"$10/hour for 24 hours to test correlation of nudity and susceptibility to contraction of disease (catching cold). Subjects must be 18 or older and sign fully informed consent."
Ryan had heard of these experiments. Researchers were basically out to prove that cold temperatures had nothing to do with whether you caught a cold or flu. Getting sick had more to do with hand-washing.
Neither was he a stranger to participating in experiments on campus. It was easy money. Psych experiments, clinical trials, he'd done them all. Thanks to the university's teaching hospital, a steady stream of graduate students were always hungry for subjects ... hungry enough to pay.
Two hundred forty sounded like a lot of beer. Ryan signed up with no qualms.
After signing about 400 forms, he was directed to report back the following Monday, first thing in the morning. The matronly clerk explained that, due to the sensitive nature of the experiment, the location was secret. After only mild hesitation, Ryan agreed to be blindfolded and escorted through a series of hallways. There was a short trip on an elevator -- it seemed to be going down, not up -- and he was led through a door where the blindfold was finally removed.
For all the world, the interior looked like a small apartment or dorm room, except a little nicer. All of the furniture was well-padded, and the carpeting was plush.
"Home sweet home for 24 hours," said the clerk. Her MILF looks were tempered with a hint of grey hair; her smile was kind. "Now all you have to do is remove your clothing." She gave Ryan a box to put his things in. Then she pointed out the chicken switch. If anything went wrong, or he panicked, all he had to do was hit the large red button, and the experiment would terminate immediately. Ryan signed one final form, and the door clicked shut.
Once nude, he strolled around the place to check it out. There were no blankets, linens, towels or napkins; there was only toilet paper. The couch cushions were sewn on, and the mattress was one giant pad. Three pillows were sewn in place along the headboard. It seemed every precaution had been taken to ensure the subject could not be covered.
There were no doors, either. From the main room, the kitchen and bedroom circled around to meet one another. Every room had its own thermostat. The bathroom was set up like the kind at the airport, so that he walked around one wall and then another. If one had to be a rat, it was not a bad cage.
Ryan had nothing to do but watch the TV which the researchers had thoughtfully provided. He had just settled in to a re-run of
Ultra Violet
when, unexpectedly, the door opened.
His first instinct was to get dressed, but there was nothing to dress in, so he flopped onto his belly and looked up.
The young woman standing there looked confused. "Oh," she stammered, "I thought I would be the only one here."
He looked her up and down. She was just as naked as he. "Me too," he answered, but the words leaving his mouth had no connection to the contents of his mind.
The lost stranger was not model-perfect, but she was no slouch, either. The natural golden tan of her skin was highlighted with medium-blonde hair, most of which was missing between her thighs. He guessed her breasts to be about a B cup; they weren't large, but firm and nice looking, with dark pink nipples which hardened as he looked.
She saw his glance and blushed. "This isn't going to work out," she said, and turned to go.
Ryan could not tear his eyes from the lovely rear view. "Wait. Maybe this is part of the experiment."
"I find that hard to believe." Her sea-green eyes did not hold amusement.
The door had locked behind her, though, and neither of them could get it open. Worse, the chicken switch failed to produce any response whatsoever.
"What do we do?"
It didn't register in Ryan's lust-clouded mind that she had said
we
