Another brutal week at the bank. Twelve-hour days, back-to-back meetings, constant pressure from senior management. By Friday, I was completely burnt out. My usual go-to for decompression is Alice, a stunning brunette I've been seeing occasionally over the past year.
I texted her mid-afternoon. She knows my routine now. Mayfair hotel, 8pm, standard package. £750 for three hours feels like a bargain when you're this wound up. Her rates have crept up, but so have my bonuses, so who's counting?
Alice understands the GFE dynamic better than most. She's not just beautiful she's genuinely intelligent. We spent the first hour just talking. She listened to me rant about work, asked smart questions. Then things... progressed naturally. Her ability to make a stressed city boy feel completely relaxed is almost a skill unto itself.
Some of my colleagues would judge this. But they're not the ones dealing with constant corporate warfare. This isn't about sex. It's about human connection. Temporary intimacy. A reset button for my overclocked brain.
Midnight train home. Calm. Recharged. Ready for another week.