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?”