It wasn’t the sort of request I get every day. Usually it’s men wanting control, or begging me to take it from them. This one though… he wanted me to teach. Actually teach. For a second I thought he was winding me up. But no, he was serious, almost painfully so. And instead of saying no, I heard myself agreeing. Maybe because it felt odd enough to be interesting.
The hotel was near Barons Court . Nothing fancy, just business-like. He opened the door and looked at me the way some men look at examiners—half terrified, half desperate to please. He even took my coat, which was sweet, though it made him seem more nervous somehow. I sat down and thought, well, if this is a lesson, I suppose I’m the professor. God help him.
“Show me what you already know,” I said, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. He kissed me then. Hesitant. Careful. And honestly… not bad. I leaned in deeper, thinking that if he could manage French kisses like this, maybe the tutoring part was unnecessary. Still, I played along.
The game became its own rhythm. I’d drop little comments—slower here, more pressure there—and he followed like a man trying to get full marks. His seriousness made me soften, which I didn’t expect. Somewhere between instructions and kisses, the whole thing slid into something else. Less classroom, more roleplay, the kind that bleeds into a GFE moment before you even notice.
At one point I told him to repeat a move, just slower. His face lit up at the praise when he got it right, and it hit me that he didn’t just want to improve—he wanted approval. And there’s a strange intimacy in that, isn’t there? Letting someone watch you fumble, hoping they’ll guide you instead of laugh.
By the time we found ourselves tangled up in mutual oral, the whole “lesson” had become irrelevant. He already knew more than he believed. My laughter slipped out, his concentration didn’t falter, and the nerves that sat between us earlier were gone. Replaced by something rawer, more human.
That’s the funny thing about these encounters. You think you’re acting a part, but at some point it stops being an act. And what’s left… is two people, stumbling into something that feels real.
If that blurring tempts you, take a look at A Sunday Night GFE in Paddington, or browse our Barons Court escorts for more stories where French kisses and gentle lessons cross lines you never quite expect.