It was a real swanky joint. They had a full color catalogue with pictures of their girls from a selection of angles. They were working on a holographic catalogue so you could actually manipulate a three-dimensional image to the positions you were interested in and see how she held up under all that bending.
Reece Fortunato liked when he came to this town on business, mostly because he really dug swanky joints. He would drink in the bar, say the password, and be granted admission to the back room. With so many people these days peeling the skin off other people's faces and putting it over their own face so they looked like the person whose face they borrowed, there was no such thing as allowing someone in just because they looked like a regular. Face poaching has changed so much in our society since the 1980s, and the business of swanky joints was impacted very hard.
"That's a real swanky hat you're wearing there," said the bartender as he poured Reece a Chivas on the rocks.
"This is a real swanky joint you're running here, all you need now is a girl scout at the door selling thin mints.
With the password spoken, the bartender smiled and motioned for Reece to follow him to the door behind the bar. He used his pass key to open the door and patted Reece warmly on the back. Reece walked through the door while the bartender held it open, and once he was through, the door sealed and locked once more.
"What a swanky room," Reece thought to himself as he stroked his chin and looked around. A waitress in black fishnet stockings, six inch heels and a very short skirt with attached apron handed him a catalogue and a Chivas on the rocks.
It was time for the selection process, and Reece was ready to make some choices. The catalogue was organized in such a way that you could immediately determine via a color-coding system, what each young lady was interested in and willing to participate in. Reece was pondering his options, and stroking his chin again, when he spied the waitress walking by again. He wondered if she was in the catalogue, and if not, he wondered why. She was probably six feet tall, and in her six-inch heels she towered over Reece's 5'6" frame.
"You can only make selections from the catalogue, sweetie," she told him when he asked about her availability.
Feeling that he was now guilty of a tragic faux pas, Reece downed his Chivas and politely requested another. The waitress smiled and took his glass to exchange for a fresh, full glass of Chivas and ice.
Reece went back to the catalogue. He casually flipped the pages until it fell open to a page near the back. Although she was wearing a black wig and much more make-up, Reece recognized the waitress. He looked up at the top of the page to reference the section and her interests and found he had stumbled upon a section of the catalogue he had never browsed before.
Genetically altered sort-of women
Reece was curious as to what this meant, but he feared making another dangerous error in judgment. It was pretty much known that if you didn't know what a girl was interested in or looking for, it wasn't your cup of tea and you should continue on to other selections. Still, the very concept of genetically altered women appeared to Reece, but the "sort-of" baffled him to the point where he simply needed to know or he would be unable to sleep.
"Number 689," he told the waitress. Even though the number from the catalogue was the number corresponding to the waitress herself, standards and practices required that Reece follow the usual protocol.
The waitress smiled down at Reece, who she towered over standing in her heels while he remained seated on a comfortable and swanky sofa. She pulled a key out of her apron and handed it to Reece. As usual, it was a key with a tag bearing the number of the room in which the rendezvous would take place. Number 6 was Reece's favorite. He was glad she had selected it.
"Welcome, my stubby and insufficient man," she said when he entered.
Standing next to the bed, the waitress glared at Reece and then pointed to the floor with her long fingers.
"Kneel and prepare to be used."
It wasn't exactly the evening Reece was hoping for, but he found the offer most titillating. He went down on his knees and looked up at the waitress, looking for direction.
She laughed and kicked him hard under the chin. He tottered back, in pain, and struggled to maintain his balance. She kicked him again and everything went black.
Two months later, a well attired businessman in an Italian suit entered the swanky joint. He took a seat on the sofa and eagerly anticipated the appearance of the waitress and his catalogue. It took only a moment before she appeared with a catalogue and his drink of choice, gin and tonic. She was tall and athletically built, but not to the point where she became aesthetically displeasing to the businessman. She handed him the drink and smiled, giving Gavin the businessman a few ideas about who he would like to select for his evening pleasure.
"My name is Reece and I'll be attending to you this evening,"