Diary of a Courtesan January 12, 2026

Dear Diary,

Tonight was... intense. In the best possible way.I arrived at the Ritz Carlton in Georgetown around 8 PM, my black sweater dress hugging every curve just right—professional enough to walk through the lobby without turning too many heads, but fitted enough that Craig would know exactly what he was getting. The stiletto boots clicked against the marble floors as I made my way to the elevator, and I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls: hair perfectly tousled, lips painted that deep wine color, the hint of black and white lace peeking out at my neckline. I looked good. I felt powerful.Suite 1847. I knocked twice, smoothed my dress, and waited.When Craig opened the door, I watched his face do that thing—that beautiful moment of stunned silence when a man realizes the woman standing before him exceeds every fantasy he'd built up in his mind. His eyes widened, traveled down my body and back up again, and for a second he just stood there, hand still on the door handle."Hi," he finally managed, and I smiled."Hi yourself. Are you going to invite me in, or should I entertain the hallway?"He laughed—nervous, genuine—and stepped aside.

Sorry, I just... you're even more beautiful than your photos."I get that a lot, but the way he said it felt sincere. Craig was handsome in that classic businessman way: salt-and-pepper hair, strong jawline, expensive suit jacket draped over the chair, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. Mid-forties, I'd guess. Wedding ring still on his finger—they usually take them off, but he hadn't. Something about that honesty made me like him immediately.The suite was gorgeous—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, soft lighting, a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape already breathing on the table. He'd put thought into this."I hope red is okay," he said, pouring two glasses. "I wasn't sure what you'd prefer.""Red is perfect."We settled onto the plush sofa, and for the first twenty minutes, we just talked. This is the part people don't understand about what I do—it's not just about the physical. Craig told me about his work in finance, the stress of constant travel, the loneliness of hotel rooms. He asked about me too, genuinely curious, and I gave him the version of myself I give clients: enough truth to feel real, enough mystery to stay intriguing.But underneath the conversation, there was electricity. The way his eyes kept dropping to my lips. The way I crossed my legs and watched his gaze follow the line of my thigh. The way his hand trembled slightly when he refilled my glass."Can I be honest with you?" he asked, setting his wine down."Always.""I'm nervous as hell. I haven't... my wife and I haven't been intimate in almost three years. I don't even remember the last time someone looked at me the way you're looking at me right now.

My heart actually ached for him. I leaned closer, close enough that he could smell my perfume. "How am I looking at you?""Like you want me.""I do want you, Craig."That's all it took. He closed the distance between us, his lips finding mine with a hunger that made my breath catch. His kiss was desperate at first—clumsy with need—but I slowed him down, my hand cupping his jaw, teaching him to savor it.

When I opened my mouth to him, he groaned, and I felt that sound vibrate through my entire body.His hands found my waist, pulling me closer until I was practically in his lap. I could feel how hard he was already, pressing against me through his slacks, and I rolled my hips just slightly, earning another groan.

His fingers tangled in my hair, and we kissed like teenagers—messy, passionate, all tongue and teeth and barely-contained desire.

"Bedroom," I whispered against his mouth, and he didn't need to be told twice.He stood, pulling me up with him, and we stumbled toward the bedroom, still kissing, his hands everywhere—my ass, my hips, sliding up my ribcage. When we reached the bed, he turned me around, his chest pressed against my back, his lips on my neck.

I could feel his breath, hot and ragged, as his fingers found the zipper of my dress.He pulled it down slowly, reverently, and the dress pooled at my feet. When he saw the lingerie—the black and white lace teddy that left almost nothing to the imagination—he actually gasped."Jesus Christ," he breathed.I turned to face him, reaching for his belt. "Your turn."

He stripped faster than I've ever seen a man undress, and then we were on the bed, his body covering mine, his weight pressing me into the mattress. We kissed again, deeper this time, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the hard length of him against my core through the thin lace.His hands explored every inch of me—rough and eager, like he was trying to memorize the feel of my skin. When he cupped my breast through the lace, I arched into his touch, and he took that as permission to pull the fabric aside, his mouth finding my nipple. I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he sucked and licked, his teeth grazing just enough to make me moan."I need you," he groaned against my skin.

God, I need you so badly.""Then take me."He reached for the teddy, trying to figure out how to remove it, but patience had left him. I heard the fabric tear—felt the lace give way under his desperate hands—and then it was just us, skin against skin, nothing between us anymore. The ruined lingerie fell to the floor, forgotten.I pushed him onto his back and straddled him, positioning myself above him. His hands gripped my hips as I sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch, and we both moaned at the sensation. He filled me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way, and for a moment I just stayed there, adjusting to the fullness.

Then I started to move.I rode him hard and fast, my hands braced on his chest, my hips rolling and grinding. He watched me with wide eyes, his mouth open, completely mesmerized. I could feel him throbbing inside me, could see the tension building in his body, and I knew he wouldn't last long—not with three years of pent-up desire finally being released."You feel so good," he panted, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise. "So fucking good."I leaned down, my breasts pressed against his chest, and kissed him deeply as I continued to ride him.

Our bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, sweat-slicked and desperate, and I could feel my own pleasure building, that familiar tension coiling low in my belly.But I wanted more. I wanted him to let go completely."Turn me around," I commanded, and he obeyed immediately.I got on my hands and knees, arching my back, presenting myself to him.

He positioned himself behind me, his hands gripping my hips, and thrust inside me with a groan. This angle was deeper, more intense, and I cried out as he filled me completely.He started moving, but he was holding back—still too controlled, too careful."Harder," I demanded, looking back at him over my shoulder.

Something shifted in Craig's eyes—a dam breaking. His grip on my hips tightened, fingers digging into my flesh with delicious pressure. He pulled back and thrust forward with newfound intensity, and I gasped at the force of it.

"Like that?" he growled, his voice rough and unrecognizable from the nervous man who'd greeted me at the door.

"Yes," I moaned, arching my back deeper. "Don't hold back."

He didn't. Three years of pent-up longing, frustration, and need poured out of him. The careful restraint dissolved completely as he drove into me with abandon, the sound of skin against skin filling the luxurious hotel room. I braced myself against the headboard, meeting each thrust, encouraging him with breathless words and the movement of my body.

"God, you feel incredible," he panted, one hand sliding up my spine to grip my shoulder, pulling me back against him. "I can't—I'm not going to last—"

"Don't," I told him, clenching around him deliberately. "Let go. Come for me."

His rhythm became erratic, desperate. I reached between my legs, circling my clit with practiced fingers, chasing my own release. The combination of his thickness filling me, the raw passion in his movements, and my own touch pushed me over the edge. My orgasm rolled through me in waves, and I cried out, my body tightening around him.

That was all it took. Craig groaned—a deep, primal sound—and I felt him pulse inside me as he came, his body shuddering against mine. He collapsed forward, catching himself on his hands so he wouldn't crush me, both of us breathing hard.

We stayed like that for a moment before he carefully withdrew and rolled onto his back beside me.

I lay down beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. This wasn't in the job description, but something about his vulnerability touched me. "You're allowed to feel good, Craig. You're allowed to be alive."

He wrapped an arm around me, holding me close. "Thank you," he murmured. "Not just for this, but for... for seeing me. For making me feel human again."

We lay there in the dimness of the hotel room, the city lights filtering through the curtains. His breathing eventually steadied, and I felt his body relax beneath me. After a while, I carefully extracted myself and began gathering my clothes.

Craig watched me dress, propped up on one elbow. "Will I see you again?" he asked.

I smiled at him—genuine, not the professional smile I usually wore. "If you need to, you know how to reach me."

---

Later, in the elevator down:

I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls. Same woman who'd arrived three hours ago, but something felt different. This job usually keeps me at a distance—professional, detached, in control. But tonight reminded me why I started doing this in the first place. Not just for the money, but because sometimes people need more than sex. They need to be reminded they're still capable of feeling, of connecting, of being desired.

Craig needed that tonight. And maybe, in some small way, I needed the reminder too.

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and I walked out into the night, the cool air a welcome contrast to the warmth I was leaving behind.