Chapter 2: Total Eclipse of the Heart

As he trudged back to his scooter out on the beach house lawn, Wesley wondered what it was about that Asian girl that had him snagged on her. It wasn’t just that she was cute, though he supposed she was that. He tried his best not to objectify women that way, tried to fight the bad impulses that the Patriarchy had drilled into him. But a body was a body, and his responded to stimuli, and the stimuli surrounding that girl told him she was cute.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I had met the love of my life, he thought to himself, somewhat jokingly.

It wasn’t her modest endowment, either. That was unusual, but it seemed to be a natural gimmick of this place. The hyperpressuration would get to her soon enough. And based on how that bodysuit wrapped around her figure, she’d be fitting right into this neighborhood soon enough.

What was it?

A couple were sloppily making out on the lawn, amid crushed beer cans and cups. The woman was wearing a bikini bottom so high-cut, the strings practically came up to the bottom of her breasts. She was also, somehow, wearing rollerblades. The guy was in a pair of tight acid-washed jeans that looked vacuum-sealed against his muscular thighs, his shirt open and rippling in a wind that was blowing in the opposite direction of whatever wind was mussing his hookup’s blonde hair.

Wesley stared at it for a moment. This place was fucking wild.

He couldn’t help but feel some shameful envy, though. When he’d been zapped into this place, he’d found himself dotted with acne, his chest muscles so pathetic as to look concave. Despite the fact that he seemed to live in a beach town, he appeared to be the world’s greatest sunbeam dodger. And the glasses. They limited his ability to do so many things. He needed them to see. But they undercut anything he said or did. Even when he said something perfectly reasonable, it came out nasally and whiny and ... frankly, pathetic.

He hadn’t been some kind of super-stud back home or anything. He’d been, like, just a guy. And he’d more or less been happy that way. But if he was gonna be trapped in this neon-drenched fuckfest, with its synthy backfills and its feathered haircuts, couldn’t he have at least been primed to have some fun here?

“Um, excuse me.” He waved a scrawny arm at the makeout couple. They pointedly did not pay attention to him.

“Excuse me, please,” he tried again, internally wincing at how downright asthmatic he sounded even when he said normal things. “I need to get my scooter out of here so I can continue my deliveries...”

The makeout couple obligingly rolled out of the way--almost certainly because they were just too caught up in each other to notice him, and not because they actually obeyed. Wesley sighed. He guessed that was what happened when you got isekai’ed into an 80’s movie as the town’s resident nerd.

He glanced back at the stoop where he’d just dropped off Chad’s order for the cute Asian girl. From that moment on, we were destined to be together, he thought, again with a certain level of self-mocking sarcasm.

What was it about her? Was it...?

His nearsighted eyes went wide as dinner plates.

She wasn’t period accurate.

She was dressed in the right clothes. She had all the right signs of early-onset hyperpressuration. But there was this phenomenon when talking about period films: iPhone face. Certain actresses just couldn’t be cast in stuffy English costume dramas because they just had a face that looked like it had seen a text message before.

That Asian girl had iPhone face.

He turned on his heel and sprinted back up the lawn ... inasmuch as this scrawny, asthmatic body could sprint. Holy shit, he wasn’t alone. Holy shit, he wasn’t the only one. Holy shit, he--

His nerdy clumsiness got the better of him. Just as the house’s front door opened, his ill-fitting sneaker caught on the top step and he stumbled forward--

Wesley stumbled back, hands shaking as Emily caught him by the arm, dragging him inside and shutting the door behind them with a quick, anxious glance over her shoulder. She hadn’t yet adjusted to this world; she looked as out of place here as he felt, the bodysuit she’d been given barely containing her sense of urgency.

“Oh thank god, another sane person,” she whispered, eyes wide, fingers clenched around his arm with a desperation he hadn’t felt in ages. Her voice was a mixture of relief and exasperation, low and fast. “Please tell me you know a way out of here.”

He let out a relieved sigh, finally recognizing the same disoriented panic he’d been trying to hide. “You’re stuck too?” He took in her wide, desperate eyes, realizing with a pang that she was just as trapped as he was, and just as alien to this neon-drenched insanity.

“Yeah, yeah, I got zapped in here from my living room! One minute I’m watching some trashy 80s movie, and the next—” She gestured around at the wild, hedonistic chaos of the house party unfolding around them. “I’m here. And everything’s...” She glanced at Chad, who was still standing nearby, shooting them a bemused look. “Everyone’s a stereotype! And they keep calling me ‘Bunny,’ like that’s my actual name!”

Wesley nodded quickly. “It’s like the whole place is a parody of itself, but ... somehow, it’s real. I’m Wesley, by the way.”

“Emily,” she replied, giving him a tight, grim smile as she dragged him deeper into the mansion, past the gleaming marble staircase and into a quieter corner of the house. She dropped her voice to a tense whisper. “Listen, Wesley, I need to get out of here. This place—it’s doing something to people.”

He shuddered, nodding. “I know. I mean, I already feel ... different. Like, not just ... like how I look,” he muttered, glancing down at his gangly limbs, his oversized glasses slipping down his nose. “But like it’s in my head. It’s so ... weird here.”

Emily nodded emphatically. “Yes! Exactly. Like it’s rewriting us to fit in.” She shot a glance over her shoulder, as if half-expecting Chad or one of the bikini-clad girls to overhear them. “I need you to help me stay me, okay? And if we can find a way out of here, we’re going.”

Wesley gulped, nodding. “Right. But ... we’ll have to blend in, at least a little. I don’t think this place will let us leave if we don’t. It’s like everything and everyone here is designed to keep us from escaping.”

She grimaced but didn’t argue, and he could see the way her fingers trembled as she adjusted the zipper of her bodysuit, still clutching it high over her chest, protecting herself as best she could from the way this place seemed to be tugging at her, urging her to loosen up, to join the party, to be just another bikini-clad girl in the background.

“Alright,” she whispered, nodding resolutely. “But let’s stick together. And if anything starts to change about me—anything weird—you tell me. Promise?”

Wesley’s face burned at the intensity in her gaze. “Promise.” He hesitated, glancing around the corner at the loud, neon-drenched crowd thrumming to an endless beat, laughter and shrieks echoing through the house. He lowered his voice, leaning in closer. “Emily, I think ... I think we’re supposed to join the party. I mean, like, that’s what the place wants us to do. Maybe that’s the only way to find a way out?”

She bit her lip, visibly reluctant but nodding slowly. “Fine. But we’re getting out of here at the first chance we get.”

As they moved back toward the party, Wesley and Emily exchanged a silent look of solidarity.

Emily and Wesley entered the throbbing heart of the party, and immediately Emily felt a blush crawl up her cheeks, her discomfort sharp and immediate. This place wasn’t just a party—it was like the distilled essence of every cheesy 80s music video and sleazy nightclub rolled into one, cranked to the maximum. The walls were pulsing with pink and green neon lights, reflecting off mirrored surfaces, and half-naked bodies writhed everywhere, a haze of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume thick in the air.

Couples were practically draped over each other, groping and grinding with zero inhibitions. A pair of women in metallic bikinis stood by the DJ, bouncing and shaking to the beat, and Emily’s stomach twisted as she noticed the way every male gaze in the room seemed magnetically drawn to them. On the staircase, two guys were taking turns chugging from a bottle of tequila, only to be interrupted by a girl in a low-cut crop top, practically pouring herself over one of them as she leaned in, whispering something in his ear that made him grin with unabashed hunger.

Emily stiffened as Chad sauntered over, giving her an exaggerated once-over, his neon-green shades flashing under the lights. “Hey there, Bunny,” he drawled, leaning in close, his voice a parody of smooth charm. “I don’t think I’ve seen you loosen up yet. You’re still looking ... tense.” His hand reached out to brush her shoulder, a little too familiar, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

Emily tensed, shrugging him off. “Just ... taking it all in,” she muttered, shooting Wesley a desperate look. Chad’s eyes lingered on her chest, his gaze unashamedly greedy, and she fought the urge to cross her arms defensively.

“Oh, don’t be shy. It’s all about having a good time here,” Chad said, flashing his smug grin as he sidled up closer. “If you need a little ... guidance, I’d be more than happy to help.” He winked, his hand moving to rest on her hip as he leaned in, his breath hot and reeking faintly of beer.

Wesley cleared his throat, stepping in just enough to break Chad’s advance, though his posture was a strange mix of defiance and nervousness. “Uh, we were just ... getting a feel for the place, Chad,” he said, trying to sound casual, though his voice had a slight tremor.

Chad smirked, his eyes sliding over Wesley with a patronizing glint. “Sure, sure. But remember, this is Bikini Week. The goal’s not to think too hard, alright? Just relax, have a little fun.” He leaned even closer to Emily, his hand giving her hip a possessive squeeze before finally stepping back.

Emily shot Wesley a pleading glance, her cheeks flushed from Chad’s attention, but as she tried to gather herself, she spotted something even more bizarre across the room.

Missy, the girl in the bubblegum-pink bikini, was perched on a guy’s lap, her fingers tangled in his hair, her lips ghosting along his jawline as she whispered something that made him chuckle darkly. But that wasn’t the strange part. Every so often, as she shifted and leaned into him, she’d arch her back, exaggerating the curve of her chest as if she were presenting herself, practically basking in his attention. And he was more than happy to oblige, his hands gripping her waist, sliding down to cup her backside with a possessiveness that made Emily shiver.

“Em...” Wesley murmured, shifting uncomfortably. “I think ... I think this place is designed to pull us in.”

She bit her lip, her gaze darting around at the haze of bodies tangled together in a blur of neon and flesh. There was a pull here, something that seemed to seep into her skin the longer she stayed, a voice whispering at the back of her mind to just let go, to give in to the vibe of the party, to stop fighting it.

In a corner, a kegstand was in full swing, the crowd egging on a girl whose cropped shirt rode up, revealing skin as she struggled to stay balanced, her friends cheering, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” as beer spilled down her chin. The music blared louder, and Emily realized she was tapping her foot, her body unconsciously swaying to the beat. She shot Wesley a panicked glance, feeling the tug of the rhythm taking over.

Before she could say anything, a couple near the makeshift dance floor caught her attention. The woman, dressed in a metallic thong bikini, was backed up against a guy who was nuzzling her neck, his hands roving up and down her body with complete abandon. She let out a moan that was drowned out by the synth-heavy bassline, her head tilting back, clearly giving herself over to the sensation.

Emily’s pulse quickened, her mind reeling at the surreal scene unfolding around her, her own sense of boundaries blurring as the atmosphere seemed to throb with a seductive intensity. Wesley’s hand brushed hers, grounding her momentarily.

“Emily,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music. “We can’t ... get sucked in. We have to keep looking for a way out.”

She nodded, trying to fight off the allure of the party, but the pull was powerful, insistent, and everywhere she looked, she saw people giving in, letting themselves be carried away in a wave of reckless, unbridled hedonism.

Wesley gulped as he found himself having an embarrassingly adolescent reaction to the presence of a woman in a thong bikini--and not just any kind, but the metallic, super-high-cut type that were more common in this period. He knew it was just a garment, and that women wore clothing for themselves, not for the attentions of men. But the sight alone made his eyes zero in. It was as if he were the cameraman in this lurid skin flick, his lens lingering overlong on the taut young flesh on display.

“Out back,” he declared. He could see that Emily was starting to develop a bit of a haze about her, too. Maybe this part of the party was just a trap. Too many enclosed spaces. Transformation happened because of wind pressure or something, right? So maybe it made sense to get somewhere outside, where that pressure would have a chance to dissipate.

Emily didn’t seem to have responded to his words. “Out back,” he tried again, straining his nerdy little voice to be heard over the blasting synth and bass. But Emily was bobbing along absently to the music. As he watched, he thought he could actually see her coming in and out of lucidity as she took in the wild displays of hot, youthful excess around them.

The pop culture of this time period reflected a desire to showcase American supremacy, Wesley tried to remind himself, with the part of his brain that remembered the existence of things like Pokémon and a Black president. Money, sex, and bodies were all mirrors of a cultural desire for status. It all changed when the Wall came down.

But it didn’t seem to be working. No matter how much he tried to intellectualize his way out of this situation, his thoughts started to become more and more slippery. What was more, he was finding it harder and harder to keep ahold of those thoughts. When he tried, it almost seemed like the music of the party itself--which wasn’t coming from any visible speaker system Wesley could see--started to blast that much harder.

Fuck it. This was getting too wild, too fast. They had to get outside. Instead of telling Emily where to go, he grabbed her hand with his clammy nerd fingers. He saw her jolt in surprise at his touch, but at least it meant she was here with him now. He jerked his head towards the screen door at the back of the beach house. “Come on!”

He’d expected maybe a small patio, the sort of place where smokers would gather--not that that division existed in this period. In the very least, he thought it would be quieter.

He was so, so wrong.

The beach house had a massive pool deck. The music seemed, if anything, even louder out here, as if no neighbors would ever complain about the noise. There was a dance floor cleared, so close to the pool that people ran a real risk of falling right in. On it, bikini-clad hotties gyrated and ground up against muscular, sun-bronzed studs. They danced curiously, their movements a little out of sync with the music. It was almost as if they were actors who had had to dance to nothing on set that day, and then a cheap track had been slapped onto the film in the edit later.

“Why the fuck,” Wesley said to Emily in disbelief, “is there a pool deck here? I can literally see the beach!”

A big brute of a guy, his button-down straining against his muscles, effortlessly picked up his dance partner by the waist. She wore a high-cut electric blue one-piece whose top half strained against a pair of ridiculously huge, fake-looking tits. She squealed with delight, eagerly wrapping her long legs around his trim waist and gyrating her whole body up and down against his own.

And then, as one, all the dancers on the floor turned to look straight at them.

It was as if an impromptu spotlight had been thrust upon Wesley and Emily. The cute-but-not-hot new girl. The town nerd, still dressed in his dorky and ill-fitting pizza delivery uniform. He knew they looked weird in this context. But they weren’t displeased to see them; if anything, they looked friendly and inviting. What could they possibly want, though?

Unless...

“Emily,” Wesley said with sinking certainty. “I fucked up. I think ... I think we need to dance with them!”

The dancers on the pool deck seemed to turn in unison, their gazes locking on Wesley and Emily with a mix of challenge and invitation. The lights above them pulsed, bathing everything in the kind of neon glow that blurred edges and amplified curves, making the whole scene feel surreal, like they’d stepped into a hyper-sexualized dream sequence from which there was no exit.

Emily’s fingers tightened around Wesley’s, but he could see the nervousness in her eyes flicker, then fade, replaced by a glimmer of intrigue, curiosity—even a kind of reluctant excitement. The music throbbed louder, drowning out their doubts, pulling them in. The big guy with the unbuttoned shirt—a slab of muscle, tanned and glistening—strode toward Emily, his biceps flexing with each step. His dance partner, the girl in the electric blue one-piece with impossibly exaggerated curves, practically purred as she sidled up to Wesley, a slow, teasing grin curling on her lips as she reached out, drawing him close with a soft, manicured hand to his shoulder.

“Looks like you two are the new stars of the party,” the guy growled, his deep voice rumbling in Emily’s ear as he pulled her gently onto the dance floor. She stumbled forward, nearly falling into him, his broad chest solid under her palms as he steadied her. His hands landed on her hips, strong but coaxing, guiding her into the beat as he rolled his body against hers, impossibly close. She felt her breath hitch, the heat radiating off him mingling with the warm evening air, and the tension she’d held since arriving here started to unravel, bit by bit, at his touch.

Wesley, meanwhile, tried to keep his cool as the blue-clad bombshell pressed herself flush against him, her chest brushing up against him, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hips beginning to move in slow, deliberate circles, her body a constant press of heat and softness that made his cheeks burn.

“You look tense, sugar,” she whispered, her lips hovering just near his ear, her breath warm and suggestive. “Just let go. Feel the music. Or feel me, whichever works.” She leaned in close, her curves molding against him, her chest pressing up as if to drive the point home, her laughter low and throaty as he struggled to keep up with her fluid, sensual movements.

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.