Pushing the Envelope: A Prequel from The Barter System World

by McClendon, Shayne

  A snapshot accompanied each of their files and she knew these particular photos well. They were faded and a little worn from how many times she’d handled them.

  Over the last weeks, she’d exchanged countless emails with them, giving herself a layer of familiarity she knew she needed to go through with her plans.

  It seemed strange that she’d never met them face to face or even spoken to them on the phone. From such sterile interactions via technology, so much had already happened.

  Riya felt as if she already knew them personally, in the real world. It was ultimately these men’s essays that tipped the scales in their favor. Already physically attractive to her, what they’d written stood out above and beyond the others.

  To her core, she believed she’d chosen correctly.

  These men represented the overall success or failure of her dissertation – an investment of several years of her life to date. She’d been compiling her data for the past year of graduate school and anticipated the end of this particular road eagerly.

  At the end of the day, it wasn’t as much about the degree as it was about the actual evidence; her personal validation that the project she had in mind could and would work – despite being unorthodox in the extreme.

  Not only would her records be the structure for her dissertation, they would also – perhaps even more importantly – be utilized in the acquisition of her secondary degree in creative writing.

  Though also curious as a woman, that didn’t technically figure into the equation. Sex, for most women, was intrinsically linked to their emotions.

  If you believed popular media, the clichéd version of men when it came to sex was much less emotional and far more juvenile.

  How men were stereotypically portrayed – combined with her own less-than-wonderful experiences – could not be all there was to the sexual interactions they had with women.

  Ultimately, her research would translate from the virtual world to reality…and provide concrete data on male sexuality in a way never attempted by another PhD candidate.

  Her advisor at the University of Miami was not convinced that her methods were either appropriate or altogether safe but had given her blessing to make the attempt with the caveat that Riya’s degree, as well as her reputation, hinged on tangible results.

  She scanned the last documents and backed up her files to the server maintained by her best friend, Tawny Ratliff. Tawny believed there wasn’t a hacker alive who could infiltrate the complex layers of her network. Anyone who tried found themselves – and their systems – falling down a rabbit hole of epic proportions.

  When it came to hacking, Tawny had no mercy. Likely because she was part of a shadowy hacking community who stood by a certain code of ethics. A loose one…but a code of ethics all the same.

  Layering the hard files in a tier, she stared at the tabs for a long time. They were frayed on the edges with handwritten notes on the outside. That was nothing compared to her typed and written notes inside.

  Riya had no doubt that she now knew deeply personal information about these eight men that no one else in their lives knew about them. She took their trust seriously.

  Sean 37, Internet Entrepreneur, Orlando, FL

  Victor 31, Fisherman, Savannah, GA

  Joshua 22, College Student, Austin, TX

  Lucas 42, Rancher, Billings, MT

  Ricardo 32, Police Officer, Los Angeles, CA

  Bobby 27, Musician, Boston, MA

  Micah & Max 34, Financiers, Manhattan, NY

  One by one, she traced their names as she called her friends and family to say goodbye. They knew she’d be gone for several weeks. Her conversations were purposely vague so she understood why the people who loved her most were more than a little concerned.

  Only Tawny knew everything about her, her dissertation, her website, and her various other hobbies. Only she knew just how extreme her research was and to what lengths she was willing to go to get it.

  Their friendship spanned their entire lives and the unspoken motto was “no judgment” – not for any reason at any time. In many ways, they were complete opposites; in others, they were shockingly similar.

  On paper, it was doubtful that anyone would connect them as friends. Thankfully, their mothers hadn’t worried in the slightest about supposed compatibility.

  During her call, she warned her father that she’d essentially be on radio silence until further notice. That fact made Archer O’Connell intensely unhappy. She was the only family he had with exception of Tawny and her mom and he was fiercely protective of all three women.

  That he hadn’t threatened to lock her away until he could talk some sense into her was both a surprise and a blessing.

  He and Tawny’s mom Maggie would have a hundred questions and even more concerns for her safety. They wouldn’t care about her motives for this particular project or what she hoped to gain by completing it.

  Therefore, they knew what she could tell them and nothing else. They believed she planned to visit college campuses across the country to study the sexual habits of young men entering adulthood. It had been implied – though not exactly stated – that she’d be conducting nothing more than verbal interviews with her subjects.

  For the sake of argument, she actually would be doing interviews.

  That just wasn’t the whole story.

  Less than one dozen candidates knew her true first name. They’d only been informed after signing an ironclad non-disclosure agreement to protect her privacy and her personal reputation.

  After all, for the majority of the world, there was no such thing as “no judgment.”

  To keep things fair, she completed sections of each survey herself for the men she’d chosen.

  Since her applicants were asked to share so much about themselves, she felt it was appropriate to meet them halfway. Some details were not shared for fear of skewing their initial impressions and tainting her conclusions but she gave them as much as she felt was possible.

  She scanned her most recent handwritten notes into her laptop, making sure she didn’t miss a single piece of information, such as a letter or photos received at her post office box.

  There was no way to carry every file with her for more than two months and this way, everything would be at her fingertips for reference. Each subject had a folder on her main drive that was remotely backed up every night.

  For almost an hour, Riya stared at the men she would soon be intimately acquainted with on various levels. They represented a vast array of ages, backgrounds, and socio-economic status. The racial mix wasn’t as diverse as she’d hoped but the other aspects about the men’s lives were night and day.

  She updated her Good Girl blog and answered a few comments while she was online.

  The site wasn’t linked to anything else she did and she was careful to ensure no one knew she was the woman behind the eclectic mix of online diary, erotic short stories, and open forums about everything from adult toy experimentation to porn addiction.

  Since her senior year of high school, she’d used the blog as a place to relax and be herself.

  Interactive with her followers, Riya didn’t hesitate to talk about her relationships with men, her sex life (or lack thereof), using celibacy as a test of personal willpower, and what piqued her curiosity as a single woman in the modern world.

  Many people had told her over the years that she had ridiculous expectations when it came to the opposite sex but she disagreed. She felt “standards” was a better word choice.

  Men offered to be her guinea pigs and she always turned them down gently. Women wrote in with suggested reading. Some wrote in with suggested lovers.

  Occasionally, her posts – and the threads they inspired – would spark her creative flow and she would pen a short story, novella, or full-length novel. The cornerstone of her writing was that men and women were not so different after all – much like her dissertation.

  It wasn’t long before her own books started showing up as sug
gested reading by her Good Girl subscribers who were unaware that it was she who wrote them.

  Initially begun as an outlet to release her surprising – and often concerning – amounts of pent up sexual energy, Riya’s erotic fiction gradually morphed into a valid way to avoid touching her inheritance from her mother.

  She knew she was a sensual person at the core of her being. It was also an indisputable fact that the possibilities of sex continued to intrigue her despite the fact that she hadn’t experienced much personally. There wasn’t anything memorable enough in her sexual history to be used as a plot.

  In two months, without a doubt, there would be. The thought filled her with nervous anticipation.

  Tawny was her emergency contact in case of trouble. Riya doubted she’d have trouble, but that’s why they were called emergencies. Her friend was frightened for her but kept it well hidden, knowing doubt only pushed her harder in the direction of her goals – often recklessly.

  They each possessed a prepaid phone that would be their only method of communication if there were to be a problem. She would upload files directly to the website while in the field but couldn’t allow anything else to influence her research.

  The phone already had all the contact information programmed for local cab companies, hospitals, hotels, and airlines in each location, as well as the essential information for each of her subjects.

  Everything she needed for the next three months fit snugly into a large canvas duffle bag. A sturdy backpack from the Army surplus store protected her laptop and held the few personal items she’d be taking with her.

  The next morning, she would leave South Florida, traveling a set itinerary around the country until she reached her final destination in New York City.

  It was the end of August. She estimated she’d arrive at the last location sometime around Halloween. Her first leg of travel was already arranged and her approximate arrivals and departures had been coordinated with each subject.

  After a year of planning and months of labor-intensive sorting through thousands of pages of data, there was nothing left to be done.

  Riya was ready.

  Chapter Two

  When the hard copies of her files were packed away, Riya stored them in her office closet. Glancing around her space, she made sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

  This had been her home for the past two years and she’d never been away from it for more than a day or two. She’d bought the little duplex on the water in Deerfield Beach after finishing her master’s degree. With six years of higher education under her belt, she decided to take a break before she went after her PhD.

  Stepping out the back door, beach sand was a few feet away. You couldn’t get much more of a break than that, in her opinion.

  Archer often told her she was slumming and offered to buy her a high-rise condominium instead. He didn’t like the lack of security, the proximity to tourist hot spots, or her strange mix of neighbors. Whenever he brought it up, she rolled her eyes and ignored him.

  He loved when she did that.

  She called him one more time to say goodnight and deflected his not-so-subtle prying. “I’ll be fine, Dad. I’ll be back safe and sound in two months.”

  “Riya. I get that you have a damn school project.”

  She internally bristled at his dismissive tone but held her tongue. To spar with her father would invite an unexpected visit no matter the time of night. She’d once argued with him the entire way from his house to her front door.

  The man was wonderful but tenacious.

  “What I do not get is why you can’t call me in the evenings when you return to your hotel. That doesn’t make the least bit of sense.”

  “I have to immerse myself in my research, Dad.” She sighed. “It isn’t just you. I’m not calling Tawny or Maggie either. I have to focus.”

  “Hmm. You come back with so much as a scratch and I will put you over my knee like you’re four years old again.”

  She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “You never spanked me even once. Mom was the one who did a drive-by butt smack if she thought I wasn’t listening. She called you a softy.”

  Her father grunted on the other end of the line. “The point is that you are my only child. You are the last link I have to your mother and if you do not come back here in the same condition that you’re leaving in, I’m going to be livid. Livid, Riya.”

  “I hear you, Dad. You’re going to have to trust me.” They talked for a few minutes and she started the process of ending their call.

  “Be safe and don’t do anything crazy, princess. I don’t have much company when you’re not around.”

  Would sex with eight virtual strangers over two months be considered crazy?

  “I’ll see you soon. The time will fly by and you won’t even notice I’m gone, Dad.” Twirling her hair around her finger, she mentally rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have Summer…Autumn…somebody there this week? I saw her a couple of days ago.”

  “Her name was Solstice and no, she’s not here. That guitar of hers was too much to handle.” He humphed. “Your Aunt Maggie helped her pack. That was interesting.”

  “You know how she feels about the young ladies you tend to date.”

  “I’m not hurting anyone and those women know I’m not interested in long term. We’re all consenting adults. It’s all out in the open from the beginning.”

  This was not a topic she was touching right now. “I know. I’ve got to get some sleep, Dad. If there’s a true emergency, Tawny can get me.”

  “Why can Tawny call and I can’t?”

  “Not going there, Dad. I love you. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I love you, too and fat chance of that, Riya.”

  After she finally got her father off the phone, she turned off the lights, and left an envelope containing her few valuables on the kitchen counter for Tawny, who would lock them up until she got back. Her regular cell phone was also inside.

  She’d paid her basic bills for the next several months and stored her trusty 1998 Toyota Corolla in her dad’s garage. A rental car sat in her driveway, gassed up and ready to leave.

  In her backpack, she had one credit card and access to cash if she needed it. She wouldn’t, or rather, she shouldn’t need it – with the exception of one subject – if everything went as planned.

  If she used her own money, a large chunk of her project was pointless. It was called bartering for a reason. It was a trade – something she wanted for something each of her subjects wanted.

  In her small bathroom, she took a long look at herself in the mirror above the sink. She was pretty but didn’t consider herself beautiful. Long brown hair that tended to curl fell past the center of her back. Her greenish hazel eyes were set in a heart-shaped face. Her body was well-proportioned, fit, and golden thanks to her mother’s Brazilian roots.

  Her ex-boyfriend during her first year of college had described her as “just right.” Enough curves to please without becoming a caricature. Considering he barely showed a physical interest in her over the time they dated, she’d honestly been surprised he noticed.

  She was neither tall nor short, standing five-six in bare feet. According to her research, she generically appealed to a broad range of men, symbolizing the typical girl next door.

  That would work to her advantage over the next couple of months.

  Riya was confident about her ability to complete her research but she wasn’t arrogant. There was a nervous knot in her stomach. Her dissertation and her fictional writing had been her primary focus for so long. She wasn’t a virgin but she wasn’t promiscuous either.

  For her age, she didn’t have much experience so she worried about basic chemistry between herself and the men participating. She was breaking a long stretch of celibacy and isolation in one fell swoop.

  If she thought about it too long, the nervousness turned to terror.

  Shutting down that train of thought, she focused on the fact that after years of work
and months of planning, she was finally getting on with it.

  She brushed her teeth and pulled her hair into a loose braid. Thoughts of the next day and everything it symbolized overwhelmed her as she laid down.

  It seemed she stared at the ceiling for hours until she was able to sleep. The sound of the ocean behind the house was soothing and the night was surprisingly dreamless.

  Her subconscious must have known that a blank slate was necessary.

  Dawn arrived warm and humid. She ran as she did every morning and watched the sun come up over the ocean. Five miles up the beach and back had her soaked with sweat as she stretched on her little porch facing the water. Focused meditation as she stared at the waves coming in helped her center before she walked inside to shower and dress.

  Today was the beginning of the last phase. In a few months, if the pieces fell into place as she hoped, she would have her PhD and her true path would stretch out in front of her.

  The nerves this morning were from excitement and she welcomed them.

  Her best friend showed up as she was blow-drying her hair. Tawny talked about anything but what was about to happen and Riya hugged her hard before she walked to her bedroom to grab her stuff.

  It was already ninety degrees when she loaded her duffle bag and backpack into the car. Her father had insisted she rent it for the drive to Orlando when she originally told him she was taking a bus. She knew his face could have gotten redder but was glad she’d learned long ago how to pick her battles with Archer O’Connell.

  Tawny stood beside the driver’s side door, doing her best not to show the stress she was feeling.

  “Is there anything I can say to convince you to call me every couple of days?” Her accent was a singsong of her mother’s gentle Irish brogue and her late father’s Georgia drawl. “Just so I know you’re okay?”

  The pleading look in her bright green eyes almost convinced Riya to reconsider but she hugged her friend again instead.