I rolled over in the darkness and glanced over at the clock. It’s almost 3 AM, and I’m no nearer to getting any sleep than I was when I lay here a few hours ago. I might as well get up for a while.
I rolled out of bed. The night air was cool on my bare skin as I padded across the hotel room carpet. I drew a glass from the cabinet and ran a glass of water, straight from the tap. I drank it slowly and thoughtfully as I thought back to the previous evening.
I can still smell her perfume on me. I pick up the shirt I wore yesterday and it smells of her too. The ghost of her presence inhabits this shirt as well as my mind. I raise my hand to my face and I smell her musk. The scent brings me back to her bed, and I remember the feel of her skin and hear her sighs again. I turn my head, and in my mind’s eye I see that beautiful face clenched in throes of pleasure.
It’s not fair that I have to leave already. Because yesterday evening I felt that once in only very a long time thing, in this little pursuit of mine. I felt love.
It wasn’t just the stirrings of infatuation I felt. Because I know that feeling well also. It’s a time when a beautiful stranger gives you so much pleasure that your heart melts just a little bit. But you feel a little stab of pain when you see that flicker in her eye. That little sign that I know means that she is now wary, wondering if she has to hold me at arm’s length.
No, this was different. Because I was bathed in her warmth too. She didn’t want me to go, any more than I wanted to leave. We both had felt it. It was beautiful. It was so easy. It was so real. We looked into each other’s eyes and we were drenched, not with the sweat of an anonymous workout, but the thin caul of sincere mutual caring, keeping us warm. I wanted to wrap her up then, with whatever little influence I could bear, to keep her warm and safe. And she looked up at me, and wanted me to protect her and keep her warm. It was satisfying. It was spiritual. It was real. But it was also well past my time to go.
The real world is cruel. In another kinder and more beautiful world, perhaps, I could stroke and kiss her until we drifted off to sleep in each others arms. We would be awoken by the first golden rays of a beautiful new day. But in this world, there would soon be a frantic phone call. Perhaps there would even be pounding on the door. It would be her partner, wondering if she was all right. And could she please clear out, because she needs the incall?
No, there is precious little room for what we felt in this world. I know that that morning sun will bring another day, and another client. Perhaps it’ll be another regular, another guy who feels about her the way that I feel. Or it’ll be another new client, one who’ll become smitten with her like I just was.
Yet I know she wonders, and worries, whether this will be our last time. That I would just move on, on to the next lady, the next flavour sensation. That I would forget all about her, our fragile emotions swept away and lost in time. But I doubt that, somehow. I don’t think she realizes how special, and how rare the way we feel is, in this world. But I know. And I also know our story will continue.
In just a few short hours, I’ll fly from this place. My plane will take off, and it will tug at this bind we share. It will be pulled until it snaps, tearing a little piece of my heart away along with it. But I will be back. I have to return. It’s because I’ll retrieve that little bit of my heart, when I’m in her arms again. It will be only then, that I’m finally whole.
I set the empty glass in the sink with a quiet clink. I turn to look at the packed bags in the corner.
I rolled out of bed. The night air was cool on my bare skin as I padded across the hotel room carpet. I drew a glass from the cabinet and ran a glass of water, straight from the tap. I drank it slowly and thoughtfully as I thought back to the previous evening.
I can still smell her perfume on me. I pick up the shirt I wore yesterday and it smells of her too. The ghost of her presence inhabits this shirt as well as my mind. I raise my hand to my face and I smell her musk. The scent brings me back to her bed, and I remember the feel of her skin and hear her sighs again. I turn my head, and in my mind’s eye I see that beautiful face clenched in throes of pleasure.
It’s not fair that I have to leave already. Because yesterday evening I felt that once in only very a long time thing, in this little pursuit of mine. I felt love.
It wasn’t just the stirrings of infatuation I felt. Because I know that feeling well also. It’s a time when a beautiful stranger gives you so much pleasure that your heart melts just a little bit. But you feel a little stab of pain when you see that flicker in her eye. That little sign that I know means that she is now wary, wondering if she has to hold me at arm’s length.
No, this was different. Because I was bathed in her warmth too. She didn’t want me to go, any more than I wanted to leave. We both had felt it. It was beautiful. It was so easy. It was so real. We looked into each other’s eyes and we were drenched, not with the sweat of an anonymous workout, but the thin caul of sincere mutual caring, keeping us warm. I wanted to wrap her up then, with whatever little influence I could bear, to keep her warm and safe. And she looked up at me, and wanted me to protect her and keep her warm. It was satisfying. It was spiritual. It was real. But it was also well past my time to go.
The real world is cruel. In another kinder and more beautiful world, perhaps, I could stroke and kiss her until we drifted off to sleep in each others arms. We would be awoken by the first golden rays of a beautiful new day. But in this world, there would soon be a frantic phone call. Perhaps there would even be pounding on the door. It would be her partner, wondering if she was all right. And could she please clear out, because she needs the incall?
No, there is precious little room for what we felt in this world. I know that that morning sun will bring another day, and another client. Perhaps it’ll be another regular, another guy who feels about her the way that I feel. Or it’ll be another new client, one who’ll become smitten with her like I just was.
Yet I know she wonders, and worries, whether this will be our last time. That I would just move on, on to the next lady, the next flavour sensation. That I would forget all about her, our fragile emotions swept away and lost in time. But I doubt that, somehow. I don’t think she realizes how special, and how rare the way we feel is, in this world. But I know. And I also know our story will continue.
In just a few short hours, I’ll fly from this place. My plane will take off, and it will tug at this bind we share. It will be pulled until it snaps, tearing a little piece of my heart away along with it. But I will be back. I have to return. It’s because I’ll retrieve that little bit of my heart, when I’m in her arms again. It will be only then, that I’m finally whole.
I set the empty glass in the sink with a quiet clink. I turn to look at the packed bags in the corner.
