Second Chance?

At the start of my tale I was a reasonably happy married man with a wife who was definitely "my type," and a three year old son and seven year old daughter. I had been married to Angela for ten years – we wed the year that we both graduated college. Angela is "my type" because she is big (not fat, just big; five feet eleven inches tall, a size 10, with only 22% body fat – at the lower end of perfect for a healthy woman between 20-40), buxom (36D), and brunette. That has always been "my type" since I was a teenager, and at 18 I was six five, 230 pounds (I've only gained five pounds since then because I work out six days a week, and have only 11% body fat).

Up until about a month before the beginning of this account I would have considered myself "happy," not just "reasonably happy." Maybe it was because for the first time I felt really bested in the basketball league that I still play in because I got burned three games in a row; maybe it was because even though I made scads of money I wasn't fulfilled at work; maybe it was because I went to my university's ten year reunion and it had a strange effect on me, especially a conversation I had with one of my old fraternity brothers named Jeff Frye; maybe it was because my childhood dog had recently died at the age of sixteen; maybe it was because I had started reading erotic science fiction; but probably it was because of all of the above.

I certainly had no legitimate complaints about my family. My kids were fun; both sets of grandparents were helpful but never interfering; and my wife was kind, smart, and understanding, and we still made love an average of twice a week, and fucked rutting like wild animals an average of once every two weeks on "date night" when the kids stayed with one set of grandparents or the other. I had always been faithful to Angela since our fourth date when we were both seniors at a prestigious Midwestern university, and I'm certain that she has been too. We both highly regard fidelity.

It was when I was near the point of malaise, despite what 99% of the world would consider a perfect life (which made me feel guilty), when riding the train into work I came across an advertisement in Discover magazine (a sophisticated science magazine, though one directed to the general public and not necessarily just scientists) that piqued my interest. As best I remember it read something like this:

"Second Chance LLC

Ever have an episode in your life that you'd like to relive in a fantasy world?

At Second Chance we have the sophisticated technology to make it happen in

many situations, typically if not more than fifteen years ago.

Curious? Give us a try. Initial in-person consultation is only $50.

Call xxx-xxx-xxxx, or make an appointment at our website"

The print and staging of the ad, and the designs surrounding it, were pleasant and sophisticated. The area code for the number was local (at least within a fifty mile radius).

At first I thought that this was something like the Male or Breast Enhancement ads in sleazy magazines or spam emails, and turned the page after a quick chuckle. But on the next page was the start of a sophisticated article on black holes, and I turned back to the ad trying to figure out if it could be legit or if not why a sophisticated (and expensive) publication like Discover would accept such tripe.

It got me thinking about any episodes in my life that I would like to try over. There was nothing related to my job, my wife, or family in general that I would like to revise in a fantasy world, and given my views on fidelity completely discounted anything since I was married. Just before my train stop – I probably would have missed it if the guy sitting by the window next to me didn't get up because it was his stop too – I had an epiphany. My conversation with Jeff Frye at the reunion suddenly popped into my head.

I had a busy day at work, but when I worked out at the health club at lunchtime, and then when I rode the train home at night, the Second Chance ad was all that I could think of – was there an episode during college that I wanted a second chance at in a fantasy world?

My overpaid job is sporadic – sometimes I bust my butt, other times things are slow. On a slow morning about a week after my epiphany I called Second Chance. It was a day that I had driven to my satellite office. Second Chance had an opening for a consultation at 4:00 p. m. so I could go home right after it. Their local location was only ten minutes from my satellite office.

Second Chance's office was on the first floor of a fairly new six story suburban building with unusual architecture – it was narrower at the bottom and gradually increased in floor space going to the sixth floor. It wasn't a classic steel and glass edifice, but primarily of an unusual material that I couldn't identify.

____________________

I got a funny feeling when I walked into the Second Chance office since the reception area had posters of the movie "Total Recall" all over the walls and what I assume was a fake "treatment" chair just like in the 1990 version of the movie. In fact I almost turned around and walked out, except that a pleasant well put-together young black woman at the reception desk said "Don't bolt Mr. Dolan. Our décor is just a conversation piece in keeping with Dr. Bronson's sense of humor."

I turned and walked back in. "How did you know that I am Keith Dolan?" I inquired with a smile.

"Because Keith Dolan has a 4 o'clock consultation and it's 3:56, and we don't get many walk-ins," she smiled. "Also I Googled you and you look just like your photo from the Leukemia Fund Raiser last year," this line delivered with a chuckle. "I'm Justine."

"Glad to see that you're thorough, Justine," I chuckled back.

Without picking up a phone or talking into a microphone – at least none that I could see – she said aloud "Mr. Dolan is here Dr. Bronson."

A voice from the ether said "Send him right in, Justine."

"Right through here, Mr. Dolan," Justine said as she rose from an ergonomic "saddle chair" and with a big smile opened a door off to her left, allowing me to observe that her bottom half was as well put together as her top half.

"Thanks, Justine," I said as I walked through the door.

Dr. Bronson rose from his saddle chair and extended his hand. "Right on time, I see, Mr. Dolan; so nice to meet you; I'm Peter Bronson and please call me 'Pete.'"

Peter Bronson looked exactly like what Central Casting would envision a mad scientist would look like – essentially a younger, brown-haired, no moustache, larger, Albert Einstein, only with a polka-dotted bowtie visible above his V-neck sweater.

"Pleased to meet you too, Pete, and please call me 'Keith,'" I replied while shaking his hand.

The first thing that we discussed was the "Total Recall" motif of the outer office.

"The reason I have the reception area decorated like that is because when 90% of people first visit that movie is the back of their brain. I draw it to the front so that we can get their apprehension about being sent to Mars as a secret agent out of their minds. Also, I'm a movie buff and it's an excellent place to display some of my collectibles. Did you notice the gruesome chair that is actually from the 1990 classic, and one poster autographed by both Arnold Schwarzenegger and Rachel Ticotin, the stars of that version, and another poster autographed by Colin Farrell and Kate Beckinsale from the 2012 version?"

"Actually I did," I chortled. "I saw both versions and liked them both, although I guess nothing can beat Arnold's fight with Sharon Stone in the 1990 version."

"One of my favorite scenes too," Pete snickered, "although the scene with the three-titted mutant woman is even better in my book."

We both had a good laugh.

"Anyway, the first thing that I want to do is dispel any thought you might have that what we do here is anything like what is done in Total Recall. While our technology is cutting edge we're not going to erase your memory, strap you to a chair and stick some evil looking electrode on your head, or anything of the kind," Pete said, completing his image by pulling a pipe out from his desk and lighting up.

"So exactly what do you do, Pete; and what's this cutting edge technology you're talking about?" I asked, with folded arms – indicating that he had some convincing to do.

"Our cutting edge technology is in the form of trade secrets, but basically is a couple of harmless chemicals that have no lasting or adverse effects, and a new type of virtual reality that puts you, as best served by your memory combined with the present, in a scene from your past. Our virtual reality does not use goggles like Samsung, Google and Vive – its immersion technology that is provided primarily when you're in a state of suspended animation, like in the space flight in the 1960s classic '2001 A Space Odyssey;' you've seen that movie too, I presume?"

"I sure have," I replied, my arms still crossed. "How realistic is the experience?"

"Unlike present day commercial virtual reality technology, and unlike the holograms in Total Recall, you have the feeling that you are actually in the past. You can feel your body, you sweat, you cramp, you feel body contact, you get hungry – just like it is totally real. The only difference is that there is a mild – for lack of a better word – 'aura' around you that does not exist in the real world."

Pete paused for a few moments, took a puff on his pipe, and continued.

"However, before I can properly relate to you what your experience will be like – or whether we can provide you a fantasy at all – I need to know what you are looking for. Depending upon the nature of your request, and the time that has elapsed, we may not be able to help you. Let me give you the cost parameters before I get the scenario from you because this is where more than half of our consults break away."

"Shoot," I responded.

"First, there is the $50 for this consult, which you already paid to Justine by credit card when you talked with her on the phone. Second, I listen to your scenario and tell you what it will cost to investigate it – likely $500. Third, if it is something that we are capable of doing, we set up your fantasy. This costs around $10,000...," he got out before I interrupted him.

"That much?" I inquired.

"Yes – that's what causes some people to bolt. However, I should advise you that the value we provide is likely $30,000 or more. The extra cost is made up by a Private Foundation that is doing research on using fantasy escape to treat certain types of mental illness. That will all be disclosed to you in a contract that you sign, and you will be required to fill out a complete evaluation form when the fantasy is completed which will be given to the Foundation – absent any specific identifiers. Your name will not be provided just your sex, age within five years, and educational level within two years, and if there is any history of mental illness in your family."

Although still somewhat skeptical, I was intrigued. Not to be haughty but $500 for an investigation was meaningless to me, and if I was convinced that Second Chance could deliver even $10,000 was no sweat. After a long pause I replied "I'm game," as I uncrossed my arms and smiled.

"OK," Pete smiled back. "Give me the basic information."

I sighed since what I was about to tell him was highly personal – he could see my hesitation. "Keith, I am a medical doctor as well as a PhD, and what you tell me now is completely confidential. Here is the standard confidentiality agreement I give all consults." With that he reached into his desk and pulled out a form and signed and dated it. I was already familiar with it because just like Justine looked me up, I had read everything that I could find out on the Internet about Second Chance and Dr. Bronson, including this confidentiality agreement, which was on the Second Chance website.

"OK – here goes," I started out.

"I've always had a 'type' of woman that I have been interested in. Big, buxom, and brunette. When I was a junior in college, and president of my fraternity, just before Homecoming I had just broken up with my girlfriend who fit that profile. I already had tickets for the football game and a Maroon 5 concert, and there were many fraternity activities that I was obligated to host or attend, so I needed a date. The idea of asking someone at my university – with possible expectations of a relationship – did not appeal to me. One of my fraternity brothers, Jeff Frye, had a Hometown Honey who was visiting him at Homecoming and she wanted to bring a friend. Frye knew of my plight and asked if I was interested in a fixup. I had had several bad fixups in the past, but this was a different situation, so I asked what his honey's friend looked like. He showed me a photo of her and his honey from their college yearbook – she was close enough to big and buxom, and definitely brunette, so I said sure, go ahead."

Bronson wasn't actually taking notes, but he was swiping his hand back and forth over what looked like a glorified iPad. It distracted me a little, but I continued.

"Anyway, the friend had to cancel two days ahead of time, but Frye told me that another friend of his Hometown Honey's could substitute. Although she wasn't big, buxom, or brunette he assured me that she was fun. At that point I had no alternative, so I agreed."

I asked for a bottle of water, and again without evidence of a phone or microphone Bronson said "Justine, could you bring Keith a bottle of water," and she had one in my hand within ten seconds. I took a big swig.

"The woman's name was Carol. She was three years older than I was, working as an elementary school teacher in the town, I believe, where Jeff and Jeff's honey – I don't remember her name – were from. While she was cute in a pixie sort of way she was about as far from my type as possible. I'd say that she was five feet tall, 100 pounds soaking wet, had an A- cup, and blond. She did have a very nice personality, although she seemed to be somewhat intimidated by me. One quality that I particularly remember – it's funny how some things stick out – was that she was very energetic. A pet peeve of mine is people who walk slowly and I was afraid that given her short stature that she couldn't keep up with my long legs, but if anything I was trying to keep up with her super-animated little body."

I probably unconsciously smiled at that point, took another swig of water, and continued.

"Anyway, we had a good time over the next two days, especially at the concert. However, our only real physical contact was a couple of hand holds, a couple of hugs, and one kiss just as she was leaving. I'll never forgot the kiss, however. After a hug good-bye she pulled my face down to hers, and with a small tear in her eye she really laid one on me. After she broke it she quickly turned and left without a glance back."

I was chagrined and astonished that not only had I told the story, but that feelings that I never had until recently overwhelmed me.

"And you now look back and see it as a missed amorous opportunity to experience something that was very different for you and might have been worthwhile – correct?" Bronson asked.

I nodded my head.

"How long ago was this?" he inquired.

"Eleven years, give or take a couple of months," was my deadpan reply.

"It's doable, I think. Do you have Carol's full name and the city that she was teaching in?"

"I think that I can get it," I replied.

"OK; here's the plan. You fill out these forms in the waiting room, give Justine your credit card for a $500 charge, and call us as soon as you find out Carol's full name and city. Within two weeks after we receive your call I'll let you know what we can do for you, and how much it will cost."

"Sounds good," I responded, taking the forms from him, shaking his hand, and then going into the outer office. Justine gave me a clip board. It took a good half hour to complete the forms, but I made it home by six o'clock.

That night I called Jeff Frye. I had gotten his number at Homecoming a couple of months before. After some small talk I said "Say, Jeff; remember when you fixed me up with a date for Homecoming when we were juniors?"

"Duh, yeah – we talked about it at Homecoming within the last month or so doufus," he snickered.

"Yeah, we did; well anyway, do you remember the name of the woman you set me up with and what city she taught in?"

"I thought that you were happily married," he chuckled.

"I am! I'm not going to look her up, you clown; it's related to a research project with one of my doctors," I replied.

"Sounds like bullshit," he laughed, "but you're in luck. I checked some old yearbooks when I got back from Homecoming in view of our discussions, since she went to the same High School as I did, just to refresh my recollection. Her name was Carol Simms – I don't know if that's still her name or if she has a married name now – and she taught first grade at Mercer Elementary in Shaker Heights."

We chatted some more, I said my goodbyes, and went to bed pleased with myself. I called Justine with the information the next day.

I was anxious for a few days, but Pete had told me that it would take two weeks, so I cooled it. I got involved with a new project at work, coached my daughter's soccer team, and went to several parties with Angela. Thirteen days after my consultation Pete called me.

"Good news Keith; we believe that we can give you a complete fantasy experience. You need to come into the office for another consult, for some chemicals, to fill out some more forms, for us to talk in detail, and to pay. The cost will be $10,500 – and just so you know, it will cost the Foundation an extra $26,500, so you're getting a great deal."

"When can I come in?" I asked, suddenly getting excited.

"I have an opening at noon tomorrow," he replied.

"OK, I'll skip my normal noon workout, and plan to be gone from work until about two p. m. – that should do it, right?"

"Yes, that should do it," Pete responded.

"OK, see you then," I signed off.

I was suddenly very motivated. By noon the next day any malaise that I had had was now gone.

___________________

There was only one thing bothering me as I drove to Second Chance that Tuesday late morning – was this fantasy experience going to be cheating on Angela? Even if just a fantasy, if it felt as real as Bronson had described, was I cheating? I intended to inquire of Pete about this moral dilemma although how his take would be any better than mine I didn't know.

The second consult at Second Chance was even weirder than the first. Pete showed me the "nutritional supplements" that I needed to start taking two weeks before my experience, gave me a detailed contract that he insisted that I read completely in front of him and initial every page (as did he) and sign it in front of him with Justine notarizing it. One thing that I particularly noted that was in bold print was: "ONLY THIS CONTRACT CONTROLS THE EXPECTATIONS AND RESULTS OF THE CLIENT'S EXPERIENCE AND CANNOT BE MODIFIED ORALLY IN ANY WAY."

Just before I signed the last page and paid I asked Pete my moral dilemma question.

"Before I commit completely, Pete, there's one thing that's bothering me that I need to bring up."

"Shoot," he replied with a grin.

"I...I...wonder if even if this is just a fantasy if it is cheating on Angela if, as I expect, I will be having sex in my fantasy. I've always prized fidelity and can't cheat; it seems that this is more than a casual look at a sexy woman," I got out in almost a single breath.

Pete's face turned serious. "You probably can expect fantasy sex; however, look at it like this. This experience is from before you even dated Angela at a time when you owed her no fidelity. Also, even though this is infinitely more realistic than any dream you have ever had, I'm sure that you have dreamt about sex with other women since marriage. No client that I am aware of has ever not participated because he or she thought that it was really cheating."