A debutante ball

Cameramen are there recording the event as you arrive at the mansion locale for the first time in a limousine with one of the producers (and as you will soon learn, the host), a thin middle-aged man with thinning greased back hair named Roger. You wave innocently at one of the cameras and smile, then gasp admiringly at the impressive old plantation house that will be the setting. Roger leads you inside, revealing modern design and decor with minimal furnishings and walls and lots of mirrored surfaces (and of course little cameras everywhere), explaining that you will be introduced to the suitors at a debutante "coming-out" event tonight, and that you will wear a fancy dress for the occasion like a real southern belle.

Your enthusiasm is evident, and you confide that your family are all from the South so this is a sort of fantasy for you, even admitting once inside the house (having been left alone by the cameramen but forgetting about the omnipresent video and audio recording) that your ancestors were ****-owners who lived in a house like this. When you meet Janeeta, the stone-faced make-up and wardrobe assistant (and middle-aged black woman), you wink conspiratorially at Roger and whisper your appreciation for "my first servant of my own". Of course, the host does everything he can to subtly encourage these little racist asides, which will be dropped into the finished product at appropriate moments, your petty prejudice making your ultimate fate appear all the more fitting.

And so after enjoying a fizzy champagne cocktail on the gorgeous patio watching the sun go down and answering Roger's soft interview questions, it's time to go upstairs and change. You are oblivious to the fact that you are still being recording as you strip out of your travel clothes, enjoy a nice hot shower and spend nearly an hour wearing only thong panties as Janeeta does your make-up and hair (up), which will provide plenty of footage over which they can dub some of the highlights of the patio interview: describing your strict christian upbringing in a "whitebread" little town and your limited sexual experience ("I kissed a boy on the church choir once, but we broke up when he wanted a blowjob!"), and your preference for "tall, dark and handsome."

"Taller than you shouldn't be hard to manage," Roger observed. "What does dark mean?"

"Darker than me!" you laugh, flashy a toothy grin and you gesture at your honey-blonde hair. "You know, dark hair, dark eyes, I guess..." you laugh, trailing off.

"Darker skin?" Roger suggests, and you laugh some more, more nervously this time.

"Maybe!" you allow, your blue eyes wide and your teeth gritted in a could-you-imagine expression. "Obviously there's a limit..." you mumble through a **** smile, your eyes locked on something far in the distance as you bite your lip, apparently contemplating a taboo.

The cameramen are back to record your journey down the central staircase once you've finished getting ready and put on the beautiful strapless dress, a much sexier variation on an old-school debutante gown that ends half way to the knee and manages to show quite a bit of cleavage. Roger offers you a chaste hug and leads you out the front door to meet your arriving suitors...

You stand there trying to hide your nerves behind a wide smile, finally folding your fidgeting hands while you look expectantly for cars coming down the road. But when the first man arrives, it's seemingly from nowhere, as a handsome black man wearing glasses and a polo shirt walks up the front stairs and greets you. "Hi, I'm Muhammad," he says, leaning in to hug you.

"Oh! Um, hi...?" you sputter in surprise, managing a half-hearted hug as you look the handsome stranger up and down. "Like a Muslim?" you whisper to Roger in disbelief as you watch him disappear through the front door, biting your lower lip nervously again. By the time you turn around another black man has already appeared, this one more of a sturdy bodybuilder type wearing a vest and sweatpants. "Oh god..." you remark as he also steps in to hug you tightly. "Another servant?" you venture hopefully, but Roger only smiles as a third black man materializes, a thin dreadlocked man with a gold tooth and baggy sports jersey.

"Shit, I ain't seen a white girl since I got outta prison," he tells you as he leans in for a hug, putting his hands on your butt and giving a little squeeze. "It's gonna be fun, blondie," he says as you look up at him in shock. It soon becomes clear that these are the contestants, and everyone of them is casually dressed and of African ancestry (including a few apparently recent immigrants with thick accents or even poor English skills). You try to think of how to protest this fact without appearing racist, all the while trying to discourage some overly friendly bodily contact and more than a couple attempted kisses. By the time you've personally greeted every one of them, your smile has largely crumbled and there are tears of disappointment in your eyes as they hoot and call to you from inside the house.

"This isn't like the Bachelorette I've seen," you manage to say, your voice cracking slightly.

"IR Bachelorette, like the contract said," Roger reminds you quietly but firmly. "Interracial. As in one white girl dating a house full of black guys."

You take a big nervous breath. "My daddy is not going to like the sound of that," you predict, shaking your head, but remembering the contract already signed. "I've never even met a black man before; how am I going to date all those guys?"

"You'll be fine if you just be nice, do as they say and keep them happy," Roger assures her, putting her arm around her and leading her inside to the waiting gang...