He followed a dark flight of steps down to basement level, went through a pair of double doors and found himself in the reception room of the brothel. He was vaguely surprised by what he found. He'd been expecting more neon, walls lined with posters from bad 50's porn flicks and a sticky carpet. Instead he was faced with a show of faded elegance. A dusty chandelier hung from the ceiling and a rich but threadbare red carpet ran through the room and up some stairs on the other side. An old, chipped reception desk of dark wood stood to one side, manned by a smiling blonde woman in her late thirties wearing a red dress. It looked like the slightly sad remnants of a once great hotel.
She trotted over to him, smiling, "Would you like to take a seat, sir, and I'll bring you our catalogue. Would you like a drink?"
"Um...no. Thank you," Rimmer tried not to let his nervousness show. He sank down into a regency-styled armchair and tried not to fidget. The woman brought over a folder covered in faux leather and handed it to him brightly. "You take your time. I'll pop back in a few minutes to see if you've decided, alright?"
"Er, that's lovely. Very good," Rimmer said desperately, feeling his face start to flame. This all felt slightly surreal.
He opened up the folder and flicked straight to the men's section. A selection of photos looked back at him. Most of them seemed to be young men in their twenties, some perhaps even younger. Very few of them looked a day over thirty, but all shapes and sizes seemed to be accounted for. He turned through the pages, scrutinising each image, but for what he wasn't sure. He had to pick one of these men – or boys really – to have sex with and he wasn't sure how he was going to decide. He could only assume that when he saw the one, that's when he would know.
He skimmed over the bleached-blondes and the faked tans. He wanted something purer, something more natural, more real.
And then he saw a pair of eyes. He stared at them, drank them in even before taking in the rest of the picture. Two dark doe-like eyes the colour of bitter chocolate. They spoke to him. Something there connected with him and he knew this was it. This was the one. This was right.
"Sir?" He looked up, startled. It was the blonde receptionist. "Have you made your decision?" she twinkled. Rimmer held out the folder, showing her the photo.
"Him," he said simply, a slight catch in his voice. She smiled cheerfully and made a note on her pad, "Excellent. And how long would you like?"
"I'm sorry?" Rimmer stammered.
"An hour? Two perhaps? It's not a busy night, so it's up to you really."
"Oh...I, er....An hour. No, two! Yes, two. That seems about right."
"Very good. That will be fifty dollarpounds then, please."
Rimmer rummaged for his wallet, then produced a crisp note. The woman nodded happily and tucked it away; "Follow me. I'll show you to your room."