We love human pheromones

We love human pheromones. Georgian dancer I opened back in March. That chat had gone great and we’d instant—dated to the upstairs of a Covent Garden pub where I remember her doing the splits on the floor to show how flexible she was. Again, I’d been lacking conviction in the presence of such a hot girl and so soon into the interaction, so when she mentioned a serious boyfriend I bottled it with Pherazone pheromoens. She’d met the guy five years earlier and he was the only guy to put his he-rocket into her she-pocket (while she teasingly complained how Georgian girls really miss out on the excitement of sex with different guys because they are so traditional). She took my card with my number but never called, and I just wrote it off. Beautiful girl, but nothing doing. Thinking back, it’s face-palm moment. I’ve since fucked lots of girls in this situation, because now I know what the signals really mean: – “Boyfriend of five years” means she’s bored and needs some pheromone spray. – ”Georgian girls miss out on sex” means she wants discreet adventure sex. – Doing splits in the pub = a clear sexual display to be interpreted as ”please take the lead and escalate me.” Learn more at https://jail6letter.wordpress.com/2015/12/19/pheromone-stages/ and http://mpommett79.hatenablog.com/entry/2015/11/07/214939

That was back in March and now it was June 6th. While finishing up a boot camp in Covent Garden I saw her walk past again, but this time it was crazy-hot summer weather and she was wearing crazy-hot short shorts. Oh damn, I love dancers legs. Nice supple thighs. I gave chase and called her name. She turned around. I stared, smirked, and then she recognised me. She beamed a huge smile and entranced me with those wide brown eyes (and tits, pressed up against a too—tight shirt). The whole time she was swaying back and forth, soul-gazing me, giving me the come—on. I took her number, and we met later that evening for a drink. Yes, I messed it up. Again, I just couldn’t find it within myself to escalate. All of my existing beliefs about myself, about women’s sexuality, about what is possible in dating were hamstringing me. There was a little voice telling me she was in a serious relationship and it would be rude for me to push towards sex. Perhaps even immoral with pheromones. So she stood at the bar in hot pants and tight top, gazing into my eyes over the top of her drink while she got some ”plausible deniability” alcohol into her system… and I just chatted. Didn’t even try to kiss her. She was doing everything she could to make me fuck her, and I just wouldn’t take control. This was the second chance she’d given me. Poor girl. And she was a stunner too. I was so frustrated with myself. Oxford Street is Europe’s busiest shopping street. Three hundred shops crammed together to service a torrent of cash—rich tourists and day-trippers. If you’ve never been there, you can only imagine the amount of foot traffic that the street gets on any given day, hence, its popularity for daygame. That day was especially crowded due to the lovely spring time weather we were having, so it was taking us some time, weeding out the girls that weren’t in our desired demographic. There were the grandmas, the married girls, the girls holding onto a boyfriend’s hand as they walked by. But nevertheless, there were masses of women within our single—hot-solo demographic, so I’d done a few sets and gotten a few phone numbers. Learn more at http://pheromones-work.weebly.com/home/pheromones-for-men-2015