John spent most of the afternoon trying to contact the other John but every message he left remained unanswered. As the hours passed by, his anxiety only ratcheted tighter around his chest. By the end of the day, he couldn't even appreciate when the two teenage girls strolled past his office giving him plenty of views of their tight asses and firm tits.

As he reached the end of his day, he decided to slip out before any of the prowling ladies waylaid him. He took the back stairs down and fled out the back door.

Out in the open, he took a deep breath. It was a quiet day, the crowds were mostly centered around downtown the more popular buildings. The historical quarter was not exactly a mecca of night life or even student life.

That gave him hope. He was still worried about whatever chemical was in his blood. Even his brush at Foggy's worried him, what if a lot of women were attracted at once, what if they all came for him.

His mind spun furiously. It seemed to be smell. More than one of them said he smelled nice and they all sniffed near him.

John dug his hands in his pockets and lifted his head to the breeze. At least he only had to worry about women downhill.

Or was it also men?

The muscles in his back tightened. He was straight and wasn't really into the idea of having hard cocks pressed against him. Even if they were submissive. Though, he had to admit, he enjoyed fingering his ass sometimes while masturbating and he enjoyed the idea of rimming, though he had never had it done to him personally.

John squirmed and ducked his head. He headed straight for his apartment hoping a shower would wash off whatever was on him. Though, if it was in his blood, he probably needed to also chug a liter or two of water and see if he could flush it out.

To his relief, he made it to his apartment without entering anyone. Rushing the last few steps, he yanked open the door to find himself staring at one of the other tenants in the building, a thirty-something mother. She was standing at the mailbox, shuffling through her mail.

She looked at him just as a breeze blew past him and directly onto her.

John cringed.

“Can I help you?”

No comment about his scent. John relaxed. “I… I live on the third floor.”

“Oh yeah, the British guy, right?”

“Yeah.”

She gestured to the door. “Mind if I get out?” It was a narrow hallway leading up to the stairs.

“Oh, yeah.”

He still tensed when she walked past him but there was no hesitation or sniffing or even a glassy-eyed stare. Instead, she passed him just every other time.

John let out a sigh of relief before he entered the apartment. He'll be wary for a few more times, but if he only attracted the attention of the six… beautiful… women, he would be happy.

As the door to the outside closed, he grabbed his cock and adjusted it. He didn't exactly know what was going on, but he had a feeling that work was going to be a lot more enjoyable until the formula wore off.

After grabbing his mail, he headed up to his apartment. He managed to make it to the door before a new fear rose up, what if taking a shower would ruin the effect? Was he ruining it by wanting to wash up? Or should he figure out how to prolong it.

His phone beeped from a text message. Thumbing it on, he saw it was a text from Hannah:

See you around around seven, dinner is at eight. No earlier than six thirty.

There was also an address in town, her primary home where she lived with her two daughters. He knew that she had a second, much nicer, place in East Corinth but he had never been there or even knew where the village was.

John stared at the message. It had all of Hannah's mood, strict and commanding without a hint of politeness. It was hard to read her intentions through the text, but he could imagine the formula would have failed and she would turn him aside; or he could find himself at her mercy away from the public eye.

His cock twitched.

Glancing at the clock, he guessed he had about an hour and a half. Enough time to roll the dice with God and take a shower. He could hope to maintaining it forever, but he wasn't going to be a guest without cleaning up. That would be rude. If he lost whatever had happened, then it would be gone.

Stripping and tossing his clothes on the couch, he headed for a shower while thinking about what wine he should bring.

He had standards, after all.