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I could not conceive of this, that the bestowal of my favors, those of Elinor Brinton, would be insufficient to purchase anything which it might be within the power of a man to give. It was incomprehensible. She had been rejected! This made no sense! I had once been offered, on Earth, a hundred dollars, for a single kiss. I had toyed with the idea of granting it, not for the hundred dollars, of course, but for piquant frisson involved, the tingling, flattering little thrill of such a transaction, me, Elinor Brinton, selling a kiss, the surprising, unexpected, naughty adventure of it, of pretending, for a moment, that I was such a woman, one who might do such a thing, a mere slut, perhaps a "call girl," or such, doubtless one much in demand, doubtless the most beautiful in the city, or, better, perhaps a beautiful, sophisticated, unfaithful noblewoman, whom monarchs might beseech to be their mistress, the sort of woman whom men sought and for whose favors they might bankrupt kingdoms. But I did not grant the favor, of course. One of my kisses, I told myself, that of Elinor Brinton, was worth more. Indeed, they were not for sale. - (Captive of Gor, Chapter )