On Clients, Lovers and the Men Who Ruin Their Own Chances

There is something I should perhaps confess honestly.

I do not remember all of you.

A one hour meeting years ago can become blurry with time. Yes, if I see someone’s face again I usually remember that we met. I remember fragments. Atmospheres. Certain gestures. But not always exactly what we did. Sometimes not even whether we had sex or not.

And I feel strangely guilty admitting this.

As if forgetting details makes the encounter less meaningful.

But human memory does not work morally. It works emotionally. Through repetition, surprise, tenderness, absurdity, intensity.

I remember the unusual encounters.

The conversations that stayed with me.

The requests that surprised me.

The nights that became strange and beautiful.

And I remember the people who returned again and again.

The regulars, as people say in work language.

Though honestly, I dislike that word a little. It sounds too clinical. Too transactional. I prefer thinking of them as lovers, companions, recurring presences in my life. Friends with benefits perhaps. Because after enough meetings, you truly begin to know someone.

Their nervous habits.

The way they sleep.

What they always order at dinner.

Which subjects make them suddenly quiet.

The expression they get when they finally relax for real.

And this brings me to something many men secretly wonder about:

“How do I make an escort genuinely like me?”

“How do I stand out?”

“How could something real ever happen?”

First of all, love is mysterious.

No strategy guarantees it. Most of the time it never happens at all. And when it does happen, it usually surprises both people involved. Attraction is irrational. Human closeness is irrational. Two people can spend years trying to force chemistry into existence and nothing appears. And then suddenly one strange evening changes everything with someone unexpected.

Of course, sometimes life ignores all theories completely.

Sometimes a man simply arrives and from the very first moment there is already chemistry everywhere.

He looks devastatingly good to you.

He is kind without trying too hard.

Calm. Present. Funny in the right way.

The conversation flows effortlessly.

The tension appears immediately.

And then the sex itself is unexpectedly wonderful too.

Like being struck by lightning.

Bodies and emotions react immediately sometimes. A smell, a voice, a face, the way someone touches you, the rhythm between two people — suddenly something simply clicks.

And when it does, believe me, we feel it too.

We are not standing outside desire observing it academically. We are still inside our own bodies. Still capable of becoming nervous, distracted, infatuated, turned on, emotionally affected.

Sometimes one incredible first meeting creates more fascination than ten carefully planned dates ever could.

But there are also things men do that destroy the possibility immediately.

Usually before the meeting has even happened.

The number one mistake is the booking process itself.

Endless questions.

Long negotiations.

Discussions about deposits.

Attempts to lower rates.

Complicated payment conversations.

Emotional uncertainty stretched over days.

What many men fail to understand is that this part of the work is unpaid emotional labor for us. Hours of conversations that often never lead anywhere. Time spent answering uncertainty, fantasy, suspicion, hesitation.

And the more difficult someone becomes during booking, the more impossible it becomes to emotionally perceive him outside the category of “client.”

Think about it carefully.

If the entire interaction revolves around treating a woman as a service provider, a negotiation, a logistical problem, a seller — then naturally she will emotionally relate to you primarily as a customer.

Not because she is cold.

But because you never created space for anything else.

Smoothness matters enormously.

Kindness matters enormously.

Being easy to meet matters enormously.

The men who stand out positively are often surprisingly simple in their behavior. They are respectful of time. Clear. Soft. Open-minded. Emotionally relaxed. They do not create unnecessary friction around the meeting. They make the encounter feel easy instead of extractive.

And then they return.

Again and again.

Because connection requires repetition. How else could it possibly emerge? Human intimacy rarely appears instantly. Most of the time it accumulates slowly through familiarity and safety.

A woman cannot lower her guard emotionally with someone who remains a stranger appearing once every two years in a hotel room.

But there is another path too. A riskier one perhaps. I do not necessarily recommend it. But I must admit that it works on many women.

And strangely, it involves refusing the thing almost every other man — and almost every working girl — places at the center.

Sex.

The common denominator between most men we meet professionally is precisely that they want sexual access. Which means the fastest way to psychologically stand out is sometimes to temporarily remove sex from the center completely.

Book a date.

Do not push for sex.

Even if you technically paid for the possibility.

Then return another time.

Again no pressure.

Believe me, this confuses many women enormously.

And perhaps I should confess something slightly embarrassing here too.

When a man books me repeatedly and still does not ask for sex, I usually assume at first that he is simply not attracted to me.

Truly.

I become confused. Sometimes even frustrated.

Does he not desire me?

Is he nervous?

Is he uninterested?

Is this some kind of game?

Because despite what many people imagine, I genuinely love sexuality. I am not secretly sitting there hoping intimacy will be avoided. Quite the opposite. I love flirtation, tension, touch, kissing, sleeping together, desire growing between two people. Sex, for me, is often part of how I get to know someone emotionally as well.

But when a man returns again and again, spends hours with me, enjoys my company deeply, but still does not try to sleep with me, it completely destabilizes my expectations. Simply because it is so unusual.

He becomes unforgettable precisely because he interrupts the normal rhythm of my world.

Most women in this line of work will initially try to seduce a man like this even more. Partly because it is habit. Partly because she wants him to enjoy himself. Partly because she is trying to understand what is happening.

But if he remains calm, emotionally consistent, focused on getting to know her, not manipulative, not performing indifference as some strategy, something strange can begin to happen.

Curiosity.

Then comfort.

Then perhaps eventually trust.

And you notice small shifts.

She stops speaking quite so professionally.

She laughs differently.

She becomes less careful around you.

She stops constantly trying to maintain atmosphere.

She tells you things not meant as performance anymore.

And after that, it might happen, that she asks if you want to join something outside the original context entirely. A dinner. A walk. A gallery. Some ordinary fragment of life.

That is usually the real turning point.

Because that is when she has momentarily stopped “working.” Not fully perhaps — these boundaries are always complicated — but enough that another type of connection has begun appearing underneath the structure.

And perhaps, for many people — not at least longing men — should sex only then happen.

As a mutual desire finally arriving after both people have started seeing each other as individuals in their full complexity — with all their goods and bads.

Of course this still guarantees nothing.

Most stories do not become love stories.

But if men understood one thing, I think it should be this:

The women who do this work are still individuals — often complicated, contradictory, emotional, sexual, guarded, longing, confused, warm — inside the structure surrounding the meeting. And human closeness grows through safety, repetition, generosity, emotional intelligence, ease and curiosity — unless it arrives suddenly, like lightning from a clear sky — exactly the same way it grows everywhere else in life.