calls about the sad state of the neighboring properties.  It seemed that more than half of the houses were now unoccupied, their previous owners having relocated to women-friendly residences.  The wilderness was again winning in a war of attrition against the signs of civilized society in the neighborhood.

I pulled into the driveway and noticed our yard in stark contrast to the Miller’s abandoned home.  You could set your watch by the precision with which the hedges and grass were trimmed and edged.  Dad could always be depended on for that. 

“I’m home!” I yelled.

A flurry of arms greeted me as my mom wrapped me in a big hug.  Dad stood at a more respectful difference, but still gave me a hug when she pulled back.  Mom had still avoided infection then, somehow.  I would have been fine with it either way, but deep inside, a part of me never wanted my mom to change. 

Dropping my bags, I let them draw me into the family room to sit down and chat.  Mom got up to get drinks and cookies.  I caught them up with what was going on at school, and retreated to my room to spend some time decompressing.  Ten minutes later Mom poked her head in my door.

“Alex, honey, I almost forgot – Elise dropped this off for you.” She handed me a thick envelope with my name on it.  It felt like fine, heavy bonded paper.  I opened it up. 

“You know I’ve always loved Elise, Alex, but when she came to the door…  How are you both adjusting to her condition?  I mean, she’s good to you, isn’t she?” 

She started rambling, “Because, you know, not that I don’t trust her; she’s like the daughter we never had, I mean, not like a daughter as in, your sister, just close.  Well, what I mean is that I’ve heard about how rough some of those ladies can be when they get big, intentionally or not, and I want to make sure she’s not hurting you.”

As she babbled, I put down the card and looked at her. 

“Mom, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.  Elise wouldn’t hurt a fly.  You know that.  She’s no different now than she’s ever been.”

“Good!  I’m glad that I’ve been worried for no reason.  And you treat her like a gentleman!” she warned, waving her index finger to carry the point home. 

She rushed toward me then, giving me another crushing hug.

“I know you will.  You’ll always be my special guy.

“I’ll give you some privacy now.”

She withdrew, shutting the door behind her.  Looking again at the card in my hands, it was indeed a nice piece of vellum.  It was largely blank, reading only:

Please join me at my new home for an intimate evening. 

Tomorrow night, 6pm.

Mmmm.  She clearly had something planned to go to such effort.  I wonder... Better wear something nice.