The Golden Bachelors The New World of SwapTech chapter 6 by deleted_user

The common room at Willow Creek Retirement Home was still buzzing from Hal's brief, euphoric dip into Victor Newman's body. The taste of Nikki's lipstick had faded, but the memory of that powerful, virile surge hadn't. Hal slumped in his La-Z-Boy, flushed and grumbling about Marge yanking him out too soon. Vic nursed his Ensure like it was whiskey, eyes gleaming with mischief. Marge clutched the TVT Remote like a guilty secret, half-convinced they should smash it, half-tempted to point it again.

Vic flipped channels restlessly. News. Weather. Some cooking show. Then—

"Stop," Hal barked.

The screen filled with dramatic string music, rose petals raining in slow motion, and the title card: The Bachelor – Season 29.

Grant Ellis stood in a tailored tux on a sprawling Malibu mansion balcony, looking every inch the 31-year-old day trader/former pro basketball player: tall, broad-shouldered, dark skin glowing under golden hour light, smile confident but warm. He was the franchise's second Black lead, and the promo made sure you knew it—clips of him dunking, laughing with his mama, staring soulfully into the camera like he could see straight through the screen.

But the real show was the parade of women stepping out of limos in glittering gowns: twenty-five stunning contestants, ages 25 to 32, all dolled up for Night One. Alexe the pediatric speech therapist in a red slit dress that showed endless leg. Alli Jo the venture capitalist in emerald silk hugging her curves. Beverly the luxury travel host whose smile could melt steel. Christina resembling Kirsten Dunst with her blonde waves and pouty lips. They were a vision of youth, confidence, and barely-contained desperation—cleavage on display, heels clicking, each one vying for Grant's final rose.

Vic let out a low whistle. "Now that's what I'm talking about. No boardrooms. No kilts. Just a house full of gorgeous women fighting over one lucky bastard."

Hal leaned forward, glasses slipping. "Look at 'em. All that skin. All those legs. And Grant gets to kiss every single one if he wants. Christ, to be thirty-one again..."

Marge rolled her eyes so hard her bifocals nearly popped off. "You two are disgusting. It's a meat market. Those poor girls prancing around in dresses smaller than my handkerchief, begging for a rose like it's oxygen. And Grant's just standing there like a king, deciding who gets to stay and who gets humiliated on national TV."

Vic grinned. "Exactly. Prime real estate. Imagine slipping into one of those bodies—feeling that dress against your skin, the adrenaline of the limo exit, the way Grant looks at you like you're the only woman in the world. Or hell, imagine being Grant. All that power. All those women throwing themselves at you."

Hal's eyes lit up. "Or both. Zap into a contestant, play the game, then zap into Grant later. Turn the whole season into our personal playground."

On screen, the limo doors opened again. A contestant named Kyleigh stepped out—26, retail manager from Wilmington, North Carolina—wearing a shimmering silver gown that clung to every curve like liquid metal. Long dark hair, full lips painted deep red, hips swaying as she walked toward Grant. The camera lingered on her ass, her cleavage, the way the dress parted with every step to show thigh.

Vic pointed the remote experimentally. "She's perfect. Young. Hot. And right now, she's about to get her shot at the Bachelor."

Marge snatched at the remote. "Don't you dare. This is worse than the soap. At least soaps are scripted. This is real humiliation."

Hal smirked. "Real fun, you mean."

The promo cut to a teaser: Grant kissing one woman in a hot tub, another in a helicopter, a group date turning into a pillow fight that ended with bikinis and splashing. Laughter, tears, drama, sex implied in every lingering shot.

Vic held the remote out like an offering. "Who's first? Contestant? Or the man himself?"

The screen froze on Grant extending a rose to a beaming woman, her eyes shining with hope and lust.

The TVT Remote hummed faintly in Vic's hand, big red button waiting.