As he trudged back to his scooter out on the beach house lawn, Wesley wondered what it was about that Asian girl that had him snagged on her. It wasn't just that she was cute, though he supposed she was that. He tried his best not to objectify women that way, tried to fight the bad impulses that the Patriarchy had drilled into him. But a body was a body, and his responded to stimuli, and the stimuli surrounding that girl told him she was cute.

I didn't know it at the time, but I had met the love of my life, he thought to himself, somewhat jokingly.

It wasn't her modest endowment, either. That was unusual, but it seemed to be a natural gimmick of this place. The hyperpressuration would get to her soon enough. And based on how that bodysuit wrapped around her figure, she'd be fitting right into this neighborhood soon enough.

What was it?

A couple were sloppily making out on the lawn, amid crushed beer cans and cups. The woman was wearing a bikini bottom so high-cut, the strings practically came up to the bottom of her breasts. She was also, somehow, wearing rollerblades. The guy was in a pair of tight acid-washed jeans that looked vacuum-sealed against his muscular thighs, his shirt open and rippling in a wind that was blowing in the opposite direction of whatever wind was mussing his hookup's blonde hair.

Wesley stared at it for a moment. This place was fucking wild.

He couldn't help but feel some shameful envy, though. When he'd been zapped into this place, he'd found himself dotted with acne, his chest muscles so pathetic as to look concave. Despite the fact that he seemed to live in a beach town, he appeared to be the world's greatest sunbeam dodger. And the glasses. They limited his ability to do so many things. He needed them to see. But they undercut anything he said or did. Even when he said something perfectly reasonable, it came out nasally and whiny and...frankly, pathetic.

He hadn't been some kind of super-stud back home or anything. He'd been, like, just a guy. And he'd more or less been happy that way. But if he was gonna be trapped in this neon-drenched fuckfest, with its synthy backfills and its feathered haircuts, couldn't he have at least been primed to have some fun here?

"Um, excuse me." He waved a scrawny arm at the makeout couple. They pointedly did not pay attention to him.

"Excuse me, please," he tried again, internally wincing at how downright asthmatic he sounded even when he said normal things. "I need to get my scooter out of here so I can continue my deliveries..."

The makeout couple obligingly rolled out of the way--almost certainly because they were just too caught up in each other to notice him, and not because they actually obeyed. Wesley sighed. He guessed that was what happened when you got isekai'ed into an 80's movie as the town's resident nerd.

He glanced back at the stoop where he'd just dropped off Chad's order for the cute Asian girl. From that moment on, we were destined to be together, he thought, again with a certain level of self-mocking sarcasm.

What was it about her? Was it...?

His nearsighted eyes went wide as dinner plates.

She wasn't period accurate.

She was dressed in the right clothes. She had all the right signs of early-onset hyperpressuration. But there was this phenomenon when talking about period films: iPhone face. Certain actresses just couldn't be cast in stuffy English costume dramas because they just had a face that looked like it had seen a text message before.

That Asian girl had iPhone face.

He turned on his heel and sprinted back up the lawn...inasmuch as this scrawny, asthmatic body could sprint. Holy shit, he wasn't alone. Holy shit, he wasn't the only one. Holy shit, he--

His nerdy clumsiness got the better of him. Just as the house's front door opened, his ill-fitting sneaker caught on the top step and he stumbled forward--

Wesley stumbled back, hands shaking as Emily caught him by the arm, dragging him inside and shutting the door behind them with a quick, anxious glance over her shoulder. She hadn’t yet adjusted to this world; she looked as out of place here as he felt, the bodysuit she'd been given barely containing her sense of urgency.

“Oh thank god, another sane person,” she whispered, eyes wide, fingers clenched around his arm with a desperation he hadn’t felt in ages. Her voice was a mixture of relief and exasperation, low and fast. “Please tell me you know a way out of here.”

He let out a relieved sigh, finally recognizing the same disoriented panic he’d been trying to hide. “You’re stuck too?” He took in her wide, desperate eyes, realizing with a pang that she was just as trapped as he was, and just as alien to this neon-drenched insanity.

“Yeah, yeah, I got zapped in here from my living room! One minute I’m watching some trashy 80s movie, and the next—” She gestured around at the wild, hedonistic chaos of the house party unfolding around them. “I’m here. And everything’s…” She glanced at Chad, who was still standing nearby, shooting them a bemused look. “Everyone’s a stereotype! And they keep calling me ‘Bunny,’ like that’s my actual name!”

Wesley nodded quickly. “It’s like the whole place is a parody of itself, but… somehow, it’s real. I’m Wesley, by the way.”

“Emily,” she replied, giving him a tight, grim smile as she dragged him deeper into the mansion, past the gleaming marble staircase and into a quieter corner of the house. She dropped her voice to a tense whisper. “Listen, Wesley, I need to get out of here. This place—it's doing something to people.”

He shuddered, nodding. “I know. I mean, I already feel… different. Like, not just… like how I look,” he muttered, glancing down at his gangly limbs, his oversized glasses slipping down his nose. “But like it’s in my head. It’s so… weird here.”

Emily nodded emphatically. “Yes! Exactly. Like it’s rewriting us to fit in.” She shot a glance over her shoulder, as if half-expecting Chad or one of the bikini-clad girls to overhear them. “I need you to help me stay me, okay? And if we can find a way out of here, we’re going.”

Wesley gulped, nodding. “Right. But… we’ll have to blend in, at least a little. I don’t think this place will let us leave if we don’t. It’s like everything and everyone here is designed to keep us from escaping.”

She grimaced but didn’t argue, and he could see the way her fingers trembled as she adjusted the zipper of her bodysuit, still clutching it high over her chest, protecting herself as best she could from the way this place seemed to be tugging at her, urging her to loosen up, to join the party, to be just another bikini-clad girl in the background.

“Alright,” she whispered, nodding resolutely. “But let’s stick together. And if anything starts to change about me—anything weird—you tell me. Promise?”

Wesley’s face burned at the intensity in her gaze. “Promise.” He hesitated, glancing around the corner at the loud, neon-drenched crowd thrumming to an endless beat, laughter and shrieks echoing through the house. He lowered his voice, leaning in closer. “Emily, I think… I think we’re supposed to join the party. I mean, like, that’s what the place wants us to do. Maybe that’s the only way to find a way out?”

She bit her lip, visibly reluctant but nodding slowly. “Fine. But we’re getting out of here at the first chance we get.”

As they moved back toward the party, Wesley and Emily exchanged a silent look of solidarity.

Emily and Wesley entered the throbbing heart of the party, and immediately Emily felt a blush crawl up her cheeks, her discomfort sharp and immediate. This place wasn’t just a party—it was like the distilled essence of every cheesy 80s music video and sleazy nightclub rolled into one, cranked to the maximum. The walls were pulsing with pink and green neon lights, reflecting off mirrored surfaces, and half-naked bodies writhed everywhere, a haze of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume thick in the air.

Couples were practically draped over each other, groping and grinding with zero inhibitions. A pair of women in metallic bikinis stood by the DJ, bouncing and shaking to the beat, and Emily’s stomach twisted as she noticed the way every male gaze in the room seemed magnetically drawn to them. On the staircase, two guys were taking turns chugging from a bottle of tequila, only to be interrupted by a girl in a low-cut crop top, practically pouring herself over one of them as she leaned in, whispering something in his ear that made him grin with unabashed hunger.

Emily stiffened as Chad sauntered over, giving her an exaggerated once-over, his neon-green shades flashing under the lights. “Hey there, Bunny,” he drawled, leaning in close, his voice a parody of smooth charm. “I don’t think I’ve seen you loosen up yet. You’re still looking… tense.” His hand reached out to brush her shoulder, a little too familiar, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

Emily tensed, shrugging him off. “Just… taking it all in,” she muttered, shooting Wesley a desperate look. Chad’s eyes lingered on her chest, his gaze unashamedly greedy, and she fought the urge to cross her arms defensively.

“Oh, don’t be shy. It’s all about having a good time here,” Chad said, flashing his smug grin as he sidled up closer. “If you need a little… guidance, I’d be more than happy to help.” He winked, his hand moving to rest on her hip as he leaned in, his breath hot and reeking faintly of beer.

Wesley cleared his throat, stepping in just enough to break Chad’s advance, though his posture was a strange mix of defiance and nervousness. “Uh, we were just… getting a feel for the place, Chad,” he said, trying to sound casual, though his voice had a slight tremor.

Chad smirked, his eyes sliding over Wesley with a patronizing glint. “Sure, sure. But remember, this is Bikini Week. The goal’s not to think too hard, alright? Just relax, have a little fun.” He leaned even closer to Emily, his hand giving her hip a possessive squeeze before finally stepping back.

Emily shot Wesley a pleading glance, her cheeks flushed from Chad’s attention, but as she tried to gather herself, she spotted something even more bizarre across the room.

Missy, the girl in the bubblegum-pink bikini, was perched on a guy’s lap, her fingers tangled in his hair, her lips ghosting along his jawline as she whispered something that made him chuckle darkly. But that wasn’t the strange part. Every so often, as she shifted and leaned into him, she’d arch her back, exaggerating the curve of her chest as if she were presenting herself, practically basking in his attention. And he was more than happy to oblige, his hands gripping her waist, sliding down to cup her backside with a possessiveness that made Emily shiver.

“Em…” Wesley murmured, shifting uncomfortably. “I think… I think this place is designed to pull us in.”

She bit her lip, her gaze darting around at the haze of bodies tangled together in a blur of neon and flesh. There was a pull here, something that seemed to seep into her skin the longer she stayed, a voice whispering at the back of her mind to just let go, to give in to the vibe of the party, to stop fighting it.

In a corner, a kegstand was in full swing, the crowd egging on a girl whose cropped shirt rode up, revealing skin as she struggled to stay balanced, her friends cheering, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” as beer spilled down her chin. The music blared louder, and Emily realized she was tapping her foot, her body unconsciously swaying to the beat. She shot Wesley a panicked glance, feeling the tug of the rhythm taking over.

Before she could say anything, a couple near the makeshift dance floor caught her attention. The woman, dressed in a metallic thong bikini, was backed up against a guy who was nuzzling her neck, his hands roving up and down her body with complete abandon. She let out a moan that was drowned out by the synth-heavy bassline, her head tilting back, clearly giving herself over to the sensation.

Emily’s pulse quickened, her mind reeling at the surreal scene unfolding around her, her own sense of boundaries blurring as the atmosphere seemed to throb with a seductive intensity. Wesley’s hand brushed hers, grounding her momentarily.

“Emily,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music. “We can’t… get sucked in. We have to keep looking for a way out.”

She nodded, trying to fight off the allure of the party, but the pull was powerful, insistent, and everywhere she looked, she saw people giving in, letting themselves be carried away in a wave of reckless, unbridled hedonism.

Wesley gulped as he found himself having an embarrassingly adolescent reaction to the presence of a woman in a thong bikini--and not just any kind, but the metallic, super-high-cut type that were more common in this period. He knew it was just a garment, and that women wore clothing for themselves, not for the attentions of men. But the sight alone made his eyes zero in. It was as if he were the cameraman in this lurid skin flick, his lens lingering overlong on the taut young flesh on display.

"Out back," he declared. He could see that Emily was starting to develop a bit of a haze about her, too. Maybe this part of the party was just a trap. Too many enclosed spaces. Transformation happened because of wind pressure or something, right? So maybe it made sense to get somewhere outside, where that pressure would have a chance to dissipate.

Emily didn't seem to have responded to his words. "Out back," he tried again, straining his nerdy little voice to be heard over the blasting synth and bass. But Emily was bobbing along absently to the music. As he watched, he thought he could actually see her coming in and out of lucidity as she took in the wild displays of hot, youthful excess around them.

The pop culture of this time period reflected a desire to showcase American supremacy, Wesley tried to remind himself, with the part of his brain that remembered the existence of things like Pokémon and a Black president. Money, sex, and bodies were all mirrors of a cultural desire for status. It all changed when the Wall came down.

But it didn't seem to be working. No matter how much he tried to intellectualize his way out of this situation, his thoughts started to become more and more slippery. What was more, he was finding it harder and harder to keep ahold of those thoughts. When he tried, it almost seemed like the music of the party itself--which wasn't coming from any visible speaker system Wesley could see--started to blast that much harder.

Fuck it. This was getting too wild, too fast. They had to get outside. Instead of telling Emily where to go, he grabbed her hand with his clammy nerd fingers. He saw her jolt in surprise at his touch, but at least it meant she was here with him now. He jerked his head towards the screen door at the back of the beach house. "Come on!"

He'd expected maybe a small patio, the sort of place where smokers would gather--not that that division existed in this period. In the very least, he thought it would be quieter.

He was so, so wrong.

The beach house had a massive pool deck. The music seemed, if anything, even louder out here, as if no neighbors would ever complain about the noise. There was a dance floor cleared, so close to the pool that people ran a real risk of falling right in. On it, bikini-clad hotties gyrated and ground up against muscular, sun-bronzed studs. They danced curiously, their movements a little out of sync with the music. It was almost as if they were actors who had had to dance to nothing on set that day, and then a cheap track had been slapped onto the film in the edit later.

"Why the fuck," Wesley said to Emily in disbelief, "is there a pool deck here? I can literally see the beach!"

A big brute of a guy, his button-down straining against his muscles, effortlessly picked up his dance partner by the waist. She wore a high-cut electric blue one-piece whose top half strained against a pair of ridiculously huge, fake-looking tits. She squealed with delight, eagerly wrapping her long legs around his trim waist and gyrating her whole body up and down against his own.

And then, as one, all the dancers on the floor turned to look straight at them.

It was as if an impromptu spotlight had been thrust upon Wesley and Emily. The cute-but-not-hot new girl. The town nerd, still dressed in his dorky and ill-fitting pizza delivery uniform. He knew they looked weird in this context. But they weren't displeased to see them; if anything, they looked friendly and inviting. What could they possibly want, though?

Unless...

"Emily," Wesley said with sinking certainty. "I fucked up. I think...I think we need to dance with them!"

The dancers on the pool deck seemed to turn in unison, their gazes locking on Wesley and Emily with a mix of challenge and invitation. The lights above them pulsed, bathing everything in the kind of neon glow that blurred edges and amplified curves, making the whole scene feel surreal, like they’d stepped into a hyper-sexualized dream sequence from which there was no exit.

Emily’s fingers tightened around Wesley’s, but he could see the nervousness in her eyes flicker, then fade, replaced by a glimmer of intrigue, curiosity—even a kind of reluctant excitement. The music throbbed louder, drowning out their doubts, pulling them in. The big guy with the unbuttoned shirt—a slab of muscle, tanned and glistening—strode toward Emily, his biceps flexing with each step. His dance partner, the girl in the electric blue one-piece with impossibly exaggerated curves, practically purred as she sidled up to Wesley, a slow, teasing grin curling on her lips as she reached out, drawing him close with a soft, manicured hand to his shoulder.

“Looks like you two are the new stars of the party,” the guy growled, his deep voice rumbling in Emily’s ear as he pulled her gently onto the dance floor. She stumbled forward, nearly falling into him, his broad chest solid under her palms as he steadied her. His hands landed on her hips, strong but coaxing, guiding her into the beat as he rolled his body against hers, impossibly close. She felt her breath hitch, the heat radiating off him mingling with the warm evening air, and the tension she’d held since arriving here started to unravel, bit by bit, at his touch.

Wesley, meanwhile, tried to keep his cool as the blue-clad bombshell pressed herself flush against him, her chest brushing up against him, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hips beginning to move in slow, deliberate circles, her body a constant press of heat and softness that made his cheeks burn.

“You look tense, sugar,” she whispered, her lips hovering just near his ear, her breath warm and suggestive. “Just let go. Feel the music. Or feel me, whichever works.” She leaned in close, her curves molding against him, her chest pressing up as if to drive the point home, her laughter low and throaty as he struggled to keep up with her fluid, sensual movements.

Across from them, Emily was getting swept up in the rhythm, her nerves slipping away as the big guy led her into a series of steps that were less dance and more… intimate. His hands slid up her sides, fingertips grazing just beneath the fabric of her bodysuit, his hips grinding against hers in slow, tantalizing motions that made her stomach flip. Every glance he shot her was a smoldering promise, each touch lingering just a bit too long. His thumb traced over her waist, a not-so-innocent smirk on his lips as he guided her closer, his body practically engulfing hers.

“You know, you’ve got the moves, Bunny,” he murmured, using the nickname with a certain possessive charm that sent an unexpected thrill through her. Emily swallowed, glancing away to try and shake the feeling, but his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her firmly back against him.

Wesley watched, mesmerized, as Emily fell into the dance, her movements growing more fluid, more in sync with her partner’s rhythm. She seemed almost hypnotized, her body responding to each sway of his hips, every touch of his hands. And his own partner was far from passive; she grinded against him, her laughter light and teasing as her hands roamed over his shoulders, down his back, tracing the contours of his body in a way that made his skin tingle and his head spin.

“You like what you see?” she whispered, her voice a sultry purr as she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her body moving against his with such sensuality it felt almost like a dare. Wesley’s face was burning, his breath coming faster as she pressed her chest against him, her nails grazing down his arms as she let out a low, satisfied hum.

“Uh… yeah, I—” he stammered, his words barely audible over the music as she looped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

Emily, caught in the pull of her own partner’s intensity, glanced over at Wesley, her own cheeks flushed, a dazed look in her eyes. The big guy took the opportunity to spin her around, pulling her back against him, his hands firm on her waist, guiding her into his rhythm. She felt her body respond, her skin tingling where his hands held her, a warmth spreading through her that she hadn’t felt in ages, like the music itself was taking control, making her sway, making her want to move with him.

The blue-clad bombshell wasn’t about to let Wesley off easy, either. She pressed her body firmly against his, grinding her hips in slow, deliberate circles that made his knees go weak. Her hands roamed over his chest, her touch light but electric, sending shivers down his spine as her fingers brushed along the edges of his shirt, tugging him closer. Her gaze was locked on his, a silent invitation, as she tilted her head back, her lips parting slightly, a soft moan slipping out as she moved against him.

Caught in the thrall of the music, of the heat, of the hypnotic sway of the bodies around them, both Emily and Wesley were not sure if they could keep their reservations from slipping away.

Wesley could only stare as the tight-bodied beach babe hottie gyrated up against him with the kind of body control he could expect from a gymnast. He was feeling himself get hard, no matter how much he tried to remind himself this was just a dance. How could he resist, when a girl like this was all over him?

He glanced over at Emily. The glazed-over look in the Japanese girl’s eyes had returned tenfold as the muscular hunk wrapped his hands around the waist of her spandex bodysuit and guided her through their choreo. His heart sank as he saw how compelled she seemed to be. And just because the guy she was dancing with happened to be a total hunk.

Wesley tried to push aside that thought; he couldn’t, shouldn’t be jealous of her. He’d only just met her. He didn’t own her.

But that guy was dancing with her like he did. And she…liked it?

He had to keep them from succumbing. The whole reason they’d come out here was to stop the party from getting its grip on them. As long as they were dancing with these hot 80s-tastic partners, they would only slip further and further into this dumb movie’s grasp. And that meant there was only one option for them.

Wesley forced himself away from his sizzling hot blue-clad dance partner. She reached for him, as if compelled to keep him in the dance. But staying just ahead of the pounding ambient synth’s rhythm, Wesley evaded her long-manicured hands and grabbed for Emily’s waist.

Electricity erupted through both their bodies as they touched. Their eyes met. Wesley’s acne-pocked cheeks flushed furiously. He felt more grounded back in reality, but his arousal didn’t abate even one percent. “We…” He gathered himself as best he could. “We have to dance together.”

His movements were awkward at first. His nerdy body was almost cursed to be clumsy like this. He was keeping a respectful distance from Emily, trying to fight the lust that was threatening to overtake them both. But it seemed like doing that was only hampering their ability to satisfy the scene. All around them, the others were still dancing, but with a…disappointed air?

Emily looked around uncertainly. “What is it? We’re dancing, aren’t we?”

Wesley wracked his brain. He wanted to follow Emily’s lead. They were equal partners in this, after all. He wanted to respect her in all this. But he was also feeling an uncomfortable urge. A strong one. To take lead. Like a man.

Not like a man, he corrected himself. Like a person who happens to have the right answer…and also happens to be a man.

Wesley slipped his hands around Emily’s waist. It wasn’t as impossibly skinny as the girls who were native to this movie, but it was trim and it made his heart throb with excitement. The spandex was preternaturally springy under his palms, as if it wouldn’t even absorb the nerd clamminess that cursed his grip. He began to sway with her, his hands on her waist and hips. And as the two of them danced, his movements started to become more confident. More assertive. More certain of his dancing.

He felt Emily following his lead. He felt his pulse beginning to race in time to the music. And all around them, the dancing from the others began to grow more frantic and seductive again, the hormones suffusing the neon-tinted air.

The neon lights pulsed brighter, as if feeding off the sudden energy between Wesley and Emily, the beat swelling and spiraling around them. Wesley felt his breath hitch as his hands rested on Emily’s waist, his fingers pressing into the spandex fabric that clung to her curves, holding her close as they found a rhythm together. His usual self-consciousness was melting, dissolving under the strange magic of this beachside world.

In his ear, he heard the faint, disembodied voice again, like a narrator in his own life—one who seemed disturbingly tuned in to every thought racing through his mind. “That was the summer,” the voice said, a knowing chuckle weaving through the words, “that I first realized what it felt like to lead. To have a woman follow my steps, trusting me to guide her.”

Wesley felt Emily’s breath hitch as he pulled her closer, her hands resting on his shoulders, her gaze locked on his as if searching for something. Her eyes held a glimmer of doubt, curiosity—and something else, something that made his pulse hammer harder, faster, as the music seemed to double down on its relentless beat.

The voice in his head kept going, its tone filled with that corny-but-certain wisdom: “It wasn’t that I was suddenly strong, or handsome, or all that different than before. But that night, holding her close under those lights, I understood that confidence didn’t have to mean perfection.”

Around them, the dancers began cheering, egging them on as the circle of onlookers closed in tighter, the crowd’s energy rising with a sleazy, voyeuristic thrill. Someone turned up the music even louder, and Wesley felt his inhibitions slipping away, pushed aside by the pounding synth beat and the warmth of Emily pressed against him.

“Wesley,” Emily whispered, her voice low, almost breathless, as she held his gaze. “What… what are we doing?”

He could barely think, his mind clouded by the heat of the moment, the surreal energy enveloping them both. “We’re… dancing,” he managed, his voice rougher than he expected, his hands sliding from her waist down to her hips, pulling her flush against him. His cheeks were red-hot, but he couldn’t stop; it felt like the whole scene demanded it, as if this was exactly what this strange, retro world wanted from them.

Then, as if to punctuate his thought, an impossibly gusty breeze came from nowhere, catching Emily’s hair, whipping it around her face and brushing against his cheek with a feathery touch. She laughed, a little self-conscious, but the look in her eyes was different—warmer, maybe, more open. The wind picked up again, and this time, it tugged harder at the torn edges of her bodysuit, the fabric peeling away in increments, each gust slipping a bit more from her shoulders, her chest.

“Are you seeing this?” Wesley stammered, his eyes wide as he watched in disbelief. His fingers brushed over her bare skin as the spandex rolled down, leaving her arms and collarbone exposed, a tantalizing glimpse of her skin catching the light. Emily’s own cheeks flushed a deep pink, but the magic of the dance, the crowd’s encouragement, and the strange, seductive energy of the place seemed to keep her from stepping back. Instead, she leaned in closer, her lips just inches from his, her breath mingling with his as their movements slowed, deepened.

Around them, the crowd erupted in cheers, catcalling and shouting out in excitement as the fabric slipped further, and further—until finally, with one last playful gust of wind, the bodysuit peeled away entirely, slipping down to her waist and leaving her standing there in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching underwear. Wesley’s heart pounded, his hands still on her waist as they both realized the position they were in. The crowd whistled, clapping and shouting, the energy spiraling higher as the scene seemed to transform into a heady, charged display of raw desire.

“Go for it!” someone shouted, the words ringing out loud over the music.

Wesley’s head spun, the thrill of the moment pushing him to hold her closer, his fingers trailing over her back as they swayed in time to the pulsing beat. Emily’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her breath soft against his ear as she leaned in, caught in the feverish moment just as much as he was. Wesley’s hands trembled as they slipped lower, settling on the curve of her waist, her warmth sinking through his skin, feeding his already mounting arousal.

Missy, the blonde in electric blue, wasn’t about to be left out. She sidled back up to Wesley, looping her arms around his neck from behind, her chest pressing into his back as she leaned into him, grinning with a playful, almost predatory glint in her eye. “I don’t think you’re ready for this dance, nerd boy,” she teased, her hands slipping down to his waist as she held him from behind, her body molding against his, the heat between them almost unbearable.

He tried to respond, but his voice caught in his throat, the overwhelming sensations leaving him dizzy, disoriented. Emily pressed herself closer, and Missy giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, her voice a low, sultry purr as she whispered, “Looks like you’re having a good time, after all…”

Wesley’s breath hitched as the girls both leaned into him, their bodies pressing close, the atmosphere thick with an undeniable, primal tension that sent his pulse racing. His head spun, and he barely noticed the narrator’s voice once more, amused, soft, but achingly clear in his mind.

“That night,” the voice intoned, “I knew there was no going back. And maybe… I didn’t want to.”

Wesley watched in a combination of confusion and...well, something else as the wind swept through the pool deck. It seemed, somehow, to only affect Emily. Her disappearing bodysuit had left her in the kind of black panties and bra that someone only wore if they planned for someone to see them. (In this reality, he suspected, there was no other kind of underwear to be found.) And yet, she'd seemed to be unfazed by it, only excited. When the crowd had cheered them on, she hadn't expressed any embarrassment for her state of undress; she'd simply, obediently, docilely, hooked her slender arms around the back of his scrawny pencil-neck and leaned in closer.

They're like that, a voice whispered to him, both his own and not. Before he could interrogate the words, it seemed like the voice vanished from his head. But it left behind a uncomfortable and instinctive understanding for him of what kind of people the voice had meant when it had used the word they.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Missy's body wrapped around him from behind. Suddenly, he was a nerd that was sandwiched between two babes: one a blonde beach bunny in an electric blue one-piece that made her legs look alluring and endless. One who seemed like she was rapidly losing her fight to not become an Asian-American Airhead.

He was seized with the desire to extricate himself immediately. This was happening so fast. It was the exact opposite of what he'd intended when he'd brought Emily out here. He opened his mouth to apologize to her, to try and assure her that he still had his eye on the ball. He remembered the old world, and he was gonna get them both back to it.

But Missy was steering the two of them right now. He felt like, as the movie's resident nerd, he didn't have the narrative power to override her.

That's it, he realized. Narrative power. I need to get some, now.

Emily dancing up on him had given her some, hadn't it? She'd danced up on him, swept away by the robo-synths and whiplash snare drums, and it had completely transformed her wardrobe into impractically racy, lacy underthings. It made her look like she fit in. And it made her look like she was having fun.

He needed to get some narrative power, too. He had to go where the story wanted him to go. And if he could admit it to himself, it hadn't just been confusion he'd felt when he'd watched Emily change. He'd also felt envy.

"I'm sorry about this, Emily," he said formally.

And then he whipped around and full-on kissed Missy on her plump pink lips. He drew on the assertiveness he'd felt when he had been dancing. That newfound confidence guided his hands and his lips as people all around them gasped and whooped in surprise that such a hot piece of ass would be making out with Wesley, of all people. But Wesley resisted the urge to listen to them. Instead, he reached for the idea that he deserved to be making out with Missy right now.

.

A funny thing about the law of physics was that motion transferred force, and connection transferred force from one object to another. It was perhaps one of the last properly “nerdy” thoughts Wesley would have as he felt, for the umpteenth time, the shudder of Emily’s shoves work its way through Missy’s body and down into his.

By the time Missy finally lost, she didn’t realize that she was sitting nearly three inches higher out of the water. Her tight, sculpted ass cheeks didn’t have to work has hard to balance, since Wesley’s shoulders grew slightly broader to accommodate them. When he held onto her legs to stabilize her, his biceps gently bulged with the effort…and then stayed that big when his arms relaxed again.

When he broke the surface of the water, he casually pushed his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t know it yet, but that impact had created an even more curious change than the new muscles. His face, once plain, had gained a pleasing level of symmetry. His features were still boyish, and he wasn’t model-handsome…at least, not yet. But his eyes were bluer, his nose and jawline finer, and a smile came more naturally to his straight and pearly teeth.

*”Guess we’re still getting the hang of this ‘narrative’ thing, huh?”

Wesley took in the sight of Emily. In the span of a single sequence, she’d gone from pretty to downright gorgeous: petite, but curvy, with breasts that seemed as if they were both bolted on and yet also completely natural. The fact that she was standing there in high black panties that were literally dripping wet only enhanced the image.

“I’d say we’ve made some decent progress.” He casually planted a hand on the small of her back and started to steer her inside. “Let’s get a drink. We can, uh, talk about our next move.”

Not a polite request, like he might have worded it even an hour ago. A simple statement, delivered with an expectation of agreement.

“Why do you think you’ve just been in a bra and panties this whole time, instead of a bikini?” he asked as he guided her through the party, to the cooler. Instead of having to bump through the crowd, the partygoers seemed to naturally dance out of their way. He grabbed a beer for each of them and cracked them both. “Should we get you some new clothes?”

Emily felt Wesley’s warm hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the party. She glanced up at him, half-distracted by his new, improved features: the sharper jawline, the slight bulge of his biceps as he casually kept her close, the way he walked with a newfound confidence that looked almost natural on him.

She felt like she should pull away, assert herself, make it clear she wasn’t just going to follow along. But somehow, with Wesley’s hand pressing gently at her back and the crowd parting for them with an almost reverent respect, her reluctance faded. His steady guidance felt… nice.

He handed her a beer, the cold can a shock against her still-warm hands, and she took a sip, the fizzy liquid mixing with the heady atmosphere of the party. The lights were dimmer inside, more intimate, casting a soft glow over the mass of bodies swaying to the beat. Wesley leaned against the counter beside her, his face tilted toward she spoke to him, “I … really should get dressed don’t you think?”  A quick gesture at her sopping hot wet mess of an outfit made her meaning clear.  

He scanned the room, his eyes landing on a rack of clothes inexplicably draped over the back of a nearby couch, as if they were just waiting to be noticed. Among them were a pair of high-cut, frayed denim shorts that looked one size too small and a crop top so tiny it might have been intended for a doll.

Wesley raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased. “Perfect,” he murmured, grabbing the shorts and holding them up with a grin. “These would look… fant-ASS-tic on you.”

Emily stared at them, the shorts impossibly tiny, the crop top no more than a scrap of fabric. She felt a surge of resistance—this was exactly what the story wanted, wasn’t it? To get her into these ridiculously slutty clothes, have her prance around like another one of the party’s bikini-clad babes. 

“Oh, come on,” he said, reading her hesitation with a little smirk. “What’s the harm? It’s not like anyone HERE is going to judge.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Besides, I think they’d suit you.”

Something in his tone—something firm, almost commanding—made her heart skip. Without quite meaning to, she took the shorts and top from him, the absurdity of the situation making her laugh. “Fine. But if I end up looking like I’m in some tacky music video…”

“Trust me,” he said, leaning back against the counter with a casual smile. “You’ll look incredible.”

Emily ducked into a bathroom just off the main room, stripping off her soaked bra and underwear, her cheeks flushing at her own reflection in the mirror. She pulled the denim shorts up, the material tight against her hips, hugging her curves in a way that was both embarrassing and… weirdly flattering. She slipped into the crop top, which barely covered her chest, leaving the smooth curve of her waist exposed, the fabric so tight it stretched over her enhanced bustline in a way that was almost laughably impractical. But as she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t deny she looked… hot. Really hot.  Really really REALLY hot.  

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Wesley’s eyes lit up, a slow smile spreading across his face as he took her in. He straightened, his gaze trailing over her from head to toe, leaving a warm, tingling path in its wake.

“Well,” he said, his voice a little rough, “I think we’ve found your look.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the small, pleased smile tugging at her lips. “It’s ridiculous,” she said, tugging at the hem of the crop top, which rode up the slightest bit higher with every movement.

“Come on. Let’s show this party what we’ve got.”

He led her back out onto the dance floor, the music seeming to pick up right as they entered, the beat vibrating through the room. The crowd parted around them again, as if in awe of their new transformation, the energy of the party pulsing in time with the movement of their bodies.

Emily found herself swaying to the beat, her hand slipping into Wesley’s as they moved together. The tiny shorts hugged her hips with every step, the crop top threatening to ride up even further as she danced, her body responding to the rhythm, to the thrill of being seen, admired. She felt Wesley’s hand slide around her waist, pulling her closer, and she let herself lean into him, her reluctance slipping away under the weight of the music and the neon lights.

In the back of her mind, she knew the story was pulling her deeper, but with Wesley’s arm around her, his confidence feeding her own, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was in control… even if that control meant embracing the role she was meant to play.

Everything was going according to plan. They'd played along with the narrative's desires, and now they had a certain amount of leeway to act. The partygoers weren't trying to directly interfere with them anymore, nudge them back onto the story's railroad. And what was more, the two of them had gotten to enjoy some...well, benefits. It had barely been an hour, and already he and Emily were completely different from how they'd begun the evening. He looked like he wouldn't have been out of place on the beach with a freshly waxed surfboard under his wiry, muscled arm. And Emily...well. Emily had become distracting.

He hadn't been pressuring her to put on that sexy little outfit just for his fulfillment. She'd been in sopping wet underwear and nothing else. She'd needed to get into something dry. The fact that she happened to fill it out like a porn parody of a woman was purely coincidental, and did nothing to diminish his good intentions.

That said, he thought as he gave her an appreciative look-over, it had sure felt good when she'd done what he'd said.

Now the two of them moved in perfect unison. His hands roamed her body with casual, practiced familiarity--maybe not necessarily with her body, but at least with the idea that she was far from his first hookup. And what was more, she seemed more than responsive to it. Her own hands kept finding ways to wander down to his flat, toned midsection, fingers tracing fond lines in the ridge down the center of his budding abs. Back in the real world, the two of them would have been an absolute knockout couple, the kind that drew envious looks from everyone who saw them together.

But here, in this surreal 80's meat market reality, the two were still only just above the average. All around them, men preened with huge muscles pressing against their tight tanks and button-downs. Girls knocked back beers that would somehow never send any excess fat to their wasp-thin waists or slender, tanned thighs. Tits that should have sunk underneath their own sheer weight instead openly defied gravity, seeming to support their tiny bikini tops instead of the other way around. Sweaty, young, perfect bodies all glistening with sexually charged sweat, all pressed up against each other.

The more Emily gave in to his leading, the more sensual her movements seemed to become on their own. The crop top seemed to have a natural tendency to ride up, treating him to a healthy glimpse of underboob. It was making it very, very...hard for him to keep focused on gaming out their next move.

Wesley leaned in, making it look like he was about to kiss her. He was vaguely embarrassed about the way his hardened cock pressed at the bounds of his thin surfer trunks; there was no way she wouldn't feel it. But he couldn't help it, right? She was a hot babe, and he was a guy, and guys got hard when they danced with hot babes. Even socially conscious, modern guys like him.

"This is still insane, and we still need to get out. But..." He reached up and tucked a strand of her silky black hair behind her ear. "...You look really pretty tonight."

It was delivered in the style of cheesy, poorly written dialogue, not at all like what Wesley had meant to say. He'd meant to discuss with her possibilities of ducking out of the party, trying to get to the edge of town, maybe looking for some kind of hole in this fictional reality that the two of them could slip out of. But when he saw the dumb beach babe Emily was turning into, he found it hard to form more cohesive thoughts.

Dumb? he chastised himself. She's not dumb. She hasn't done anything dumb yet!

She's not, like, dumb-dumb, he corrected himself. She's just, you know. Dumb in that way that chicks are a little dumber compared to guys. It's why she wants you taking charge right now. She needs you.

The thought echoed in his mind as he looked down into her Chinadoll face, her plump lips parted suggestively and just so.

She needs you, Wesley...

"We do have to get out of here." His hands slipped down from the pleasing curves of her waist to rest on her taut, round ass cheeks. "But...maybe we can stay just a little bit longer." His newly handsome face slid into a persuasive grin, the kind that a vaseline-smeared camera lens would absolutely love. "Just so we can teach that hot bitch Missy a lesson."

Emily’s pulse raced as she felt Wesley’s hands slide confidently down to her waist, then lower, resting on her ass in a way that sent little jolts of electricity through her body. She tried to keep her thoughts focused, to hang on to the clarity she’d fought for when she’d first arrived here. But Wesley’s touch had a magnetic pull, and every time he looked down at her with that sharp, newly sculpted jawline and the casual glint in his blue eyes, it grew harder to remember the serious, tactical discussions they’d meant to have.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

The line, so cliché and simple, echoed in her head, feeling simultaneously cliche, trite and yet … potent. Emily couldn’t help wondering just how potent Wesley was in other matters … She shook her head.  He was right there, close enough for her to lean into, and the heat radiating between them—her curves pressed against his wiry, new muscles—made her cheeks flush and her breathing quicken. His gaze held a cocky challenge, the sort she’d normally roll her eyes at, but in this heightened reality, it felt both strangely fitting and irresistible.

Her hand drifted down to his midsection, fingers lingering over the hard ridges of his abs, feeling his breath hitch under her touch. And there it was—that smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he already knew how easily she’d lean into him. But a flicker of her old self surged through, reminding her that this was still just some warped story they were trying to escape.

“Stay a little longer, huh?” she teased, letting a bit of her old edge slip into her voice, fighting the urge to fall fully into her new, obedient persona. Her nails trailed lightly across his skin, her hand brushing against the waistband of his trunks as she leaned in, her voice low. “What if we teach Missy a lesson… but not the way she expects?”

A sly smile played on her lips as she locked eyes with him, her gaze glinting with mischief, a spark of their real-world bond breaking through the haze of seduction.  Wesley’s grin faltered for just a second as he registered the suggestion, curiosity sparking in his eyes. It was as if, for a fleeting moment, she’d pulled him out of the narrative spell that kept casting him as the cocky, confident heartthrob, back into the clever, strategic thinker she’d first met.

“Yeah?” he murmured, leaning closer, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

Emily stood near the snack table, her fingers grazing over the bowl of fruit, selecting a perfectly ripe banana. She glanced over at Wesley, catching his eye with a playful, knowing glint that made his pulse quicken.

Slowly, she peeled the banana, letting each section of the peel drop one by one, her gaze never leaving his. The air between them felt charged, heavy with anticipation, as if the entire party around them had faded into a blur. She lifted the banana to her lips, tilting her head slightly as she parted them, taking a slow, deliberate bite. Her lips wrapped around the fruit in a way that seemed both innocent and undeniably suggestive, her gaze flicking up to meet Wesley’s with a teasing gleam.

Wesley swallowed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks as she continued, taking small, careful bites, her lips closing around the banana in a rhythm that left his mind spinning. Emily’s tongue darted out to catch a stray bit of fruit on her lip, and she smiled, a playful, mischievous smile that sent his thoughts racing.

Missy was strutted confidently toward Wesley, giving Emily a smug, over-the-shoulder smirk as she tossed her hair with practiced ease. And it was at that exact moment that Emily casually tossed the banana peel directly in front of where Missy was walking. 

With a squeal that pierced the music, Missy’s feet flew out from under her, and she landed flat on her back in a puddle of spiked punch that someone had spilled earlier. The pink liquid splashed over her, soaking her electric-blue one-piece until it clung sheer to her skin, leaving very little to the imagination under the harsh lights.

The crowd around her burst into laughter as Missy scrambled to her feet, cheeks flushed, shooting a venomous glare in all directions. Determined to regain her poise, she spotted the DJ platform and seized the moment, hopping up onto it with all the authority of a reigning queen. She struck a pose, arching her back, throwing her arms up in a last-ditch attempt to own the moment. But as she held her triumphant stance, one of her swimsuit straps gave way with an audible snap. She gasped, grabbing the flimsy fabric as it began to slip, desperately trying to keep herself covered.

Just then, a voice yelled from the other side of the pool, “Foam cannon!” A buzzed party staffer accidentally pulled the trigger, sending a blast of thick foam straight at Missy. The sudden spray coated her head to toe, and she stumbled back, her hair collapsing under the weight of the foam. Her perfectly applied makeup began to run, mascara streaking down her cheeks, giving her a raccoon-eyed look as she sputtered and swiped at the foam.

At that exact moment someone popped a bottle of champagne nearby, and as if on cue, the cork shot across the deck, hitting Missy squarely on the rear. She let out a squeal, spinning around and rubbing her backside, but the motion sent her off balance, and she stumbled backward, tumbling into the pool with an undignified splash. Her one-piece rode up uncomfortably as she resurfaced, gasping for air and pulling at the fabric in a frantic attempt to make herself presentable.

But the disasters weren’t finished with her yet. As she climbed out of the pool, still sopping wet and barely keeping her swimsuit intact, someone (whose name might have rhymed with Shmemely)  “accidentally” knocked over a bottle of spray-on tan nearby. The bronzer cascaded down onto Missy’s body in thick, dark streaks. She frantically tried to rub it off, only succeeding in smearing it further, leaving her looking like a blotchy, streaky mess.

With a final, furious glare, she stumbled toward the crowd, her movements stiff and awkward. But the DJ, who she’d snubbed earlier, had one last trick for the night.  He cranked the speakers and queued up a ridiculous, high-pitched remix of an embarrassing novelty song. The sudden shift in music made her awkward attempts to strut look even sillier, her over-the-top movements syncing perfectly with the absurd rhythm. The crowd’s laughter and jeers drowned out the music, leaving Missy blushing furiously as she was forced to stumble off the deck in complete defeat.

Emily gave Wesley a triumphant grin and whispered in his ear, “"You know, they say karma’s a bitch. But today, I think it’s more of a banana peel."

—-

The sight of Emily's lips wrapping themselves so effortlessly and sensuously around something so long and thick and white threatened to bring Wesley straight to a new level of arousal. Even the silly, slapstick-y nature of her flirtation only served to make it hotter for him. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was breathing hard, his newly grown pec muscles heaving with each exhale.

If that had been the sum total of Emily's game, it would've been an excellent use of her screentime. But the Rube Goldberg-ian destruction of Missy's dignity and poise pushed things to an entirely different level. In that moment, he saw a flicker of the fully lucid girl he'd run into, his fellow castaway from a time when the hole in the ozone layer was a distant and curious memory. It was a strange thing, reconciling her with the big-tittied beach babe standing before him with a mischievous smile on her face.

"I think you just solidified your place in the narrative, Bu--babe," he corrected himself awkwardly. Babe was an unfortunate pivot, considering the two weren't an item (regardless of the electric and undeniable chemistry they felt every time skin met skin). But after a whole evening of hearing everyone else in the house call her "Bunny," the dimunitive and deeply-of-its-time name had very nearly slipped out of him.

But before he could explicate more on that idea, a fresh breeze swept through the party again. It fanned through Emily's raven-black hair with its gentle fingers, teasing it up and out in a wavy style that truly looked as 80s-tastic as a white belt or a line of cocaine on a glass coffee table. The miles of bare midriff exposed by her delicious new outfit gently shrank inward, leaving her with a violin waist and a faint, feminine definition to her soft beach bunny body. Her small, slender fingers now ended in a perfectly ostentatious French manicure.

"Hey, Blaine," whispered a dude in Wesley's ear. "You with the Asian chick?"

It took Wesley a moment to realize that Blaine referred to him. He could barely even conceive of being named something like that. It made him sound like a douchey rich guy...which he guessed was par for the course in movies like these.

"I think..."

But he stopped himself. I think was how a man started a sentence when he wasn't sure of himself. And Wesley was sure of himself, wasn't he? Sure that he and Emily belonged back in the real world, sure that they needed to get out of here, sure that their best way forward was to play along without losing their self-awareness of their place in the story. And if he was that certain of himself, then he needed to answer certainly.

"Yeah," he said.

The fit beach bum took another look at her, even as her hips grew slightly outward and forced the denim to dig not unpleasantly into her soft, supple skin. Then he held up a sun-bronzed hand. "Nice, bro."

Wesley automatically returned the high-five as the wind died down. The new and improved Bunn Emily brightened up at his approach. He liked the way she responded to him like that. "I don't think we could have possibly 'won' this scene any harder than you just won it for us now." He had no trouble giving her the credit for trouncing Missy; it had been hot as hell. But he felt an urge to reassert some ownership over her the scene...just to keep things on track. "We should get out of here while we're ahead."