Irina said. The receptionist nodded and took it down. Irina shifted nervously in her chair. She reached for one of the business cards and turned it over. On the back read “Your Wildest Dreams Come True.” “What should they look like?” the receptionist asked. “Any preferences for age, body type, ethnicity?” Irina swallowed, crossed her legs, and clutched her Gucci purse on her lap. She felt like she was carving out a bloody piece of her subconscious and spreading it out on top of the desk, for the receptionist to poke with her pencil. The receptionist was a young woman with librarian glasses and a calm demeanor, which Irina knew was probably cultivated for the job, but which made her feel even sillier right now. “It doesn’t really matter what they look like,” she said. “Just big dicks. And lots of cum.” The receptionist nodded and scribbled something down on a piece of paper that Irina couldn’t see. “In fact, it’s probably better if they’re kind of ugly,” Irina added.
