Boy Toy

It turned out that the college had a mentorship system for its students. Every one of us would learn from a professional in the industry, which was the wording used in the e-mail. Basically, a hooker would teach us how to be hookers. Knowing this place, we would probably meet over lunch at an expensive restaurant, both wearing suits, and chuckle as if we were about to scam the entire stock market.

The dumbest thing was that although the official announcement e-mail only came the day after Mamie mentioned it, my classmates had already contacted their preferred mentors in advance. How could they even know about… Oh, the gathering with the seniors. They must have learned it then.

Meanwhile, I returned to my dorm room after Hanawa-senpai had committed that atrocity against me. Maybe I should have gone back to the gathering. Then, I could have stopped Hanawa-senpai from smearing my name, heard about the mentor selection process, and even taken a few more of those shrimp finger sandwiches after the staff refilled the plates.

Even answering the e-mail felt like a waste of time, because the admin office already knew who I would choose. My mentor-to-be was the only option left on the list to have an open slot. Sorry, that wasn’t right, because she had TWO slots open. Maybe the admin office wanted me to choose between them.

And that was how I ended up in front of the Golden Bunny Palace, one of the most prestigious brothels in the country. Surrounded by other hotels in Love Hotel Hill, the building didn’t rely on neon letters or protruding signs to advertise itself. Rather, it was unmarked, blending in with the other giants, as if it had a will of its own and chose to stay hidden.

The sparse people mostly strolled through the street in pairs, interlocking arms to gloat unapologetically that they were couples. But jokes on them, all they saw were the love hotels. Only I could see past the disguise of the brothel.

As if responding to my thoughts, a gust rolled by to whistle twisted laughter. Lovers huddled closer together to resist the cold, all except a pair. Their unconcerned faces strayed away from each other, while their hands were still firmly latched. So either they were about the breakup, or they just became a thing yesterday and were both too tsundere to take advantage of the weather for excessive body contact. Or maybe the Practical Psychology course had fried my mind into overthinking details.

“Excuse me, boy.” A hand tapped my shoulder.

I turned to the person who had so rudely interrupted my body language analysis. Despite my efforts to keep a bright, cordial smile, it froze into a shape that must have looked like a cry for help. It kind of was. Towering over me was a hunk of a man at least double my body size, before counting the muscles. Tattoos crawled out from the sleeves of his cerulean shirt and crept across his skin like a family of centipedes. Tinted lenses obscured his eyes, but his gaze was evidently set on me. I gulped as his shadow climbed up my legs.

My heart shook so much in my chest that he might hear it. My flight-or-flight response (not fight-or-flight) had sprung into action, and thanks to the most recent Practical Psychology lecture, I had become aware of an effect called misattribution of arousal. What if he thought that I was turned on by the sight of him? After all, Yakuza members had a habit of keeping a young boy toy or two.

Oh wait no. That was just the plot of a BL video that I accidentally clicked into back when I was doing ‘research’ for the interview. For the record, I only watched until the end to satisfy my curiosity.

“So, so sorry… I’m not attracted to men…” my voice was soft.

“What did you say?”

“I said I respectfully decline your offer, even though you are very handsome.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Just answer this. Why are you wandering outside the building?”

“The… building?”

The Golden Bunny Palace, that was where his pointing finger indicated. Its bland walls seemed to glimmer under the attention.

“Oh, I have an appointment with the Ace Maiden, but I came early.”

“You could have come inside first. We have a waiting room.”

“I’m about to do that… in five minutes.”

“Five minutes? Why?”

“Because I’m two hours and five minutes early.”

I couldn’t read his expression. It wasn’t hostile, at least. Even without the aggression, I shifted in the spot. Professor Silva had never written about how to deal with (potentially gay) men, so I was forced to rely on sheer instinct. It wasn’t good enough, and I knew it wasn’t. But there was no other choice and nothing to calm the doubt slithering around my throat.

So, the only option left was to obey him and follow him into the building.

Through the door that could well be a portal to another world, the interior almost drew a gasp out of me. Walls of velvet blue with golden frames graced the edges of the surfaces, and the lighting was inviting but subtle, illuminating the area only enough to see, but not to highlight the details too much.

I could barely inspect the features of the receptionist, who dwelled behind a desk in the lobby. All I gathered was that she had dark hair tied into a ponytail. Strangely, this didn’t creep me out the slightest, perhaps because the air had just the right temperature and moisture, as if the space was designed for me, even more comfortable than my dorm room.

The suspected yakuza led me past the lobby, down a wide corridor, and into the second room we came across. “Sit,” he pointed at one of two chairs separated by a table.

I glanced at the one-way mirror embedded in one of the walls. Is this an interrogation? I almost said that out loud, but the yakuza would probably hate it if I talked about the cops.

“Do you want a drink?” The gangster asked.

Hell no.

“Yes, I would love one.” I gave him the most radiant smile I could muster. The probable interrogation room wasn’t the issue, and it was so cozy that I would live here if they let me. Yep, I would sleep on the table if I had to.

The looming man was the culprit that was driving my nerves on edge, as if I was being stared at by a T-Rex fossil, probably harmless, but terrifying nonetheless.

“Are you perhaps scared of me?”

Why do you have to say it out loud?

Before I could lie, the man had already bowed to me. “I’m so, so sorry. My name is Kaede. You don’t have to use honorifics. I won’t mind. Right, tattooing is just my hobby. I’m not connected with any criminals, just working as security in this place, so I’m not used to serving customers. I really hope this won’t damage your impression of this place.”

I nodded, sort of able to guess why they asked security to check up on me, a rando who had been lingering in front of their establishment, but…

“Do I have to register with the receptionist?”

“Oh. Normally, you have to. But the Ace Maiden recognized you. She told me that the college has already sent her your profile.” This was the first time I realized that Kaede was wearing an earpiece on one side.

The discovery had raised a few questions in my mind, but Kaede stepped out of the room before I could verbalize any of them. A woman who looked around thirty replaced him. She had a bright smile that managed to salvage her unremarkable face. “Good afternoon, I’m Nishino. Nice to meet you.”

At first, I assumed that she was the Ace Maiden, who was apparently one of the most famous escorts in the industry, according to my research. Her name and true identity were never disclosed, and her clients saw her in so elaborate makeup that there was no consensus on her unaltered appearance.

“We would like to ask you a few things. Anything collected from this session is strictly confidential and will be used in this session only,” Nishino continued. The ‘We’ clued me in that she probably wasn’t my mentor. Maybe I should have deduced this from her looks, but that would be too mean and superficial.

She started with simple queries, like my name and relationship status (ouch). The formal vibe brought me memories of the college interview. That said, at least my interviewer this time actually possessed a range of facial expressions, reacting approvingly to things that I said. Even when it came to embarrassing questions such as what genre of hentai I liked to watch, she didn’t show a hint of judgment. That said, I did lie a little to that question, just in case.

I lost track of how many answers I had provided. It might be a bad idea to give up so much of my personal information, but still, Nishino was so polite that I would have felt bad if I had refused to respond.

She also gave me a contract in the end, which I signed after skimming through the text. I had seen these paragraphs in a previous lecture at the college. They were part of the industry-standard template that would act as an agreement between the brothel and the client in order to protect both parties and the sex worker. I shouldn’t have to go through this process just to meet with my mentor, but this might just be protocol at a high-end brothel.

Nishino checked the signed document with a glance, and then she stood. “Follow me, please. The Ace Maiden will see you now.”

She guided me to exit the interview room and back down the empty halls again. Taking me up a wooden staircase at the end of the hall, she pointed to the third room on the second-floor corridor. “That one.”

And thus, I walked to the mystery door, without an idea of what awaited me beyond it. Well… maybe I did have some idea. Judging by my experience with the college and the brothel so far, the top escort in the industry would be serious and critical, speaking to me in a boring voice while dressed in boring clothes.

It took only a light push to open the door. Was it so yielding all along? Or did someone nudge it? I continued on, and the contents of the room caused me to gasp audibly.

It was a medieval European-style bedroom, seemingly pulled straight from a noble’s mansion from another time. But that wasn’t the main attraction of the strange space. Standing next to the fluffy canopy bed was a maid.

Yes, a full-on French maid. Blonde hair, blue eyes, but not a Westerner. My classmates were all attractive, but I was certain that, objectively, anyone would agree that this woman was hotter. It wasn’t about the boob size, although hers was sizable. It wasn’t about the thickness of her exposed thighs. Actually, maybe it was partly about that.

But it was about the harmony. How her features complemented one another. It sold me a fantasy that I knew to be false, but would still be tempted to believe in. This person had served me for years and been infatuated with me for many of them. I knew her, and she knew me. Intimately.

She bowed to me. “Welcome back, master,” she said with a squeaky voice that could only be found in anime.

I almost collapsed from bliss right then and there.