When her face healed up she was no longer the Geisha. She was no longer a woman, in the Oriental sense. She was not a person. She was an urge. She was the blood-lust brought forth from the lingering vapors of an incapacitated ghost.She wanted a man, but did not desire to be wanted. Especially for the ends to which she was accustomed to. It was time for her to be resolute in her new-found mission. Now is the hour of the weeping cock oozing blood and shivering in its vulnerability.She wanted a man to please her and tend to her every whim. She could easily find men who were willing to be her lap dogs, uptight businessmen looking for domination. But where's the fun in that when she would be aware of their predisposition to such behavior? She would know that domination was what they wanted and, therefore, would be perpetuating the role she had already been playing for so long—catering to a man's needs and desires.