Another week crushed at the bank. My eyes are burning from spreadsheets and my neck is knotted from tension. When you're pulling 14-hour days in the City, you start to understand why guys like me need... an escape.
Elena wasn't just another booking. She was precision engineering. Cambridge educated, speaks three languages, looks like she stepped out of a Tatler photoshoot. GFE isn't just about sex. It's about connection. Conversation over champagne, genuine laughter, someone who makes you feel seen beyond your suit and corporate title.
I dropped two grand without blinking. Why? Because at my level, time and quality matter more than price. She knew exactly how to unwind me. Dinner at Chiltern Firehouse, then back to her Mayfair flat. No rushed transaction. Just... intimacy.
Some of my colleagues judge. They've got no idea how lonely executive life can be. Everyone wants a piece of you. Elena gave me something back. A few hours where I wasn't just another deal machine.
Complicated? Sure. But who isn't these days.