Lilah, 24, a young woman who's done with conventional dating

After the city bus drops me off, I stand for a minute or two, frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the impressive structure. The austere white marble stretches upward five or six stories and dozens of meters to the left and right, the only distinguishing feature being the unassuming door right in front of me.

I've been seeing billboards and Youtube ads about this "Bureau of Sexual Services" for weeks, but hadn't thought much about it--until my latest trainwreck of a Hinge date. All these effete Zoomer boys do nothing but spend their time looksmaxxing for each other and exchanging insipid duck faces. And if I have to hear about Andrew Tate, Jordan Peterson, or Joe Rogan one more time, well, surely I can't be held responsible for whatever murder spree I might go on. I need a man--a real freaking man. Maybe the Bureau can do something about it. At the very worst, I'll have a hilarious story to tell Tracey and Amber later.

Steeling myself, I push through the door and enter a cavernous lobby. It spans the entire width and height of the building, gigantic sunroofs above letting in tons of natural light. The walls and floors are made of tiled marble, making for terrible acoustics. Each click of my heels reverberates like a rim-shot.

The few dozen people standing around feel swallowed by the vastness. A few meters away, a man sits behind a cluttered desk. He looks like he's in his mid-forties, dressed in a casual business suit, reading glasses over his brown eyes. He has a crew cut--ex-military, maybe? If so, he's continued to keep himself in good shape; even hidden under the suit, his biceps and pectorals show their definition.

There are other desks, one every ten or so meters along the length of the lobby--but his is the closest, and he seems to be free. I walk over in my high heels and plop myself down in the chair facing him.

"Hello," he says in a bored voice. "Welcome to your sexual assessment. May I see some ID, please?"

I hand him my driver's license. One of these days, maybe I'll even have a car to go with it. He scans it briefly, then looks up at my face.

"Very good, Ms. Merrywether. I'm Dennis, and I'll be your assessor for today."