He was one of my first regulars, the kind of man who quietly slipped into my world and never really left. Over time our meetings felt less like business and more like something we didn’t dare name. A friendship, perhaps, but tilted. With edges.
We’d planned an outcall in Green Park this time. A walk, some fresh air, a hotel after. I threw on a denim dress and trainers—simple, easy. He always liked me casual, said it felt more real.
I perched on a bench near the entrance, watching the minutes drag. Irritation started to bubble up, though if I’m honest, I already knew it would vanish the moment he appeared. And sure enough, it did. His silhouette appeared through the trees, that confident stroll of his, and my lips betrayed me with a smile I tried to hide.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said, offering his arm as if he hadn’t just kept me waiting.
“You’re late,” I muttered, though I slipped my arm through his anyway. That was our ritual—me sulking, him smoothing it over.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered, low enough to prickle at the back of my neck. “Something different tonight. Something you’ll like.”
That surprised me. He wasn’t usually the one to suggest change. We wandered the paths, grabbed ice cream like two kids playing at romance, and then, as the sun softened, we made our way to the hotel.
The door clicked shut and he kissed me straight away, quick and urgent. I tugged at his tie, laughing into his mouth, and then he scooped me up. For a second it felt like we’d lost all balance, all seriousness. But then—he hesitated.
“I was thinking,” he began, awkward, almost boyish. “What if we… tried sixty-nine? You know… both at once.”
I blinked, then grinned. “A proper 69? Now that’s new.”
He nodded, half shy, half determined. For years it had been me giving, him receiving. Tonight, he wanted to tip the scale.
So I guided him, steady and gentle, showing him it wasn’t a trick, just trust. When I moved above him, we both laughed at how odd it felt, how ridiculous we must look. But then the laughter softened, melted into something slower, warmer. Sighs, small murmurs, the kind of sounds you don’t plan.
He was tentative at first, learning me with each touch, and I surprised myself by how quickly my body answered back. My hips moved on their own, pressed into him, and he didn’t flinch—if anything, he leaned into it. At the same time, I let myself go in his hands, the mutual pull of giving and receiving folding over itself.
Time went loose. We stayed like that, drifting between careful and hungry, until finally we pulled apart, faces flushed, laughter trembling on our lips. It hadn’t felt like a performance. More like a discovery.
Later, when he shifted above me and we moved together in a different rhythm, that same tenderness lingered. A sweetness I hadn’t expected. By the end, we were tangled and exhausted, but smiling, as if our little Green Park game had turned into something much bigger than either of us planned.
If this little Green Park twist caught your attention, you might want to wander into a couple of my other tales. There’s the festive chaos of Ms Santa’s Roleplay in a Hyde Park Hotel, or the soft candle-lit charm of An Evening with an Escort in Covent Garden.
And if you’re in the mood for something a touch more polished, take a look at our Bond Street escorts—glamour and a hint of trouble, all wrapped up in one of London’s most exclusive corners.