[Superior Pheromones] Try to talk her into bareback.

"I hate condoms," you finally confess. It's not even really a lie: you never much cared for them even before you were on the hunt for fertile women, and you were selfish enough before to think girlfriends were being irrational for not getting on birth control, ignorant as you were of the side-effects. "They just feel gross."

"I haven't stayed this cuh-lean," she gestures to her body, from mouth to thighs, as she retorts sarcastically, "this lu-ong without 'em, baby."

"I'm the cleaner-" Her brow furrows. Wait, Derek. Rephrase that. "... I mean, I'm definitely clean... I can count my partners on one hand."

Her eyebrow raises, and she grins. "Must be-a busy hand. But I'm not convinced."

You see yourself losing ground, and consider your options for proving yourself... all while trying to not worry about the actual danger of shoving into a prostitute raw. Your breeder sense marks her as fertile... but can it warn you about venereal diseases? The number of whores you've checked without such an alarm suggests not. Still eager to get her knocked up, you steel your resolve and stand up. "Does this convince you?"

You unbuckle your pants, and pull your erect cock out from your boxers. Sure enough, it's still the blemish-less rod of manmeat you remember, and though plenty of STDs don't "show", she does seem... moved... by either it or your continuing barrage of pheromones. "Well... big man indeed..."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't count for much on Tinder." You also swiped left on any woman who wasn't a supermodel, but that's hardly your fault, right?

"You're on the wrong app, big boy... but you're also with the wrong girl. I... I really need you to use one." Her growing hesitation reveals a crack, and whether it's thanks to your talking or your impressive meat is irrelevant.