Elite Escort Services, Sensual Massage, and Strippers in Berlin, Germany

And Then, Berlin
pages I never sent you

It starts in the body, always.
Before the words.
Before the want.
A knowing.

You noticed me, didnt you?
Not because I was loud
but because I wasnt.

I never enter a room to be seen.
But if you catch me really catch me youll see how my skin blushes unevenly along my collarbone,
how my right hip sits slightly higher than the left,
how my breasts press against cotton not to provoke, but to breathe.

My body isnt curated.
It remembers.
The curve of my thighs wasnt built it arrived, quietly, across years of resisting the urge to disappear.
And my voice low, hoarse in the morning, honey-warm by evening never asks to be liked.
It simply speaks.

If we met in Berlin, it would not be during the day.

This city doesnt bloom until after dark.
Shes not romantic.
Shes not trying.
She opens like an argument you didnt see coming.

Id take you to that small, hidden bar in Kreuzberg no signage, just red light behind fogged glass.
Youd hear the bass before you felt it.
I wouldnt talk much.
But Id sit close enough that youd know exactly when to stop pretending you werent listening.

Later when the streets grew empty and even the trams had gone quiet
wed walk.
No destination.
Just the sound of your breath adjusting to mine.

My apartment is nothing. White walls, wood floors, one lamp that flickers when the radiator kicks in.
But it knows how to hold silence.
And so do I.

I dont undress to tempt.
I remove fabric the way you take off a thought that no longer serves you.
It isnt a striptease show.
Its a return.
To body. To breath.
To that moment where looking becomes touching without needing hands.

When I press into you not for effect, but to anchor
youll understand
Im not offering pleasure.
Im offering presence.
A kind of attention that doesnt ask for anything back.

Call it erotic massage, if you must.
Call it escort Berlin, if that gives you shape.
But youll leave knowing there are no correct words for what I do with my hands.
And even fewer for what I undo with my silence.

I wont follow up.
I wont ask how you slept.

But Ill know
when you find your reflection later, days or years from now
that something will have shifted.
Slightly.
Deliberately.
Like me.