Into an elevator.
Down, down, down ... into the depths of the Earth, it seemed. Finally the elevator stopped.
"We get out here," one of the men said.
We were in a dank, dungeon-like place. We started up a cold, crawling corridor, but happily turned off before we had gone too far. One of my male escorts opened a door.
"Here he is, boss."
A man sat behind the desk—unshaven, naked to the waist. His face was aggressively male; his bare chest was covered with a thick mat of black hair. "My name is Lola," he said, in a rumbling basso. "Welcome to our happy land."
"Lola?" I asked.
"Isn't it a beaut? The women take men's names now—and we get theirs. Lola," he repeated, bitterly.
"So that explains Phil and Sam, then."
"What?"