Our Mutual Benefactor



   “I think an Asian face behind the counter would do a lot for business,” I say earnestly.  I’m leaning against the back wall, chatting with Dalton as he circles the store with a box of stock in his arms, filling the shelves as we discuss whether or not we need an extra pair of hands. Night is falling in Tokyo outside and we’re expecting the first customer of the evening at any moment. It’s my week to work the late shift and I know I have a hectic eight hours ahead of me, which is probably why I’m so eager to get the go ahead to hire some help. It’s only been a few days since Mitsuki joined our ranks but the Womb has already seen a significant increase in traffic. Word travels fast and income snowballs accordingly.

  Within hours after her arrival Mitsuki already had visitors. Natsuki-tan had obviously been talking to our competitors about the recent unboxing she had witnessed and the darling doll beneath the bubble wrap. Some of the older women from the Imekura  down the street came by to see our new girl and all agreed that Mitsuki was incredibly cute, and the manager of the Blue Bubble Bathhouse dropped in that night to become one of the first to try her out.

  One of the first.

  Dalton let him in free of admission, of course, adhering to the strange comradely between rivals in Kabukicho. Should we ever visit his establishment I’m sure we would be extended the same courtesy. The real reason of the fraternization though was that the manager would undoubtedly talk to his own customers about that quirky new prosthetic prostitute and his own experiences inside of her, and he would in turn expect us to do the same. I left the advertising to Dalton most of the time, connoisseur that he was of all the earthly pleasures on offer.. The way the street saw it was that there was plenty of patrons to go around, and the more Kabukicho brought in as a whole, the more each of us would benefit from it.

  Dalton is slipping on his coat and finally agreeing to perhaps maybe looking for someone next week when the door opens behind us. We turn to welcome them with the traditional call of ‘irrashaimase’ until we see the three well dressed men step through the door one by one, each bigger than the last, their suits matching and their features set in stone. In perfect synchrony we both bow low and welcome them to the store.

  “Shit.” Dalton whispers before we stand from the bow. I simply grimace in agreement. We both knew this day would come. Our friends from the Pink Palace had told us about it, about what to expect and about their own experiences with them.

  Our mutual benefactor.

~ by Joseph Blame on November 14, 2010.

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