About dating with a clear head
Hello, beautiful person, have you ever wondered whether you have to go on a multi-hour escort date in a 5-star hotel at least once in your life? Definitely not. There’s no question of having to. But are you missing out on something if you live your whole life without having this experience – in short: is it fun? – HELL YES!!!
Non casual dating
Of course, I’ve met people at their homes before. It was usually exciting. It’s something very special when someone lets me into their world, especially when it’s the first time. A leap of faith—that’s what a date always is on both sides when you don’t know each other yet—and a very personal insight. I definitely have a soft spot for cozy dates. Eating comfort food in bed, chatting, cuddling, and fooling around—super nice.
A high-class escort experience is a completely different deal. It’s not “I’ll let you into my world” but “we meet on mysterious, magical, wicked terrain.” When you spontaneously show up at a hotel in the evening, with no luggage, and ask for a free room, the person at the front desk knows exactly what’s going on. And then I feel a little proud in some indefinable way. I think, “Yes, exactly, I’m a prostitute. And not only do I not care if anyone notices—I almost hope they do. I’m having a wonderful evening, I’m desired, and I’m getting a little “expense allowance” on top of that. How cool is that?”
Then comes the moment when you step out of the lobby and into the elevator. The public part of this meeting, which began in a restaurant, is over. And even if you haven’t yet reached the discretion and intimacy of the room, you know that you’ll be alone with this person in a moment. Once in the room, I may be a little busy with excitement for a few moments. I check out the minibar, enjoy the snacks, light the scented candle, and make us some hot tea. Then I slip into the hotel bathrobe, adjust the armchair, and make myself comfortable on the upholstered bench in front of the bed. My date sits down in the armchair opposite me and I ask for his feet so I can massage them. The conversation dries up… almost like old friends, we sit there in a totally relaxed yet charged atmosphere, both lost in our thoughts… pensive. And when we move to the huge bed with the six pillows, I’m as happy as a little kid at Christmas—if you want to make a newbie courtesan happy, this is the hotel room to do it.
Tea?!
I leave the hotel around 3:00 a.m. I stand on Ku’damm, breathe in the air, and think happily, “Only whores know the real Berlin.” I realize that I’m romanticizing. But that’s not all. I stopped using drugs a few years ago—alcohol too. In the past, a night of intoxication seemed intense to me. And then I would stand exhausted on some street in the early hours of the morning, unable to walk straight and… well, what exactly? I never asked myself whether I could have done without these intoxicated interactions. I tended to think that encounters you wouldn’t have had if you were sober were what made a night of intoxication complete. The shared intoxication led to closeness.
But the nights I experience today are much more intense because I really felt everything that happened. I was myself and I only did what felt right. I had an appreciative, honest encounter with genuine closeness. I am me, you are you, and we are both committed to an encounter that is much closer than if we had met in a different context. This closeness means something to me.
Today I am clear. I like sex—either because I enjoy it or because I get paid for it—usually both at the same time. A 9-to-5 job would be a much bigger transgression for me than sex for money with a stranger.
The superior drug
The magic of this situation is better than any drug. I used to make out with strangers in dark clubs—and found it somehow romantic. Today, I find it romantic to confidently check into a luxury hotel on Ku’damm with a calm, intelligent, unobtrusive gentleman and not only not give a fuck what anyone thinks about it, but to assume that anyone who gets it will think it’s cool. That the concierge who sees me leaving the hotel alone at 3:00 a.m. notices my lively gait and is happy that we had a good evening. (By the way, here’s something else I think is cool: we had a great evening and now my lover is enjoying the huge hotel bed and I’m enjoying my walk through the night in my high heels with an envelope full of cash in my purse. Two adults parting ways at the end of an evening in mutual appreciation.)
It’s not really cool yet. The street is still wet from the rain. I could take a taxi, but I prefer to walk. I don’t want the way home to be over so quickly. I want to delay the end of the evening, which will be over when I arrive home. I want to let the imprint of this encounter linger in my thoughts and on my lips….
The next day, an email: Dear Arden, thank you for the evening.