Scent and the City

An interesting set of circumstances led me to the heart of an elite mixed martial arts competition. A friend’s brother was competing, and we were given comp seats and backstage access where post-match athletes limped and watched replays of their fights on their phones through one good eye. Those yet to compete donned their hooded jackets and stormed towards the stadium, flanked by his trainers, thirsting to win. They were from all over the world–Brazil, Russia, Ireland, Nigeria–the best athletes combining strength, agility and endurance, fighting like men always have–with their bare hands.
I was introduced to my friend’s brother’s coaches–the grappling coach, the Muay Thai coach, the jiu jiutsu coach–he’d have one more if he could budget one, I was told. They walked around shirtless and I took in the beauty of their physique. Tatestosterone. It was everywhere. Man fumes. Something inside me stirred. Namely my ovaries. They were waking up from a long nap. What is this smell?? DNA! Superior genetic material to procreate with. Super-athletes. Men. Men. Real men. I was so happy. I could not remember when I lusted so hard. My shriveled up ovaries were soaking up the man essence like a sponge. They got a new lease on life. Two years, possibly. Who needs FSH injections?! This is what they needed. Follicules–man molecules that stimulate ovulation.
I sense a business opportunity in a man-odor vape bar adjacent to a fertility clinic.

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