escort diary® of Kaliheartholistic: The night I remembered how to breathe again
There’s something men always confess to me in those first few minutes on the table.
They don’t say it out loud. Their bodies tell me.
Tight jaw. Barely breathing.
A chest that rises like a locked box.
A pelvis that forgets how to move when it’s finally touched with presence.
Last night was no different.
He arrived all charm and jokes… but the moment I laid my hands on him, everything shifted.
His breath disappeared. His sound vanished. His body froze under the weight of old habits.
So I guided him back.
One slow inhale into his belly.
One long exhale through his mouth.
A soft sound, barely there, but honest.
A tiny movement of his hips, like he was waking up from a long sleep.
And then… oh my god.
His whole body began to melt.
His pleasure didn’t come from technique.
It came from remembering himself.
I love nights like that.
Nights where a man finally lets go.
Nights where breath, sound and movement turn into pure, sweet surrender.
Until next time, my love. May we breathe together, rock the hips like in honey and a lot more…
