“Or women? Do women make you stiff, make your heart beat faster? When you see a woman’s breasts, does your body respond?”
“Oh, gods. Momoko-sama, I haven’t . . . I don’t . . .” I could not finish the sentence. Could not force the words out. “I have never . . .”
“Both?” Her head tilted slightly. “Neither? Something else entirely?”
“I don’t know!” The words burst out of me. “I have never . . . I have not . . .”
“You are a virgin.”
My head fell. I couldn’t speak. Yoshi’s lips filled my mind, his touch, his taste. I longed for him, to be lost in his arms, to know love in ways none other could ever offer. We had lain together, only once, but that one time showed me all the glories of the sunrise. I would not sully his memory—our memories—by speaking them aloud.
The mistress took my silence as ascent.
“Good,” she said. “Virgins fetch higher prices for their first time, but that is not why I am pleased. I am pleased because you are unshaped, a blank canvas.” She leaned forward slightly. “Tell me, Kaneko, when you lie in bed at night, alone in the dark, what do you think about?”
“I do not—”
“You are a man. Of course, you do.” Her voice remained soft, but something sharp entered it. It was not cruelty—at least, I didn’t think it was. Only certainty. “Everyone thinks about something. Everyone feels desire for something, even if they do not have a name for it.” Her eyes held mine. “What makes your heart race? What makes your breath catch?”
I couldn’t look away, couldn’t think.
My mind was blank.
“I . . . I do not . . .” I tried again.
Failed again.
She waited.
The silence stretched.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
“Sometimes,” I whispered finally, “I think about . . . about being touched. Just . . . touched. Held. Like . . . I matter.” The admission felt like peeling off my own skin. “Not . . . not likethat. Just . . . gently.”
“Intimacy,” Momoko whispered to herself. “Interesting. Not sex for the act, but for the closeness.” She nodded, as if I had answered a question correctly. “That is valuable. Many customers seek the illusion of being wanted for who they are, not merely for their coin.”
She stood in one fluid motion. I started to rise, but she gestured for me to remain seated.
She circled behind me. I could hear the whisper of silk as she moved.
“You will learn,” she whispered from somewhere over my left shoulder. “How to read people, to know what they need before they know it themselves, to understand how to become whatever they seek.” Her hand grazed my shoulder—light, just fingertips—and I flinched as if stabbed with iron. Her lips were a hair’s breadth from my ear, so close her words tickled. “You will learn how to accept touch, how to give it, how to make someone feel cherished for a fleeting span of time.”
Her fingers lifted, and she returned to her seat, again regarding me with her dark, judging eyes.
“You will start with the basics in the morning,” she said. “Posture, movement, how to sit and stand and walk in ways that draw the eye, how to pour tea properly.” She took another sip from her delicate cup. “We have teachers for everything, the best in Bara. You will listen. You will learn. You will obey. You will regret anything less. Is this clear?”
I nodded because I could do nothing else.
“Good.” She gestured toward the door. “Hana will take you to your room. She will find you suitable clothing. Bathe and rest. Tomorrow your training begins.”
I stood on shaking legs and bowed—too deep, probably wrong, but it was all I could manage, all I could think to do. I was halfway to the door when she spoke again.
“Kaneko.”
I stopped and turned.
Her expression had not changed, but something in her eyes had softened, ever so slightly.
