Now it used to be that a beautiful maiden was the rarest sight. Men's work was away in the borderlands' defense or deep in the ground. Women stayed behind tending the hearth, the cattle, not in chains but bound. Forward a few years to phone technology as Mephistopheles, close to the fingers, catering to every whim: mood, sex and ego, every cast an ad, a personal hard-core lure, real or in lieu, extending the eyes to every inch of the flesh of an Adonis on Aphrodites, while the embedded motors of the suits mimic or make indistinguishable a created fantasy from reality. Meanwhile in Real World, imagination, yearning, contact is dying, the young retire to their magic squares alone in their bed. Sex is now daily, companionship optional, children a nuisance.