According to Professor Charles Xavier, a mutant's power normally manifests during puberty. For me, it appears to have come up in my late twenties. It's as if my body decided, I guess this is as mature as he's going to get. Maybe he can't grow a beard, but maybe there's something with his shoulder hair.

I noticed this at the second round of my most recent comedy competition. My friend came to support me, and while talking, she mentioned that I smelled "like a baby". Somehow, my body odor conveyed to her the scent of baby powder and milk, though I was confident I'd encountered neither of those substances during my day. However, my friend had been thinking a lot about babies and pregnancy recently. She also added that on occasions in the past, I had a very "macho" scent about me, but she linked it to times when she'd already been thinking about manly men.

I shrugged off this bombshell and walked back to the comics' green room. Within five minutes of my entrance, a larger comic spoke up. "Does it smell like garlic and onions in here?" No one else noticed, but looked at me suspiciously as I sniffed the air.

That was when I knew it was no coincidence, but the sign of mutant abilities. My personal scent evokes people's subconscious desires. For my friend, it was motherhood. For that other comedian, it was dinner. I'm sure there are others who have noticed but not said anything, perhaps because it's weird to tell your old roommate that you smell like a motorcycle, or because it's difficult to identify what falling in love smells like.

I've tried to nurture my new powers. I'm wearing less deodorant these days, and overdressing on warm days. Women sense my power, and they seek the life essence. I do not avoid women, but I do deny them my essence. Besides, if I ended up showering with woman who was attracted by my mutant pheronomes, the effect might cut out mid-shower as I got clean. She'd be left confused and horrified, wondering how she'd ever thought I smelled like health insurance and unconditional love.

My conundrum is this: What if I meet a woman whose secret desire is in fact...Sean Keane? What would that odor even be? Would it be the olfactory equivalent of pointing a video camera at a TV monitor displaying the camera's signal, a feedback loop of musk and longing that ultimately makes you feel a little sick to your stomach? Only Professor Xavier could say for sure.