Chapter 1 - Match.
SoulMatesTM: A new kind of dating service, driven by the science behind human attraction. Our innovative biometrics take all the guesswork out of finding your perfect mate. Using the data collected by our SoulMates Chip (US pat. pending), and the expert algorithms created by our team of psychologists, physicians, and computer programmers, the SoulMates System will find the perfect partner for you.
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That’s what the ad had said. It also said that they were willing to pay big money to beta testers who volunteered to be test subjects for their new biometric implants. Justin still wasn’t sure though. The idea of having a tiny piece of metal and plastic implanted under his skin kind of gave him the creeps. Then he thought about his rapidly depleting bank account, sighed, and grabbed hold of the door handle to let himself into the upscale glass and chrome building where SoulMates had its offices.
An hour later he walked out again, this time with a signed contract in his hand and a tiny piece of gauze taped over the incision site where they’d implanted the biometric chip just behind his left ear. Once the hair that had been shaved away grew back, you wouldn’t even be able to see the tiny lump where the chip rested just under the skin. Justin still wasn’t sure how it was all supposed to work, despite the sheaf full of paperwork he’d been given purporting to explain everything. All he knew for sure was that he had to check in daily on the mobile app they’d installed on his phone, which interacted with both the chip and a wrist watch-type device that he was supposed to wear at all times. Supposedly, it would take approximately a week before the system had established a baseline reading, after which the chip would start monitoring all interactions that he input into the app and would use that information to guide him to his perfect partner.
Justin was skeptical, to say the least.
“I hope this shit is worth it,” Justin mumbled under his breath. “If this chip thing gives me brain cancer, I’m gonna kill Daphne for talking me into this hairbrained idea.”
*********
Things were looking up for Justin Taylor. After the last six months of struggling, he felt like he deserved it. But, now, on top of the sizable signing bonus Justin had received from the SoulMates people, he was getting a $250 weekly stipend while using the service, and he had also found a job that he thought he could work around his schedule at PIFA.
The manager at his favorite diner - a buxom, middle-aged woman with a loud voice and an overbearing personality but kind eyes - seemed to have taken pity on him. He’d been sitting at the counter nursing a coffee while he read through his Renaissance History textbook one night when the manager and one of her waiters got into a rather loud discussion. When the waiter walked out in a huff, Justin had jumped up and immediately offered to replace the guy. Debbie - that was the manager’s name - had been skeptical when Justin admitted he had no experience waiting tables, but in the end she’d been won over by his pleading blue eyes. She offered him a trial run and warned him she wasn’t going to go easy on him.
Justin didn’t care. He really needed the job, even though it meant that he’d be working most nights and weekends, pretty much killing any possibility of a social life he might’ve had. It would be worth it if he started bringing in some decent money. Art supplies weren’t cheap, you know, and Justin‘s tightwad father had put his foot down after only barely being cajoled into allowing his fairy son to go to a namby-pamby art school. Money was understandably tight. Every little bit helped.
So far Justin had managed, through on-the-job learning, and had one successful week of waitering under his belt. But today was the first time he’d worked the Sunday Brunch shift. Both Debbie and the other waiter, a trans woman who went by the name Kiki, had complained that brunch was the toughest shift of the week; hungry, hungover queers were, apparently, the worst. Justin didn’t doubt it. Judging by the line of folks waiting at the front door, it was going to be insanely busy. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, though, so he squared his shoulders and reached for the door handle with his usual stubborn determination.
Inside, the place was shoulder-to-shoulder customers. The atmosphere was muggy and the aroma of stale grease from the fryer in the back overwhelmed even the heavy cologne and sweat wafting off the clientele. Debbie, though, was in her element, dancing around the milling groups of men - and a few women - serving up heaping trays full of food, removing the empty plates, taking orders, and swapping shit with her favorites without letting up. The woman was a fucking wonder. Justin didn’t know how she did it.
Dodging around Kiki, who was wearing what looked to be a 1950s French Maid costume that day, Justin grabbed a fresh apron and an order pad and prepared to wade into the frey.
“Sunshine, honey, you can take tables eight through twelve,” Debbie yelled at him from clear across the room, her voice somehow cutting through all the other noise without effort. “Table nine needs water and ten is ready to order; I haven’t had time to get over there yet.”
“I’m on it, Deb.” Justin filled four glasses with tepid tap water, dropping them off on the way to take table ten’s order. The three men seated in the booth smiled up at him as he neared. “Good morning, Gentlemen. What can I get for you today?”
“You wouldn’t call him a ‘gentleman’ if you heard what he did last night with Matt Simcoe,” snickered the mousey-looking brunet sitting closest to Justin.
“Stop trying to shock the new waiter.” The taller, sandy-haired man with the friendly gap-toothed smile said from his corner of the booth, emphasizing his words with a playful backhand to his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to him, Sweetie. I can be gentle . . . If you want me to be.”
The customer sitting across from the flirty one looked up from where he’d been fiddling with his phone and shook his head at the two across the table. “Please don’t scare off the new guy already, you two. Ma will kill me. I think she’s taken a liking to this one and, if he quits, I’ll have to listen to her complaining for days and days on end.”
Justin found that comment to be interesting. It sounded like this guy was related to Debbie, maybe? Deb had mentioned her son a couple of times but, based on the comments, Justin had assumed the son was a much younger guy. A kid even. This guy was old, though. Like, maybe in his thirties. Way too old to have his mother all up in his business the way it sounded like she was based on Debbie’s stories. But, whatever. It wasn’t really any of Justin’s business. All he had to do was serve the guy breakfast, not judge his life.
The man looked up at Justin with a placating smile that softened the waiter’s opinion of the guy. “Sorry about my friends. They’re mostly harmless.”
“No worries.” Justin smiled back understandingly before surreptitiously winking at the flirty friend. “I’m starting to get used to it around here. I’m not going to run from a bit of friendly flirting.”
“Good, because you are definitely an upgrade from Greg, the old waiter. He was terrible at taking a joke,” the mousey one replied then smiled over at the dark-haired one. “You can tell your mother thank you from me, Michael. It was about time we got some fresh blood around here.”
In a stage whisper that didn’t even attempt to be discreet, the flirty one commented, “if you’ll let me out, Teddy, I can give his buns a squeeze and confirm for you just how fresh they are . . .”
“Down boy!” The dark haired one threw his crumpled up napkin at Mr. Flirty. To Justin he added, “ignore Emmett. He sometimes forgets his manners around cute twinks. But if he gets out of hand, I’ll borrow Big Al’s whip and beat him down for you.”
While the three good-natured men continued to tease and joke with each other, Justin was distracted by a chime from his watch and a tiny buzzing sensation at the spot behind his ear where the SoulMates chip had been implanted. He glanced down at the watch, which had lit up. The display showed a big green check mark and the word ‘Match’.
“Interesting . . .” he mumbled to himself.
It was the first time the SoulMates system had activated itself since he’d got the implant. It meant that someone in the vicinity, who had an implant of their own, had met whatever esoteric criteria the company used to determine that two users would make a good couple. Justin quickly scanned the Diner full of men, none of whom stood out to him. He’d love to take a minute, dig out his phone, and check out the profile of the man that he’d matched with. Unfortunately, Justin didn’t have time for that right then; not when there were a dozen or more starving customers waiting for their meals.
Instead, he got his pen out of the pocket on his apron, poising it above the order pad. “Well, if you're done flirting for the moment, guys,” Justin smiled over at the one named Emmett, “how about I take your orders so I can serve the folks at the next table before their food gets cold?”
The teasing quieted down and the men moved onto the serious business of selecting their breakfasts. Justin jotted down the mens’ orders as they barked out their rapid-fire requests. When they were done, he had to scurry off to pick up the order waiting under the heat lamps in the pass-through for table eight. Then there was a table to clear and new customers to seat, new men to flirt with, new orders to take, and more food to deliver. And it continued in the same vein for the next eight hours or so. Kiki had been right to warn him about how crazy the brunch shift was.
The day passed in a rushed blur. Justin barely even registered any of the many, many men he spoke to that day. Everyone was nice enough. Several were vaguely attractive. He flirted with all of them because that way he got bigger tips. No one really caught his eye though. And he didn’t remember about the SoulMates match until after he got home, had showered off the stench of a day serving french fries, and finally collapsed in exhaustion on his couch.
Picking up his phone, Justin noticed two missed notifications. “Oops. Fuck . . .”
He’d missed the daily check-in that he was supposed to do for the dating service. He quickly tapped at his phone until the SoulMates app was open and ran through all the questions on the status update widget. He wasn’t sure why the stupid app had to ask all these annoying questions. But, since he was getting paid to do it, he dutifully answered, detailing his busy day, what his current mood was, giving ratings from one to ten of his stress level, his energy level, his current motivation levels, and whether his overall social interactions for the day were positive or negative. He had to list when he’d last eaten and how hungry he was. Hell, the damn thing even asked how horny he was at the moment.
“Fucking intrusive . . .” He mumbled his complaints but continued with the check-in questions, selecting ‘very horny’ from the list of possible responses.
He would challenge anyone to spend an entire day, surrounded by that many attractive, gay men, and not come away with a raging boner.
It wasn’t till he got to a series of questions asking him to evaluate the recent Match he’d received that he even remembered the ping he’d gotten earlier in the day.
“Oh. Yeah . . .”
Justin saved the unfinished check-in questionnaire and navigated to the ‘Matches’ page. There was a blank space for a list of all his potential matches with only one name. He clicked on the hotlink that read, ‘Michael N.’ and was immediately whisked off to a profile page for the man he’d matched with.
To his complete surprise, Justin realized he recognized the face in the pic at the top of the profile. It was the dark-haired guy from table ten from earlier that morning. The one who had been trying to apologize for his obnoxious friends. The one who was, maybe, the son of his supervisor at the Diner.
“Shit! This is the perfect match they came up with for me? Ha!”
Justin took a quick screen cap of the profile for ‘Michael’ and sent it to Daphne via text.
Warhol Jr: So, that dating app you talked me into signing up for, says this is my perfect match.
Laffy Daffy: Hmm . . . He’s not that bad looking, I guess. A bit on the older side, but not too badly preserved. Although you can’t really tell much from that crappy pic. Where’s the abs shot? Or the dick pic?
Warhol Jr: No dick pics on this app, I’m afraid. They’re all about interests and compatibility and that kind of shit. But, even assuming we did match on that level, and this guy was my type, I couldn’t hook up with him. I think he’s my boss’ son . . .
Laffy Daffy: 
Warhol Jr: Blame the stupid app, not me.
Justin clicked around in Michael’s profile a little further, scanning the listed interests and likes.
Warhol Jr: So, I guess the fucking algorithm isn’t totally off. The guy does have some similar interests. He’s into comic books and wants to someday create his own. He lists some of the same movies and graphic novels as I did. I mean, he’s not horrible, but . . .
Justin sent the text and watched as the three little flashing dots indicated that Daphne was typing a response. Before the reply came, though, he got a notification that a message was waiting for him in the SoulMates app. Justin groaned with trepidation and tapped the DMs tab of the app. Since he’d only matched with one person so far, it wasn’t difficult to predict who the message would be from. This could be painful.
Michael N: Hey there, Matchee! I’m Michael . . .
Justin groaned at the way the guy thought it necessary to introduce himself when his profile was linked directly to the messaging function on the app and his name was right there in the message bubble. He mentally added ‘not tech-savvy’ to the guy’s profile.
The message continued: . . . Boy was I surprised when I checked the SoulMates app right after brunch and saw that you and I had matched! Small world, huh? I think the app did a pretty good job this time, too. I checked out your profile and it seems like we’ve got a ton in common. I love that you’re a graphic artist. I’m a huge comic book fan, especially Captain Astro. I go to all the comic cons and have a subscription to Dark Horse Comics so I get all their latest stuff as soon as it comes out. I’d love to get together for coffee sometime and you can show me some of your art. What do you say?
“Adding ‘geek’ to the profile too . . .” Justin mumbled to himself as he switched over to his main messaging app where Daphne was already getting annoyed at him for not replying faster to her texts. Deciding it would be easier to just call, Justin tapped at the phone icon. Daphne picked up on the first ring.
“Sorry, Daph. The guy sent me a message right as I was texting you.”
“Ooo! Did you finally get that dick pic?”
Justin laughed out loud at his friend. “What is with you and wanting to see pictures of my potential dates’ dicks? Have you already forgotten that conversation we had about boundaries?”
“Yes. I forgot about that ten seconds after you finished lecturing me,” Daphne admitted with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, Just. How are you supposed to know if you want to date this guy without any data? And, by data, I mean . . .”
“. . . Dick pics,” Justin finished her sentence and they both devolved into more laughter. “Even if he was hung like a horse, though, I’m not sure I can go out with this guy, Daph. I mean, he sounds like a total geek.”
“So what? You’re a huge geek too. You two should get along great.”
“I am NOT a geek. I’m artistic. It’s totally different.”
Daphne chortled and gave a fake cough that sounded like ‘geek’.
“Whatever.” Justin had to concede he might have some mild tendencies towards geekiness, but it wasn’t like he would capitulate aloud to Daphne. “Even if I was wildly attracted to the guy, I can’t go out with him. He admitted in his message that he’s the guy I saw this morning at the Diner. The one who said my boss, Debbie, is his mother. There’s no way in hell I’m risking my job. I don’t care that SoulMates says he is my perfect match; I need money more than I need a date.”
“Yeah, that could be tricky,” Daphne replied.
“Damn . . . Hang on a sec, I just got another message from him . . .” Justin swiped at his phone to get back to the SoulMates app and found another message from Michael N. “What the fuck?”
“What is it?”
“Listen to this . . .” Justin read the message from Michael aloud. “I just called my mother to find out when you’re working so we can find a time to get together and she said she’d be happy to cover for you on Wednesday if you want to get a cup of coffee . . .”
“Shit, Just!” Daphne was laughing again. “Now that his mom - your fucking BOSS - is onboard, you’re gonna have to go out with the guy. Geek or not.”
“Fuck my life,” Justin moaned.
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Which is how Justin Taylor ended up dating his boss’ son, the comic book geek, and his ‘perfect match’ according to the US Patent Pending SoulMates System.