future sex work
Stolen From:
Record of a Spaceborn Few
by Becky Chamber
https://bookshop.org/p/books/record-of-a-spaceborn-few-becky-chambers/4e12b306393db901
~~~~~~
She took the exit ramp to the dockway, the dockway to the transport deck, and the transport deck to the plaza, which led her, at last, to the club. All clubs had fanciful names – Daydream, Top to Bottom, the Escape Hatch. The establishment she entered now was called the White Door; she’d never been to this one before (she was pleased to note the door matched the name). She left the dimming artificial light of the plaza for a very different kind of illumination: dim, yes, but with a welcoming warmth as opposed to a sleepy absence. The decor was classy and simple, like the others.
She’d noticed supposedly similar establishments on her one teenage trip to Mars, but she hadn’t been able to get past their appearance: windowless shop fronts that popped up around bars and shuttledocks, painted slippery red and emblazoned with disembodied mouths and muscles. She had a hard time imagining anybody finding such a place appealing, let alone paying creds for it. Creds weren’t part of the exchange in the tryst clubs, nor was barter. They provided a service, not goods, and their hosts fell into the same broad vocational category she did: Health and Wellness. The clubs were an old tradition, a part of the Fleet practically since launch, one of many ways to keep everybody sane during a lifelong voyage. Hosts took that tradition seriously, as seriously as Eyas did her own. Plus, they were often some of the loveliest folks she’d ever met. It went without saying that to work in a club, you had to really like people.
The hallway opened into a large lounge, filled with flowering vines, hovering globulbs, and comfortable furniture. A welcome desk stood at the entrance, staffed by a friendly-looking woman with ornately braided, electric blue hair. Eyas approached the desk, feeling a crackle against her skin as she passed through the privacy shield that blocked any conversation from those outside its radius. One of the many touches Eyas appreciated.
‘Welcome,’ the woman said with a kind smile. ‘I haven’t seen you here before, have I?’
‘No,’ Eyas said. ‘I’m from the Asteria.’
‘Oh, well then, doubly welcome, neighbor!’ She gestured at the discreetly shielded pixel projector in front of her. ‘You’ll be in your ship’s system, then?’ The woman nodded toward the patch scanner bolted to the edge of the desk. ‘Do the thing, and I’ll get your info transferred over. Just needed a change of pace?’
Eyas swiped her wrist. ‘Yes.’
‘I hear that,’ the woman said as she assessed the new pixels conjured up by Eyas’ patch. Some of the information there Eyas had submitted herself – what she liked, what she didn’t, that kind of thing – but she imagined there was more in her file than that. Health records, probably. Maybe some kind of note that she’d always followed the rules. ‘All right. Are you looking to take a chance, or for a sure thing?’ This was the option always given at the entrance. Were you interested in meeting a fellow visiting stranger and seeing where the night took you, or . . .
‘The latter,’ Eyas said. Not that it was a sure thing. The host could decline service, for any reason, and she could leave at any time. Neither party was pressured to do anything, and mutual comfort was paramount. But being matched with another walk-in would’ve defeated the entire purpose of her being there.
A polite nod, a bit of gesturing. ‘Are you interested in a single partner, or multiples?’
‘Single.’
‘Any changes to your usual preferences?’
‘No.’
‘And how long of a visit would you like? Overnight, a few hours . . . ?’
‘I’ll take a half night.’ Long enough to make the trip worth it, but with plenty of time to get back home and sleep in her own bed. And that, right there, in addition to everything else she’d been asked, was why the sure thing was the better option by far. She saw so many similarities between this kind of work and her own, polar opposites of the life experiences spectrum though they were. She, too, had strangers’ bodies placed in her care. They couldn’t speak, but they’d been assured their whole lives that when the time came, they’d be treated with gentleness and respect. Nobody would find them odd or ugly. Nobody would do anything unkind. They’d be handled by someone who understood what a body was, how important, how singular. Eyas undressed those bodies. She washed them. She saw their flaws, their folds, the spots they kept hidden. For the short time they had together, she gave them the whole of her training, the whole of her self. It was an intimate thing, preparing a body. An intimacy matched only by one other. So when she placed her own body in someone else’s hands, she wanted to know that her respect would be matched.
You couldn’t make guarantees like that with a stranger at a bar. You couldn’t know from a bit of conversation and a drink or two whether they understood in their heart of hearts that bodies should always be left in a better way than when you found them. With a professional, you could. And you’d know, too, that their imubots were up to date, that the kind of sex that could lead to pregnancy carried no such risk, that there wouldn’t be any dancing around whether or not to stay the night or see each other again or if it meant something. Of course it always meant something. But you couldn’t know if that something was the same. In Eyas’ opinion, going to a club was the safest way to have sex, both physically and emotionally. The alternative was a minefield.
The pixels behind the counter filtered themselves as the blue-haired woman entered Eyas’ answers. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ve got eight guys free this evening who fit the bill. Would you like to go through the list, or—’
Eyas realized, in that moment, that she didn’t want to make any more decisions. She hadn’t thought about it when she’d headed out for the Ratri, but she was tired, tired in a quiet way that had become an everyday thing for reasons she couldn’t point to. The ten-day hadn’t been bad, but it had been long, and she’d grown weary of decisions. ‘Surprise me,’ she said. She paused in thought. ‘Whoever you think the nicest of them is.’
‘Ha! You’re going to get me in trouble.’ The woman tapped her lips, then made a definitive gesture at the pixels. ‘All right, you’ll be in room fourteen. Your host will be there in about twenty minutes. You’re welcome to wait in there, or you can relax in the lounge. If you feel the need to clean up, there are showers to the right of the bar. You’re welcome to go there with your host as well. If you don’t go straight to your room, we’ll call you when it’s time.’ She gave Eyas an amused smile. ‘And do not tell him how I picked him, or I will never hear the end of it.’ Eyas thanked her, and walked on through. The lounge was inviting, and the aforementioned bar was laden with colorful bottles of kick, a menu of snacks, and short, clear jars displaying varieties of redreed and smash. Another time, she would’ve treated herself to something spicy to snack on and something sweet to drink. She would’ve chatted with the bartender, contemplated the clientele (which, as always, was as varied as varied could be), maybe played a round of flash with someone else waiting their turn. But Eyas looked at the crowd, and all she wanted was to be behind a door.
She found room fourteen, waved her wristwrap over the lock, and entered. Just the sight of the room felt like she’d taken a sip of water after several hours without. Everything looked soft – the bed, the couch, even the table, somehow. There was a thumpbox for music, a chill box for drinks, a storage compartment full of other things the host could introduce if desired. All clean, all inviting. All for her.
She sat down on the couch, closed her eyes, and let twenty minutes slip by. She barely felt them.
There was a soft chime at the door before it opened. A man entered, carrying a bottle of something amber brown. He was tall, but not too tall. Fit, but not too fit. His hair was thick and his eyes were kind. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m Sunny.’
Of course you are, Eyas thought. ‘I’m Eyas.’
‘Eyas,’ he repeated, the door closing behind him. ‘I haven’t heard that one before.’
Her mouth gave a scrunch as it prepared to offer an explanation given a million times. ‘It’s an old word for a hawk.’
Sunny leaned against the bed frame. ‘What’s a hawk?’
‘Earthen bird. Bird of prey, apparently. Very striking, very fast. My mother’ – she tried to find a tactful way to explain the most incongruous person in her life – ‘she’s a romantic.’
‘Clearly. That’s a poetic name.’
‘Yes. Granted, she didn’t dig deep enough into the language files to figure out that an eyas is a baby hawk, not a hawk hawk. So, I’m a scruffy baby bird that hasn’t learned to fly. Not the best sentiment to carry around as an adult.’
Sunny laughed. ‘You’re not the only one with a name like that. I know a guy named Walrus.’
‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘You know what a wolf is?’
Eyas thought back to school trips to the Archives. ‘It’s a . . . oh, I know this.’ She frowned, rifling through neurons that hadn’t been needed in a while. ‘Some kind of carnivore, right? Or am I thinking of something else?’
‘No, you’re right. Like a wild dog. Beautiful, powerful, all that good stuff. That’s what his parents were going for. Only, they got mixed up and didn’t double-check, and went with Walrus.’
‘And what’s a walrus?’
Sunny raised a finger and pulled his scrib from his belt holster. He gestured at the screen, then turned it her way. The Archives helpfully displayed his friend’s namesake – a sack-like water beast with ludicrous tusks and unfortunate whiskers.
Eyas laughed. ‘Okay, that’s worse than mine.’
The host chuckled as he set his scrib on the table. ‘Hey, if it’s any consolation, I don’t like my given name, either.’
‘You mean it’s not Sunny?’ Eyas said with a smirk.
The host winked. ‘So, I heard you’ve had a long day.’
Eyas raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you?’
‘That was Iana’s guess, at least. Did she get that wrong?’
Assuming Iana was the blue-haired woman, Eyas mentally gave her a few points for perception. ‘No. It has been a long day.’
Sunny held up the bottle. ‘Do you like sintalin?’
‘I’ve never had it.’ She considered the name. ‘Aeluon?’
‘Laru. It’s . . . well, it’s what I pour myself on long days.’ He picked up two glasses, asking her a silent question. She nodded. He poured.
Eyas examined the glass placed in her hand. The liquid within had a caramel warmth, and the color got darker and darker the deeper the glass went. It smelled unlike anything she’d ever had. A good smell, at least. A rich, spiced smell. She took a sip, and shut her eyes. ‘Wow.’
‘It’s something, right?’ Sunny sat next to her on the couch – close, but not too close. Close as good friends might sit, and just as easy. He took a sip from his own glass.
‘That’s . . . wow.’ She laughed.
‘I’ve got a friend who’s a cargo runner, makes a lot of stops in Laru space. She always brings me a case of this when she’s back home.’
‘This isn’t from the bar?’
‘Nah, this is my stash.’
Another point to Iana. It was entirely possible Sunny pulled this bit with everybody who came to room fourteen, but even if it was fiction, it was very nice.
Sunny looked at her seriously. ‘Eyas, I’m here to give you a good night, and that can be whatever you need it to be. If you need to just talk, have some drinks, chill out – that’s fine. I’m happy with that.’
Eyas was sure he’d said those words before, but she also got the sense that he meant them. She studied his face. His lips looked soft. His beard was perfect, almost annoyingly so. ‘No,’ she said. She put her hand on his chest. She set her glass down, ran her palm up his throat, over his neck, into his hair. Stars, it felt good in her fingers. ‘If it’s okay by you,’ she said, as his hand greeted her thigh, ‘I’d rather not talk much at all.’
......
Stolen From:
Record of a Spaceborn Few
by Becky Chamber
https://bookshop.org/p/books/record-of-a-spaceborn-few-becky-chambers/4e12b306393db901
~~~~~~
She took the exit ramp to the dockway, the dockway to the transport deck, and the transport deck to the plaza, which led her, at last, to the club. All clubs had fanciful names – Daydream, Top to Bottom, the Escape Hatch. The establishment she entered now was called the White Door; she’d never been to this one before (she was pleased to note the door matched the name). She left the dimming artificial light of the plaza for a very different kind of illumination: dim, yes, but with a welcoming warmth as opposed to a sleepy absence. The decor was classy and simple, like the others.
She’d noticed supposedly similar establishments on her one teenage trip to Mars, but she hadn’t been able to get past their appearance: windowless shop fronts that popped up around bars and shuttledocks, painted slippery red and emblazoned with disembodied mouths and muscles. She had a hard time imagining anybody finding such a place appealing, let alone paying creds for it. Creds weren’t part of the exchange in the tryst clubs, nor was barter. They provided a service, not goods, and their hosts fell into the same broad vocational category she did: Health and Wellness. The clubs were an old tradition, a part of the Fleet practically since launch, one of many ways to keep everybody sane during a lifelong voyage. Hosts took that tradition seriously, as seriously as Eyas did her own. Plus, they were often some of the loveliest folks she’d ever met. It went without saying that to work in a club, you had to really like people.
The hallway opened into a large lounge, filled with flowering vines, hovering globulbs, and comfortable furniture. A welcome desk stood at the entrance, staffed by a friendly-looking woman with ornately braided, electric blue hair. Eyas approached the desk, feeling a crackle against her skin as she passed through the privacy shield that blocked any conversation from those outside its radius. One of the many touches Eyas appreciated.
‘Welcome,’ the woman said with a kind smile. ‘I haven’t seen you here before, have I?’
‘No,’ Eyas said. ‘I’m from the Asteria.’
‘Oh, well then, doubly welcome, neighbor!’ She gestured at the discreetly shielded pixel projector in front of her. ‘You’ll be in your ship’s system, then?’ The woman nodded toward the patch scanner bolted to the edge of the desk. ‘Do the thing, and I’ll get your info transferred over. Just needed a change of pace?’
Eyas swiped her wrist. ‘Yes.’
‘I hear that,’ the woman said as she assessed the new pixels conjured up by Eyas’ patch. Some of the information there Eyas had submitted herself – what she liked, what she didn’t, that kind of thing – but she imagined there was more in her file than that. Health records, probably. Maybe some kind of note that she’d always followed the rules. ‘All right. Are you looking to take a chance, or for a sure thing?’ This was the option always given at the entrance. Were you interested in meeting a fellow visiting stranger and seeing where the night took you, or . . .
‘The latter,’ Eyas said. Not that it was a sure thing. The host could decline service, for any reason, and she could leave at any time. Neither party was pressured to do anything, and mutual comfort was paramount. But being matched with another walk-in would’ve defeated the entire purpose of her being there.
A polite nod, a bit of gesturing. ‘Are you interested in a single partner, or multiples?’
‘Single.’
‘Any changes to your usual preferences?’
‘No.’
‘And how long of a visit would you like? Overnight, a few hours . . . ?’
‘I’ll take a half night.’ Long enough to make the trip worth it, but with plenty of time to get back home and sleep in her own bed. And that, right there, in addition to everything else she’d been asked, was why the sure thing was the better option by far. She saw so many similarities between this kind of work and her own, polar opposites of the life experiences spectrum though they were. She, too, had strangers’ bodies placed in her care. They couldn’t speak, but they’d been assured their whole lives that when the time came, they’d be treated with gentleness and respect. Nobody would find them odd or ugly. Nobody would do anything unkind. They’d be handled by someone who understood what a body was, how important, how singular. Eyas undressed those bodies. She washed them. She saw their flaws, their folds, the spots they kept hidden. For the short time they had together, she gave them the whole of her training, the whole of her self. It was an intimate thing, preparing a body. An intimacy matched only by one other. So when she placed her own body in someone else’s hands, she wanted to know that her respect would be matched.
You couldn’t make guarantees like that with a stranger at a bar. You couldn’t know from a bit of conversation and a drink or two whether they understood in their heart of hearts that bodies should always be left in a better way than when you found them. With a professional, you could. And you’d know, too, that their imubots were up to date, that the kind of sex that could lead to pregnancy carried no such risk, that there wouldn’t be any dancing around whether or not to stay the night or see each other again or if it meant something. Of course it always meant something. But you couldn’t know if that something was the same. In Eyas’ opinion, going to a club was the safest way to have sex, both physically and emotionally. The alternative was a minefield.
The pixels behind the counter filtered themselves as the blue-haired woman entered Eyas’ answers. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ve got eight guys free this evening who fit the bill. Would you like to go through the list, or—’
Eyas realized, in that moment, that she didn’t want to make any more decisions. She hadn’t thought about it when she’d headed out for the Ratri, but she was tired, tired in a quiet way that had become an everyday thing for reasons she couldn’t point to. The ten-day hadn’t been bad, but it had been long, and she’d grown weary of decisions. ‘Surprise me,’ she said. She paused in thought. ‘Whoever you think the nicest of them is.’
‘Ha! You’re going to get me in trouble.’ The woman tapped her lips, then made a definitive gesture at the pixels. ‘All right, you’ll be in room fourteen. Your host will be there in about twenty minutes. You’re welcome to wait in there, or you can relax in the lounge. If you feel the need to clean up, there are showers to the right of the bar. You’re welcome to go there with your host as well. If you don’t go straight to your room, we’ll call you when it’s time.’ She gave Eyas an amused smile. ‘And do not tell him how I picked him, or I will never hear the end of it.’ Eyas thanked her, and walked on through. The lounge was inviting, and the aforementioned bar was laden with colorful bottles of kick, a menu of snacks, and short, clear jars displaying varieties of redreed and smash. Another time, she would’ve treated herself to something spicy to snack on and something sweet to drink. She would’ve chatted with the bartender, contemplated the clientele (which, as always, was as varied as varied could be), maybe played a round of flash with someone else waiting their turn. But Eyas looked at the crowd, and all she wanted was to be behind a door.
She found room fourteen, waved her wristwrap over the lock, and entered. Just the sight of the room felt like she’d taken a sip of water after several hours without. Everything looked soft – the bed, the couch, even the table, somehow. There was a thumpbox for music, a chill box for drinks, a storage compartment full of other things the host could introduce if desired. All clean, all inviting. All for her.
She sat down on the couch, closed her eyes, and let twenty minutes slip by. She barely felt them.
There was a soft chime at the door before it opened. A man entered, carrying a bottle of something amber brown. He was tall, but not too tall. Fit, but not too fit. His hair was thick and his eyes were kind. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m Sunny.’
Of course you are, Eyas thought. ‘I’m Eyas.’
‘Eyas,’ he repeated, the door closing behind him. ‘I haven’t heard that one before.’
Her mouth gave a scrunch as it prepared to offer an explanation given a million times. ‘It’s an old word for a hawk.’
Sunny leaned against the bed frame. ‘What’s a hawk?’
‘Earthen bird. Bird of prey, apparently. Very striking, very fast. My mother’ – she tried to find a tactful way to explain the most incongruous person in her life – ‘she’s a romantic.’
‘Clearly. That’s a poetic name.’
‘Yes. Granted, she didn’t dig deep enough into the language files to figure out that an eyas is a baby hawk, not a hawk hawk. So, I’m a scruffy baby bird that hasn’t learned to fly. Not the best sentiment to carry around as an adult.’
Sunny laughed. ‘You’re not the only one with a name like that. I know a guy named Walrus.’
‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘You know what a wolf is?’
Eyas thought back to school trips to the Archives. ‘It’s a . . . oh, I know this.’ She frowned, rifling through neurons that hadn’t been needed in a while. ‘Some kind of carnivore, right? Or am I thinking of something else?’
‘No, you’re right. Like a wild dog. Beautiful, powerful, all that good stuff. That’s what his parents were going for. Only, they got mixed up and didn’t double-check, and went with Walrus.’
‘And what’s a walrus?’
Sunny raised a finger and pulled his scrib from his belt holster. He gestured at the screen, then turned it her way. The Archives helpfully displayed his friend’s namesake – a sack-like water beast with ludicrous tusks and unfortunate whiskers.
Eyas laughed. ‘Okay, that’s worse than mine.’
The host chuckled as he set his scrib on the table. ‘Hey, if it’s any consolation, I don’t like my given name, either.’
‘You mean it’s not Sunny?’ Eyas said with a smirk.
The host winked. ‘So, I heard you’ve had a long day.’
Eyas raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you?’
‘That was Iana’s guess, at least. Did she get that wrong?’
Assuming Iana was the blue-haired woman, Eyas mentally gave her a few points for perception. ‘No. It has been a long day.’
Sunny held up the bottle. ‘Do you like sintalin?’
‘I’ve never had it.’ She considered the name. ‘Aeluon?’
‘Laru. It’s . . . well, it’s what I pour myself on long days.’ He picked up two glasses, asking her a silent question. She nodded. He poured.
Eyas examined the glass placed in her hand. The liquid within had a caramel warmth, and the color got darker and darker the deeper the glass went. It smelled unlike anything she’d ever had. A good smell, at least. A rich, spiced smell. She took a sip, and shut her eyes. ‘Wow.’
‘It’s something, right?’ Sunny sat next to her on the couch – close, but not too close. Close as good friends might sit, and just as easy. He took a sip from his own glass.
‘That’s . . . wow.’ She laughed.
‘I’ve got a friend who’s a cargo runner, makes a lot of stops in Laru space. She always brings me a case of this when she’s back home.’
‘This isn’t from the bar?’
‘Nah, this is my stash.’
Another point to Iana. It was entirely possible Sunny pulled this bit with everybody who came to room fourteen, but even if it was fiction, it was very nice.
Sunny looked at her seriously. ‘Eyas, I’m here to give you a good night, and that can be whatever you need it to be. If you need to just talk, have some drinks, chill out – that’s fine. I’m happy with that.’
Eyas was sure he’d said those words before, but she also got the sense that he meant them. She studied his face. His lips looked soft. His beard was perfect, almost annoyingly so. ‘No,’ she said. She put her hand on his chest. She set her glass down, ran her palm up his throat, over his neck, into his hair. Stars, it felt good in her fingers. ‘If it’s okay by you,’ she said, as his hand greeted her thigh, ‘I’d rather not talk much at all.’
......