Now as for me, I want – no that isn’t right – I – NEED - to write a blurb here that has NOTHING to do with the story that follows. I – COULD – blather on for the next seven to eight hundred words and that would be consistent with my past works. Maggie on the other hand might be freaked out to the max by having her name attached to such drivel. I will apologize to Elrod again for not getting permission ahead of time to use his story concept. But Maggie is keeping me honest this time (and I’ve gone back to edit PB&J too) by offering homage in the title.

Oh BTW, If you can tell which of the two protagonists is Maggie’s and which is mine, you win… ABSOLUTELY nothing, except the smug satisfaction of picking correctly. I mean, COME ON – you have a 50-50 chance here.

Okay, my turn. I am working to keep Hope honest here, not only in acknowledging the creator of MAU, but letting all of you know that this story idea was hers and hers alone. Me? I just offered to help and was very pleased when that offer was accepted. If she doesn’t take top billing on this story she should. I’m only playing with the ideas she already had. It is, by the way, lots of fun. I hope that feeling comes through in the story for all of you.

Maggie

So here I sit. The waiting room seems to be decorated in 1950’s discards, WOW this is bad. I’m here for my first interview. I was expecting some high-tech, ultra-modern, glitzy office with tonnes of great looking, well dressed people running around on their various tasks. Definitely NOT, one nerdy looking guy typing away at a keyboard almost too busy, seeming, to even get my name and tell me, not ask mind you, to sit and wait until the interview is to begin.

Oh, sorry, you know nothing about me. Well, my story starts 20 years ago, oh you weren’t interested in my birth? Ok well, I’ll skip foreward about 18 years then. My name is Chad Poole and my parents aren’t rich enough for me to sail through school without having to bust my hump for both scholarships and enough time to work lousy jobs while trying to keep my GPA high enough. I’ve been slugging away at college for two years now, working toward a BSc, with a major in computer science and a minor in mathematics. Yeah, I’m what some people refer to as a bit of a nerd. My acne during high school was the bane of my existence. I couldn’t even get my cousin to go to the prom with me. Ok so maybe it wasn’t ONLY the acne, I sort of did spent a few hours a day playing video games too, funny how few girls GET the whole gaming scene. My only friend in school was Lewis Palmer III. He ALWAYS claims, to anyone who will listen, ‘No real money in the family, just one of those idiotic naming traditions that saved parents figuring out an individual and different name for the poor kid.’ (After hearing it a few dozen times, I can quote him verbatim.) We met in my junior year and had straight A grades classical music and gaming in common. So though we weren’t bosom buddies or anything we got along ok and spent more than a few hours at each other’s places hanging out. He is ‘good people’. We haven’t been as close these last two years because, though we still live in the same town, we are in different colleges and they are across town from each other.

Yeah, so I’m your basic gangly nerd, six feet two inches and 160 pounds. I still like girls, A LOT! They just don’t seem to think much of me, if they think about me at all. At least I don’t wear thick coke-bottle-bottom glasses. My eyesight is 35/20 I see at 35 feet what the ‘average’ person sees at 20 feet. That allows me to girl-watch from a safe distance, far enough away so I can pretend to be daydreaming if anyone takes notice of my staring. It’s not as if I don’t think I deserve a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be here if that were true.

Maybe I should just leave. This getting is stupid. Waiting here has given me time to rethink this whole thing. How could I have been so gullible, but they GUARANTEED that they would provide me with at least three dates with the girl of my dreams – my ideal of womanly perfection. I – KNOW – that is impossible, so why did I fall for that schtick. I should have known better than to call the number in the ad on that tear-sheet posted to the campus want-ad-kiosk. I mean – REALLY – when does ANYONE fall for those ads. Ok, ok, ok, so I’m not some Casanova, the last date I had was with a girl from the nerd-squad who didn’t want to go to the junior high school prom alone and SHE asked me. I wasn’t planning to go but mom said it ‘wasn’t done’ to turn down a girl who needed a date. Mom’s always been a little old fashioned that way.

But this “Dream Lover Inc.” was starting to T me off, THEY set the time for this interview. I DO have things to do, There’s that coding project to get out and Pizza Hut will be expecting me in --- one hour and thirty seven minutes. Not to eat, though I do get the occasional ‘mistake’ to share with the cooks and the rest of the drivers. Oh yeah, that’s right, I deliver pizzas to help make ends meet. Besides, it’s not a BAD place to girl-watch between rides.

Hey, I was getting a pretty good rant going in my head… To have it, not at all rudely, as a matter of fact, EROTICALLY interrupted by one of the most beautiful women I’d seen in a long time -- all right, make that ever. Long brunette hair, perfect oval of a face holding delicate but not weak features, a body with everything in places a girl should have them and in quantities that most only dreamed of. The train wreck, caused by my derailed rant, was completely ignored as I tried to take in the sight of this vision of womanly perfection without seeming to stare.

“John Smith?” She gave me a smile that would melt a glacier and lifted one eyebrow at the name. Okay, okay, so I was using an alias, sue me. “We’re ready to interview you at this time. Would you please follow me?” Wow! I’d follow her right into a hot tub if they had one here. THIS is more like it.

“Mr. Smith, we’re here to find out if you will fit our criteria for a spot in our field trials of our latest product.” Said the average looking guy with beard, sitting center of three interviewers. “Firstly let’s clear one thing up, shall we? Your name isn’t really John Smith, is it? I ask because you are the third ‘John Smith’ we have interviewed today.”

“Chad, Chad Poole.” Doing my best Pierce Brosnan impression. I get that it doesn’t have the same ‘ring’ as ‘Bond, James Bond’, but I have to work with the material I have. I mean Brosnan was THEEE Bond – the old guys were WAY too hokey and the new guy was just a ‘wanna be’.

“I should introduce myself, I’m Brandon Fellows and this,” the brunette, “is Charlie Gordon.” Hmm, no introduction to the nerd, I wonder why not.

“Ok Chad, why should we choose you for our pilot project?” Asked Charlie, the hot brunette, who was sitting on my right. “Who are you, that we should expend resources to provide you with your ideal mate?”

I almost broke down crying at this. No, I DIDN’T believe they would … aww crap I HAD gotten my hopes up. I couldn’t NOT get them up. I thought, there was no lower I could fall and here I was being shown that there was a bottom I hadn’t hit yet. Wasn’t it hard enough getting my courage up to show up here?

“I – I – I, well, I’m a hard worker and – and - and a good student. I know I don’t have much just now but I’m acing my courses at the U so my prospects are REALLY good. I’m keeping a consistent 4.0 GPA. I could provide proof of that if you need it. On the other hand, I sort of don’t do that well with chicks .”

“What was that?” Crap, the nerd from the keyboard in reception.

“I said, I don’t do well with chicks.”

Well at least they didn’t laugh, though there was some scribbling on note-pads going on.

“Chad, that isn’t a problem here. Your difficulties in the ‘romance department’ is our whole purpose here and your offer to provide proof of academic achievement is enough for now. We are more concerned with how you will accept that the person we match you up with will also have an ideal dream lover. Would you be willing to go through some alterations to more closely match your lover’s ideal?”

“Hey are you saying that you’d do plastic surgery on me to make me look better? ‘cause I’m not into pain. Or, are you offering to buy me a new wardrobe? ‘cause I sure can’t afford that. I barely have enough, the day before payday, to grab lunch at the cafeteria at school.”

“No Chad,” said Mr. Brandon Beard. “if you are accepted, any alterations would be completely covered by Dream Lovers Inc. We are simply trying to ascertain if you would be amenable to such changes.”

“Oh, okay, sure I can handle looking good to the person you hook me up with. My only problem would be what happens if it doesn’t work out between us? Would I be changed back or would I stay looking like one girl’s fantasy?”

“If you are chosen the chances of it ‘not working out’ are slim to none.” Brandon with the beard said with a quick glance at his watch. “I’m sorry to rush you, but we have two more interviews today and then we will decide on our candidates for the program. We plan to make out decision and call the successful clients tonight. Is that acceptable to you?” Nod “Fine, Walter here,” The nerd from the keyboard, “will take your contact information at the front desk.”

And with that the ‘interview’ was over. I guess they weren’t interested. They sure didn’t ask a lot. Oh well, it was a shot in the dark anyway. At least I have time enough to get to Pizza Hut.

“Well what do you think? Is Chad perfect or what.” Brandon was clearly excited. This was the first candidate (out of three) that he had taken to, right off.

“We have two more to see. Next there’s Jack Jones, a big change from all the John Smiths we’ve seen and lastly we have Lewis Palmer ‘The Third’. Either this last one has ONE amazing imagination for aliases or he actually gave us his real name. I’m leaning toward the former.” Charles’ humour wasn’t quite as high quality as the lovely body he wore for the previous interview. “Though I do agree with you that Chad is a good possibility.”

“I wish we could just skip ‘Jack’. I took the phone call from him, he’s a ‘player’.” Said Brandy as she strutted out of the ‘booth’. “I don’t know how you and Walter can enjoy being in these female bodies so much. All this jiggly movement is WAY too creepy for me.”

“Come on Brandy, You promised to try it out for a while too. If this next guy is as unlikely to be chosen as you think, this is likely the last time you’ll have to try it.” Pleaded Charles. “I have a good feeling about the last guy despite the weird alias, if that is what it is. He sounded very nice when I took his call. Getting some experience with the feminine will help us all deal with any problems we may have with the boys after they aren’t boys anymore.”

“Ok, I’m doing it, Ok? Speaking of candidates, did you notice how hard Chad took your question to him. The boy was very close to tears. You should learn to be more sensitive to your client if you plan to be a psychologist. I think THAT earns him a spot regardless of everything else.” Brandy was quite adamant. “I hope no-one at school ever finds out what we are doing here, we’d be thrown out of our master’s programs without benefit of a review panel even.”

“Not everything we learn is learned in academia. The experiences we are gaining here will be INVALUABLE in MY Psycho-therapy career anyway.” Charles intoned, as he puffed on his Meerschaum, an affectation that had always struck Brandy as hilarious given his liking for the ‘Charlie’ body he wore so well. “And, Yes, I agree that Chad is likely to be one of the best choices.”

“Ok, where is Walter, I mean Wanda, with ‘Jack’? I want to get him out of the way so we can concentrate more on ‘Lewis’. Are you being Charlie again for the final interview?”

What was I thinking?! I mean, come on. I saw the ad on a university bulletin board and the thing actually had tear off strips with the phone number on them. And of course, I bit on the bait. Sheesh!

Dream Lover Inc. How lame can it get? What kind of idiot would fall for that? Well – umm, me, much as I hate to admit it. I tore off one of the strips with the phone number and tried not to look like I was hurrying to get back to my little apartment so I could call it.

Oh. Me? Why would a normal male in college, a place full to overflowing with girls, take a chance on something like this?

Because I’m a geek, nerd, dweeb, whatever you want to call it. Girls don’t even look at me when they’re desperate.

I don’t think I’m that bad, really. Five foot ten inches, sandy blond hair and I like to think I have a nice face. At least I don’t have nose like Bozo the Clown’s, or the Mummy on a bad day. Okay, I’m a little hefty. I weigh in at one-hundred-seventy-five pounds so I am carrying around a little extra weight. I’ve been meaning to start exercising, but something more important always comes up. Like that calc assignment that isn’t due for two weeks, or that simple graphics program I don’t need until the end of the semester, or… Well, I guess you get the idea. Chunky as I am, I hate exercise with a passion. Even doing a simple sit up brings back really bad memories of high school physical education and the taunting I got at the hands of not only the jocks, but from the un-athletic guys.

All right, my clothes often look like I’ve slept in them. So what? I probably have. At least I keep them clean. Is it my fault that I can’t figure out the intricacies of using an iron or bother to actually fold my clothes after they come out of the dryer at the Laundromat?

Hey! I’m in college! University! Majoring in comp/sci with a minor in graphic arts. After spending so much time playing and enjoying computer games, I want to get into the action by working on new ones, or eventually designing one. Studying for getting there doesn’t leave a lot of time for worrying about how your clothes look, you know?

Anyway, I called that number, got the address of the place and made an appointment. I mean really, the idea of getting my very own dream lover – a real girl who would find me irresistible, was hard to ignore. So I went.

Only to find a front office that looked to be furnished in worn, and bad, Fifties style. The stuff in this office looked like it had seen better days back in the Fifties.

I walked in to see a tatty couch, with blonde wood legs, a pair of armchairs that seemed to be waiting for someone to sit in so they could devour the unfortunate who had succumbed to their blandishments of comfort, and a scratched, dented metal desk where a really hot girl worked at computer terminal.

I told her my name, trying to hold my libido in check and she waved to one of the dangerous looking chairs. “Hi, I’m Wanda, welcome to Dream Lovers. Have a seat, they’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

There were some fashion magazines and such on a coffee table, of questionable stability, in front of the couch that I gingerly sat on, but the magazines were antiques whose age rivaled the décor. Besides, the receptionist made the old magazines’ cover girls pale by comparison.

I was about desperate enough to dive into one of ancient National Geographics to avoid staring at the receptionist when my indecision was obliterated by the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen nearly floating into the reception room, she moved so smoothly.

I thought I’d died and been sent to Heaven by mistake as I watched this vision of feminine beauty stop beside the battered desk and give me a smile that had me willing to follow her anywhere at all, just so I could keep watching her.

“Lewis Palmer III?” She questioned and her simply saying the name, I’d grown up hating, sounded like music of the soul.

Frantically working to shove my erection down so it wouldn’t show, I managed to nod in agreement to that so gorgeous brunette while wishing I could just run my hands through her thick, shiny hair. “Yes.”

Perfect features shaped themselves into a welcoming smile as she slightly turned her head towards the door she’d emerged from. “We’re ready for you.”

They weren’t the only ones who were ready. But I ruthlessly quelled that while carefully keeping my hands in my pockets to push that embarrassing hard on out of sight. I managed to breathe out. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Follow me, please.” She purred, and I had to really push down the desire to tell her I’d follow her into Hell if she wanted.

“Right behind you.” I answered, while focusing on that glorious butt she turned to me while leading the way without seeming the least bit disturbed by what I was watching even though she knew.

Man! The only way this could have been better was if she had been Asian. Okay, I admit it. I love Anime and bad Kung Fu movies. The chicks in those are to absolutely ‘to die for’ in my opinion. Now you start to understand why I want to get into designing video games. Smirk.

“Lewis Palmer III.” A guy with a scraggly beard, sitting behind a desk that was marginally in better shape than the one in the front office, said, once I’d followed the goddess into the sanctum. He smirked. “Is that name for real or do you just have a great imagination?”

“My parents’ idea of an easy out for naming their first born son.” I grumbled loudly enough to be heard then added quickly. “No, I’m not rich, and neither is my family. Can I help it if Mom and Dad were lazy about naming me?

“We all have our problems, the bearded guy shrugged with a grin. “Truthfully we don’t care about that, only about why you think you’d be a good candidate for our program. Can you tell us why you think you’d be a viable choice for being matched up with your Perfect Lover?”

“Well.” I hesitated then just told him. “I’m very smart, and am carrying a 4.0 average in comp/sci and graphic design. I want to get into designing computer games, so once I get an in there, my income will be something that Arabian sheiks will envy.

“So,” I added quietly, “I don’t do well with most women. They can’t look past the surface, you know?”

Taking in my rumpled clothing and uncombed hair, beard nodded sagely. “Inner beauty is often overwhelmed by outward appearance. But again, why do feel we should help you find your dream lover?”

“Because the right girl will see that I’m sensitive, loving, and strong enough to resist others moving in on her to break us up. I’d support her, love her, and she’d never find a better man.” I actually blushed after saying that, but steeled myself to defend the assertion and implication that I would treasure that woman and make her feel like a real princess.

“Good enough.” Beard nodded. “Now, this thing is a two way street. To get your dream lover you’ll need to allow her to dictate some changes in you, to fit her own dreams. Is that a problem?”

“You aren’t talking about surgery, or anything else traumatic?” I questioned.

“Oh, no, Lewis.” Beard chuckled. “Our techniques are experimental, but completely safe and non-invasive. No surgery will be involved at all. Plus, Dream Lover Inc. will absorb all costs involved in getting you to match you dream lover’s dream. As for traumatic…”

He gestured and the goddess who had escorted me in gracefully flowed from her seat and moved to stand beside him. “Charlie here has gone through the process three times with no ill effects.”

Charlie. My goddess had a name. I looked at her, and over the abundant feminine charms she displayed by just standing there and asked. “What did you have done – umm – uh, Charlie?

“Just a few little improvements.” She purred while favoring me with a smile that threatened to embarrass me all over again. “Nothing horrible, and I’m fine. Really.”

“Yes you are.” I answered before I could stop myself. “Fine, I mean.”

“Why thank you, Lewis.” She moved up to me, taking my head in her slender, soft hands and kissed me softly on the lips before pulling back. “Am I your dream lover?”

“Oh, you could be.” I gasped as her lush lips withdrew from mine. “If you were Asian, I’d be your slave forever, but you are nothing short of gorgeous as you are now.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, dear.” She answered with a wink.

I lost my mind. That’s the only explanation for what happened next. I reached out, pulled her to me, and planted a long, sloppy kiss on her lips. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Ohhh, passionate!” She laughed while running a hand through my hair. “We’ll add that to your profile, love.”

Catching my breath, I managed to nod. I’d just actually, really, without doubt, kissed the most incredibly beautiful woman I’d ever seen and she hadn’t responded with a painful slap or derision. “Now what?”

“We go over your application, and the impressions we got from the interview,” Beard told me. “Then we’ll get back to you.”

“Okay.” Was all I could say since most of my attention was fixed on Charlie, my so beautiful Goddess.

I left the place in a daze. The most incredibly, perfect (except for not being Asian) woman I had ever seen had gotten intimate with me and I had the chance to find a lover, a girl who would love me for me, just like her. Or maybe it would be her! I floated out of the inner office and through the outer one with a distracted nod to the nerd at the desk. ‘Hmmm, what happened to the babe who was there earlier?’

The drive home was something. I’m lucky I didn’t have a wreck.”

“I can’t believe I let that jerk kiss me!” Charlie grumbled, managing to look outraged at the thought. “I hope that was enough ‘sensitivity to my client’ to suit you Brandon.”

“Didn’t look like you were too upset about it.” He responded with a smirk that was echoed by the Walter who had been at the front desk.

“Oh shut up, Brandon. I gotta get back to my normal self.” Charlie grumbled.

“Not until we pull our pigeons in.” Beard answered. “You’re the draw that pulls them in, after all, and you’ll need to be here – as you are, when they come back.”

“I kind of like this.” Wanda grinned as she sauntered out of the ‘booth’ while stretching and showing off her ample assets.

“Give it awhile.” Charlie grumbled. “You’ll change your mind after being ogled by every damned geek and every other guy who sees you.”

“The attention is nice.” Wanda countered.

“Coming from a guy who no one of the opposite sex would deign to admit existed.” Charlie shot back. “But if it weren’t for the ogling! … I kind of like the softness and sexy clothes…”

“Girls! Girls!” Brandon interrupted. “We know the process works, even to former guys getting catty about things. Drop that and concentrate on what we’re doing here. Which candidates do we want to use?”

“Lewis!” Both girls answered in near unison.

“Okay, we’ll call that one unanimous.” Brandon answered while stroking his wispy beard. “So who is number two?”

“Chad!” Both chorused.

“Okay then.” Brandon nodded. “We have our subjects. Now we get them here and have some fun.”

“I have all the legalese mumbo-jumbo typed up to confuse the boys but still give us ‘carte blanc’ to alter them as much as needed.” Stated Wanda, who was taking a number of pre-law courses along with her, well his, psych load.

“And I will be prepared with the digital voice recorder to get as much detail as I can about each of their dream girls as the three of us can talk out of them. I suspect both Wanda and I will provide ample stimuli to their imaginations. Are you staying a blonde for the session Wanda?”

“Yeah, I kind of like it and you already have Lewis smitten with your brunette locks.”

“Ok, let me sum up then. We all have advisers and coursework to get to during the rest of this week so we need to move on this tonight if at all possible. I have some time tomorrow afternoon if that works for either of you, I’m off at two.” Said Brandon, the unofficial and self-appointed leader of this band of half-trained psychological experimenters.

Wanda, after checking her PDA said she was busy until four. But Brandy said she could make it for two as well.

“Then I’ll make the first call to Chad and Charlie since you made such an impression on Lewis why don’t you go ahead and call him in.” Brandon said while punching numbers into his cell.