Sometimes a client isn't just a transaction. Sometimes they're something else entirely. Michael wasn't typical - mid-50s, kind eyes, nervous hands that couldn't quite stay still when we first met at that hotel near Piccadilly.
He wasn't looking for anything wild. Just connection. Turns out his wife had been ill for years and physical intimacy had disappeared from their relationship. Not in a bitter way. Just... gradually. He wasn't cheating so much as remembering what human touch felt like.
I remember how gentle he was. How he talked more than he touched. About her garden, about their dogs, about memories that seemed to float between sadness and sweetness. Sex happened, but it wasn't really about sex. It was about being seen. Being held.
I don't share these stories often. This work isn't a confessional. But sometimes a moment cuts through all the usual patterns and you just need to mark it somewhere. To say: this happened. This mattered.
Michael paid. We said goodbye. I never saw him again. But some encounters leave a trace.