Ah yes, the day comes for my first professional message. I step out of my robe, slip under the white sheet and wait for Nikita (because really, wouldn’t it have to be a strong Russian name?) to begin the 55 minutes of pleasure. About a half hour into it, while I’m nearly in heaven, verging on that strata of syrupy sleep between consciousness and fantasy, I’m suddenly startled completely awake by the thought, “Should I moan louder to let her know she is doing a good job?”
Just one of the little ways escorting has touched my life.