escort diary® of Lillykink: First encounter
“Thanks for inviting me over,” I said as he stepped aside to let me in. I flipped my brown hair back off my shoulders, and he gently slipped my red coat from my shoulders. The light brush of his fingers against my skin made it prickle, and a little wave of nervous energy rushed through me.
“I’m glad you accepted,” he told me as he hung my coat in the entrance closet.
I glanced around, genuinely impressed by his apartment, but what really stole my breath was the view. Berlin had never looked so beautiful. From his place, the city felt almost unreal—no visible cars, just rooftops and sky. It felt like another world, soft and quiet and strangely comforting. I walked toward the terrace, drawn to one of my favourite corners of the city. Standing there, taking it all in, I suddenly wasn’t nervous anymore.
I could feel his eyes on me as I stood by the glass, the city stretching out behind me. I knew he was taking in my black stilettos, my legs, the way my dress hugged my body. I’d chosen it deliberately—elegant but fitted, hinting rather than shouting. I could sense his curiosity about me, and I liked it.
When I turned around and smiled at him, his expression softened in a way I wasn’t expecting. “Would you like something to drink? Wine, champagne?” he asked, returning my smile.
“Yes, white wine, please,” I replied.
As he walked toward the kitchen, I let myself watch him openly for the first time. The touch of grey in his hair suited him, making him look effortlessly distinguished. Even in his fifties, he carried himself with a calm, relaxed confidence that felt cooler than most teenagers could ever dream of.
He set the bottle of wine on the table on the more hidden terrace, a quieter, more intimate corner of the apartment. When I joined him, he poured a glass and handed it to me. “That’s one of my hobbies,” he said.
“Good wine? That’s a rewarding hobby,” I answered with a small smile. As I reached for the glass, our hands brushed, and that little jolt of electricity shot through me again. It was undeniable—and from the way his eyes met mine, I knew he felt it too.
“Thank you,” I said a bit shyly, taking a sip to steady the rush of heat inside me. He poured himself a glass, then set out cheese and cuts of meat on the table for us to taste. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt intimate.
He watched me, really watched me, as we talked—almost in awe, like he was trying to match the reality of me with something he’d imagined long before we met. I could feel his gaze following my movements, my smiles, my gestures. It made me feel seen in a way that was both flattering and disarming.
Eventually, our conversation moved toward the reason we had met: he had found me through my escort website. I didn’t dance around it; that’s not who I am.
“I do it because I love it,” I told him honestly. “I love the dance, the chemistry, the excitement of being with people who are liberated, strong, successful, and fully alive.”
For a moment, he just looked at me, and I could practically feel his surprise and delight. Something in him relaxed then, like a long-held hope had just taken a step toward reality.
My laughter filled the terrace more than once, and I could see how much he enjoyed it. We talked for a long time—about our tastes, our passions, our work, and the lives we’d built. With every new confession, every shared opinion, the connection between us deepened. After a couple of glasses of wine, I caught myself staring at his mouth, and I noticed the way his eyes drifted to my lips too. I didn’t look away this time.
He had spent decades wanting to meet a woman who was elegant, intelligent, independent, and generous but also unashamed of desire, of kink, of exploring and enjoying sex without guilt. I could feel those questions lingering in his eyes: Had he finally met her? Could it really be me? As time passed, my curiosity about him shifted into something more urgent. I wanted to know him in the other way too—to see whether he was as open as I was, whether the chemistry in his living room would translate to the bedroom. The thought excited me far more than I wanted to admit.
“Shall we go inside?” I asked, my voice softer than before. I hoped he understood what I meant, because for once, I felt a flicker of shyness that was very unlike me.
He did understand. Time suddenly felt short, like we had to make the most of this meeting, of this rare, electric alignment.
When we moved inside, the atmosphere changed. The view of the city slipped behind glass, and it was just the two of us, close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s bodies. We stood there for a heartbeat too long, both of us knowing what would happen next.
