escort diary® of Louella York: The Art of Knowing
There’s something about a man’s mind that turns me on just as much as his touch. The way he thinks, the way he moves through the world, the way his past lingers in the spaces between his words. Tonight, over dinner, I sat across from a man who speaks like a melody—articulate, refined, his words chosen with the same precision as his touch.
He loves music. Opera. The way sound can transport you, unearth something hidden, crack you open in the most unexpected ways. I listen, watching the flicker of thought in his eyes. He’s guarded at first, offering only glimpses of himself between sips of his drink. But then, slowly, a shift. A childhood memory. A story not often told. And just like that, I know him a little more.
That’s what I love. The knowing.
Not just how he likes to be touched, how he shivers beneath my hands, how he gasps when I push him to the edge—but what moves him. What he thinks about when he’s alone. What makes him laugh, what lingers in his mind long after our bodies part.
Some men stay closed, offering only the physical. Others let me in, just a little. And when they do, when they let me see them—not just their desire but the layers beneath—that’s when the real intimacy begins.
And maybe that’s why I love what I do. Because pleasure isn’t just physical—it’s a language, a conversation, a melody. And when a man trusts me enough to share not just his body, but the quiet, unguarded parts of himself, I feel the depth of that gift. It’s a privilege to be invited into that space, to witness someone in their most vulnerable, human moments.
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