Some guys are ashamed of paying for escort services and try to make the experience seem real. Chris was one of them. He wanted to create a role play story that we met online and flirt for a while before meeting, almost like GFE. I was curious about this idea, since I’ve never tried online dating and it seemed like an arousing foreplay. After we negotiated the pay for this peculiar request, we started texting. It was Sunday when we started, and we were supposed to meet next Saturday.
I was scrolling through my phone when a message from Chris popped up.
Tonight, he seemed bolder than usual. Flirty, a little reckless — probably because it was Friday and he could feel the weekend stretching out in front of him. I didn’t mind. I was in that kind of mood too — the kind where a message can land like a hand on your thigh.
Hey, what’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone on a Friday night?
I smiled. He always knew how to make it feel like I was the only one in the room — even if the room was digital.
I stayed playful.
Waiting for someone interesting to come along…
He didn’t miss a beat.
Careful what you wish for. I might just show up.
I bit my lip, grinning at the screen.
Who says I’m waiting for you?
Back and forth we went — teasing, testing. Suggestion thick between the lines. By the time he said:
Let’s get a coffee tomorrow. There’s that café near your place, isn’t there?
— it was already decided. He’d confessed before that he was shy, but with me… he seemed different. Braver. I liked that. We agreed on 8 PM. Less than 24 hours to go. And just before we said goodnight, I sent him a cheeky photo — just enough to leave him thinking about it.
The next evening, I got ready slow, enjoying the ritual of it. The café was a stone’s throw from my flat, so I had time to spare. I slipped on a dress — something that hinted without announcing — and skipped the lingerie. Not out of laziness. Out of intent.
The place was warm, all low lights and mellow jazz. I spotted him immediately. Corner seat. Watching the door.
His smile spread the second he saw me.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, standing to greet me. His hand rested on my waist a moment longer than it needed to. I let it.
“Hi,” I said, sliding into the seat across from him.
There was something charged in the way we talked. Each word had a second meaning. We danced through the conversation like it was foreplay — staying just shy of anything too direct.
“Do you always look this good when you’re meeting someone for coffee?”
“Only when I know the company’s worth it.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the game. So was I.
After about an hour, the air between us had grown too thick to ignore. I leaned forward and said softly:
“How about we take this conversation somewhere more private?”
No hesitation.
We walked the short distance to mine in silence, but our bodies were already speaking. Once inside, I led him to the couch and we sat close — not touching, but almost. The kind of space that makes you ache a little.
“So,” I said, trying to sound casual, “tell me something I don’t know about you.”
He smirked.
“I’m full of surprises. But why spoil the fun by telling?”
I smiled. “Guess I’ll have to find out myself then.”
His arm circled my waist. Then — finally — we kissed.
It was slow at first, like we were trying each other on. I climbed into his lap without overthinking, my dress riding higher. He didn’t say a word — just let his hands explore the curve of my body with reverence and restraint.
We were both breathing faster now. Tension gave way to something looser, more physical — but still, it wasn’t rushed. That’s the beauty of a proper girlfriend experience… when it’s done right, you don’t need to race to the end. You feel your way there.
And Chris… well, he had a way of responding that made you feel seen. He wasn’t selfish. He read every shift in my breath like a cue.
There were no words for a while. Just the soft sigh of fabric, the rhythm of mouths and fingertips. It was playful, sweet, and then — unexpectedly deep. Like a thread had been pulled somewhere in both of us, and we couldn’t stop now if we tried.
Later, as we lay tangled and breathless on the sofa — the mood softened but still humming — he whispered:
“Same time next week?”
I turned to face him, lips swollen, legs still trembling just slightly from… well. From all of it.
“Yes, please,” I murmured.
And he kissed me again, like we were starting all over.