Our Special Man

Bob was on his fifth drink and wishing that he still smoked. He’d read through the booklet. The contents had been utterly insane. If it was true it was almost every man alive’s fantasy. The idea that he would have been chosen for something like this bastard child of Survivor and The Bachelor was absurd. Therefor his current working hypothesis was that he was currently experiencing a coma dream, so why not go with it.

It’s not like they can really do all the things they claimed.

He was to have a harem of seven devoted concubines.

I can’t even afford to keep a goldfish. How am I supposed to feed seven humans?

Seven contestants would be competing for his affections.

The last time I was even able to get a date was ten years ago.

He was expected to have sex with them.

That wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve been impotent for the last three years.

And seriously, the Swiss Miss Barbie that had greeted him? How the hell did those tits not cause her to need a back brace?

Yep. Definitely a coma dream.

Right now he was probably laying in a hospital bed, his system flooded with DMT as his brain burned out one neuron after the other.

Still, if I’m already all fucked up, I might as well enjoy it.

The whiskey was really good.

He was jarred from his reverie by the beautiful behemoth Heidi bursting into the room. “Dear me, you’re still not dressed! We have fifteen minutes to showtime! Stand up!”

Bob blinked as he felt himself climb to his feet without issuing the commands to his body to do so.

“Are you drunk? We can’t have that.”

Heidi waved a hand and Bob felt the comfortable warmth of the whiskey immediately disappear and drag his brain kicking and screaming to sobriety.

“Now let’s see. You’re short, so a cutaway is best. I think grey would work. French cuffs of course, and emerald links and studs to match your eyes.”

As she chattered Bob could feel his clothing shift into what she described, and was pretty sure that this must be what the mice in Cinderella had felt like. All that was missing was the ‘Bippity boppity boo!’

“Black bow tie. No cummerbund. You’re too heavy around the middle. So a vest. Black with green trim. And shoes. I know that dress shoes are uncomfortable but you can’t wear a tuxedo with New Balance, buddy. There. Let me look at you…”

Bob looked down at himself. He looked… good. With another wave of Heidi’s hand he felt the sweat and grime from the kitchen fall away from him, his stubble disappear, his beard become perfectly trimmed.

“Pretty good if I say so myself. Of course we’re going to change all of it later. Or rather some of it. Or none of it if you like, but I think you’d do better off at 30 than 47, but that’s neither here nor there. So… any questions?”

“Can you give me a straight answer?” Bob finally got his mouth under control. “Am I dead or just in a coma?”

Heidi laughed, a mellifluous sound, and answered immediately. “Bob, you’re not dead. I’m pretty sure you’re not in a coma, but I’m also pretty sure I’d say that if you were. But my dear please believe me when I say that this will be a lot easier if you just assume this is all real. Now, no time for fucking around. It’s…