Sonia had signed up for the experimental drug test a week ago. Enough time for her fantasies to go up the ceiling, round the corner, into the stratosphere, and fall back down to earth. How many people died yearly from experimental drug testing? She didn't want to know. She didn't want to give her mind more ammunition. As long as she wasn't going to lose all her teeth or wake up the next day with cockroach appendages, she was fine. Hell, she'd help Big Sam conduct radioactive tests if the pay was good.
And besides, the doctor who'd presented her with the form the previous week hadn't sounded sinister. A slender Irishman, he'd said, "It's an experimental drug. Basically an aphrodisiac with more sophistication. They've been tested on many animal subjects and just a few human volunteers. The results have been satisfactory, but not unanimously. Our mission now is to have a level result over the board. To be honest we're only trying to convince some higher-ups." He'd said this last part with a shrug and a wry grin.
"What are the effects?" she'd asked. But already she was hooked in. Not because of the aphrodisiac thingy (her sex life was okay), but because they were going to pay three hundred bucks.
The doctor had given her a pamphlet. "A lot will depend on you. You will experience elevated levels of sexual arousal. The brain has a region--the hypothalamus--which has a pleasure centre that can be stimulated. Now, with this drug, you will experience greater stimulation of your pleasure centre. The first prototype of this drug was produced on a limited basis as a therapeutic aid for women with reduced sexual function as a result of neurological disturbances. However, we have not finished detailing its full effect on normal, healthy people as required. This is where you come in, Sonia. You will be given two doses and we'll catalogue the range of your body's responses over time."
So, Sonia read the pamphlet and signed up some forms and agreements there and then. A week later she was at the clinic at the appointed time, waiting in a white room for a nurse. The nurse came in moments later with a pamphlet and a tray containing two plastic cups. One held water; another held a green pill.
Sonia took the pamphlet; she'd already had five of those. The pill went down easily with a slightly lemony aftertaste. Then she left the clinic with her cheque.
The first few days, Sonia noticed nothing. Well, she did feel more inclined to stay in bed much longer but this could be because of her exhaustive work as a paralegal. But at least things were good. The three hundred bucks had gone a long way.
When she went for the first check-in, the doctor gazed at her charts, stroked his beard, and nodded meaningfully. "So far, so good," he said.
Things weren't so good that night when Sonia got into bed and realised that she hadn't felt a tingle down there in a while. Not even when she climbed into bed and tucked herself in.
Getting into bed was how Sonia had found herself, in a manner of speaking. This was ten years ago when she was still a thin blonde and had just left her sleepy hometown to make it big in a big city. A chance encounter with the side of her pillow one fateful night had sent her into a bone-racking spasm.
Now she rubbed her fluffy pillow against herself and felt nothing.
Nada.
With a dawning sense of horror, she peeled off her clothes and went to the mirror. Inspected her shaven muff. Oddly enough she couldn't even feel her hands down there. It was like her whole crotch had gone numb.
Sonia had an uneasy sleep, taking solace in the words of the doctor. He'd said side effects wouldn't be severe and nor would they last long. As her alarm buzzed her awake, her hands flew straight to her panties, and she discovered, with a joyful exhalation, that her quim was back to normal.
Two days later she went for the second dose. The doctor listened to her account, nodded, and scribbled some things down in his notebook. She was sent on her way with another pamphlet.
That night Sonia scrubbed up real good, did her face, and shimmied into a strapless dress. Drinks with friends at the Barbican. It wasn't a bar for serious drinkers, just casuals. Sonia wasn't one for drinking anyways, but she did like a good fuck now and then. And the Barbican was her haunt, so to speak.
A couple of friends from work were at the bar. There was Cho who dwelled in the office across from her, Louisa the IT woman, and Tanner, the partner's secretary.
Twenty minutes in and Sonia thought it was a dour crowd. Cho was most certainly gay and didn't raise his head from whoever he was texting, Louisa rattled nonstop about one thing or the other, while that stuck-up bitch Tanner twisted her body on the dance floor like a snake.
Sonia zoned out Louisa and carried her drink to the bar. She had another filling of her glass.
"You look like you could use some company."
Sonia didn't reply. She had long decided she'd head home after one last glass. But the man slid onto the stool next to her. A glance in the mirror told her he wasn't too bad. Clean shaven. Good teeth. Probably early thirties, wearing a nicely cut grey suit. His spectacles sat well on his face, the thin lenses catching every light. His watch glittered and looked horribly heavy.
He looked alright, but he wasn't quite Sonia's type.
"I'm Levy by the way. Nathan Levy."
Sonia bit down a snort. He probably thought that sounded cool too.
Nathan chuckled. "I see you're the quiet type. I can live with that." He called for a Heineken and a refill of Sonia's glass.
Nathan settled himself on the stool. "Well, I'm in business. Freight management. Import and export mostly. It's quite hectic if you ask me. I mean it pays well, but it can be backbreaking, you know. Anyways a real bull lands on my desk this morning, you know. A shipment of sesame seeds from some third-world African country. Now this doesn't flash red lights at first glance, but I open the next page of the folder and the shipper has been sanctioned by our own dear U. S. of A. Now the feds say we must not do business with this shipper because he has ties to a maniacal head of state of some country that should by all right be called Loonymalia. I mean, these guys have had seven coup d'état in three years. And you know... "
Sonia raised her glass, the ice danced and sang. Her brain felt like it was been pummelled. The man was still talking. She felt certain he had moved on to another anecdote, but she couldn't replay a word he'd said.
She laid a hand on his thigh. He froze, swallowed.
"Your car," she said.
