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signals for help.
    This was good.
    I took him to one of my boring faculty cocktail parties. This one was to honor a scientist who was working with monkeys and THC. Specimen 1 behaved beautifully. He even seemed to thrive under the recognition he received from admirers of his books and the lecture he had given that day so long ago.
    “Dr. Miriam, we rarely see you at these anymore,” Dr. Williams, the crusty old chairman of the board said to me while eyeing Specimen 1.
    “I’ve been quite busy with my experiments and, of course, showing Mr. Gravenhurst the wonderful sights and delights of our city.”
    “So it would seem. You are looking well, so you’re obviously doing something right,” he quipped as he wandered off to the next guest.
    I’m satisfied this experiment is going well.
     
     
    Specimen 1
    His accent sends shivers of delight through me, the way his foreign tongue twists words brings even one of my dry medical textbooks alive. I’ve declared that every now and again he’ll read me some of his works in progress. I sit back on his king-sized bed while he sits naked at my feet, reading a few pages from his latest creepy creations. The lilt of his voice, the way he pronounces his words, the look of concentration on his handsome face while he reads his work to me—all make me wet with gleeful anticipation.
    I’ve grown to trust Specimen 1. He has settled into his life with me, takes orders and is compliant. Even his Facebook messages to his lady friend have stopped. He wrote to her to tell her he’s not coming back, that he’s happy working on his books in lavish surroundings.
    Specimen 1 doesn’t need to be shackled anymore.
    Of course, the house is on lockdown, there is no way for him to escape or even contact the outside world.
    He can sleep freely in his bed now, with no chains, no ball gag to hinder his rest. He wakes when he desires and sleeps when he desires.
    He is adjusting perfectly.
     
     
    Specimen 3
    When I went to the sex club last night with Specimen 1, I asked about her, the goddess. Surprisingly, the doorman gave me her email address.  
    Today I emailed her and after we went back and forth a couple of times, I told her I wanted to send her a present. She sent me an address.  
    I packaged up a state-of-the-art MP3 player that looks like an earring and is clipped to the ear. There are actually two of them that look like pretty rhinestones but also provide surround sound between them.
    I hope she enjoys her present.
     
     
    Specimen 1
    My calculations were way off. I weaned him from the serums too quickly and too soon. I was premature in granting him so much freedom. I was nearly defeated by my own enthusiasm.
    I was sleeping in my own bedroom on the second floor when the door creaked open. The sound startled me awake, and, more so, I was knocked off guard when a pillow was slammed down on my face.
    It took a moment for me to register what was going on. But once I shook off the slippery tendrils of dreams and faced my reality, I was ready. My gym training at work once more, I lurched into a flip, knocking the intruder back. He stumbled, fell over a chair, and then scrambled to his feet as I stood in a classic fighting stance on top of my bed.
    “Who is it?” I called out. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, I saw him on the other side of the room, panting heavily, a solid figure in the shadows. He rubbed his arms, clearly surprised at my strength.
    “Why are you keeping me here?” Specimen 1 asked.
    “I’m not keeping you here,” I said, not letting my stance drop.
    “Yes, you’re keeping me a prisoner. The doors are locked. The phones don’t work. Even the Internet isn’t the Internet.”
    “My, you’ve been busy in your explorations.”
    “What do you expect, Miriam? I want to go home.”
    The words were like a punch to my stomach. I crawled down from the bed and stood by my nightstand. I had ready-to-use hypodermic needles in there should it become