Daniel had only one request really, a girlfriend experience, the kind of night that feels like you’re more than strangers meeting for a fee. He wanted closeness, a little heat after some imagined argument, and yes, try the 69 thrown in for good measure. We settled on a romantic dinner date first. I liked that, it gave us both the chance to breathe into the roles instead of just rushing upstairs. GFE has always been my strong suit anyway, though I never thought it would be—when I first put it on my profile, I called it a bonus, something light. Turns out, it’s what men cling to.
He picked a small Italian place, nothing too flashy, but warm, candlelit. Easy to talk in. And we did talk—nonstop, almost forgetting the food. I can usually talk to anyone, fill silences, but with him I didn’t need to. The laughs came quick. I caught myself thinking it felt less like work and more like an actual evening out. Dangerous thought, maybe, but I let it sit.
At the hotel, he handed me a paper bag. “A gift,” he said, with that boyish grin. Inside, pink lace underwear. I rolled my eyes but smiled. “This isn’t for me, Daniel, you know that.” He laughed. I promised I’d use it anyway.
I took my time in the bathroom, shower, hair damp, slipping into the lace. Not my colour, too loud, but it did the trick. A robe thrown on top, I left it hanging from the door so he’d see the game before I said a word. He did, and his eyes gave him away. Those little moments—his surprise—are why I like this job.
We kissed, hard and fast, and then slower. Somewhere in between he whispered, “I love you.” That’s the hard bit with GFE, pretending like it’s real. But it’s also the part I’ve mastered. I stroked his cheek, said it back softly, even though I knew exactly what I was doing.
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The rest… it was messy and warm, half playful, half serious. We fumbled with angles, laughed at trying to find a comfortable position, and when he asked for the 69, I teased him for being predictable. It isn’t the simplest with me being a tall escort, but the awkwardness only made it sweeter. We adjusted, readjusted, finding rhythm in the clumsiness. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about trying, giving, taking, waiting.
And when it all finally peaked, it felt like timing had stitched us together for a moment. The illusion worked. That’s what the girlfriend experience really is—walking the line between truth and role, and not caring if you lose track.
And as I left the hotel that night, still carrying the taste of our little illusion, I couldn’t help thinking of other meetings. Like the delicate balance of surrender and control in The Edge of Teasing or the darker pull of Succubus Roleplay. Each story a different mask, yet all of them tugging at the same question—what feels real, and what do we simply choose to believe?
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