My first Escort Date
von Mika Salaí
The evening began as glamorously as I had imagined – in the bathtub of a five-star hotel in the centre of Berlin. The steam rose in soft spirals as I wondered: How did I end up here?
Tonight I’m going on my first date as an escort and in a few hours I’ll be facing this stranger. My heart is beating faster, but at the same time I feel… ready. Excited. Curious. And that’s not all: afterwards, my colleagues’ Christmas party awaits me – and as if that wasn’t enough of the good and extraordinary, the birthday bells also ring for me at midnight. Could the setting for my escort premiere be any more cheerful?
The water slowly cools down and I decide to get ready for the evening. A loving skincare routine: exfoliation, moisturiser, a hint of perfume that promises to linger on the skin like a secret. Then it’s time for make-up. Every brushstroke glides over my face with masterful precision – today I don’t want to leave anything to chance. The outfit, a wafer-thin, tight-fitting jumpsuit, shines like liquid silk under my fingers. And yes, this look is officially approved: What a quiet triumph when “Mother” confirmed my choice in capital letters: PERFECT.
Perfect
The water slowly cools down and I decide to get ready for the evening. A loving skincare routine: exfoliation, moisturiser, a hint of perfume that promises to linger on the skin like a secret. Then it’s time for make-up. Every brushstroke glides over my face with masterful precision – today I don’t want to leave anything to chance. The outfit, a wafer-thin, tight-fitting jumpsuit, shines like liquid silk under my fingers. And yes, this look is officially approved: What a quiet triumph when Mother confirmed my choice in capital letters: PERFECT.
I slip into the seductive ensemble, stand in front of the mirror – and am overwhelmed. Only the lighting puts a spanner in the works. A blinding floodlight that is more reminiscent of a hospital corridor than seduction. Great. I discard the idea of a quick selfie and make a mental note to capture the jumpsuit in a different light later. If the evening allows.
When I arrive at the bar, I’m a little early. Perfect. I order myself a drink and take in the room. The air shimmers slightly from the warmth and the nervous energy that only the beginning of an exciting debut can exude. But after just a few seconds I realise: I should have left my big coat in the room. At that moment, I realise something else. My rings! How could I have forgotten them? Without these familiar pieces of jewellery, I feel like I’ve left a piece of myself upstairs. So I decide to dash back again. Quickly inside, grab the rings, throw off my coat – and back. I come down just in time to take a first sip of my drink and light a cigarette when I see him.
Him
There he is – just a few steps away. So he has spotted me. He moves tentatively towards me, stopping briefly like a shy deer. The moment of recognition. We both know that we should find each other, but the reality feels different. The question that has been on my mind for days: Will I recognise him straight away? And yet there is no doubt when our eyes meet. There’s something in his expression that tells me, quietly but clearly, that it’s him.
‘Hello, Mika…?’ He sounds as if he wants to savour the syllables before he’s sure it’s really my name. His reticence surprises me, but something inside me reacts immediately to this interplay. Why does this name sound so familiar to me now?
‘Genesis?’ I beam at him.
I take a step towards him, smile and greet him with two kisses, left and right. Our movements are formal, almost hesitant – and yet this first touch already resonates with the unspoken tension that will run through the evening. He orders the same drink as me and we sit down at a table with a view of the atmospherically lit bar. The scene could be from a film in which I play the leading role. And him? Still a little lost in my scenery.
My Game
I lean back and let the conversation flow. It’s a familiar dance: Who are you? Who is this man sitting by my side tonight? What has brought him here? What does he desire? And who will I be for him? His answers are shy, almost cautious, but I notice how we both gradually unfold into the atmosphere of the evening. He seems genuinely interested in me – perhaps even more interested in hearing from me than telling me himself. I lead the conversation, directing it with the composure of a director. I’m still unsure whether I really want to take him to the room, but the longer we talk, the more I realise that this evening is mine. It’s my game.
At some point I apologise – time for a brief retreat. A moment just for me, away from his gaze: How do I really feel? The truth is: I am intoxicated. And – perhaps more than anything else – in control. He may be attentive and charming, but I can feel that the lead is in my hands. I take a deep breath, step into the bathroom and look in the mirror: yes, I’m going to take him up with me. I capture this moment with a quickly snapped selfie.
Upstairs
Back at our table, I lean forward casually and ask him directly: ‘Shall we take a glass of champagne upstairs?’ His eyes light up with happy surprise and he nods immediately. ‘I’d love to,’ he replies. ‘Then I’ll give you the envelope upstairs too, we’ll have a bit more privacy…’ he says almost apologetically. That’s right! There was something! For a tiny moment, I thought I’d really thought of everything. I feel confident, in control – and yet for a moment I had completely forgotten this important detail. I shake off the thoughts and don’t let on as we make our way to our room.
Once upstairs, he hands me the envelope – a brief, almost ceremonial pause. Then he apologises and disappears into the bathroom. I hear the sound of the shower as I make my way through the semi-dark room. I quickly light a few candles that I had packed in my bag – a motherly recommendation that creates a cosy atmosphere. A sip of champagne tingles on my tongue and I step to the window. Berlin lies at my feet, a sea of light, glittering and pulsating. The contrast could hardly be greater: up here in this room, I am completely alone with myself – and at the same time right in the centre of the bubbling city.
Almost innocent
He comes back, his hair still damp, his bathrobe loose around his shoulders. He sits down on the bed with me and we talk briefly, losing ourselves for a moment in our quiet closeness. But I can feel it: now is the time for more. ‘Can I kiss you?’ I ask him flirtatiously, almost innocently. A spark flashes in his eyes. I already know that his answer is a longing yes.
Our lips touch, hesitantly at first, then more and more demanding. I climb onto his lap, feel his hands sliding tentatively over my hips, his enthusiasm simmering behind his shyness. My fingers slide under the bathrobe, over his chest – warm, generously hairy, soft and yet firm. I undress slowly, layer by layer. As I lie naked on the bed, his lips move lower until they reach my inner thighs. Then deeper. The pressure of his beard tickles my skin, his tongue finds me and I lose myself in the pillow. He licks me, gently at first, then more intensely. A soft moan escapes my lips, mingling with his sounds.
Suddenly I am seized by a whim, an urge to take control. I wrap my legs around his head and swing myself onto his face in one fluid motion. Now he’s on his back and I’m riding him, pressing myself onto his mouth as I gyrate my hips. His moans become louder, more unstoppable. I lean backwards, grabbing his cock with one hand as I bury my lips in his beard. Our bodies melt into a rhythm that feels like a sizzling, dangerous game, and after a few moments I can feel his liquid rising warm in my hand.
Later, we lie next to each other, freshly showered and wrapped in bathrobes again. The rest of the champagne tingles on my tongue and we pick up where our conversation left off. He finally asks me with a gentle smile: ‘How are you feeling now, after our date?’
‘Excellent!’ I beam at him, and although there’s now more of a hint of pleasant exhaustion, I can’t hide the sparkle in my eyes. ‘And you?’ He looks just as satisfied, perhaps even a little devout. ‘I hope to see you again soon.’ These words hang in the air for a moment as we say goodbye at the door with a final kiss.
Home
I freshen up again, then call an Uber. Next destination: my colleagues’ hotel, where the Christmas party is already in full swing. I’m looking forward to seeing the others, getting to know them and seeing their beaming faces. As soon as I step through the door, I am welcomed with open arms from all sides and a feeling of happiness spreads through me, as if I have finally arrived home after a long journey.
‘How was it?’
,they ask me curiously, blinking and grinning broadly. How was my first date as a hetaera?
‘Why don’t you give her a glass of champagne first?’ Mother shouts across the room, her unmistakable version of: ‘Why don’t you give her time to arrive first?’ I’m grateful, sip the glass and let the moment pass me by gently. Then I tell the story. I tell them about the tingling start, about the shy look, about my question as to whether I could kiss him. Some laugh out loud as I describe how I then pushed him onto his back in a sudden movement and swung my pelvis onto his face. ‘How do you feel?’ one of them asks me, and I realise that I’m still glowing.
What a first date! I think to myself and beam. It’s as if I’ve rediscovered myself in a way.
We spend the rest of the evening in the fireside lounge, surrounded by extravagant food, champagne, wine and deep conversation. A part of me feels completely at home here, and as I look into the faces of the others shortly before midnight, I am completely filled with this warmth and sense of belonging.
Then, another highlight: dessert is served and suddenly sparklers light up, bright and twinkling, at midnight, to usher in my birthday. What a way to start this new year of life. I close my eyes and breathe in the tingling magic of the moment. Later, we move on to a bar with a small group. We drink red wine, chat to the people behind the bar and get to know them.
A message arrives in the middle of the night.
“Happy birthday, dear Mika. The evening with you was wonderful and I hope you enjoy the rest of your time in Berlin. I would love to see you again soon.”
I look at my mobile phone, then at the faces of the others around me. The warmth of the second open fire that evening, the red wine, the quiet voices and the feeling of freedom and vitality. And how we meet again, I think to myself and smile contentedly to the others.