People sometimes ask me, if I can actually fall in love?”
Of course. I have a heart, yet not a business license.
The funny thing about love is: that it doesn’t care, what you do for a living. It doesn’t check your calendar. It doesn’t ask for your hourly rate. It just shows up one day, completely uninvited, and says: “Hi. I’ve decided to ruin your emotional stability.”
Being an escort has taught me one important thing: There’s a huge difference between someone wanting your company and someone genuinely wanting you. One can pay for dinner. The other remembers, how you take your coffee. One sends flowers, because it’s part of the evening. The other sends you flowers, because Tuesday felt like a good day to make you smile. One asks, “How much?” The other asks, “Did you get home safely?” And honestly, that difference is priceless.
I don’t need a man to rescue me. I don’t need someone to pay my bills. I don’t even need someone to buy me flowers. But if someone ever comes along, who makes me laugh, when I’m tired, brings me tea without being asked, respects my life, and makes my home feel warmer just by being there… Well… I might even let him have 20% of the bed.
Eventually, I may be an escort, but when it comes to love, I’m still ridiculously old-fashioned. I want butterflies. I want laughter. I want tenderness. And I want someone, who knows the difference between having access to me and actually having my heart. Yet, please, mind, the access to my heart is much more expensive, than access to the comercial part of me.
