Elite Escort Services, Sensual Massage, and Strippers in Delhi, India

I wasnt going to write.
Not tonight.
But your names been pacing the edge of my thoughts not loudly, just steady.

So, here.

Im not ideal.
My breasts are uneven. The left sits lower.
My thighs touch. I like that.
My ass turns heads in the right jeans, but I prefer you see it when Im climbing into bed not walking away.
My stomach folds when I sit. I never try to hide it anymore.

And my hair?
Wavy when it wants. Messy most mornings.
Smells like clove and something I dont tell anyone the name of.

If we were in Delhi, and you didnt want a show,
Id meet you somewhere no map recommends.
Theres this place behind Khan Market up three cracked stairs, no sign.
They serve whiskey that tastes like the wood it sat in.
And no music, just fans and people pretending not to look at each other.

I wouldnt flirt. I dont know how to do that with my mouth.
But Id ask you something small, like
Do you always look this tired when youre thinking?

And if you laughed just once
Id stop talking.

Later. Behind my door.
Shoes kicked off.
City still buzzing outside.

Id let the silence fall first.
Then move. Slowly.
Unhook one thing. Then another.
Not a striptease show.
More like molting.
Not for you for me.

My hands?
They dont rush. They feel.
And when they slide down your back and pause
that pause isnt hesitation.
Its listening.

An erotic massage with me is like forgetting your name and not needing it back.
No oil tricks. Just pressure, heat, breath.
Sometimes I talk. Sometimes I hum.
Sometimes I stop and press my forehead into your shoulder.
Because I want to.

Theyd call it escort Delhi.
You can too.
But it wont feel like a service.
Itll feel like something you werent sure you deserved but didnt run from.

So.
If youre tired of pretending you dont want to be touched the way your mind wont admit
write.

Dont ask what Ill do.
Ask if Ill stay.