Choice of Subjects: The Barter System Series Read online

  Best,

  Riya

  Within hours, every prospective real world Subject added her on Skype and opened chat conversations with her.

  By the end of the first full day interacting with them in a faster environment, she knew her choice was going to be even harder than she expected.

  She genuinely liked them. All of them.

  Prospective Subject: Bobby

  The photo of Bobby didn’t really match what Riya imagined in her mind. His survey answers and his essay spoke of a young man from an average family in an average town who had bigger dreams than those of the people he knew.

  She stared at the photo of a pretty brunette with lovely brown eyes and an almost ethereal way about him.

  The age of the photo wasn’t apparent but it appeared to be some sort of college getaway or camping trip.

  Opening his file, she flipped to the back and read his essay again. It was a task she never tired of doing with any of the men in her final twelve.

  ESSAY

  Subject Name: Bobby

  Subject Age: 27

  Subject Career: Musician

  Marital Status: Single

  Children (Y/N): N

  Annual Income: No clue

  Location: Boston, MA

  Before everything else, I’m a musician.

  I love music the way most men love women. To complete distraction, often to my own destruction, and without any sort of brake system in place.

  I’ve been in love with music since I was a child. Some of my first memories are of the piano. Later, they included the guitar and the drums.

  The burning need to play, to perform, has cost me many relationships throughout my life. It’s caused strain within my family, ended romantic involvements I thought would stand the test of time, and led to the loss of friendships I valued for decades.

  This single-minded pursuit of what I love most has left me without the ability to connect to others. I find myself approaching my third decade of life without a plan.

  I’ve also noticed a sort of creeping loneliness lately. A sense of isolation in a lifestyle that sometimes harbors far too many people touching, talking, wanting.

  It seems clear that I’ve missed something, somewhere along the way, and if I don’t find it soon…I could spend the rest of my life surrounded by thousands of people and more alone than anyone would ever guess.

  The intangible thing I search for is connection. More than followers or fans or temporary lovers. Connection to the world outside my head, outside my industry, without fear of judgment or ulterior motives.

  Music, after all, is a fickle mistress. One who could easily leave me in a single instant. Without so much as a scent or touch left in her wake.

  The man was positively poetic. Going to Skype, she saw he was logged in and decided to make contact.

  Riya: Hello, Bobby? It’s Riya.

  Bobby: Hey there, Riya! I was just thinking about you. Wondering what you’re doing and if you’re truly serious about taking everything into a real world interaction.

  Riya: Very serious.

  Bobby: I thought I’d send you some tracks to listen to. They’re just my own messing around, not on albums or anything.

  Riya: I’d love that.

  Bobby: Don’t worry if you don’t like it. No pressure. When are you thinking about doing all of this?

  Riya: Late summer, early fall. I’ll know my final participants within the next month.

  Bobby: Good to know. This is really ballsy of you. I have to run. My younger brother is being a douchebag on the tour bus. I need to rein him in before one of the other guys tosses him out on the highway.

  Riya: I’ll be in touch.

  Bobby: I’ll send you the tracks. You’re a cool woman. I hope I get to meet you in person but no hard feelings if it doesn’t work out like that.

  They ended the chat and half an hour later, she received three tracks that made her jaw drop. They were some sort of mix between rock and classical that made the hair stand up on her arms.

  Bobby was truly talented.

  Riya printed their chat and added it to his file with a smile. He was interesting and almost her same age. He could end up being an excellent addition to her dissertation.

  He fell into the “bad boy” category she’d created after receiving her initial survey submissions. Closing his file, she smoothed her fingertip over his name.

  Robert Pope. A definite possibility.

  Prospective Subject: Grady

  The next afternoon, following a hectic outing with Tawny that included evading the police…again, Riya got back to work.

  Grady Teutonico was everything she envisioned when she received his answers to the first survey.

  Neat dreads framed a lean and masculine face. His eyes were very dark, his skin the color of dark chocolate. He was a huge man who clearly spent copious amounts of time in physical training for his job as a professional football player for the Green Bay Packers.

  His silly expression in the photo made her grin.

  She knew nothing about football but he certainly seemed big and powerful enough to dominate other players on the field. He sent her a second image of him mid-tackle where he’d lost his helmet.

  He looked positively fierce but she already knew a side to him others probably didn’t and that made her glad.

  Selecting his file from the credenza, she put her chin in her hand to read his essay.

  ESSAY

  Subject Name: Grady

  Subject Age: 39

  Subject Career: Football Player

  Marital Status: Divorced

  Children (Y/N): Y

  Annual Income: 2 million

  Location: Green Bay, WI

  I didn’t do well on essays when I was in school. Sorry about that in advance. They wanted structure and I tend to ramble.

  The questions you ask are interesting.

  I guess the people I grew up with would say I have it all. They look at me now, knowing where I came from, and think, he’s rich and everyone knows his name.

  They think I’m a success. According to Sports Illustrated, I am but in the game of life I’m a failure.

  I got married a few years after being drafted. My wife hated football. After a while, I realized she also hated me. I did what a lot of guys like me did. I achieved success and found myself a pretty white lady who would always be more accepted than I was even if I had a Superbowl ring.

  Six years ago, I finally talked her into kids. She gave me two and those were the happiest days of my life.

  She got angrier. I came back from training camp and she’d destroyed my car. The next time, it was my clothes. Finally, I insisted on therapy.

  She filed for divorce. I fought for the kids and she hated that the judge gave us shared custody.

  Last year, I started dating again. Met a real nice girl from my hometown. When we’d been seeing each other steady for a few months, I introduced her to the kids.

  To say my ex-wife lost her mind is too mild. She burned down the house I gave her in the divorce and the kids almost didn’t get out in time.

  A week later, she killed herself.

  I discovered she’d created a will that left custody of my children to her sister. It shouldn’t have mattered but this time the judge looked at the average woman living in suburbia and decided I wasn’t a good influence. Traveled too much, exposure to temptation, and so on.

  The woman I was seeing decided it was a bad idea to distract me. She broke things off and we haven’t spoken. Right now, I’m sitting in a big house by myself. It isn’t my weekend to have my own children.

  The intangible thing I’m looking for is understanding. All my life, I’ve seen and experienced prejudice and hate. As a black man, I’ve somewhat accepted it.

  I never expected hate in my home. I never expected it in regards to raising my kids. I’m angry and confused.

  Not sure you can help with that but I’m willing to be part of whatever you do.

  Sighi
ng again at the sadness of his story, Riya reached out on Skype and sent him a message. She didn’t expect him to respond but he did so within minutes.

  Riya: Hi, Grady. I’m sure you’re traveling but wanted to open the lines of communication. Hope all is well.

  Grady: Riya! I’m waiting for a flight but saw your message. I’m good. I think it’s really interesting, what you’re doing.

  Riya: Thanks. A little nerve-wracking.

  Grady: I bet. Listen, I want to be involved. I’m not sure I’m the best person for your project though.

  Riya: What do you mean?

  Grady: I was thinking about how kind of vulnerable you are with this and that being seen with someone like me might mess with your entire project. I wouldn’t want that.

  Riya: I don’t really understand. I’m sure it would be fine.

  Grady: You’re not a sports fan, are you? LOL

  Riya: Not really…no! Does it show?

  Grady: Okay, with most careers, people aren’t watching but in some – like mainstream music and professional sports – everyone is watching. You’re more likely to be noticed with someone like me in a high-profile way than you would with a teacher or even a person in theater. You see what I mean?

  Riya: Kind of. I hadn’t considered that.

  Grady: You think about it over the next month. I like this thing you’re doing and I’d hate to mess it up. If you decide I’m not the right fit, know that I get it.

  Riya: Thanks, Grady. I’ll give it some thought.

  Grady: We’re boarding but it was great to talk to you. Hit me up any time.

  They disconnected and Riya printed their exchange for Grady’s file. She replayed it in her mind and frowned.

  She’d been looking at her Subjects clinically. Not a big part of the things important to her fellow millennials, she hadn’t weighed internet and media coverage.

  “Hmm…something to think about seriously,” Riya murmured aloud. “I’d hate to dismiss Grady on an assumption. Maybe I can make it work.”

  Prospective Subject: Hudson

  Riya was exhausted from an entire day spent talking Tawny’s mom down from the ledge when her best friend turned up with stitches along her low back and a shiner unlike anything she’d ever seen in movies.

  In the last couple of years, Tawny accumulated strange injuries and provided bizarre explanations that didn’t make sense when she was questioned.

  The two women argued all day, with Riya serving as referee, and none of them got anywhere.

  Tawny stuck to her story that she sustained the damage from an aerobics training gone horribly wrong. Maggie repeatedly told her daughter in English and Gaelic that she was full of shit.

  Worn out, Riya made it back to her duplex prepared to crash.

  “One quick check of emails and I’ll go right to bed.” She knew it for the lie it was and within minutes of logging on, was wide awake and ready to go.

  She updated her long-running blog and clicked on the Skype icon. Hudson Winters was online. Almost shyly, she opened a chat window.

  Riya: This is Riya. Are you busy?

  Hudson: Always. I make time for a lovely woman. Why aren’t you sleeping?

  Riya: I don’t sleep much.

  Hudson: Nor I. How is the project progressing?

  Riya: I’m finding the selection process incredibly difficult.

  Hudson: Simplify it. Attraction followed by most valuable data.

  Riya: That makes a lot of sense.

  Hudson: Avoid choosing people with similar professions, habits, or locations. You know my lifestyle. Having two such people involved in your research would create an imbalance in your results.

  Riya: I like the way you think, Hudson.

  Hudson: You haven’t met me yet. You haven’t placed yourself in my hands to determine how I really think, Riya. It quite possibly might be too much for you to handle.

  Riya: Somehow, I seriously doubt that. What are you doing now?

  Hudson: A woman is on her way up. I’m going to subdue her with leather restraints and lash the back of her body. I’ll then fuck her until she knows only my name.

  Riya: I have so many questions.

  Hudson: Sleep now, Riya. Consider your list and narrow it accordingly.

  Riya: Thank you, Hudson.

  Hudson: Of course. Goodnight.

  After printing their conversation, she tugged her lower lip between her teeth and picked up his file.

  The man was positively shiver-inducing. Similar to a wolf or a panther. Deadly but you couldn’t help but wish to pet it.

  He made her wonder about things she’d never thought about before and his mind was brilliant.

  ESSAY

  Subject Name: Hudson

  Subject Age: 39

  Subject Career: Real Estate

  Marital Status: Single

  Children (Y/N): N

  Annual Income: $1M plus

  Location: Manhattan

  I’m not a writer.

  I have everything I need.

  I lack for nothing.

  I’m perfectly content.

  However, since I must write something, I will say that since I was a young child, I fought for everything I needed for my family and myself. I learned control. I learned tenacity. I learned discipline.

  I did not learn gentleness.

  I do not understand the nuances of gentle people and their behaviors. I equate the trait to weakness and do not believe I possess it.

  I sometimes – rarely – wonder what it would be like to treat a woman gently, to experience her gentle treatment in return. I do not think I need this in my life, but I admit to curiosity.

  Should I never have an opportunity to witness or feel gentleness that is not associated with weakness, I will not consider my life incomplete.

  I have Domination.

  It is a different breed of gentle. It is outside the boundaries of what most would consider tender, kind, or loving. Most are unable to understand the care, the restraint, and the force of will involved in the full application of control.

  Having the ability to crush a woman’s will, to break her spirit – yet not doing so – while pushing her through pleasure so intense that she is rendered incoherent: that is power.

  Perhaps gentleness is not something I will know. It may not be meant for a man like me.

  In any case, your research interests me. Unlocking the male psyche? A substantial goal. I wish you success. Your brilliant mind is apparent.

  My curiosity is peaked.

  What specific information could I impart? Would you be too different from me? Would you enjoy the darkness?

  Riya knew of the things he talked about but not from personal experience. She’d be lying if she said learning more didn’t intrigue her on a primitive level.

  Hudson Winters was also in the “bad boy” category. From day one, he’d been the leader of that particular pack.

  Prospective Subject: Joshua

  Of all her dozen prospective Subjects, Joshua Andrews was the one who responded at any time of the day or night. He typed fast and peppered every conversation with emojis of all kinds.

  Riya thought he was a riot.

  Flipping through his file, she read the strangely introspective essay he’d sent her and smiled.

  How easy it would be to dismiss him on the surface when underneath was research gold.

  ESSAY

  Subject Name: Joshua

  Subject Age: 22

  Subject Career: College Student

  Marital Status: Single

  Children (Y/N): N

  Annual Income: College student - LOL

  Location: Austin, TX

  I can’t believe you give a shit about what I have to say. I guess the one thing I’m looking for is acceptance.

  That probably sounds like a girl talking or something but I’m fucking tired of feeling like I don’t fit anywhere.

  My dad’s black, my mom’s Vietnamese. No one ever really knows what I am but I’m clea
rly not white so it’s been something of an issue in Texas over the years.

  Anyone who says racism isn’t a thing is either white or lives in a convenient bubble.

  I have a good life. I’ve worked hard to make opportunities for myself and try to follow through and shit. I try not to be an asshat college kid, you know?

  What pisses me off is not being judged as a jock or a young person or even an idiot frat boy but getting weird looks when I’m in stores or getting pulled over more than any of my friends or guys on my team.

  I don’t expect a free ride. I don’t want special treatment. Just to be on the same level as everyone else. Hell, we can’t even get that from Dad and Mom’s families. We don’t really fit on either side.

  They have backup nieces, nephews, and grandkids. We’re totally expendable because we make them uncomfortable.

  It seems I have the potential to make a lot of people uncomfortable from something I can’t control.

  When I look at other people, I don’t think about race. It’s fucked up that they can’t look at me the same way.

  Being a good student, a decent baseball player, and a guy with the consideration to make sure a woman comes first, I don’t want my race to be the deciding factor in any of my life scenarios.

  Kind of weird to go off on this tangent when I almost immediately jerked off when I got your pic but…that’s how my brain works.

  I’d be honored to meet you, be part of your research, and give you orgasms. I really hope orgasms are part of the deal. Damn.

  From the beginning, Riya found herself fascinated by a young man who was so different than how she’d ever been. Joshua was like the male version of Tawny in a lot of ways.

  Through all her years of school, she’d never been able to let go and enjoy much of it. She wondered if someone like him could help her overcome some of the stodgy and boring experiences.

  Inhaling carefully, she opened Skype and sent him a message.

  Riya: Are you still up, Joshua?

  Joshua: Absolutely. Just finished studying for my final after a brutal practice earlier.

  Riya: Do you want to get some sleep?

  Joshua: Hell no! Let’s make things interesting.