Undergo the assessment

Dennis pulls out a form from one of his desk drawers. "Alright, let's start with some basic information. Most of this I can get from your license. Let's see... Name...Lilah Merrywether. Gender...female. Age...twenty-four. Height...one hundred and sixty-eight centimeters. Weight...fifty-three kilograms. Hair length...shoulder. Hair color...red."

I twirl a few strands between my fingers and frown dubiously. "Are you sure about that? I've always thought of myself as more auburn."

"Sorry, that's not one of the options. Red or brown. Which do you want?"

"Alright, red it is," I sigh.

He continues to fill out the form, muttering to himself. "Cup size?" he asks.

"Er, what? Oh... Uh, 32C."

The questions progress to an even more personal nature. How many sexual partners have I had in the last six months? What is my preferred age range for sexual partners? How satisfied was I by my last sexual experience? (Spoilers: Not very.) How many times can I hop on my right foot with one hand holding my nose and the other outstretched? Wait, what?

That last one throws me for a bit of a loop, but I comply--slipping off my heels first, of course. Turns out the answer is fifty-seven. Dennis observes me closely during the exercise, and I can see his mask of bureaucratic indifference slipping a bit as his eyes follow my bouncing assets.

A few more questions follow, some relevant to a sexual assessment, others...not so much. Perhaps they're meant to keep me off-balance, less guarded in how I answer the real questions. In any case, Dennis soon reaches the bottom of the final page of the form.

"Well, that's done, Ms. Merrywether. If you'd like to wait for a few minutes, I'll have your results shortly."

"Okay, I'm not going anywhere."

He slips through a door in the back wall. I lean back in my chair, my eyes fixed on the skylights above. Dust particles dance through the sunbeams cast against the marble. It's quite mesmerizing.

"Ms. Merrywether?"

I almost tip my chair backwards in surprise, realizing I'd completely spaced out. Dennis is standing before me once more, wielding a sheaf of papers.

"I've got the next steps for you right here," he says.