Libigel - the Woman's Viagra!

I learned a new acronym today: FSD or. Female Sexual Dysfunction. It' s not only been added to my acronym library, but it produced an "aha!" moment when hearing the related news story on Fox News this morning (The Most Trusted News Source).

It was beyond belief! Women wear a gel patch that makes them 300% hornier and they, theoretically, come looking for me! Wow! Cool, so I needed to learn more about this new drug and went to The Most Trusted Search Engine, Google. It produced the normal plethora of hits, 17,900 to be exact.

I know you have a very short attention span, so I'll dispense with the medical and literary accompaniments and give it to you in a nutshell.

*** But first, the disclaimer: what you are about to read is strictly hypothetical and I bear no responsibility for your actions nor the outcomes. ***

Scenario:

1. Woman buys gel patch and immediately slaps it on. Soon after, she becomes distracted with normal, everyday things and gets the urge to find a man. A real man. She comes around the grocery aisle and blocks my cart. I don't know what's going on, but I feel nervous due to the wild-eyed look of hers and her unbuttoned blouse down to her waist. Geez, this IS a supermarket, after all.

While gripping the cart tightly in place, she moves around to within inches of me, breathing heavily. The scent of female pheromones engulf me. My anxiety turns to, well, horniness!

"Are you interested?" she growls.

"Uh, in what?", I respond, always aware of the PC trap that could get me arrested.

"In me!" she purrs.

"Definitely," I reply, moving my eyesight above her ample chest and now looking at the blond head talking to me.

"Let's go for a few drinks. I can't wait!" she almost yells.

Given the above scenario, hypothetical as it is, there are some serious considerations to be taken into account that are otherwise missed in the heat of the moment. I'll enumerate them now.

2a. She made the move and wants me.
b. I'm not dressed for a decent cocktail lounge, being attired in redneck garb at the present time. We stop at a men's store first. That will cost me.

3a. We go to the dimly lit cocktail lounge and she's not only horny, but also very thirsty. For martinis, shaken AND stirred.
b. I don't have much cash on me, so I use my credit card. I buy her numerous martinis over the next two hours while I sip a diet Coke. This is costing me.

4a. She infers she usually prefers a man with a good head of hair.
b. I excuse myself and slip out to the drugstore down the block and buy two tubes of Rogaine. I promise her I'll populate my head with hairs. This costs me a lot.

5a. She asks if I've got "protection". I tell her I don't have any connections to a "family". She laughs and asks me again, this time giving me a mental image of a raincoat.
b. I run out again to the drugstore while she gulps down yet another martini. Gotta use the old credit card again for the box of Trojans. I don't know this woman's preference, so I settle for non-ribbed. It's the first date, after all. The cashier looks at me with some amusement and rings it up. Another cost.

6a. Back at the lounge, she's practically panting now and growing impatient. "Let's go to a motel, now!" she shouts, grabbing me by my arm. I sip the last of my diet Coke.

7a. I check in at the Quick Sheet motel, as Mr. Johnson, and declare I'll take the hourly rate. Another amusing stare from the nineteen year old desk clerk.
b. Another credit card charge.

I won't go into the delicate details of what transpired in the room. But, in summary: the Rogaine didn't work nearly as fast as I though it would, I racked up a bill on my credit card for $542.73, I am 60 years old and out of my mind for doing this, and my wife will kill me for having an affair with a horny, post-menopausal woman. Also, I left the shopping cart at the scene of the crime and didn't bring the groceries home.

In retrospect, I'm not interested in FSD anymore and will remove the acronym from my library. Unless, of course, a hottie under 40 is afflicted with the syndrome and seeks me out. After all, I now have nice duds and a thick head of hair. Bring'em on!