True Love

"I guess this is my retirement party," I laughed, understanding the extremity of my statement. "I had no idea at the age of 34 that my complete lack of motivation would allow me to enjoy life at this level," I'd finish. Each interview was a thorn in my side I needed to remove to get through the evening. My contract was simple and Van Hoy wanted the press to have full access.

When I was the Director of Analytics all I had to do was keep my team focused and manage the interviews of the Beta1000. ByMySide hadn't launched and we were a rogue band of misfits on campus. Though I knew nothing about analytics, I knew how to keep folks out of our camp, so they made me their leader. When we shaved our bodies like the Beta1000 to make them feel comfortable in the lab, they knew we were special. Van Hoy knew we were an insane group, but we were the catalyst that was going to make his dream a reality.

Van Hoy was obsessed with love and data. After his first wife passed away at 25, he wrapped himself in his work that was gaining noteriety. His fourth wife left him because his data became too famous. She also loved the pool guy. Apparently he initially agreed to put up with their extra-curricular activities until he found her straddling pool guy's face atop his desk of freshly printed divorce analytics. Data should not be forced to take part in such vulgarity.

Van Hoy came up with the idea of ByMySide while building a data analytics framework for the Dutch government to find terrorists. "Make love, not war!" was his pitch to investors. Seed money went in to research for five years, but nothing struck a nerve until Elsa entered the picture.

Elsa rewrote the testing protocol with a sensitivity toward human interaction that previous data sets were missing. Her cold demeanor was just the attitude necessary to believe that holding hands should be turned into numbers like everything else. Interview questions and DNA were foundational numbers, but lust was the signal of future compatibility. My team trusted Elsa, so we built the HoneyMoonSuite.

HMS originally stood for HourMinuteSecond because of our data collection system. A reflective, recyclable, ingestible "paint" could be applied to our test subjects, the Beta1000, to be viewed in the absence of light. The subjects could not speak, but everything else was allowed in the dark. The subjects had to remain in the room for an hour, felt a vibration from the floor every minute, and had to be touching each other somewhere every second. Elsa was adamant about the touching. That physical contact defined long term compatibility.

Some subjects simply held hands. Others took advantage of the anonymity and explored boundaries they hadn't prior to joining the Beta1000. Everyone had been tested for any infectious diseases and their diets were regulated for their first seven days in the program - their last four days being spent enjoying the HoneyMoonSuite.

Our cameras would record their every movement, temperature, moisture content, oxygen intake, and whatever else you could think of. Our analytics team was obsessed with every nuance of that room and the data they could map. They wanted absolute control over the furniture specs - height, material, weight, firmness. Even though the room was completely dark, the color of the pillows lead to a 2 day offsite. Because I was brave enough to take that $25000 expense report to the finance department, they made me their leader. Though 'brave' may not have been the right word, considering the recent divorcé running the accounting department had a crush on me.

Though our cameras couldn't reproduce visual images of the interactions, the graphed spectrums was mathematical pornography that had my analytics team constantly horny. Only our team could tell the difference between a 20 second French kiss and an 8 minute anal episode through the graphs. You'd think after the first week the team would be numb to the romantic interludes, of which only a small percentage were actually X-rated, but they were like two dozen horny teenagers, giggling at every graph that crossed their monitors.

"I don't think 2457 was expecting cum in the face so soon, but she appears to have no problem with it," Sharon eagerly read from two red parabolas floating on her screen. "And . . . now . . . she . . . is . . . licking . . . it . . . off," she finished her play by play with the spirited enthusiasm of a varsity cheerleader.

That said, the team was highly sensitive to our Beta1000. We all went through the interviews, DNA testing, and metric scans in order to know what each participant was going through. We wanted to feel their experience.

After the first day tension in the HoneyMoonSuite, Elise tossed out the idea of our entire team going hairless to make the Beta1000 feel less like gerbils in a cage. The next morning all 24 of the engineers, nurses, and analyst showed up to work completely shaven. Apparently I didn't get the memo, so they forced me into the prep room, stripped me naked and shaved me head to toe. We were that kind of close.

Elsa had predicted we would be that close and primitive, though Van Hoy ignored her warnings. "We need real people taking real data so they can see the emotion. Love is not 1's and 0's. Love is ecstasy and jealousy."

But I'm not sure how much love Van Hoy would have appreciated our analytics team had he witnessed our full collaborative effort. While the coupling between the Beta1000 was rare, the diagnostics of our system was daily. In the beginning the sex simulations were all fabricated with gestures and sugar water. As the team grew closer and their knowledge of Elsa's equipment increased, the simulation became less simulated.

We weren't certain what couple made the first jump from simulation to reality, but we know who we give credit to. Sarah and Elliot were calibrating muscular contraction numbers when Elliot couldn't regulate the frequency. The measurements weren't mathematical. They were random. They were human. When Sarah exited the HoneyMoonSuite Elliot casually asked Sarah to place the unused monitor back on the shelf, which she politely obliged. Their eyes both opened wide as she realized his deception and he realized hers. If she hadn't been using the monitor, she must have created those muscle contractions and moisture increases another way.

Without missing a beat Elliot entered two real Beta numbers into the system, stripped naked, and handed Sarah the spray. She sprayed him head to toe and repeated his actions. The system would log their activities as Beta1000 participants, but they could place the data with anomaly readings that Elsa would ignore - essentially discarding the results.

They would have gotten away with their diagnostics if they wanted to. Instead, they shared their data the next morning during our breakfast recap. Though quite common for a Beta Coupling - kissing, cunnilingus, rear entry, orgasm, orgasm, rest, reverse cowgirl, orgasm, backrub, kiss, rest - we all knew the data was bogus. Beta1355 & 5003 were both physically sickened by oral sex. We had to clean the Suite three times due to their lunch making a return visit.

Elliot and Sarah used those numbers because they wanted us to know we could all get away with it. My entire team took advantage. Sometimes they'd act out what Betas would do if they were ever paired. Sometimes they would just be themselves. But they would always cum. Blue diamond. Red diamond. Hers and his. I was deathly afraid that Elsa would catch us, but she was too busy monitoring the full set of data to notice the extra pairings.

In the end, 2538 Beta Couplings were all Elsa needed to develop an algorithm that predicted "TrueLove" for the ByMySide app - with an error of less than 1%.

"Did you ever try the HoneyMoonSuite?" a lanky editor from the Post enquired.

"I could not manage the team fairly if I was enjoying certain activities with some that others could not provide, could I?" was my soundbite. My team was never asked this question because they'd returned to their normal lives after testing was complete.

Now that I was in marketing and preparing for the launch, Elsa and I were the only insiders who knew what had happened in the HoneyMoonSuite - on or off the record.

So when we decided to bring back the 30 TrueLove Beta - those that were compatible based on ByMySide - I was the point person on catching the 30 individuals who'd left our campus one year ago. They'd all grown back their hair and were eager to return to campus.

The original agreement they all signed kept them from attempting any communication with the other Beta1000. We had a few rule breakers, but nobody leaked the process. The world only knew that we were asking questions and taking blood. The HoneyMoonSuite was now part of the launch and that clearly drove people's interest.

I interviewed each returning Beta to make sure they were comfortable being part of the launch. The data was anonymous so everyone would be questioned on holding hands and blowjobs with strangers. A few were nervous, but they were all just as game as the first day they shaved their eyebrows. They were unaware that they'd been selected for the reunion based on their compatibly scores. They simply were there to have a good time.

"I'm pretty certain I fucked the guy waiting in the lobby," said 1264 as she entered the green room.

"How can you tell?" I asked.

"I don't know. We had lunch once before we were all separated. I wanted him so badly. And I only had sex once in the suite. I think it was him," she offered as her confidence shrank midsentence.

Yes, she only had sex once in the HoneyMoonSuite, but 1264 (or Goldilocks, as she was knicknamed by Yali & Garesh) was notorious for her neverending handjobs. Aside from her activity with 9760, she never removed her standard uniform. If her partner were male - as all partners were not guaranteed to meet sexual preferences, leading to some long handholding or some awkward curiosity explorations - she'd immediately remove his shorts, examine his length and girth, then give him multiple handjobs until their hour was up. For some reason, 9760 was the length & girth she was hoping to find - not too big, not too small, not too skinny, not too wide. Oddly enough, no orgasm. From either Beta.

"I can't tell you what happened a year ago, but I do hope you enjoy tonight's dance. You've seen the itinerary, but the last dance will give you the opportunity to find your soulmate," I explained.

"Do I already know her?" 8796 asked during his interview prior to meeting the press.

"You may. Your interview scores, physical testing, and additional activities helped us select your invitation this weekend. Before we let the press have hold of you, we wanted to make sure you have not already made contact with any of the other testers since leaving campus," I pushed.

"I wish," 3365 laughed during her interview. "At first I wanted to, but I didn't want to jeopardize my stock options or weekends like this one here. I admittedly fucked every guy I could for 3 months trying to relive the HoneyMoonSuite, but it wasn't the same." This was an interesting answer considering she only held hands in the HoneyMoonSuite. "Are all of the Beta1000 here?" she asked.

"Not everyone is here this weekend," I answered. "But we hope those of you who made the journey are willing to enjoy the fun. Any further questions?"

"How will we know whether we found our true love?" asked 1065.

"Only you will know that answer," I teased. "ByMySide does not offer guarantees. We let the data speak for itself. Now go have fun and I'll see you at the dinner."

After that interview the Beta30 got their chance to mingle with the press and tell their stories. Some were eager to share every little detail, but they all held back a little because they believed that one of the other testers was their future mate. Even 2154, a man who very much satisfied 3 women and 2 men in the HoneyMoonSuite, dodged every question served to him with regard to the sexual exploits that were rumored. "I just remember that the lasagna was superb," he'd spout.

At 6PM everyone was dismissed to ready for the dinner and the dance. I took the time to memorize the actual names of the Beta30 so we'd feel more human. Elsa was happy referring to them by number, but I wanted this visit to be more personal. They were no longer lab rats, they were our brand ambassadors.

The dinner was too long. Van Hoy gave a toast and thanked his team profusely - especially Elsa and myself. But everyone wanted to get to the dance. They wanted answers. They wanted love!

Finally we were escorted to the ballroom entrances. All personal belongings were taken and sorted. Men and women were separated and then given their pants, button up shirt and sandals. The Beta erupted in laughter when they saw this dressier version of the uniform they had to wear during their testing days. "Will we be shaving as well?" bellowed 4786.

Dressed in their uniforms, everyone danced to the DJs mix of everything from country to dancehall. With 500 people on the dance floor, the press weren't sure who was who. Even the Beta weren't sure.

And then the music slowed and the lights dimmed until it was completely dark. Except for Beta. Printed on their shirts near their heart was the ByMySide logo.

"Those of you who came to find love, please enter the center of the dancefloor," the DJ announced. "The rest of you, move to the side and have a seat."

While those of us without the logo spread out and sat on the floor, we watched 30 logos hover below the dimly glowing logo etched into the ceiling.

The DJ announced, "Your hour begins now." Then he started a mix of their favorite love songs, the vibrations from the bass shaking the floor. We somewhat expected what happened next.

The testers began to circle each other without speaking. Some danced, while others just paced. Then the first 2 logos fell to the floor. And then another pair. Soon most of the logos appeared to be seated, but the intensity of the glow-in-the-dark logo eventually faded to black.

"I think they're making out," giggled a reporter.

"Can we make out?" asked another reporter.

"I think they're fucking!" another reporter shouted.

"Can we fuck?" yet another.

"This is one big HoneyMoonSuite!" was heard in every corner of the ballroom.

And then you could sense all around you that many had discovered the condom stored in every pair of pants. The orgy had begun. The spirit of the weekend and the anonymity of the moment had given everyone the chance to experience a little free love, even if true love weren't in their cards.

Just like the HoneyMoonSuite, there were no complaints. People found partners that were looking for a shared experience. Those that just wanted to hold hands, held hands. Those that wanted to suck someone's dick, found a suckable dick. I could hear some of the action, but Elsa could monitor the activity in the room given the tons of data we'd already collected and the HoneyMoonSuite spray that coated the insides of the clothes we placed them in.

Always read the fine print.

The DJ chimed in every ten minutes so everyone was ready to clean up at the last song.

The lights began to slowly rise, enough to notice the old ladies walking around the room with wicker baskets collecting any items that needing to be disposed of. They also handed out new uniforms to those that found their current uniform unsuitable for the rest of the evening.

Most reporters were in simple and relaxed positions on the floor, though most of them had a guilty smile on their face. There was plenty of chatter and conversation around the nearly 500 folks. There were a few that were still naked, half-naked, and one couple in midcopulation when the lights began to glow. Though they realized they were now giving a live sex show, they had no plans of ending early. Fortunately for us, the old ladies all huddled around them. Exhibitionism is one thing, but 'in front of 8 grandmothers' is no one's fantasy.

The reporters were so occupied with their own exploits that the lights were fully lit before they realized that the Beta30 had only sit down and held hands. No sex. Not even a kiss.

They had paired off in couples, sitting next to or across from each other. Some were smiling ear to ear. Some were crying. They were all matched.

Well, almost all.

As Elsa had predicted, 3425, 7650, and 1082 were not a couple, they were a threesome. Which left 1409 by herself.

While the reporters tried to sort out the Beta30 and themselves, the old ladies were replaced with young men serving fresh glasses of water and assorted exotic fruit.

The reporters found themselves focused on questioning the Beta30 while Van Hoy and I headed out to view Elsa's data.

"Nobody's perfect, Elsa," Van Hoy shrugged as I laughingly read the data about the reporters activities.

"Wife #5?" I said allowed as I glanced at the data.

"I simply interviewed her pussy, my friend," Van Hoy responded.

"Speaking of interviews," I explained as I returned to the dancefloor to retrieve our testers. The mass of reporters surrounded 1409, questioning how she felt about not finding TrueLove. I motioned to the DJ and he made the announcement regarding breakfast interviews the next day.

Reporters happily took the hint and headed out to possibly continue the hour they'd just experienced.

I interviewed 1409 first because I was as curious as the reporters about her current state of mind. We settled into my office overlooking the lake.

"I'm okay, I guess. I didn't really think this process would amount to much, but seeing the others connect like they did makes me a little sad inside, I guess. Two of those guys were in my group and they were so pessimistic about the entire thing. They tried to fuck every girl they could in the HoneyMoonSuite. Maybe I should have, too?" she pondered.

"You didn't?" I asked as though I didn't already know the answer to my question.

"I made out with two and fucked one," she flatly stated, still confused by not finding love. "He felt familiar and it just happened."

"If it makes you feel better, none of the people out there were in the HoneyMoonSuite together," I assured her. "That's just another set of data points we use."

"But I also broke a rule," she quietly replied. "I told him my name." She began to melt in front of me. "Did I not find love because I cheated? That would really be fucked up."

"Well, had you said your name during a session our mics would have picked it up and my staff would have gone through a protocol to have you removed," I coldly explained as her eyes met mine with disbelief. "You would have been immediately escorted from campus and legal action would have been taken. Your data would have eliminated from the servers and you would have had no chance to be here. None."

"Fuck you," she cried, as though I had poured salt into her wound. "I know what I felt and I fucking know what I said. The fact that he's not fucking here is bad enough without being told that I'm making this shit up. I told him my fucking name and I hoped he'd tell me his or find me at lunch or . . ."

"Risk his opportunity to find true love?" I interrupted. "Because you shared a moment that our system somehow missed? Because you thought your connection was more powerful than Elsa's algorithms? Because my team would have had to risk their jobs to cover your mistake? Because you couldn't control your heart?"

She gathered herself and stopped the tears.

"Besides," I continued, "your name isn't Smith."

She froze with a mix of relief and fear. "You know I'm telling the truth, don't you?" she begged quietly. "Don't you?"

"We could get into a shit load if trouble if . . ," I began to explain.