A Better Life

"Shit." I reached for a paper towel as the coffee welled on my light blue shirt. Great.

It had already been a dreary Wednesday before this minor disaster, and just before I was due to present in a meeting.

I hurriedly dabbed at the stain as I rushed into the meeting room, taking a seat at the far corner, hoping not to be noticed, at least not until this stain dried a little.

Only a few moments passed before the voice at the head of the table said the dreaded line:

"And here's Jack Michaels to explain how our engineers will support the launch of this new product."

Fuck. I walked up there, stain and all, and stumbled through a presentation. After what felt like a hour passed, I left the meeting to the averted glances and awkward silence of a disappointed room.

To say my career was stalling was an understatement. I felt at a dead end, my Engineering degree from Stanford being ill-applied at this small firm. I knew I had what it takes, I just lack....confidence. Presence. Social skills. But when you're like me, and you have completely nondescript looks and personality, it's easy to feel like an NPC in someone else's world.

Five o'clock came and I made my daily walk to the train station and caught the above ground home to my studio apartment a little ways outside of downtown. My job paid fairly well, but that didn't get you much in the city. Not on one income. I slinked into my studio apartment, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, and collapsed in depression onto the couch.

It was then I remembered I hadn't paid the electric bill. Opening my laptop, I navigated to the page to do so. The banner ad at the top struck me in a way no ad ever had before.

"Live a Better Life" said big, bright letters across a blue sky. Under that sky was a family of four: gorgeous, beaming wife, playful husband, and a beautiful son and daughter enjoying time together. Exactly the sort of thing I lacked. On a whim, I clicked the ad. It took me to a website for something called the Social Balance Institute, or SBI.

I rapidly scanned the text on the screen. My engineer brain liked to get to the point.

"....these incels find attracting and keeping a partner to be so much effort they simply stop trying. The detriment to society is a generational erosion in STEM skills...."

Well, I wouldn't call myself an incel, but it's been almost two years. And I would like to pass on my genes, STEM skills and all.

I browsed further down the page.

".... medical study lasting approximately one year in its first phase, beginning with oral medication and a surgical procedure at eight weeks..."

I considered the idea in my mind. "What is this, hair implants or something?" I laughed at the idea of a male vitality scheme being this serious. I continued to skim as I got close to the bottom.

"....guaranteed result of a family and end to loneliness..."

Well, shit. That's kind of exactly what I'm looking for. Below that little nugget of a promise was a contact form. I sipped my beer and filled it out before closing my laptop.

Less than half an hour later, I was startled by my phone ringing. I rarely ever got calls outside of work, especially at night. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the caller ID said "SBI".

"H-hello?" I stammered out a nervous answer.

"This call is for Johnathan Michaels"

"Speaking"

"Mr. Michaels, this is Marcia Goodson at the Social Balance Institute responding to your inquiry. The study begins tomorrow and you have been identified as a potential candidate. We just need to confirm your interest." The cold, clinical tone of the voice on the other end put me at ease and on edge at the same time.

"I...well, I don't even know what this study is or what is going to happen to me." I said with a slight tone of frustration.

"Mr. Michaels, this study is to give you the life you wanted. This is potentially earth-altering medicine at work here, and you could make society permanently better while also making your own life vastly better. This is a tremendous opportunity."

"I...when you put it that way." I was definitely picturing myself in the photo in the banner ad now, sauntering through a park with my beautiful family.

"Wonderful, Mr. Michaels, we will be expecting you at 738 W. 7th Street at 7am." With that, Marcia hung up.

I put the information in my calendar, set an alarm, and finished my beer.

I woke up before dawn and put in a sick day. After all, I was technically going to a medical appointment. I walked to the train station and caught the 6:30 train downtown. Six stations later and I was at 7th Street. I walked west.

The SBI building sheared out of the ground with jagged edges, the windows making it gleam like a crystal blue dagger against the sky. It was as impressive as it was intimidating and oddly welcoming. I walked in to find a reception desk.

"Hi, I'm Jack Michaels, I have a 7am appointment."

The receptionist was a stunning blonde who appeared no more than 20 years old. Her business suit failed to fully contain a staggering bust. Needless to say, I was distracted when she led my "incel" self back to a waiting area. As the hollow flicks of heels signaled her walk back to the front, I caught a long look at her shapely, inviting ass.

I waited no longer than five minutes before an equally attractive redhead called me back to an examination room. She introduced herself as Clara, one of the nurses here, and she instructed me to strip down and put on a gown. The usual affair.

Once changed, Clara returned and took my vitals.

"Blood pressure is good, BMI is...fine. Let's take a look at your throat." She grabbed a flashlight as her upturned nose considered the forms she had been filling out. Bent slightly over the desk, her ass was as splendid as the receptionist's, and her ample, freckled bosom stirred an erection I desperately tried to hide.

Clara took a look down my throat and in my eyes, examining me in a way that felt like a prize horse. When she was done, she flashed a million dollar smile and exclaimed "Good news! Everything looks great! Let's get you in the waiting room for the next step."

I changed back into my clothes and was shuffled back out to the waiting room, taking a last long look at the buxom redhead as she disappeared back behind the door. No more than a minute later, a different door swung open, and I once again heard the click clack of high heels.

The third woman I encountered was perhaps the most beautiful of all, and of course, she was brunette. Her black hair glimmered in the fluorescent light, matching her sharp business suit. Her legs were unbelievably long, her body unrealistically tight, save for a protruding backside and heaving bust. A trend, I noticed.

"Mr. Michaels, Kimberly Hutson, legal counsel for Social Balance Institute."

Before I could answer, she continued.

"I have the release forms for you to sign to become an official part of the study. If you have any questions, please let me know."

The pale goddess before me dropped no fewer than 50 pages on my lap before handing me a pen and sitting directly across from me. No pressure.

I eyed the forms. Great, typical, wordy legal bullshit. The type of verbose red tape that gets in the way of my work. I skimmed the first page.

"Medical study" "life improvement" "liability" blah blah blah. I glanced up from the page. Kimberly was leaning towards me, attentively watching me read. I saw the hint of a lace bra peeking out of her top. Hot pink. I felt myself getting hard.

I looked over her shoulder at a full length mirror, taking myself in. The pale skin, the thinning brown hair, the glasses. Nothing stood out. Nothing. I gave a resigned sigh. I knew I needed this. Like they had said earlier, this is an opportunity. Maybe I'll even end up with a woman like Kimberly.

I rushed through the pages, and initial here, a signature there, filling in each line as the busty babe across from me offered a warm smile. Upon completion, I handed them over. Kimberly rapidly scanned the pages, checking my work and signing where needed.

"Great, thank you Mr. Michaels. Just wait right here, and we'll get you started shortly."

Kimberly sauntered off and I saw the best ass I've ever seen struggling against the business skirt the young attorney was wearing. I couldn't help but stare.

After a brief wait, Clara returned, but from a different door.

"Congratulations, sweetie!" The buxom redhead breathlessly giggled. "Come back this way!"

I was led to a different exam room where I was instructed to sit in a chair. A few moments later, an older woman appeared in a doctor's white lab coat.

"Mr. Michaels, it's nice to make your acquaintance in person. I am Dr. Marcia Goodson, head of research for SBI"

I was taking in the striking beauty of this woman who appeared no less than 45 years old, yet had smooth skin, a tight body, and piercing blue eyes when I realized the name was familiar.

"Typically the doctors don't schedule the appointments, do they?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Dr. Goodson laughed. "I was working late and saw your form come across my desk. You were a most suitable candidate."

I considered the news before replying "Thank you for taking me. How many others will be in the study?"

"Oh. Just you.," she replied before gauging my response. "it's a very intensive, expensive study and our funding and labor hours can only cover one subject. But once we prove we can give you a better life, I expect the government to become highly involved."

Her answer was intimidating, but at the same time, it felt promising to be chosen for such a unique study, whatever it was.

"Now, Mr. Michaels. Some ground rules." Dr. Goodson produced eight pill bottles.

"This is our proprietary formula. Your dosage for the first eight weeks will be two a day. Once in the morning, once at night. No need to have a meal. During the first eight weeks, live your life as you do now. Go to work, do whatever else you do. Consider this the observation period, if you will. But just a couple things that weren't covered in your packet:"

I got a slight tinge of nervousness realizing I really hadn't read the packet at all.

"One, no smoking and avoid heavy drinking. Two, no haircuts during the observation phase. It could interfere with the result."

Seemed easy enough. As I've gotten closer to my thirties, my hair has grown very slowly, anyway.

"Any further questions for me?"

I shook my head and was handed the box of pill bottles. I walked back through reception, catching a glimpse of the gorgeous blonde one last time on my way out (the peek of her bra appeared to be purple). I walked to the train station and boarded the next train back home.

I walked in the door, opened a beer and sat on the couch, putting on some porn for relief after seeing those incredible babes at SBI. I watched for only a few minutes before curiosity got the better of me and I pulled one of the amber pill bottles out of the box.

The label had my last name only, odd. But, at the same time, I was the only patient. It had the usual details: Dr. Goodson's name, the date, an address for the SBI pharmacy. Where the medicine name would typically be, it only said "TEST".

I opened the bottle and the pills were HUGE. At first, I was a little nervous I'd even get them down. They were also a vibrant pink. Think "Barbie", and that's what these looked like.

Throwing caution to the wind, I took the first pill in my hand and considered it before popping it in my mouth and washing it down with my beer. Turning my attention back to the porn flick, the moans of the gorgeous brunette getting railed doggy style filled the room. She looked a bit like Kimberly to me.

I wanted someone like that. I leaned back in the couch, hoping this was the start of that journey.