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JOURNAL NOTE: I have to find some sort of cure or at least a way to block these pheromones from further disrupting my family's lives, one way or another. Time is running out.
END NOTE.
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Harold couldn't believe his luck. Minnie had convinced April to join his little 'study' and now he had two fetuses as well as one of the original children to study. His research would come along all the more quickly, and he just might even have the right gene figured out by the time he met with the CEO on Wednesday.
It was none too quick either, as some of the rich women he had seduced were starting to pull away from him. He needed their money to continue his independent research, and he needed that gene in order to make it all permanent. With his new subjects to study, he was guaranteed success.
He moaned softly as he emptied his load into one of his rich women's mouth. He couldn't remember her name at the moment, but she was still the most receptive to him. Truth be told, she was the only one still receptive to his advances. If only she weren't the least attractive of the lot. Not that any of them were unattractive; he did have his standards after all.
He needed to get back to his office and complete his work, now that his mind was no longer swimming in testosterone.
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JOURNAL NOTE: Reading over that bastard's files, I see his plan. Well two can play at that game. I'll use his own research against him, and come up with an antidote first.
END NOTE.
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Carol looked at her watch, and had to blink a few times to bring it into focus. Her vision was blurry from lack of sleep, and she had a pounding headache, but she just couldn't leave her work undone. She had found Harold's latest notes, and while she detested that her daughter was being used, by following Harold's research while doing her own parallel studies, it was really speeding things up for her.
Thoughts of her daughter brought back memories of them together a few days ago. A small itch between her thighs started up, and she forcefully pushed the memories away. She needed to concentrate.
Finally bringing her watch into focus, she noted that it was seven o'clock. She had been awake for far too long. Maybe while her son was in school, she would slip home and catch a nap, then return this evening more refreshed and better able to think. She had a lot of work to do this weekend.
She barely registered that traffic was lighter than normal for this time of day, as she struggled just to keep her eyes open and on the road. She had debated on just sleeping in her office, but hated the thought of Harold catching her sleeping through the middle of the day.
Carol pulled into her driveway, and fumbled with her keys, dropping them in her attempts to unlock her front door. She needn't have bothered though, as the door opened for her. Bent over, the first thing she saw was a man's crotch. She knew that crotch, all too well.
"Why aren't you in school, son?" Carol tried to demand as she brought herself upright, and attempted a glare at Adam. She knew it failed miserably when her lips lifted in a smile as her eyes met his.
"School? Mom, I got out of school hours ago! Are you alright?" There was genuine concern in his voice, and Carol felt her heart flutter at the sound of it.
He had gotten out hours ago? She looked at her watch again, which now read about 7:30. She glanced at the sky and realized that it was darkening, not brightening, and that she had been working twelve hours longer than she had thought. She needed to sleep!
She knew that with her son there, and his pheromones, that sleep wasn't likely to happen right then. Whether she was too tired to care, or too far under the effects of his pheromones, she couldn't seem to worry at the moment, and let him lead her inside.
Mom, you look exhausted! When was the last time you got any sleep?" She mumbled something in reply, she wasn't sure what, and couldn't help but note their destination: her room. "Um... Yeah. I think you need to get some sleep," he told her
Carol barely heard him, and decided that if she was to get any rest, she might as well get it over with now. She reached down, and pulled up the hem of her shirt. Her pants met the shirt on the floor a couple seconds later.
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JOURNAL NOTE: I am beginning to despair that there may not be a cure. All attempts to synthesize anger have failed. And now that I think more on it, do I really want to be angry all the time? Wouldn't it just be better to submit, and enjoy this wonderful feeling?
Even so, I must stop Harold. As much as I hate to admit it, the man could conceivably take over the world if he succeeds in his plans to make it a permanent part of him.
END NOTE.