Especially For Young Women




The Seducer's Ultimate Dream

It is the seducer's ultimate dream: a potion that will turn a woman's cold indifference into warm sexual interest. Sound improbable? Not any more. Scientists last week revealed they had successfully tested a nasal spray, PT-141, that sent 'healthy, normal women' into states of high sexual arousal.

But, of course, Angry Harry himself will not need to resort to any artificial means of chemical stimulation in order to heighten the rapacious desires that all women automatically experience in his presence.

No Sir! Even the most menopausal of womenfolk can barely contain their juices within their cavities when Angry Harry enters their field of vision.

Why, his succulence alone is guaranteed to arouse and inflame even the most resistant of women to the very pinnacles of ecstasy.

Oh yes indeedee! Unbridled frenzied passions, that few could even dream of, are kindled daily as Harry strolls casually yet masterfully along the aisles of his local supermarket, salaciously eyed by salivating women urgently caressing their vegetables in wistful expectation that he might pause awhile and take some further notice of them.



Hi Harry.

But, of course, Angry Harry has no inclination or desire to waste his precious time pandering to the spicy hankerings of sexually aroused womenfolk even though it is true that the merest glance from him would live forever in their hearts.

Indeed, he is usually far too busy to do more than just smile at them with genuine sympathy in his heart as majestically he glides past them toward the fish counter where he is greeted hungrily by three malodorous women wearing caps.

He watches them benignly in their pretty white aprons as they jostle and elbow each other aside in order to be the first in line to serve him, their awkward and ungainly stances betraying the sticky moisture exuding hotly betwixt their twisted knickerfolds.

But what can Harry do? He cannot stop to parlay with every woman whose pupils widen longingly as they linger upon his every feature. He cannot satiate the carnal desires of every female residing upon the planet who hungers, thirsts and yearns so desperately for him.

He does not have the time! 

But, then again, what choices do these emotionally vulnerable women have in the face of such overwhelming forces of attraction other than to bear their sense of failure with dignity and hope? Hope that, perchance, will soon deliver them into the welcoming arms of death and peace rather than compel them to endure another painful moment without him.

And so he simply flashes his smiling eyes at the hopeful sales girls and thanks them warmly for their attention pretending not to notice how their nipples now on full alert protrude most fulsomely in his direction.

But there is no escape for Angry Harry even as he approaches the fruit counter, as groups of tender firm-breasted young womenfolk cluster tightly around him trying in vain to give the false impression that they actually have some interest in purchasing the fleshy produce on the shelves.

Whom do they think that they are fooling?

Their furtive glances continuously cast surreptitiously in the direction of Angry Harry's groin reveal only too easily that this amusing pantomime is staged only in the hope that a golden opportunity might fortuitously arise which would allow them to drool lasciviously and covertly over the outline of his bulging manhood or the contours of his juicy rounded plums without him noticing.


For you, Harry.

"Excuse me Ladies," he breathes kindly as he gently pushes his way through the soft ample mounds that press and thrust so insistently against his body, while the very smoothness of his silken voice brings forth an orchestra of feminine gasps of delight and gratitude that are normally far too private to reveal to anyone lest one's very soul escapes.

They stand enthralled, but defeated, as Angry Harry finally begins to make his way to the checkout counter.

An air of despair quickly overhangs and sedates the heaving throng. 

And suddenly, unable to resist for any longer, a caressing hand slides frenetically down his manly buttocks and reaches greedily for his generous testicles. 

Angry Harry spins round, his eyes glinting like magnificent swords flashing in the blinding midday sun. 


Forgive me, Harry.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," a pretty brunette powerless to contain her urges splutters with embarrassment. "I just do not know what came over me. I feel so very faint. Yet warm."

But Harry has grown well-accustomed to the inquisitive fingers and groping hands of women who encounter him. And so he laughs with glowing affability to put her at her ease. "It shall be our little secret," he reassures her affectionately, as she melts away from view forever wishing that she could have captured for eternity the intoxicating fragrance of the raunchy masculine pheromones exuding from his armpits.

And so it is that Angry Harry has no need for nasal sprays and chemicals to turn his women on. His mere presence is the most powerful and persistent aphrodisiac of them all.



He can dream can't he?


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