Pheromones // a casual conversation between normal best friends

As the lacrosse jocks stand outside the threshold of the locker room,  Darla, sighing and pouting, gazes and a singular hot athlete who has the perfect head to shoulder width proportion. Her friend Jordan watching in a mix of perplexity and pity.

“I still don’t understand, why not just up and talk to the guy? I don’t believe the I-am-shy-and-reserved-book-nerd- troupe really applies to you,” Jordan says while adjusting her book-bag and switching her weight from one hip to another. Jordan wasn’t wrong. Reserved book nerds don’t wear bangles that make too much noise at every slight moment and mirror-studded kutch crop that cause the room look like a discotheque if the light hits the right way.

“Because he doesn’t seem like the type who would smell good,” Darla pointed out before she opens up her locker and the books she stuffed in there before tumble like an avalanche towards her head and chest.

“You don’t know that for sure. If you look at him at twenty-seven degrees from his profile, it seems like the Axe he’s using is adjusting comfortably against his puberty-sponsored musk,” Jordan mocks cheerily. Darla rolls her eyes and closes her locker as the bell rings. A rampage of sexual frustration and lost brain cells from sleep deprivation flood the hallways while Jordan and Darla walk among them to class.

“Funny, but no. I meant his pheromones.”

“I thought only girls had that.”

“Well, I don’t know the exact word for it, but they say that when you like the smell of a man based on his natural scent, it means that you guys are genetically different enough to create a healthy baby. It is the same reason why a lot of couples enjoy the smell of each other. They are genetically different. ”

Her tangent heard like a video put on fast forward, her words at all merged together at a high pitch. The only thing left to interpret was her animated performance.

“Okay, I think I sort of got that. In that case, why not just move on? I’m pretty sure we can just hold a convention after-school near the football field and just go on a smelling-spree,” Jordan says exuberantly. Just the idea got her all riled up.

“Nah, I think I’m just going to stick with him for a while.”

“Oh what, you think they’re actually going to have a problem being objectified by their scent?”

“No, the guy just has a nice face to masturbate to.”

And with that, arms linked together, the best friends stride together just like back in the days when lip gloss inspired by s’mores and Oreo’s were acceptable.

 

 

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