I tried not to imagine her in the House of Blue Lights, working three-hour
shifts in an approximation of REM sleep, while her body and a bundle of conditioned reﬂexes took care of business. The customers never got to complain that she was faking it, because those were real orgasms. But she felt them, if she felt them at all, as faint silver ﬂares somewhere out on the edge of sleep. Yeah, it’s so popular, it’s almost legal. The customers are torn between needing someone and wanting to be alone at the same time, which has probably always been the name of that particular game, even before we had the neuroelectronics to enable them to have it both ways.
//william gibson - burning chrome
[ 11 . 6 . 2011 ]