fly curly short

The fly landed on the short curly hair at the back of his neck. The man was so engrossed in his project that he did not even feel the tiny spindly legs go for a walk about. The fly stood suddenly still, frozen for a moment as the scent flooded over its body. Then, just as suddenly as it stopped before, it began a frantic rubbing, its front legs sliding together then over and over its head, absorbing the molecules of musk and pheromone. Anyone watching the fly would not have believed it possible, but the rubbing became faster and faster until there was a minuscule shudder that ran through the entire body of the fly, then it flew away. But the scent was still fresh in its insectoid mind. It had to find the source. It needed to be close to the originator of that perfume. It flew for what it thought to be hours and then landed on a soft beige/pink mountain. It froze again then took a few hesitant steps down the steepness. Finally it began rubbing itself, all over again in a kind of ecstasy. The euphoria lasted all too short of a time. The last thing it heard was a voice then it flitted off to fly heaven.
She exclaimed, "Gross! I hate flies!" as she smacked one that had landed on her chest and flicked it to the ground. Then she proceeded to rub his neck again.