Originally written in Summer 2023, Mixer was a possible novella about a group of men who are entered into an experiment with the lure of love and a cash prize. I ultimately decided not to proceed with it after writing 17000+ words, figuring I could spend my time on something else. I’ve decided that a large-scale version of Mixer will probably never appear, but it is possible that I may someday re-work the story as a free short, or perhaps even a very long one.
Day One
1
The three friends were wedged in the back of a black Lincoln Navigator speeding down a dusty back country road. They watched through the tinted windows as fields rolled by, farms of tall grass and corn marked by barns and the occasional rickety farmhouse gradually becoming vineyards and orchards bearing slightly more elaborate structures.
“What is this place?” Pete asked. “Feels like we’re headed to the middle of nowhere.”
“Who cares?” Mike shrugged. “As long as we get to meet Jasmin when we get there.”
“And Ashlee,” Pete smirked. “And Cheyenne was looking pretty hot too.”
Seated in the middle between husky, trim-bearded Pete and gangly, wire-haired Mike, Dan said nothing. He was trying to keep his head clear and convince himself this whole expedition wasn’t about to be a giant mistake.
The three of them had been friends since college, all living on the same floor of the dorm. They bonded over playing pranks on their RA and over all-night study sessions where they mostly just played video games. But a few years had passed since graduation and they were all in their mid-twenties. Now they were men out in the world: Pete, a struggling graphic designer, Dan his business manager, and Mike… well, Mike was still sort of finding himself; he had had a series of jobs without anything ever seeming to stick.
The three musketeers all had something in common: they were luckless in romance. Dan had had a relationship of three years end abruptly when the girl – “she who shall not be named” – cheated with a guy she met at a club. His friends had never liked her anyway and the feeling was mutual. Pete had hardly had any relationship more than a fling, and Mike was perennially single, having lost his virginity at 23 to the girl down the hall who ghosted him afterward.
This shared ineptitude with the fairer sex was what brought them out to the Mixer: a chance to meet someone and also to earn at least 3000 bucks.
It began when Mike, looking for his latest career pivot, had stumbled upon the ad, which described the Mixer as “a two-week retreat, an experiment in romance.” What it was doing in the job listings he didn’t know, until learning that participants would be given $3000 just for staying the duration, with a chance at a larger payoff depending on the results. Pete, who could always use the extra cash, was interested right away, but Dan was somewhat more skeptical.
“If it depends on our ability to date,” Dan shrugged pessimistically, “I don’t like our odds.” But with a guaranteed payout that eclipsed their monthly pay, there was no reason not to pursue.
They applied and were accepted quickly, then presented with a stack of paperwork to sign electronically: a disclosure of any medical conditions (aside from Mike’s lack of a gallbladder, there were none), consent to be filmed, a release indicating that the host, Dr. Oran Thirlby nor his organization would not be held responsible for any physical or mental damage incurred during the Mixer, and a non-disclosure agreement forbidding them from discussing any of the proprietary science or technology they may learn about during the week.
“Freaky,” Pete said passively as they signed their lives away. But for a few weeks in the country, how bad could it be?
They were presented with the profiles of ten young women they were told would be in attendance, with pictures depicting the women in situations like walking down a crowded street, cuddling with a dog in their perfectly staged-looking living rooms, sitting on a yacht in their miniscule swimsuits while showing off their glorious curves, or dressed to the nines in a low-cut minidress for a night out. They were pretty much all gorgeous and unattainable-looking, begging the question of why they would need any kind of experimental “Mixer” to meet men. One would think that a woman with a body like Jasmin – with a slim-waisted figure and voluptuous breasts – or Ashlee, a sweet-looking, slender, blonde girl-next-door type – could simply walk out the front door of their house and date any guy she encountered going to get a cup of coffee.
“Maybe it’s about quality,” Mike shrugged. “These women meet guys, but they don’t meet good guys.”
“So what are we doing here?” Pete quipped.
“Are either of you unnerved by the fact that we know nothing about these women?” Dan asked pointedly. “They showed us faces and names, but nothing else. What they do, what they’re like, we have no idea.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” Mike said. “To see how we do without any prior information.”
“You could go to any club and do the same thing,” Dan noted. “Find some hot girl and try to hook up without knowing anything else about her. Why the secrecy?”
“I’m sure we’ll find out,” Pete said. “I’ll be sure to ask Jasmin all about her hobbies if I get a chance while we’re getting out freak on. Maybe she’s into woodworking.”
The mid-afternoon sun hung high in the sky as the car pulled up to its destination: a sprawling property, an estate set in the middle of a vineyard. Behind the house looked to be some kind of industrial facility – probably, Dan surmised, where they make the wine.
The three men were shown into the building, an impressive old mansion: a little creaky, but well-kept with modern furnishings and updated interiors that retained some features of the classic architecture. Pete, always aesthetically-minded, expressed his appreciation of the design and techniques inside as soon as they saw them: the farmhouse doors, the high ceilings with rafters. It was opulent, but not showy or tacky.
They met a few assistants who worked the property, nondescript-looking young men and women who looked like college interns, identifiable by their OT LABS black polo shirts. They directed the three arrivals into the Salon, an open space where the Mixer’s first event would begin.
As soon as they entered, the guys all looked at each other, noticing immediately what was wrong.
They had been sent the “profiles” of ten women, ranging from the drop-dead gorgeous Jasmin to the pretty, but chubby and bookish-looking Emma. None of those women were present, though: no Jasmin, no Ashlee, no Emma. Instead, a huge coterie of masculinity mingled. Guys of all different sorts were here: sharply-dressed guys in suits, young fitness bros in shorts and flip flops, and various looks in between. Most of them appeared to be having a drink, and quite a few were chattering away.
“What is this?” Mike asked.
“There must be over a dozen other guys here,” Dan said. “If we’re all competing for the same ten women, that’s gonna be tough.”
“I mean, I think we’ve got a better shot than some of these guys,” Pete said, gesturing to a pudgy, sweaty guy standing in the corner by the window.
A waiter passed by with a pair of drinks on a tray, brown liquor in highball glasses, one tinted purple and one yellow. The guys each selected one.
“Well, it looks like everyone’s chatting away, so we might as well get in the mix,” Dan shrugged. He walked over to the chubby loner, dressed in an ill-fitting gray suit with beads of flopsweat on his forehead.
“So what do you make of all this?” Dan asked.
“I, uh, I don’t know,” the guy stammered. “I kinda just want someone to tell me what’s going on.”
“Story of my life,” Dan smirked. “I’m Dan. This is Pete and over there is Mike.” Mike was insinuating himself into a conversation between two black guys – one in a Miami Heat jersey, the other nicely dressed in a fitter blazer over his broad shoulders, seeming quite unimpressed with either.
“Mickey,” the sweaty guy said with a meek smile. “I was excited to meet the girls, but now I got here and I’m like woah… competition, right?”
“Yeah, they’re really making us earn our 3K,” Pete said. “Two guys for every chick?”
“There’s definitely something untoward going on here,” said another voice. Dan turned and saw a skinny, bucktoothed guy with a bad haircut and a tightly-tucked short-sleeved button-up shirt, flanked by a guy who looked a little older than everyone else, due to the bags under his eyes, a needle-nose, and receding hairline. Maybe just looked a little old before his time. “I’m Brent, this is Brian,” bucktooth said.
Dan shook his hand and asked what he meant.
“The odors that I encountered when coming in here – that’s not the smell of a winery. There’s a chemical plant on these premises,” Brent noted.
“That big building out back,” Dan noted.
“Most likely,” Brent said. “But I would guess there’s a hidden facility, probably underground.”
“I’ve known this guy for ten minutes,” Brian said, “And I can already tell he’s a bit of a screwloose.”
“I’m not prone to conspiracy theories,” Brent defended, “But I’m starting to think we’ve already gotten in over our heads.”
“We can leave at any time though,” Dan pointed out. “Then we just forfeit our 3000 bucks. No worse off than before.”
“Did you read the paperwork?” Brent asked.
“Thoroughly,” Dan noted.
“As did I,” Brent said, taking a knowing sip from his drink.
Mike approached. “So, I’ve been working the room a little bit. Over there’s Dom,” Mike said, pointing to the Miami Heat fan, “He’s a rapper, but not, like, famous or anything, just online. He was talking to Morris, who owns a shipping company. In that corner,” he pointed to a pair of guys with hard physiques, one white and one black, “We have former college athletes Matthew B. and Keyvon. Matt placed at the NCAA championships in freestyle wrestling as a heavyweight for North Carolina but wrecked his ankle. Keyvon was a third-string quarterback at Texas Tech. Next to them, the burly guy with the tattoos and the crazy beard is Art, he owns a comic store. Then over by the bar are Cam, Jeph, Kristoph and Salvador. Looks like there are a few more yet to arrive, too.”
“You learned all that in like five minutes?” Dan asked.
“Sure – there’s a face book over by the corner with all of our info in it.” Mike said, pointing.
“Why would we need to know about each other?” Pete asked, his brow furrowed.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Brent knowingly, idly tapping his drink.
“Whaddup, my boys?” a new voice greeted them. “Think we should fire up a grill because we got ourselves a sausage party.” The guys all turned to see a wide-grinning goofball with two chains around his neck and an unbuttoned floral shirt revealing this thin torso – this guy obviously had a lot of confidence to spare, perhaps not completely earned. “I’m Truman – that’s Tru or TK if you want – and if you’re looking to hook up with Jasmin, you can probably go home now because she’s mine. Periodt.”
“Uh, okay,” Dan rolled his eyes as Tru moved on to the next cluster of guys.
“Don’t mind him,” said another guy who had appeared next to Dan. He had a mop of tousled dark hair, a fine chin and cheekbones, and dreamy, dark brown eyes. He had a “teen idol” look about him. He spoke in a playful English accent.
“I really don’t,” Dan noted.
“If there’s some kind of elimination vote or something, we should try to get rid of him. Obnoxious kid.”
“I don’t know if it’s gonna be like that,” Dan said, “They didn’t say this was a reality show or anything.”
“They said we were being filmed, right?” the guy noted – Dan admitted that that had been part of the agreement. “Look, I’ve got my eye on Jasmin too, and I bet if it comes down to it she’d probably pick me over him…”
“What makes you so sure of that?” Dan asked. The guy offered a slanted smile that women probably found charming.
“We just don’t need any pesky little brothers around, right? If you get my back, I’ll get yours. Don’t get in my way with my gal, and I’ll wingman you wiff whatever bird you like.”
“I’ll consider it,” Dan said with a grumble. Privately, if all the other guys wanted to chase Jasmin, that was their business: yes, she was probably the most classically drop dead gorgeous of the group, but something about that obvious beauty wasn’t to Dan’s tastes. Perhaps because he knew that a woman who looked like that would have guys throwing themselves at her and he had no interest in being one of the many. His tastes ran more toward the down-home, girl-next-door prettiness of Ashlee – one photo of her smiling while sitting on a porch drinking coffee had captivated Dan and made him feel like he desperately needed to meet this girl. Though he should be so lucky as to have a chance with any of the women participating in this “experiment,” it was truly his ambition to meet her in particular.
Dan broke away back to speak to Mike in a hushed tone. “What do you know about that guy?”
“That’s Ben,” Mike noted. “From Essex, England. In his bio he claimed to sleep with three different girls a week.”
“So what’s he need to come to the Mixer for?”
“I dunno,” Mike shrugged. “Maybe he wants something deeper.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” Dan groaned. “But I guess cash and women are reason enough.”
After a few more arrivals, the room had filled up – more and more guys, none of the women in sight. Initially, Dan kept his guard up to conserve his energy for when the women would finally arrive, but when it became clear that there were only men attending this particular portion of the proceedings, he gave in, and began a spirited conversation with a New Yorker named Nick about the relative benefits of a thriving public transit system.
“Excuse me, excuse me, hi,” called out one of the site staff from the front of the room, identifiable by his black polo shirt. “Thank you all for coming, we very much appreciate your patience. You’ll be happy to know that our guests of honor will be arriving soon.”
A smattering of applause and even a few throaty “whoos” emerged from the crowd.
“To begin, you each took a drink upon arrival… would those of you who received a purple glass please follow me, and those of you who took yellow remain here.”
Pete and Dan looked at one another. Pete tipped his purple glass. “See you soon I guess,” Pete shrugged as he headed off to join the others, including Mike.
“Knock ‘em dead,” Dan said uncertainly.
2
The men all followed as they were told, into a smaller room with enough chairs for each, facing toward a lectern set below an unlit green light bulb fixed to the wall above. Once they were settled, Dr. Thirlby – a smallish, bearded man with thick black-framed glasses – took his place there.
“Welcome, welcome all,” he beamed. “I want to thank you for accepting my invitation and participating in this grand experiment. This is the culmination of twelve years of theorizing, research, and chemical development and preparation. I’ve been working toward this day for my entire adult life, in some ways.”
There was a small amount of chatter at that, but it quickly subsided as the men all wanted to know what Thirlby was up to.
“Did everyone have a drink? Good. Helps to take the edge off, I find. Now, you’re all here because in some way or another, you’ve had a hard time with romance. Maybe you have a hard time getting a date for Saturday night. Maybe you’re having a hard time settling down. Or maybe the person you thought was the one ran off with a mechanic from Dayton.”
Pete smirked, thinking of poor Dan.
“I firmly believe that modern life has killed romance. How are a bunch of nice, swell guys like yourselves supposed to meet the girls of your dreams these days? You deserve that, don’t you? Haven’t you earned your happy ending?”
The guys all muttered in agreement.
“Tired of the games women play, the hoops they make you jump through? Don’t you want to find someone who understands you?”
More murmurs of agreement, although Dan said nothing as it seemed a bit judgmental.
“My hope is that after undergoing this experiment, you can level up your understanding of both the women you pursue, and of yourself. Prior to tonight, I provided you with a sneak peek at some of the women you might meet during this Mixer. Anyone catch your eye?”
A few said “Cheyenne” or “Ashlee,” and one deep voice bellowed “Alaina” – who was a curvy black girl in the mix – but most of the guys muttered “Jasmin.”
“Mhm, yes, that’s not surprising,” Thirlby said, his face a strange smirk. “Now, now, before we get to that, I want to tell you a bit about what you’ll be getting to do over the next two weeks. Now this estate has been specially designed to be an all-in-one experience: indoor-outdoor pool, screening room, game room with billiards and ping pong and more, lounge, bar, kitchen… Go-Kart Track and Mini-Golf all on the property, and of course, your suites. Everything a man could possibly want to woo the object of his desire. You shouldn’t need to leave the grounds for anything, except when explicitly invited to do so by me. I hope you can handle that, in the name of love.”
Again, murmurs of agreement. The place was indeed quite big, and had a lot to offer.
“Once the girls get here, I’m gonna spend a lot of time by the pool,” Pete whispered to Mike as he rubbed his hands together.
“Undoubtedly, all of this will help the men get to know the women, impress them, win them over with their charms. And there’s more good news, of course. Not that I doubt any of you are planning on leaving, but as you know, you will be gifted $3000 just for staying the duration of the trip. I do encourage you to stick it out no matter how hard the experience is… if you only stay 13 days, you don’t get a cent, and that would be a shame.
“But there’s more. You’re here to find love, but sometimes love needs a little help. At the end of the two weeks, any couple that demonstrates genuine connection – we’ll know it when I see it – gets a share of one million dollars, generously donated by our benefactors at the Maxil Foundation, which is dedicated to cracking the code of love.”
A roll of gasps went through the assembly. With ten women present, even if ten of these guys found love that could mean $100,000 – an incredible windfall to say the least, plus a new relationship with a gorgeous babe.
“So you may now be wondering… where are the girls?”
Some of the guys nodded – yeah, uh-huh, yeah, yep.
“Well, you haven’t seen them yet, but… they are here.”
Eyes started to dart around suspiciously and uncertain with confusion. Brent gaped over at Pete with a raised eyebrow, as if you say ‘I knew something was up.’
“Upon arrival, you were each handed a drink. It was a hot 90-minute drive from the airport so I didn’t doubt you would all be thirsty, so before calling you in here I made sure that each of you took at least a sip. For those of you who took the purple glassware, the drink was dosed with nanodrones programmed to rewrite every cell of your body. Once the activation signal is given, this advanced technology will go to work you ten will each be transformed into one of the beautiful women from the profiles. The others will remain in their original forms, to mingle, woo, form relationships… with the lot of you.”
There was a beat of disbelieving silence, followed by a roar of panicked chatter. He can’t be serious, this isn’t what I signed up for, I don’t want to be a—
A few security guards appeared by Thirlby’s side and others appeared at each entrance, as if he had anticipated a riot. “Enough, enough, enough,” Thirlby asserted himself. Nobody moved. “You all signed. The process can’t be undone until I say so, so bailing out now and compromising the experiment only means you’re cheating yourself out of a cash reward. And potentially true love, of course.”
This did little to quell the rabble.
“And with that…” Thirlby said, he flicked a switch at his station and the green light above the lectern lit up.
The guys all fell silent. Heads turned, eyes darted around suspiciously. For a moment, nothing seemed to be happening, but Pete and Mike could feel a strange buzz in the air.
Art – the big, bearded comic shop owner seated in the front row, let out a huge sneeze. The wiry black hairs of his beard flew off his face like dust in the wind, revealing underneath a feminine, rounded chin and red lips. The tattoos began to fade from his arms as his body shrank beneath his large black tee.
The guys all looked around. Matthew T – a burly software engineer – noticed his jaw softening up and his short-cropped hair began to grow long, dark and thick. His skin was darkening too: he was becoming Shanae, a small, thin, light-skinned black girl. In the other corner, Salvador and Jeph watched each other become petite Claire and leggy, busty redhead Cheyenne. The room erupted into general clamor again.
Pete turned to Mike. “Dude…”
His tall gangly friend was shrinking before his eyes as his legs and torso compressed. His cheeks were filling out into a roundish face. His frizzy dark hair had straightened into increasingly long, straight blonde locks.
“Dude yourself,” Mike – or was it Emma now – replied in a soft, musical voice, pointing to Pete’s chest where his t-shirt was starting to look exceptionally loose hanging on a slender torso and arms… except where the imprint of a pair of breasts were starting to show.
“Oh God,” Pete cried out as he regarded his hands, now slender and soft.
Pete looked over to where Brent had been, only to find slender, dark-haired Sam, his buck teeth now replaced with a perfectly straight set of pearly whites. Next to him – er, her – was Paola, a curvaceous Brazilian, standing where sweaty Mickey had been, wearing his clothes and examining the sight of her bulbous chest.
“Mike,” Pete said, pulling at his now long blonde hair. “Am I…?”
“Ashlee,” Mike said with a considerable amount of awe.
Pete sunk down in his seat, holding his hands to his pretty blonde head, flowing locks streaming down through his fingers. He looked around again to find Jasmin standing top his left, her wavy brown hair falling down her shoulders, clad in the fitted shirt British Ben had been wearing, her breasts pressing tightly out against its fabric, causing it to hang down loose about her torso.
“Well, this is absolute tops,” said the beautiful Jasmin with bitterness heavy in his, now her voice, the accent remaining.
“I knew it,” said the former Brent, now Sam, in a distressed soprano. “Too good to be true.”
Some female staffers were waiting by the doorway amongst the security guards.
A voice crackled over the loudspeaker – Thirlby had disappeared in the commotion. “Would the new ladies, please follow my staff to their quarters.”
Sullenly, and clutching their loose-fitting clothes, the former Pete and Mike trudged out of the room behind the rest of the dazed and confused new females.
3
Pete had to hold the waist of his jeans up, and even so the cuffs kept slipping under his too-large shoes as he and Mike followed at the back of the group. Mike’s jeans in now way fit him now – the stumpy legs of Emma, plus her round hips and bum, had nothing in common with his original physique, so he was dressed only in a white tee-shirt – through which his new nipples were visible as dark imprints – which covered him like a tent, obscuring his loose-fitting boxers. He kept his pants slung over his narrow shoulder.
“I see a lot of you struggling with your attire,” called out the female staffer at the head of the pack. “I’m really sorry there wasn’t more we could do for you in advance, but, well, you could chalk it up to the Doc’s love of theatrics. If he had asked you to change into something more adaptable, well, that might have taken some of the fun out of the big reveal.”
“I’m glad he enjoyed it,” Pete murmured to Mike, who stayed quiet.
“So, a few ground rules,” the lead staffer called out, “You are not to reveal anything about the nature of your identity the experiment to your fellow mixers. As far as they are concerned, you are who you appear to be. Any divulging of this facet of the experiment, including the additional cash prize and the proprietary nano technology, without express permission may result in your expulsion from the process and the forfeiture of your intended remuneration – ie, the $3000. Are we clear on that?”
Several female voices muttered defeatedly, “Yeah, yes, uh huh.”
“You are to give no indication that you know anything about the whereabouts of the purple group. They are not to be discussed with the yellow group. Is that understood?”
“Uh huh, sure, yeah…”
“But aside from that, you are free to define this experience however you’d like. There are no other restrictions on what you might say or how you might behave toward the other mixers: be yourself, put on a persona, hide in your room, however you choose to play it. It all has value to us.”
Pete scowled in Mike’s direction and mouthed mockingly, ‘Be yourself,’ which elicited a bitter snicker from the now-minute Mike. How could they do such a thing when they looked like this?
“Oh, before we go any further,” the staffer called out, “Where’s Emma? Emma?”
The “girls” all looked around. Pete nudged Mike. “That’s you, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Mike huffed.
The staffer approached with a glasses case, which Mike opened to find a pair of circular, wire-frame gold-colored glasses. “These will help.”
“Just great,” he said, “All this and I’m nearsighted too.”
“We have room assignments, two girls to a suite,” the woman announced.
“Great, all this and we don’t even get privacy?” Pete hissed.
“Had to make room for the Go-Kart track,” Mike retorted.
“Sam and… Alaina, Paola and Shanae, Claire and Catalina… Ashlee,”
Pete straightened up and looked down at Mike hopefully.
“You’re with Cheyenne, and Emma you’re with Jasmin.”
Jasmin, formerly Ben, bumped Mike’s shoulder. “Hope you don’t snore, mate.”
“You’ve each been provided with a wide variety of outfits, cosmetics and accessories. Play around, have fun.”
“É uma loucura, não acredito– espera, estou falando português?” the former Mickey, now Paola, said quickly, abruptly halting to stammer, “I’m speaking Portuguese?” Her voice was not only feminine, but with a strong Brazilian accent.
“Yes, ladies, certain unique bits of knowledge has been transmitted into you that you can incorporate into your new personae. In Paola’s case, knowledge of her native tongue.”
“So you’ve changed our brains,” Pete said flatly, arms crossed under his modest breast.
“What the Doc is providing,” the staffer said firmly, “Are tools for success. You can be anything you want. You can elect not to use the tools. But it’s a kindness that he elected to provide them instead of letting you drown in the sea of this new experience. This experiment is what you make of it, remember.”
Pete scowled at that. The idea had been to get cash and maybe find some love – how was he supposed to do that looking like this? He noticed Mike gaping at him.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just…” Mike kind of chuckled to himself, “You’re really pretty when you’re mad.”
Pete rolled his eyes and sneered some more.
Pete and “Cheyenne” arrived at their room. Inside were two double beds, loaded with pillows and a plush white comforter. On each side of the room was a dresser with a vanity mirror adorned with unique jewelry and cosmetics packs, with a framed 8×10 photo of their new selves – giving seductive, come-hither looks that seemed alien to Pete – to indicate which was meant to be whose. Pete caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror wearing an expression that could only be described as “seasick.” He didn’t think it was so pretty.
Cheyenne laid back on her bed, stretched out with her legs dangling over the side. “Bro, what a day.”
“That’s all you have to say about it?” the new Ashlee sneered, indignantly. “Our bodies, our lives have been violated. And for what? A few measly bucks?”
Cheyenne propped herself up on her elbows. She was wearing a white men’s button-down, from which several of the top buttons had popped off, and a tie that she had loosened at some point.
“It’s two weeks,” Cheyenne chuckled flatly. “Two weeks of an experience nobody else gets to have. It ain’t so bad.”
Pete turned his back to the mirror and leaned against the dresser, idly rolling a hair brush around in his hands. “Agree to disagree on that.”
Cheyenne looked around. She stood up and went to the door, closing it firmly. Then she stepped back toward the center of the room where the beds were. She asked matter-of-factly, “You ever been to prison?”
Pete raised an eyebrow and tucked his little chin in toward his neck. “No… have you?”
“Two years,” Cheyenne nodded. She placed her hands at the back of her hips, just above her butt, and adjusted her posture. “I was ripping off the company I worked for – a Fortune 500 – to the tune of $100k in a year. Pennies to them, huge for me, but the law is the law, right? So I did a stint in minimum. It may not be Alcatraz, but they take everything from you, break you down, and do everything they can to make you think you’re less than, that you are beyond redemption and deserve nothing for yourself. They tell you when to eat, where to be, when to sleep, what to do.”
“Uh huh,” Pete said, unsure how to process this.
“This?” Cheyenne shrugged, then lifted her arms over her head as she brushed her hands under her new auburn-red locks, “This is not prison.”
Pete sat down on the edge of the bed and sulked, observing the way his knees bowed together from the hips. Maybe it wasn’t prison, but it wasn’t the experience he had been led to believe. He had wanted to meet girls, not be one.
“Thirlby want us to fall in love with those guys,” Pete huffed.
“Hey, he said connect,” Cheyenne answered with a smirk in her voice. “Maybe approaching things from the other side will help get us insight on the fairer sex, you know? Get us the help we need.”
“I wish I had your attitude–” Pete murmured, then turned to look at Cheyenne. “I figure I’ll—woah!!”
Pete’s eyes bulged out as he caught sight of Cheyenne fully unbuttoning her top, revealing enormous bare breasts.
“What do you think? I’m likin’ ‘em,” Cheyenne said with a mischievous giggle.
“I just can’t believe you’d… just let them out like that, in front of me…?!”
“Why not,” Cheyenne smirked, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet to make her breasts jiggle, then cupping them from beneath. “Ooh, they’re fun, you wanna touch?”
“No, I… well… maybe.”
“Come on, nobody here but us girls,” Cheyenne shimmied her chest.
Pete felt his seasick expression return as he gazed upon Cheyenne’s glorious cleavage. There was such conflict in him. He loved women, he loved breasts, and Cheyenne’s were something out of a fantasy… and yet this all seemed wrong. It shouldn’t be this easy… and yet he felt he should want it more than he did.
Was he losing his masculinity? His male appetite?
“I’m not gonna wait all night… it’s cold in here in case you couldn’t tell. Brr,” Cheyenne teased. Indeed her nipples were starting to stick out.
Hesitantly, Pete reached out with his left hand, placing it gingerly at the base of Cheyenne’s right breasts. It felt… good. Soft, fleshy and inviting, as the best breasts he had ever had the privilege to feel.
“Okay, okay,” Pete said with gradually increasing interest. He slowly raised his right hand and placed it in the same place on Cheyenne’s left breast.
“Ooh, your hands are warm,” Cheyenne purred.
Pete gasped, and abruptly retracted his hands and backed away. “Man, this is so weird.” He then looked down at himself: Ashlee’s slender body wasn’t quite built like Cheyenne’s, but it certainly had its own appealing features, as his petite breasts formed a noticeable ridge in the fabric of his top.
Cheyenne’s face resolved into a knowing smirk. “You’ll see the upsides, just you wait.”
A knock came at the door and a disembodied voice called in. “Hair and makeup in five, ladies!”
4
After the departure of the “purple” group, the guys who were left behind were led around the facility, shown each of the amenities firsthand. Dan was in the middle of the group, next to Nick and Brian. He found himself wondering what had become of his two friends as the tour guide led them from the pool to the rec room to the living area, the kitchen, and finally the men’s quarters – a separate wing from the ladies’.
“Dinner will be served shortly, at which time you will finally be introduced to our much-anticipated guests,” the young man in the polo shirt said, eliciting some enthused “woos” and “yeahs” from the crowd of men. “Now, you won’t be spoonfed here. If you like a girl, it’s on you to make a good impression and win her over. We’re not matchmaking, we’re mixing. You have to do the heavy lifting.”
The guys erupted in hooting and hollering enthusiasm, but Dan remained somewhat reserved.
“Now some of you may be wondering what has become of the purple group. Don’t you worry, they have their own part to play in this experiment, but for the integrity of the process we can’t divulge anything about that. Please refrain from asking any of the staff or your fellow mixers what they might know about the other group. Doing so may result in your expulsion from the project, forfeiture of prize money, and possible litigation, per your NDA agreements.”
Dan looked around to see how everyone was reacting – for the most part they were unfazed, because after all they were about to meet a group of insanely beautiful women and not have ten other guys to worry about as competition. He gave Brian a quizzical look, to which Brian responded with an indifferent shrug.
Finally, they were led into the dining room, an intimate space lit by sconces along the wall and candled along the long table. The men were seated all along one side, and waitstaff poured drinks for them. There was some nervous chatter as they felt a buzz of anticipation: finally, the women would arrive.
Then the door opened, and they appeared.
Cheyenne was first, dressed in a form-fitting full-coverage black dress with long sleeves and a turtleneck. She gave a sly, tight-lipped smile as she took a seat in the middle of the table across from Matthew B. The rest of the women followed in. Each were dressed in gowns, prom dresses, evening wear: hair falling elegantly or pulled back in stylish ways, makeup fully done as if by professionals, all in heels or wedges, they looked like competitors in a beauty pageant. Dan, seated at the far corner, noted their expressions were not all quite as warm and pleasant as he might have hoped: some of them looked tentative and uncertain, some downright unhappy to be here, or a little dazed as if they were overtired with forced smiles. He watched each take their seats. They seemed to fidget and fuss in place, as if it was the first day out of the house for all of them. Some looked unsteady on their feet, as if they were not used to wearing such shoes, or didn’t like the straps of their dresses. Some played with their hair awkwardly, like they weren’t expecting to find it there and didn’t know what to do with it.
Dan recognized each, of course, having spent the long flight in gazing at their profiles in anticipation. Now upon meeting them in person, he felt a little uncomfortable with that: they weren’t objects or merely pictures on a screen, they were people. He felt a little bit for them.
Spunky, sporty Sam seemed drawn to a spot across from Brian, but kept her eyes down on her empty plate. Next to her, Paola sat across from Nick, dressed in a red dress that clung to her curves. Dan’s eyes kept shifting back to the empty seat across from him. The women appeared to be choosing where to sit, but based on what? And who would wind up across from him?
In the middle of the group was Jasmin, dressed in a sparkly, platinum gown with a high slit and a low cut to display her voluptuous cleavage. She set herself apart by standing up straight and walking with confidence and self-assurance that the other girls seemed to lack. As if she knew something the others didn’t. Dan wouldn’t have expected anything less. She took her seat across from Morris. That tracked, he thought: Morris was handsome, confident and successful, and Jasmin had either been clued into that fact, or could read it on him on sight.
The table was nearly full. In came beautiful, wholesome Ashlee and petite, curvy Emma, side by side as if they were lifelong friends. Emma was dressed in a basic green minidress that hugged her curvy hips, and Ashlee in flowing black silk – standing a bit stiffly, her arms tensed to her sides as if she would rather be anywhere else. Surveying the situation, they halted in place, as if taken aback by the remaining seats available. Dan watched intently as they turned away and appeared to have a muttered conversation. Maybe he was reading too deeply, but it appeared to be about him — a few subtle head and hand gestures seemed to indicate toward the open seat across from him. Finally, Emma took the seat across from Dan, and Ashlee sat across from Kristoph, the generically-handsome restaurateur. Alaina and Catalina were the last women to arrive, with Alaina drawing the short straw by having to sit across from Tru.
Dan felt disappointed. His preferred girl – Ashlee – had had a chance to choose him and didn’t. Emma was pretty and was probably very sweet, of course, but with her pudgy face and glasses she was far from the knockout that any of the other girls were. Knowing what it’s like to be rejected, of course, Dan didn’t let his disappointment show.
“Hi,” he said, turning his face into a warm grin. “I’m Dan.”
“Yeah, hi, uh, I’m… Emma,” she said, straightening her back awkwardly. She seemed flustered instantly by Dan’s presence. He wondered if that meant she liked him – and if so, would that be something to consider? “Don’t mind me, I’m just here for the free food.”
“Oh, same, same,” Dan said, sipping his wine, “I’m just here because I couldn’t get a reservation at Chez Versailles.”
“You’re funny,” Emma said flatly. “You remind me of a guy I knew in college.”
“Oh? Where’d you go?” Dan asked.
“Um…” Emma stammered, as if she had to think. “Trinity?”
“Cool, I knew some people who went there. I went to Wesleyan.”
“Yeah, I know… uh, I mean, lots of people do.”
“What did you study?”
“Uh… Poli Sci?” Was that a guess?
“Yeah, I knew some Poli Sci majors.”
“Any of them working?” Emma crooked her eyebrow sardonically.
“Yeah, I see them at McDonald’s all the time,” Dan chuckled. He thought this was a good joke, but Emma responded with nothing more than a bemused, “hm.” Maybe she felt insulted.
There was chatter all along the table. All of the guys were clearly doing their best to impress the women across from them – or in the case of Tru, one over, as he was seated diagonally from Jasmin – but the women seemed to be reserved and given brief, uncertain answers to their questions. Other guys simply prattled on about themselves without a care.
Dan’s eyes flitted over to Ashlee. She was slumped back, looking bored with Kristoph’s conversation. Dan took that as solace: he hadn’t gotten the first opportunity to make the first impression on her, but it was clear she was not being won over by him, either. Maybe warming up by refining his approach with Emma would help give him an edge.
“So, what music do you listen to?” Dan asked.
“Uh, Drake I guess?” Emma shrugged. “Hip hop, metal, you know, whatever.”
“I would have pegged you for a Taylor Swift girl,” Dan noted.
“Bleah,” Emma cringed exaggeratedly.
Salads were served followed by entrees. Most of the girls seemed more interested in the food than the guys, as they paid the barest of attention to their conversational partners, digging enthusiastically into their food as if they hadn’t been fed all day. Some of them chomped in a most unladylike fashion.
“Umff,” Emma said with a mouthful of steak as she dug into her entree, “Now that’s how you cook a strip. You tried this, Dan?”
“Yeah, it’s, uh… really good,” Dan said nervously.
At the far end of the table, Morris said something that caused Jasmin to let out a loud laugh and touch his arm warmly. At least someone was getting somewhere.
5
When the plates were cleared from dinner, none of the “women” elected to spend any further time mingling – they were permitted to return to their suites, and all did so, filling out almost in unison, with some bidding a polite nod to their conversational partners but others simply standing abruptly to walk away.
Once they were out of earshot from the guys, the chatter began as they headed toward the common area between their rooms.
“What was that?”
“Worst experience of my life, hands down.”
“Get me out of these heels.”
“The heels? This bra!”
“You got a bra? They told me I couldn’t wear one with this dress.”
“Lucky you.”
“Cam was leering at my chest the whole time, practically drooling on me.”
“At least you didn’t have Tru trying to play footsie with you. I think he thought I was Jasmin…”
“Ugh!”
“Dom said he’d write me a rap next time he saw me.”
“I just wanna wash this stuff off my face and pass out and forget any of this happened.”
“I can’t do this,”
“Yeah, I want out.”
“I’mma pack my bags.”
At the edge of the crowd, Jasmin – the erstwhile Ben – simply folded her arms under her breasts and shook her head judgmentally. “Pa-thetic,” she muttered to herself in a singsong voice.
Pete overheard. “What are you talking about?”
“These absolute whiners don’t deserve to be men, if this is how they’re treating this opportunity. Ooh, a guy looked at me, ugh, I miss my balls, wah, wah. Suck it bloody well up, mate.”
“We didn’t sign up for any of this,” Pete said firmly, pursing his newly plush pink lips.
“Cry me a bloody river,” Jasmin said. “I’m fine to let the lot of ‘em go. More for me. The less of you prats stick around, the bigger my share of the million.”
“You only get that prize if you make a connection,” Pete said skeptically, “What, you like guys now?”
“I like money, luv,” Jasmin smirked. She ran her hands demonstratively up her torso: “Presently, I’m all the woman I need for myself, so why not fetch me a sugar daddy? I’ve got already got Morris wrapped around my pinky and it’s been a day.”
Pete said nothing.
***
“Did anyone else sense a weird energy from the girls?”
The guys had retired to the lounge area. Morris stood by the nearby kitchen island with Matthew B., who had posted the question; Brian, Nick, Dan and Greg the engineer sat in the sunken sitting area. Tru and Dom shot pool.
“Weird doesn’t begin to describe it,” Greg said. “That was the Twilight Zone.”
“Why they tell us these bitches wanna date us, and then they act all cold and shit?” Tru huffed.
“Probably because you call them ‘bitches,’” Morris said. “Personally, I had a great night. I’ve got my share of the mill in the bag.”
“Yeah, it looked like Jasmin was giving you a lot of attention,” Brian said bitterly, “Lucky you.” As far as the guys were concerned, Morris had won the sweepstakes by being the one Jasmin had chosen to lavish with her attention.
“It occurs to me,” Greg noted, “This is, after all, being called an experiment. We were told that we would get a chance to date these women. Suppose they were told something else – or nothing at all?”
“That’s a good point,” Nick said.
“Maybe we came on too strong, assuming we were going to be well-received,” Greg continued. “We blindsided them.”
“Whatever yo,” Tru said. “I know I got game.”
“How do you know you’re even playing the right game?” Dan noted. “Greg’s making a lot of sense. So what do we do?” “That requires some thought,” Greg sighed, sipping a bottle of beer. “This experiment, such as it is, is clearly not what we were led to believe. Adjustments will have to be made.”
***
Copyright 2024 Liam Slade, all rights reserved. Not to be reproduced without explicit permission from the author.
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