Escort stories. I used to think I had found the woman of my life.
I imagined sitting on the porch together, drinking coffee, arguing about stupid things, and laughing about how our lives had flown by.
And today?
Today I’m fresh out of a divorce.
I mean… “fresh out of a divorce.” It still makes my stomach churn like it’s been a three-day festival of cheap wine.
My ex-wife is a lawyer. And if I could tell the world one thing, it would be: Never, ever, ever get involved with a lawyer. Not even over coffee, let alone in marriage.
After years of living together, I naively thought that divorce would be civilized. We’d split it, each get half, shake hands, and move on.
No, no. She got everything—the houses, the investments, even the coffee maker I was buying.
And me? I received a valuable life lesson and a house with two apartments, which I fortunately secured before the wedding. If I hadn’t, I would be writing this story today from a park bench.
We have a daughter together – a teenager. And I think she got the most out of our divorce. She quickly learned that the more she plays with feelings, the more she gets. Currently, she lives by a simple rule: “Where there is more permission and less prohibition, there is home.”
… escort for
And so here I am – single, shaved of everything, with a slightly shaken ego.
After the divorce, I made a firm resolution: never have another relationship.
No partners, no compromises, no arguments about who forgot to change the toilet paper. No, thank you. I’ve had enough.
I decided that I would never look for anyone again – and that if anyone ever sees me on a date again, remind me: “lawyer”.
From now on, I had only one goal: to make as much money as possible – and then spend it all happily.
Work became my new relationship. She never got offended, never cheated on me, and at the end of the month she even sent me money.
After work, I went to the gym so I could tell myself that I was living a healthy life. And in the evening… in the evening, I paid for my company.
Every escort girl within a fifty-kilometer radius showed up at my place at least twice. The pleasure clubs already had me registered as a VIP. Escort for …
Of course, only when my daughter wasn’t with me. Then I turned into a “responsible father” who cooks pasta, asks how school was, and pretends to have my life completely under control.
It was a Saturday and my daughter was at her ex’s place. Having a daughter-free Saturday had its perks. I didn’t have to deal with TikTok, school, or questions like, “Dad, where are my headphones?” So I started to do some landscaping around the house.
When I was done with the lawn, I took on the hedge around the other apartment. I was renting it out to a divorced mom with two young children. She had lived there with her husband at first, and they got divorced, but he was lucky — he didn’t get divorced from a lawyer. Yes escort …
That day, she was sitting on the patio with her friend. She also had two young children chasing each other around the grass. They were both sitting with glasses of wine in their hands and talking quietly. Well… quietly, according to them. They had so much energy that they could power a power plant. Escort …
I greeted them:
“Hello, girls. Do you mind if I trim the fence here a bit?”
“No, uncle, don’t worry, we don’t mind.”
Excellent. A man doesn’t shave once and he’s already an uncle.
So I got to work – first with hand scissors, then with motorized ones. After a while, however, the tenant came and said:
“You know what, the noise is disturbing us. You’d better come and sit down with us and have some wine.”
I hadn’t originally planned on wine. But when two nice women invite you for a glass, it would be rude to refuse. And I did all sorts of things… but I wasn’t rude.
I sat down with them on the terrace, they poured me a glass of wine and we talked about the apartment for a while.
“Is everything okay? Is the boiler not leaking, is it not working?” I asked, just to get started.
“No, everything is great,” the tenant smiled. “It’s just that the neighbor’s cat comes to our terrace sometimes and pretends to live here.”
We laughed, talked for a while about the apartment, the weather, and all the ordinary things people discuss over a glass of wine. Then the conversation turned to my friend. For escort …
She looked sad, as if she was trying to pretend that it didn’t concern her, but everything was written in her eyes.
The tenant said quietly,
“You know, her husband cheated on her. At a party. And someone even filmed it on his cell phone.”
My friend sighed.
“And he sent it to everyone. Even me. Great, right?”
“That’s… a pretty good fling,” I said carefully.
That wasn’t infidelity anymore.
That was a public execution.
“He says he was drunk and it didn’t mean anything,” she continued, “he’s asking me to forgive him. But… I don’t know. I can’t. It hurt me terribly.”
I wanted to help her somehow, so I started to offer some wisdom over my second glass of wine.
“Look,” I tell her, “a colleague of mine at work went through something similar. Her husband found a hooker, she found out about it, and he begged her to forgive him.”
Escort … Both women looked at me, wondering what would come of this.
“So you know what she did?” I continued. “She packed up, went to a spa for a week, “where she let a guy drag her around for a week.”
She came home, smiled, and said, “I forgive you.”
He could only guess what had happened that week. He never dared to ask.
And she never told him about escort.
She knew that the truth hurts. But uncertainty hurts much longer.
Today, all you have to say is:
“I think I’ll go to a spa for a few days.”
And he immediately falls silent.
Gradually, she became his obedient pet.
The girls started laughing until their glasses were dripping with wine. Escort …
“So you’re saying that revenge is the way?” asked her friend, raising her eyebrows.
“No,” I smiled.
“I’m saying that sometimes you just need to settle the score so that you can sleep better.”
The girls they laughed.
After a while, however, her friend stopped laughing.
She looked at me and asked quietly:
“Do you think it really works?”
“What?”
I picked up a glass of wine.
“That when you even the score… it stops hurting?”
Escort … She leaned over and involuntarily touched my hand.
She only touched me for a second.
The unpleasant thing was that I noticed it.
I smiled.
“Yes, I did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said it.”
There was a moment of silence.
She looked at me so intently that I felt like she was examining me.
Then the landlady spoke up.
“Well… I’m starting to be completely useless here.”
She laughed.
“Go on. I’ll watch the kids for now.”
I spit out my wine with laughter.
“No, no, girls. I really didn’t mean it that way.”
They both looked at each other conspiratorially.
My friend leaned towards me again.
“And you’re not attracted to that, by any chance? The opportunity to do something forbidden… but actually completely justifiable according to your own theory? After all, that’s exactly your game, isn’t it? To even the score.”
I looked at her in complete disbelief.
“That’s not true,” I blurted out.
“No. First of all, if this happened, the whole village would point fingers at me. And secondly… I still have some moral principles.”
The tenant laughed.
“Are you really afraid of what the village will say? After all, they’ve been having fun for a long time now watching taxis come to your place and prostitutes take turns with you. And your moral principles? Once, a lady got out of a taxi so fat that the taxi driver had to help her out.” Escort …
The girls laughed even louder.
I just looked at her in disbelief. I didn’t know whether to laugh… or be offended that I had just lost the illusion of absolute discretion.
My friend leaned over to me.
“So… these are your moral principles?”
“Are they only valid until the taxi arrives?”
I swallowed my wine.
I looked at one, then the other.
“You two are real numbers. A man comes in to trim his hedge… and leaves with an offer to save his marriage.”
They both laughed.
The tenant shrugged.
“Nothing from us. You came up with the theory of even-scores.”
Me:
“That was a philosophical thought. Not a job offer.”
My friend smiled.
“And what if I took it?”
No one said anything.
The table suddenly fell suspiciously silent.
And it was just beginning to dawn on me that this woman was just as dangerous as my ex-wife. Only for a completely different reason.
“And would you accept it?” I asked.
I don’t know why. Maybe out of curiosity.
I just wanted to hear the answer.
Nothing more.
She smiled.
Escort … “Maybe.”
Then she stood up from the table.
Not theatrically.
Not seductively.
She just stood up.
She looked at me for a moment and then turned and walked slowly towards my escort apartment.
I was left sitting there with a glass of wine in my hand.
I looked at the tenant.
She just shrugged her shoulders with a smile on her face.
“I told you. I’m out of it.”
I looked at the unfinished hedge and the tools scattered on the ground.
I came to tidy up the garden… and instead I’m going to make my life more complicated.
I finished my wine and put the glass on the table.
“To hell with women too…”
I stood up. The hedge could wait.
I entered my apartment through the open patio doors.
She was standing at the kitchen counter, pouring herself a glass of water as if she were at home.
When she heard me, she turned.
For a moment, our eyes met.
She smiled, took a leisurely sip, and put the glass back on the counter.
“So you’re here.”
I shrugged.
“Yes. I’m home.”
For a moment, I had to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.
She smiled out of the corner of her mouth, too.
I pointed toward the stairs.
“So… shall we go upstairs to finish off your revenge?”
She looked toward the stairs.
Without a word, she turned and walked up.
I followed her.
We went upstairs to the bedroom. A bed. A full-length mirror. If there was ever a place where a person made bad decisions, this was it.
She was standing across from me.
Petite, tanned, with shoulder-length brown hair.
She wasn’t the kind of woman half the city would turn to look at.
And yet I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Not because she was perfect.
Quite the opposite.
She wasn’t the flashy beauty from the VIP clubs I’d paid for.
She was the kind of woman who looked like she made breakfast for the kids in the morning, took care of their daycare during the day, and fell asleep before she finished watching a movie at night.
She was dangerously real.
And that’s exactly why she was beautiful.
“You can still come up with an excuse,” she said quietly.
I looked at her and smiled.
“Like, the store’s closing soon and I don’t have any bread for tomorrow?”
She laughed.
“That would be an excuse too.”
“Just not good enough.”
I took a step toward her.
She smelled of wine, summer evening, and delicate perfume. I didn’t expect that such an ordinary scent would turn my head.
I took off my shirt and threw it on the ground.
I grabbed her hips and pulled her close to me.
She was a woman whose self-confidence had been shattered, and I realized that she wasn’t after revenge at all.
She just wanted to feel enough again.
Her gaze was a mixture of defiance, sadness, and determination.
I leaned in and kissed her.
At first, cautiously, as if we were just testing each other’s boundaries. But when she grabbed my neck and pulled me closer, all caution flew out the window.
I watched her eyes as I pulled her shirt over her head and threw it next to mine.
She stood there in just her bra, breathing slightly faster. I felt the clasp at the back of her back with my fingers. With one familiar movement, the hooks loosened and the fabric slid to the floor.
I exposed her firm, natural breasts. Her nipples were tight with excitement. As soon as I ran my fingers over them, she sighed quietly, grabbed my waist, and dug her fingers into the fabric of my shorts. Without a word, she began to pull them down.
The shorts fell off and my penis, soaked with blood and strained to burst, was immediately in her hand. Her touch was firm and irritating.
We wasted no time – we moved to the bed and I threw off her shorts and lace panties.
I ran my fingers over her lap. She was unexpectedly, beautifully wet. She looked at me, straddled me and without a word she grabbed my penis again, leaned forward, took it in her mouth and immediately began to tease me rhythmically.
She wasn’t as good at it as the escort girls. It lacked that cold routine – and that’s exactly what I liked about it. She really did it, without any staged drama. And she definitely did it better than my ex.
I gave her space for a moment before I gently rolled her onto her back. The contrast between her tanned skin and the pale marks from her swimsuit was incredibly sexy. Her bosom was smooth, precisely shaped, copying the delicate curves that had been hidden by her underwear a moment ago.
I spread her legs apart and paused for a moment. This is exactly how I liked women best – surrendered, silently waiting for what was to come. I placed the tip of my penis against her moist slit and let the glans slowly slide inside.
I kept my eyes on her. Her deep gaze literally burned me. I began to thrust slowly – deeply, smoothly and uncompromisingly. She remained looking straight into my eyes, but her body gave everything away: the shivers on her tanned skin, the hardened nipples and the gentle tremor accompanied by the quiet sighs that escaped her lips uncontrollably.
I gradually accelerated, to which she responded with louder and louder sighs and a rhythmic movement of her pelvis, which she used to go exactly opposite my thrusts. It didn’t take long for the turning point to come.
First just a quiet exhalation, then a jerky inhalation… and then her whole body tensed, as if an electric current had passed through her. She began to tremble – not weakly, but so that one would think that she was fighting with herself.
She clawed my back with her nails so hard that I felt like she was going to pull the skin off of it. When I leaned closer to her, she unexpectedly grabbed me. She bit my lower lip so hard that I immediately felt the warm, metallic taste of my own blood on my tongue.
“Go on.” she exhaled quietly.
I laughed quietly, almost arrogantly. Not because it was funny—but because at that moment I knew exactly what I had.
I slowly pulled back just a few inches to force her eyes to open. Her vision was blurry, her breathing still shaky, but in the chaos emerged what I wanted to see—that subtle mix of plea and defiance.
So like this?” I said quietly, with a soft smile,
“You bite me… and I’m supposed to carry on as if nothing happened?”
She didn’t say a word. She just ran her teeth over her lower lip and nodded slightly.
That was enough
I leaned back toward her—slowly, unhurriedly, with the confidence that one either has… or only reads about in books one never admits to having read.
And I continued.
As another wave of orgasm swept through her, I couldn’t help myself either. Roughly and without control, I pulled out of her at the last moment and squirted right onto her tanned body. Exhausted, I fell onto my back next to her, staring at the ceiling and listening only to our rapid breathing.
After a moment of silence, as our rapid breathing slowly evened out, I had a clear plan in my head. I wanted to move lower, finally taste her womb and take her one more time.
But she sat up quietly, looked around the room, and got out of bed.
I have to go. The kids are out.”
She picked up her clothes from the floor.
“I’m going to take a quick shower.”
I lay on the bed, disappointed. A moment later, the sound of the shower echoed through the bathroom.
When she came out, she was already dressed. She stopped by the bed, leaned over me, and kissed my forehead.
“Tonight, after I put the kids to bed… I’ll come.”
“What?” I blurted out in surprise.
She smiled.
“So what?”
“You said your colleague was dragging her feet all week.”
She looked at me with an innocent smile.
“So I decided I wasn’t going to run away from therapy after one session.”
I sat down on the bed.
A whole week?
I was starting to like the idea dangerously.
But only for a week.
Then it was time to get back to reality.
I put on my shorts and started looking for my phone.
I had one duty.
Call my escort and cancel tonight’s date.
I hate it when people wait for no reason.
Six months later.
Morning came exactly as all things in life come:
without warning and at the worst possible time.
I woke up first.
She slept peacefully next to me, as if she had been meditating all night… while I looked like someone who had survived a Spartan training camp.
I got out of bed quietly, examined the damage to my back, It looked like I had been in a fight with a bear family! I was looking forward to those comments in the gym locker room. I smiled.
I went into the kitchen to make coffee.
Not because I was a romantic—but because I needed the caffeine to process the situation.
A few minutes later, she came out of the room too.
Her hair was messy, my shirt was the other way around, but she had the look of a woman who could easily claim that this was exactly her plan from the start.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile that sounded like “I’m not even going to have an awkward conversation about feelings.”
“Okay,” I replied, handing her the second cup.
“You know… if you think I’m going to have a romantic silence or an awkward self-reflection now, I’m going to disappoint you. I’m just waiting for us to do it again.”
I just leaned against the kitchen counter, raised my eyebrows, and said,
“Well… at least you’re honest.”
“No,” she replied. “I’m divorced. Honesty is just a byproduct
We were both silent for a moment.
Then I grinned:
So what are you doing next weekend?
“My kids are with my ex,” she said. “So… I was originally planning on doing laundry, cooking, and cleaning.”
“How about a wellness weekend in Salzburg?”
“She nodded—and I heard everything in that nod:
appetite, fear, desire… and a very quiet sentence:
‘Okay… let’s see where this goes.’”
We both smiled—the kind of smile that means the exact opposite of reason.
And in that moment I knew there was a problem.
The kind of problem that no gym, no money, no bank account… or escort girls can protect you from.
The problem that comes just when you’re finally convinced that you have your life under control.
When you swear to yourself that you’ll never need anyone again.
And then an ordinary woman shows up…
…and all your perfectly thought-out plans go to hell.
And the worst part was…
That I didn’t mind at all.