Sette
"How complex of a thing am I about to be inducted into?""Oh, you aren't dumb, are you?... Well, we certainly are not talking about a flophouse special or a petty pedestrian debauch. Truth is, we do have an outcall service -- all computerized, of course, with ENTRY codes, the whole bit; remember, math was my specialty."
"An outcall service? Computers?"
"You have heard of microcomputers, haven't you? Lockout codes. Cellular networking. Why, I spent six months in the library studying cryptography. File security, IPS, key crunching, Queued Sequential Access. . . I especially liked that--" she said, raising her eyebrows, "--after my time in the Philippines...The Public Security Investigation Agency doesn't tolerate petty crime, you know. Going corporate is the only route. Brocade collar offenses are a unique subset. Our clients don't move in and out of the market; they enter with long-term service requirements. Money never changes hands. We're sufficiently capitalized and cellular, we simply receive biannual investments in our subsidiary enterprises -- properly prorated, of course. And our kooru-booi? Well, queen bees have never had it better. Benignant is our motto in employee relations. All 'employees' are sub-contractuals who live on lavish expense accounts and stock distributions."
"Kooru-booi?"
"You won't be seeing any of those. Wealthy Japanese women indulge themselves in call boys. We provide for those needs and guarantee the utmost in art, quality, and discretion. Not every fella can make it through our school, let me tell you. It's a very demanding six months' grind. Our process of mizu-age, 'deflowering', usually takes about seven days. Of course, our utilization of egg whites is rather innovative! A kind of Takarazuka Young Boys School, you might say. And we do have the most discriminating of customers. But none of that is any concern of yours."
"Sounds positively benighted... Aruru playing with her clay."
"Quite."
"And how many wretched defenseless fools have you seduced?" he asked this Jezebel, cunning fornicator that she surely was.
Her eyes twinkled and, as if a character right out of Mozart, she began an aria in recitative: "Ah, well, Leto, of course. O, her delicious dakini!" Arms spread like the tail of a lyrebird at courting. "And then there was Semele and later Alcmene. Oh, the times we had! Demeter, too. Europa and Danaë. . . My! talk about ménage à trois! And--"
"Okay, I get the idea," he said with wan dismissal.
"Agonistes dear Sampson, agonize!"
"Hmmmm. . . You know, don't you, Miss Miggs, that being a turnkey is merely a graphic substitute?"
"Was that an adequate preview?" she asked, ignoring his derogatory dig.
"It was very tantalizing. I don't know whether I should be torpid or benumbed. . . By the way, may I ask your name?"
"Rosette. Just call me Sette for short."