First time, Real time

Like every days, i get different encounters with different people and today it is Logan and he is first timer. He knocked on my door and Logan looked nervous. His hands, rough with work, tapped against the coffee takeaway cup, though he wasn’t drinking it. He was on time — and that told me a lot already.

I let him in, confident in heels and lingerie, my presence catching him mid-thought. His eyes lifted, and I saw the tension break into something softer. Not lust. Not fantasy. Curiosity… maybe awe.

“Logan?” I asked.

He stood up quickly, as if unsure whether to shake my hand or hold the chair out. I smiled. “You’re sweet,” I said, “but you can relax. You’re safe here.”

We sat. He took a deep breath. “You’re… really beautiful,” he said, like he almost didn’t expect to say it out loud.

“Thank you,” I said, gently. “This your first time with someone like me?”

He nodded, cheeks flushing. “First time… like this at all, really.”

I could tell he was honest. Not naive, but new. New to his own desires, to what he was brave enough to explore now.

We talked for a while. About where he was from. What made him reach out. He admitted he didn’t know what he expected — just that he wanted it to be real, not performative. I respected that. I told him my boundaries, my expectations, and made it clear that respect went both ways.

What surprised him most, I think, was that I wasn’t just what he thought he wanted. I was more. A person. A woman. A guide through a space he had never let himself walk into.

By the time he reached out to hold my hand, it wasn’t about labels or roles. It was about warmth.

“You’re not what I thought,” he whispered.

I smiled. “I get that a lot.”

The hotel room was quiet — the kind of silence that pulses, heavy with anticipation. Logan’s eyes followed me as I set my clutch towards the bed, slowly turning to face him.

“You okay?” I asked, voice low, steady.

He nodded, but his body told the truth better — tense, expectant, but willing. He was on a wire between hesitation and hunger.

“I don’t want to do the wrong thing,” he said. “Or say the wrong thing.”

“You won’t,” I replied. “Just be honest. About what you want. About what you feel.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing my arm, fingers trailing lightly as if he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. I took his hand and placed it on my waist.

“Touch is okay,” I whispered. “You’re allowed to want this.”

The shift in his expression was electric. Like permission had unlocked something.

“I’ve never been this drawn to anyone before,” he said, his breath just inches from mine. “You’re so confident. Like you’ve lived three lives already.”

“Maybe I have,” I smirked. “Maybe I’m exactly what you needed to find out what yours could be.”

Then I leaned in, lips grazing the edge of his jaw before kissing his neck slowly — not just to seduce, but to reassure. He let out a breath, like he’d been holding it since the moment we met.

The session unfolded not like a transaction, but a transformation. Logan was learning me — not just my body, but my rhythm, my presence, my control. He followed, then led, then followed again. There was no shame. Only discovery.

Later, tangled in warm sheets, he looked at me like he’d found a map to parts of himself he never knew were there.

“Thank you,” he said, hand resting on my hip. “Not just for tonight. For seeing me.”

I smiled into the dim light. “You saw me first.”