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My first two semesters at GeneTech Institute were going to be the best year of my life. 

GeneTech wasn’t just the best school for genetic research in the entire western hemisphere, it also boasted an astonishing 56 to 44 female to male ratio. Any guy working in STEM would kill for that kind of statistical advantage- it was like discovering bigfoot riding a unicorn. I thanked my lucky stars (and the many generous women-only scholarships provided by Fempire Unlimited) for affording me the opportunity. There was only one catch. If I failed to pull at least a 3.8 by the end of the second semester, my scholarships were toast. Grants would still pay for classes, but I’d be living on the street and the last time I checked- girls do not dig cardboard housing.

I wasn’t worried though. I graduated high school summa cum laude and my science submission took 2nd place at nationals. The only reason I didn’t get first was because there is a lot of money in neo-recyclables and the Big Five always pick the winners. I wasn’t too bent out of shape about it though. Given the choice between developing recycling technology for a bunch of hundred-year-old garbage and perfecting humanity with state of the art gene therapy- I’ll take genetics every time.

My watch read quarter til. Plenty of time to grab a coffee before heading across the quad to the conference lab. I decided I’d play tourist for a bit and walked the polished white stone walkways that looked out over the green manicured courtyards. Everything was perfectly trimmed, cleaned, and functional. It was like they hired Google to do their landscaping. Coming around a corner I spotted the coffee shop, quickly crossed the lawn, and slipped inside. My lenses adjusted instantly to the change in light. Transition lenses had come a long way. Of course I didn’t really have to wear them at all; the surgery was dirt cheap, but I liked my glasses. They had style.

I glanced around the cramped coffee shop and noticed there wasn’t an empty table in sight. In fact, the only empty seat was across from a petite undergrad. She was curvy, and would have been a total knockout given a half dozen extra inches or so. Nevertheless, she was very pretty; brunette, aquiline nose, gorgeous lips, beautifully sculpted cheekbones. She looked like a young Mila Kunis only more busty. A bored, faraway look was plastered on her face as she idly twirled a tiny red straw around the edge of her coffee. 

Not wanting to miss my chance, I ordered a small coffee to go. Thirty seconds later I was making my way over to her table… with absolutely no plan for what to say when I got there. She looked up when I arrived. I should have said something like 'is this seat taken', but what came out of my mouth surprised both of us, “You would look better if you were taller.”

“Excuse me?” Her hand stopped mid-stir.

Oh my god. What did I just say? My mind started racing as her shocked look transitioned to something a deal more offended. I had to say something fast. “Is that standard hereditary disposition for you?” Great, I thought sarcastically, dazzle her with scientific gobbledygook.

“Huh?” She replied, appearing more confused than annoyed now. That was good, confusion I could work with.

“I mean is your family around the same height you are.”

“You mean does shortness run in my family?” She sounded a bit pissed. This was not going well.

“Erm, yeah.” I confessed.

“No, as a matter of fact, it does not. Now if you don’t mind- I’m waiting for someone.”

I couldn’t let my first female encounter at college end like this. It would be a bad omen. Like getting a flat tire on the first drive in a new car. “I can help you,” I blurted out. “You don’t have to be short.” Wait. What?

“Just leave me- Err, huh? What did you just say?”

A great question! I wish I knew.... Well, in for a penny in for a pound. “I’m working on a uh... gene therapy that can uhm, safely increase the size of homo sapiens,” I lied. What the hell is wrong with me? I just met this girl and I’ve already insulted her and lied to her. Worse, it appeared to be working.

Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward, giving me a look at a tantalizing line of cleavage. “Really?” she asked with a hint of excitement.

“Well, I mean its mostly theoretical work.” Highly theoretical really. Bleeding edge. I’d just invented it for chrissake! Grabbing at straws, I continued, “But yeah, I’m confident it can be done.” Over confident you might say. “Think about it, if a tumor can grow due to a genetic defect why couldn’t healthy tissue grow instead? And if tissue, why not bone, muscle- the whole nine yards.” Yeah, I thought, nearly giggling at the absurdity of what I was saying, why the hell not!? 

“Wow.” she said. “I never thought about that.” Her eyes were distant for a moment before she refocused and said, “Why don’t you sit down?”

Score. I set my tablet down on the table and slid into the chair opposite of her. “What about your friend?”

“Oh, I only said that because I thought you were just some creep,” she said shrugging. 

“Yeah, umm… sorry about that. I get so caught up in my research sometimes that I start thinking of everyone in terms of ‘genetic potential’ rather than as, well- you know. People.” That, at least, was true. 

“So what do you think about my ‘genetic potential’?” she said sitting up straight. Her breasts filled out her shirt beautifully. She was giving me the perfect excuse and I took it.The table obscured everything below the waist but her stomach was flat and I guessed her breasts had to be somewhere in the D-cup range. 

I kept my face as clinical as possible and said, “You look like you’re in great shape but I can’t give you a good answer without getting a sample for my lab.” Finally, I sighed inwardly, a completely honest answer.

“Oooh, kinky,” she said with a wink. “Maybe I’ll have to give you a sample then.”

“I could check right after class.” Shit, I said that way too eagerly. 

“Well, in that case…” She pulled out a pen and wrote something on a napkin. Then she brought the napkin quickly to her face before pressing it into my hand. Before I could check out what she’d written she stood up and said, “I’ve got to get to class. Keep in touch.”

I started to reply “How do I-” but she was already gone.

I flipped over the napkin. Beneath a kiss shaped imprint was a phone number. I grinned.

It was definitely going to be a great year.

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